Chapter Two - Part One
Second Half
__________________
Beginning of Entry…
StarDate: Redacted
Perspective: Major Commander Michael Irons
Species: Human, Humanoid Mammalian Species, no tail.
Description: 5 feet 2 inches [1.6 meters] to 6 feet 9 inches [2.1 meters] average height. 185 lbs [84 kilograms] average weight.
Longevity: 70 to 500-year life expectancy with life extension medical tech.
Unique Trait: Resilience and Indomitable Will.
Place: New Paris (Capital City)
Location: New Eden Prime
In the early hours, as the dawn cast a pallid light over New Eden Prime, the situation unfolded with urgent clarity. Major Commander Michael Irons, alongside Captain Adam Richter, adjusted his Raider armor, his eyes scanning the horizon where the silhouettes of enemy ships began to materialize. Both men were seasoned veterans, their faces etched with the lines of many battles, their demeanor calm yet alert. They awaited instructions as they stood amid the bustling rally point filled with soldiers and militia.
Their focus shifted as Colonel Nick Estrada approached, his imposing figure cutting through the morning mist, the tension palpable in the air. The urgency of the situation had drawn commanders and soldiers alike, all responding to the blare of alarms that had roused the colony from sleep and into action. Colonel Nick Estrada approached, his presence commanding immediate attention. His frame was not just physically imposing but carried the authority of a man who had seen countless skirmishes and emerged victorious. The commanders snapped to attention, though the informality of the crisis allowed for a quicker exchange.
Colonel Estrada, known for his strategic acumen, surveyed the gathered officers before speaking. "Gentlemen," he began, his voice carrying over the crowd. "Major Commander Irons, Captain Richter, the enemy fleet is now visible. We're seeing a full spectrum—we're up against a formidable enemy. Reconnaissance has identified a significant fleet composition—strike craft, corvettes, frigates, and troop transports. They're not just probing our defenses; they're here for a full-scale invasion."
Major Commander Irons nodded solemnly, absorbing the gravity of the situation. The enemy's intentions were clear: to overwhelm and conquer. "Do we have any intel on their motivations, sir?" he asked, his mind racing through potential strategies.
Estrada's eyes narrowed as he reviewed the latest data on his tactical pad. "Current assessments suggest their primary objective could be resource acquisition or territory expansion. Given the organized nature of their fleet, we can't rule out the possibility of them establishing a forward operating base," he explained, his finger tracing possible invasion routes on the holographic display before them.
Irons' jaw tightened at the assessment. "Have we identified their point of origin or any specific markings that could tell us who we're dealing with?" he asked, his mind racing through the catalog of known hostile factions and their usual tactics.
Captain Richter, ever the tactician, chimed in, "If we can disrupt their landing operations and take out their troop transports, we might slow their advance and buy us some time to fortify positions."
"Not yet," Estrada replied, turning to gaze at the display screen that showed the advancing ships. "Their configurations are unfamiliar, which suggests they're not from any known hostile group within our usual conflict zones. This could be a new player or a proxy force from a rival colony. But it's clear they want New Eden, as the orbital forces were obliterated in minutes."
Estrada, after careful consideration, turned to face the digital map highlighting strategic points around the colony. 'That's a start, but we need a comprehensive plan,' he declared. 'Irons, your units will be crucial in the eastern sector, where their fleet appears most concentrated. Richter, your teams will be our shield in the orbital defenses; we cannot allow them to establish a foothold there."
Richter chimed in, his voice steady despite the escalating tension. "We need to assess their capabilities and intentions quickly. Are they aiming for strategic locations, or is this an outright attempt to overwhelm and occupy?"
Estrada nodded, his eyes narrowing as he processed the information. "Our immediate objective is to hold them at bay and protect civilian areas. I've already ordered evacuations where necessary. Irons, I need your units to fortify the eastern sector. It's closest to their projected landing sites."
"And I'll take the western approach," Richter added quickly. "It has fewer natural barriers, so I'll set up mobile defenses there."
Estrada approved with a brisk nod. "Good. I'll coordinate the orbital defenses to cover your flanks. We can't let them gain a foothold. Whatever their motive, it ends here."
The officers acknowledged their orders, understanding the critical nature of their tasks. Estrada continued. "We'll use the tram system for rapid redeployment. Keep your communications lines open, and expect dynamic orders. We need to be as adaptable as they are aggressive."
As the meeting drew to a close, Major Commander Irons felt the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. The survival of New Eden Prime hinged not only on their military prowess but also on their ability to outmaneuver an enemy whose capabilities remained largely shrouded in mystery.
With a final nod from Estrada, Irons and Richter dispersed to relay orders to execute their assignments; Irons felt the weight of the imminent conflict pressing down. Each step they took was heavy with the resolve to protect their home, knowing the enemy loomed just beyond the horizon, ready to test the mettle of New Eden's defenders. This wasn't just another border skirmish or a pirate raid. The scale of the invasion suggested a well-planned offensive by a formidable enemy.
Returning to his command post, Irons pulled up the tactical displays, which showed live feeds from drones and satellites tracking the enemy's advance. Each ship was marked in red and moved steadily towards New Eden's defensive perimeter.
"Let's show them what New Eden is made of," he muttered to himself, a mix of resolve and anticipation coursing through his veins.
This was his colony, his home, where his family and millions of others lived and dreamed of a peaceful future among the stars. Today, the peace and survival of the colony depended on his actions and those of his comrades.
As the first enemy ships entered range, Irons gave the order. "All units, engage at will. Prioritize frigates and anything making landfall. We hold the line, no matter what."
Back at the rally point, as shells began to crisscross the morning sky and the first explosions blossomed in the distance, Estrada and Richter coordinated their sectors' defenses, adjusting to the flow of battle. Each report, each burst of static on the comms, added to the day's growing chorus—a chorus filled with the sounds of a colony defending its very existence.
Above them, the sky turned from morning gray to the dark of smoke and fire, the battle for New Eden truly underway. As the alien forces made their ground assault on New Paris, Major Commander Michael Irons quickly marshaled his defensive strategies. The invaders had exploited a slight weakness at the equator of the planet's shield, where the northern and southern fields met, allowing a fraction of their invasion force to penetrate. This strategic breach had permitted several enemy corvettes and frigates to support the ground troops as they marched toward the city.
The morning sky, once clear and promising, was now darkened by the presence of enemy ships. Their shadows cast an ominous pall over the city as their engines roared menacingly overhead. Irons, stationed at the command post just on the outskirts of New Paris, observed the advancing enemy through his binoculars, his heart racing with adrenaline and cold determination.
Despite the thinning of their numbers due to the shield's resistance, the invaders pushed forward with relentless determination. Their landing crafts, equipped to penetrate the weakened shield points by slowing their descent, deployed troops directly into the fray. This strategic insertion allowed them to bypass the stronger defenses and land a significant force just outside the protective barrier of New Paris.
Irons, stationed at the command post, monitored the unfolding chaos through live drone feeds. The images displayed a grim tableau: columns of alien soldiers advancing toward the city, their movements methodical and unhurried, supported by the ominous silhouettes of their air support. The enemy's tactical acumen was evident in every maneuver, challenging the defenders of New Eden to adapt swiftly.
"Prepare all air defense units and activate the aerial defense batteries," Irons commanded into the comm, his voice steady despite the escalating threat. The air around him buzzed with the hurried movements of soldiers and the crackling of radio communications. The colony's air defense force, though robust, was significantly outnumbered without the support of their orbital fleet, which had been decimated in earlier skirmishes. "Target their air support first. We cut off the head, and the body will falter."
Acknowledgments crackled through his earpiece as his orders were relayed down the chain of command. New Eden's air defense force, though robust, was not designed for such a multifaceted assault. The absence of fleet support from orbit, a disadvantage painfully felt by every soldier on the ground, meant that each shot from the aerial defense batteries had to count.
On the battlefield, the sounds of warfare escalated. Explosions rippled across the early morning sky, painting it with streaks of fire as the colony's defenses engaged the invading air units. Irons watched as each successful strike brought down an enemy craft, each plummeting vessel a small victory in the shadow of an overwhelming threat.
Yet, even as they held the line against the aerial assault, the ground forces braced for the inevitable confrontation. The alien troops, undeterred by the resistance from above, continued their steady march towards New Paris. Their ranks, though reduced, remained formidable—a sea of figures clad in armor that glinted under the rising sun, their weapons poised for battle.
"The shields are holding, but we can't let them gain any more ground," Irons muttered, analyzing the tactical map that glowed with indicators of enemy movement. The slight gap in the shield at the equator was a glaring risk, one that could not be ignored. "Reroute additional units to the southern sector," he instructed, pointing to the area where the shield's weakness was most pronounced. "Fortify our positions there. I don't want a single invader breaking through."
His focus then shifted to the city's defenses. New Paris, a symbol of human resilience and ingenuity on the frontier, was fortified with multiple layers of defenses designed to repel invaders and protect its citizens. But today, those defenses would face their greatest test.
"We're on our own," Irons acknowledged, his gaze sweeping across the room filled with operators and strategists. "Every soldier, every pilot—we're what stands between them and the city. We hold them here, at the edge, before they can reach the heart of our home."
As the enemy's ground forces drew closer, the clash became imminent. Irons could see the front lines through the drones—human soldiers taking positions, their bodies tense with anticipation, their weapons trained on the approaching threat. The air crackled with the energy of impending combat, a mixture of fear, determination, and the indomitable will to protect their planet.
"Engage at maximum range," Irons commanded. "Use the terrain to our advantage. Make them come to us through the kill zones."
The enemy's corvettes and frigates hovered menacingly, coordinating the ground troops as they continued their relentless march toward the city's defenses. Irons could see the troops adjusting their formations and a tactical maneuver meant to optimize their approach under cover of their aerial support.
"Focus fire on those corvettes flanking to the east," Irons directed, pointing to the screens displaying satellite imagery. The operators quickly relayed his commands, adjusting the colony's firepower towards the threatening vessels.
Despite the heavy onslaught, the morale among Irons' men was resolute. They were well-trained and prepared to defend their home against all odds. The sound of anti-aircraft fire filled the air, a relentless symphony of defiance against the invading forces. Explosions lit up the morning sky as some of the enemy crafts took hits, their debris raining down and igniting small fires upon the rugged terrain of New Eden Prime.
Irons turned his attention back to the ground troops, noting the enemy's attempt to regroup after each barrage. "They're testing our defenses, looking for weak points. Make sure all sectors are covered and reinforce any undermanned positions," he instructed his lieutenants.
The battle was fierce, with every moment critical. The enemy's numerical advantage was evident, but the defenders of New Paris were determined to make every shot count. The city's aerial defense batteries worked in overdrive, targeting the enemy's air support in an attempt to level the playing field. The city's shield generators protected the city from any aerial bombardment from the frigates. Only the ground forces were a threat as long as the city's shield generators held, but with every strike from those frigates, the shield became weaker.
As the enemy advanced, a sudden and intense firefight erupted at the southern barricade. Irons watched through surveillance feeds as his troops engaged the enemy, their laser rifles cutting through the morning mist. The ground shook with the impact of heavy artillery, a relentless exchange that tested the resolve of every soldier under his command.
"Keep the pressure on! Push them back!" Irons shouted over the radio, his voice a beacon of command amidst the chaos. The troops responded with renewed vigor, their shouts and gunfire merging into the cacophony of battle.
[First] [Previous] [Next] [YouTube]

Chapter Two - Part One
First Half
__________________
Outposts sprang up on Mercury and the moons of the Kuiper Belt, each a testament to human ingenuity and perseverance. The harsh landscapes of these worlds posed new challenges, but they also offered new resources and opportunities. The ability to leap across the galaxy using faster-than-light travel encapsulated the dark, relentless drive of the human spirit to explore, expand, and survive.
The network of colonies became interconnected, serving as launch pads for further exploration. The new FTL technologies transformed the galaxy into a neighborhood rather than an infinite wilderness. Each jump through space brought humanity closer to its neighbors in the cosmos, for better or worse.
The universe, once a vast, lonely place, was now a landscape of potential new homes and new challenges. As humanity spread out from the Solar System to the stars, the stage was set for new conflicts and new stories, written not in the light of the Sun but in the starlight of distant worlds.
__________________
Humanity's march to the stars was driven by necessity and survival, stark against the backdrop of Earth's dwindling resources and rising conflicts. After World War I, the foundational theories of rocketry emerged, setting the stage for the later technological leaps that would propel humans into space. The brutal rivalry of the Cold War accelerated these advancements, pushing the Soviet Union and the United States to compete in the space race, a silent war fought with satellites and lunar landings.
The practical applications of these early missions were not just about planting flags but also about testing human limits and technologies in the harsh environment of space. The moon landings of 1969 were a global spectacle. Yet, they also underscored the sheer isolation and vulnerability of human life suspended in the cosmic void.
As the decades rolled on, the international focus shifted from competition to cooperation. The space shuttle program symbolized this new era, with nations coming together to build the International Space Station and to send joint missions to Mars. These efforts turned sci-fi dreams into reality—establishing bases on the moon and sending manned missions to Mars laid the groundwork for future colonization.
The drive to inhabit Mars and the moon grew out of a blend of fear and fascination. Habitats expanded into fully functioning colonies, tapping into local resources to create self-sustaining environments. Technologies developed for extracting water and producing air on these barren worlds were critical for long-term survival.
In the shadows of these achievements, the Alcubierre Warp drive emerged as a revolutionary breakthrough, allowing humanity to leapfrog across vast stellar distances in a blink. The UNV Pathfinder and its sister ship, the UNV Exploration, were equipped with this technology to reconnect with colony ships sent out decades earlier in the Great Exodus. These vessels carried not just new drives but also vital updates in agriculture, medicine, and communications to ensure the colonies could thrive.
Each successful mission with the warp drives was a lifeline, not only physically connecting distant colonies to Earth but also weaving a web of interstellar human culture. Resources and knowledge flowed freely, bolstering each colony's chance of success. These ships were built to endure the extremes of space. They were equipped with advanced life-support systems and autonomous navigation, and they were fortresses navigating the unknown.
Meanwhile, Earth and its solar system colonies were pushed further into space. Massive construction projects like O'Neal Cylinders and space elevators dotted the celestial landscape, marking human progress in the cosmos. Each colony, from Mars's rugged plains to the cloud tops of Venus, developed its distinct culture and identity, united by their shared heritage and mutual challenges.
Space travel was fraught with hazards. Asteroids and solar flares were just the beginning; the cosmos was a place of deep unpredictability and danger. Despite these risks, during this era, not just hundreds of thousands but hundreds of millions of people chose to leave Earth. They embarked on journeys aboard new colony ships. These immense vessels were comparable in size to or even surpassed the O'Neal Cylinder habitats in scale. These ships were behemoths, carrying the very essence of Earth and the seeds of future colonies.
The exodus reached systems like Alpha Centauri A and B, Proxima Centauri, Sirius A and B, Barnard's Star, Luyten 726-8 (BL Ceti and UV Ceti), Ross 154 (V1216 Sagittarii), and Wolf 359. These stars became the bedrock of the United Nations of Sol, the precursor to what would be known as the "Human Sphere." It was a time of unprecedented growth and prosperity for humanity, expanding further than ever before in its history.
As humans settled in these new worlds, they faced not only the physical challenges of new environments but also profound isolation and the psychological burden of being light-years away from Earth. Each colony developed its own way of life, adapting to the unique conditions of their new worlds. The challenges of establishing a foothold in these alien places were immense. Local resources were harvested, and technologies were adapted to create habitable atmospheres and viable ecosystems.
Communication between the colonies and Earth was sparse, limited by the vast distances. Each message took years to travel, even at the speed of light, making each colony effectively isolated in its own right. This isolation led to a variety of cultural evolutions and deviations from Earth's norms, which in turn led to a tapestry of diverse human experiences spread across the stars.
The technologies that allowed these pioneers to travel to and settle new worlds were monumental. Fusion drives, quantum computers, and terraforming equipment were standard on these ships. Life aboard the colony ships was a mix of awe at the cosmic vistas and the mundanity of daily life in confined spaces. Generations were born and died in transit, with only stories of Earth as their legacy.
Each new home was a gamble against the cosmos, and not all were successful. Some colonies failed tragically, and their populations were lost to space or were unable to survive in harsh new environments. But for every failure, there was a story of remarkable success and resilience. The human spirit, driven by a need to explore and expand, thrived in adversity. Humanity never gave up and, over the next century, continued to send colonists to each of these star systems and began the process of colonizing each system.
In the stark expanses of space, every new settlement humanity attempted was a stark challenge against the cosmos, and the failures were as common as the successes. Many colonies were lost—whole populations vanished into the void or succumbed to the inhospitable climes of unfamiliar planets. Despite these setbacks, for every outpost that fell, others sprang up in defiance of the odds, showcases of human resilience and determination.
This relentless push into the unknown was not powered by naïve optimism but rather a hardened will to forge a path, wherever possible, to lay claim to the stars themselves. Humanity's spirit, unbroken by repeated failures, continued to drive its expansion across galaxies. Over the decades, this resolve only hardened as each failed colony became a lesson in survival, a step towards mastering life in the cosmos.
The stark realities of space tested human resolve to its limits. Beyond the safety of the Solar System, the universe emerged not just as a vast place of exploration but as a harsh environment of extreme conditions and existential threats. The initial failures taught valuable lessons in logistics, life support, and sustainable living on alien soil, which were crucial for future endeavors.
Colonization efforts became more sophisticated over time. Humans developed technologies that could convert inhospitable terrains into somewhat livable habitats. Advanced terraforming equipment and life-support systems became standard in new colonies. These tools represented more than mere survival mechanisms; they were symbols of humanity's unyielding quest to inhabit the stars.
As colonies spread further into the galaxy, each new venture was underpinned by an increasingly detailed understanding of interstellar travel and survival. The experiences gathered from every failed settlement informed the next, creating a cumulative body of knowledge that bolstered human persistence. The drive to expand took on a rhythm of its own, a cycle of trial, error, and success that slowly but surely extended the reach of human civilization.
This cycle was reflected in the evolution of colonial policies and technologies. From the early days of rudimentary habitats to the development of massive, self-sustaining complexes that could house thousands, the growth was palpable. Each successful colony served as a proof of concept for the next. With each launch, humanity's footprint in the galaxy grew larger.
The colonies themselves varied wildly—a testament to human ingenuity and the diverse environments encountered. Some were burrowed into asteroids, others sprawled across red Martian sands or nestled in the volatile cloud tops of Venus. Each presented unique challenges and required bespoke solutions to make them habitable.
Interstellar ships, equipped with the latest in warp drive technology, ferried resources between these colonies. They were lifelines essential for maintaining the flow of essential supplies and personnel. These vessels were also carriers of culture and connection, linking distant humans across the void of space.
Despite the vast distances and slow communications, a network of human presence began to stitch together disparate points of light into a coherent tapestry of colonies. This network was more than a mere chain of outposts; it was the backbone of a burgeoning interstellar society—a network that held potential not only for survival but for a new era of human prosperity.
However, this expansion was not without its darker aspects. The harsh conditions of space required strict governance and often harsh penalties for breaches of colony protocol. Life in these new worlds was rigidly structured, a necessity to maintain order in environments where even a small mistake could be fatal.
Each new settlement was a dice roll against the vast uncertainties of space, and many did not survive. Failures were frequent; entire colonies vanished into the void or succumbed to the inhospitable conditions of their newfound planets. The loss of life was substantial, casting a shadow over the ambitious interstellar expansion efforts. However, each disaster also hardened the resolve of those who remained. The cumulative knowledge gained from these failures informed future endeavors, refining the protocols and technologies needed to endure and thrive in alien environments.
Despite the high stakes and frequent setbacks, human resolve remained unshaken. The determination to push forward, to establish a foothold in the cosmos, was fueled by necessity and the innate human drive to explore. As each failed colony became a lesson learned, the strategies for survival evolved. More robust life support systems were developed, and habitats were designed to be more adaptable to the unpredictable conditions of new worlds.
The stark reality of these endeavors was that many who left Earth would never return. They journeyed knowing the risks—trading the safety of their home planet for the promise of a new start on distant, uncharted worlds. This was the cost of progress, paid willingly by those driven by a vision of humanity's future among the stars.
With each new wave of colonists, technology and experience accumulated, reducing the risks and increasing the chances of success. Ships became more advanced, equipped with better navigation systems and life-support capabilities. Colonization techniques also improved, with genetic engineering playing a crucial role in adapting human physiology to extraterrestrial environments.
The harshness of space demanded a relentless pursuit of efficiency and sustainability. Resources were scarce, and logistical challenges were immense. The vast distances between colonies meant that each had to be largely self-sufficient. Communication lags, sometimes spanning years, forced these communities to develop a high degree of autonomy.
Over the centuries, this relentless expansion forged a new breed of human. These spacefarers were tough, adaptable, and fiercely independent. Their lives, spent on the frontier of human existence, were a testament to the species' tenacity. They cultivated their new worlds, turning barren landscapes into bustling colonies. These settlements eventually grew into hubs of culture and technology, distinct yet still connected to their ancestral home by shared history and common humanity.
Yet, the expansion was not without its darker aspects. The isolation of distant colonies often led to psychological strain and societal breakdown. In some cases, governance structures collapsed under the weight of external pressures and internal conflicts. Pirates and marauders, drawn by the wealth of fledgling colonies, became a significant threat, leading to the establishment of militarized zones and the deployment of defense forces.
As humans adapted to life in space, they also had to contend with the presence of other sentient species. Initial interactions were cautious and fraught with tension and misunderstandings. Some encounters led to conflict, others to alliances. These relationships were complex, shaped by a mix of diplomacy, trade, and, occasionally, warfare.
Humanity's venture into interstellar space fundamentally transformed its cultural and identity landscapes. As humans spread across the stars, encountering diverse environments and nurturing colonies on planets ranging from Mars to far-flung systems, the challenges of survival and the ethical dimensions of expansion pressed hard on their collective psyche.
Values long held sacred on Earth were reevaluated in the face of new realities. The discovery of life—fauna and flora—on other planets during these colonization efforts marked a pivotal shift. While no sentient alien species were encountered, the existence of alien ecosystems was profound. It highlighted not only humanity's isolation in the cosmos but also its responsibilities.
On Alpha Centauri, the first successful integration of Earth's lifeforms with alien biomes set a precedent. Genetic manipulation technologies were refined, allowing Earth's organisms to coexist with and enhance these extraterrestrial habitats. Conservation efforts were paramount; preserving the integrity and diversity of alien ecosystems became a moral imperative as much as a scientific endeavor.
Each colony, from the red dust of Mars to the lush jungles of distant exoplanets, became a testbed for these principles. They were microcosms where human ingenuity, ethical considerations, and ecological stewardship intersected. Through these experiences, humanity did not just spread through space; it grew, evolved, and redefined what it meant to be human in the vast expanse of the universe.
Through all these trials, the human spirit's resilience shone brightly. Never deterred by the enormity of their challenges, humans continued to push the boundaries of their known universe. Each colony, each ship, and each life represented a thread in the vast tapestry of human endeavor in space—a relentless march toward an uncertain but ceaselessly pursued future.
Chapter Two
Beginning of Entry…
StarDate: Redacted
Perspective: Noah Stark
Species: Human, Humanoid Mammalian Species, no tail.
Description: 5 feet 2 inches [1.6 meters] to 6 feet 9 inches [2.1 meters] average height. 185 lbs [84 kilograms] average weight.
Longevity: 70 to 500-year life expectancy with life extension medical tech.
Unique Trait: Resilience and Indomitable Will.
Vessel: ICV The Argonaut
Location: New Eden Star Cluster
Noah, his gaze locked on the viewport, watched the ancient ship float aimlessly among the asteroids. The ICV The Argonaut, under his skilled control, edged closer, enabling the deployment of EVA suits for inspection. Behind him, his mother, Gwendolyn Stark, and his sisters, Jane and Joan, prepared for the walk, their movements a blend of anticipation and professionalism. The ship, a silent relic of a bygone era, revealed no signs of life, a fact confirmed by both Shinra Hinaba and Serenity, the Argonaut's AI.
This discovery, hidden among the celestial debris, was a treasure. It wasn't just a ship; it was a gateway to unparalleled recognition for the Shinra-Stark-Daiwa Mining Group. While the Argonaut and its crew focused on this historical artifact, the rest of the fleet mined the surrounding asteroids, harvesting resources critical for the survival of distant colonies.
Hinaba's voice, laced with a mix of excitement and concern, snapped Noah back to the present. "Focus, Noah!" she said, her fist-bumping Noah's shoulder in a friendly gesture. "We've got a lot riding on bringing this ship in intact."
"I know, I know! Just relax, Hinaba! I've got this," Noah assured her, his attention riveted to the controls. His reputation as the fleet's top pilot wasn't unfounded, a fact even the skeptical private military contractors had come to acknowledge. Almost as if summoned by their conversation, the Director's face appeared on the communications screen next to Hinaba, an uncanny timing that suggested he was closely monitoring their progress.
It was then that Director Shinra Senzo's image flickered onto the communications screen, his timing almost too perfect. "What's your status, Noah?" he asked, a brief glance toward his daughter betraying his deeper concerns. Despite his reservations about Noah's closeness with Hinaba, he was willing to see where their partnership might lead, a stance influenced by discussions with Noah's father.
"We're in!" Gwendolyn's voice crackled through the comms, marking their successful approach. But their moment of triumph was shattered by a distress signal, a desperate call cutting through the static. Elaine and Beth Frost, Noah's cousins, scrambled to decipher it, their faces etched with growing alarm.
After a tense moment, Beth's face drained of color, but it was Eliane who eventually shared the grim news, which was dire: "An unknown force has attacked New Eden. Their defenses are falling…" The weight of their words hung heavy in the bridge. An unseen adversary had breached the colony's defenses, leaving them vulnerable. The realization that any hope of immediate assistance from the USSA or SFR was weeks or even a full stellar month away if at all, underscored the gravity of their situation. With the defense fleet in ruins, their only hope lay with the ICV Ishimura, and the hired PMC mercenary group onboard, initially engaged to fend off pirates, might now be their only hope against this new and formidable threat.
Silence enveloped the bridge as the magnitude of the crisis dawned on them. They were alone, far from help, facing a threat of unknown proportions. Noah felt a tightness in his jaw, anger and resolve mixing in equal measure. The prospect of what lay ahead was daunting, yet there was no room for doubt. They had to act swiftly.
Gwendolyn's voice broke the silence, her command clear. "We need to act, and quickly. Our priority is the safety of this crew and ensuring we can lend aid to New Eden. Noah, plot a course back. We have to prepare for what's to come."
Hinaba, her usual levity gone, nodded. "We have the Ishimura, and we're not defenseless. Let's make sure we're ready for whatever's out there."
As Noah adjusted the ship's course, a sense of determined urgency took hold. They were heading back, not just to confront a threat, but to defend their home, their people.
Director Senzo's voice crackled through the communication channel, his tone tinged with impatience yet seeking reassurance. "It would be great to know what the status of your progress is, Noah," he pressed, his words carrying a sense of urgency.
Noah could sense the weight of expectation in Director Senzo's inquiry. Despite the pressure, Noah remained composed, and his years of experience in the field allowed him to maintain a calm demeanor even in the face of such scrutiny. With a steady voice, he replied, "We're making steady progress, Director. I'll provide you with a detailed update shortly."

He paused as he focused on the holo-Feed in front of him and analyzed the available data in real-time thanks to his military-grade holo-NeuralSyne Implant. "We're adjusting course," Noah replied, his tone firm yet marked by an undercurrent of urgency. "Heading back to New Eden. We'll be ready." 

In the silence that followed, a collective resolve fortified them. They were facing the unknown, as the derelict ship could bring untold bounty from within its hull.
Director Senzo's command carved through the static a clear mandate that reset their priorities. "Noah, before you depart the asteroid belt, I am dispatching a Porter Tug to commandeer the derelict ship. It's our top priority... Get that ship secure before you Skip Jump back to the ICV Argos-1. That is a Prime Directive!" His voice, a blend of authority and urgency, left no room for debate.
Noah, hands steady on the controls, glanced briefly at the communications panel. The weight of the directive pressed into him, a stark reminder of the stakes involved. He turned, catching the gaze of his crew, a silent signal that it was time to adapt their plan. The crew exchanged quick, significant glances, each understanding the gravity of the order. The derelict ship, an ancient relic floating among the asteroids, was not just another find—it was a piece of history, potentially holding untold knowledge and value. The directive from Director Shinra Senzo underscored its importance, not just to their mission but to the broader ambitions of the Shinra-Stark-Daiwa Mining Group.
Noah's mind went back over the meaning of what such an order entailed. Refusing to follow the directive would most certainly spell the end of his career. On one hand, he wanted to help those in need and who were under siege by an unknown force. The New Eden Star Cluster was not just a single system but a series of star systems in close proximity to one another. Noah and the rest of the ICV Argos-1 collective fleet were mining ore around Eden-159; currently, the planets were still being colonized, but in ten years, that would change. Our job was to mine ore to return to Eden-109, one of the 1,119 star systems in the New Eden Cluster.
The directive was clear: any new discovery in the outer rims of human space takes top priority above all other mandates, and the crew of The Argonaut was ready. Despite the risks, the potential rewards were too significant to ignore. As preparations for the operation began in earnest, the sense of unity and purpose among the crew was palpable. Each member knew their role and was prepared to execute it with precision. Noah Stark, standing firm at the helm, nodded sharply. "Understood, Director. We'll secure the derelict and rendezvous with the Argos-1 as planned." His voice was calm, a stark contrast to the racing thoughts behind his composed exterior. The task was daunting, yet his confidence in his crew's abilities was unshakeable.
Shinra Hinaba, her eyes reflecting a mix of determination and concern, shifted in her search. Her fingers were already dancing across the console, setting up communication channels. Her role as the ship's specialist meant she was well-versed in the technicalities of such operations, and her confidence was discernible. "We'll need to coordinate with the tug. I can set up a direct comms link and guide their approach." Her voice, usually light and teasing in their private moments, now carried the professional edge of her role.
Gwendolyn Stark, the matriarch and seasoned explorer, nodded in agreement. "Time is of the essence. Let's secure that ship and make sure it's safe for the tug. We can't afford any delays." Her experience shone through, her demeanor calm yet commanding, rallying her children and the crew with a few choice words. "Everything is by the book. This ship could be a significant find for us," she stated, her voice firm.
Elaine, renowned for her cool demeanor under pressure, exchanged a glance of shared determination with Beth. With a nod, they moved to their stations, their movements precise and efficient, a testament to years of seamless coordination in the face of adversity.
Beth, known for her unwavering focus and quick thinking, shared a silent understanding with Elaine. Together, they pivoted to their respective stations, their synchronization seamless and instinctual. In the heart of chaos, their unity forged a stronghold of resolve, a beacon of stability amid the storm.
"We're on it, Mom," Elaine stated, her hands flying over her console, prepping the EVA suits for another walk.
Beth said decisively, "We'll be ready to assist the Tug team with anything they need." Beth nodded in agreement, both sisters moving to gather the necessary gear. Their well-honed skills in extravehicular activities made them indispensable for the task at hand.
Elaine intonated as she focused on the external sensors: "I'll keep an eye out for any debris or potential hazards for the tug. We don't want any surprises."
Grace Frost, the voice of strategy and foresight, considered the logistics. "Once the ship is secure, we'll need to plot a careful course back. The extra mass will affect our jump calculations."
Jennifer Stark, my youngest sister, a blend of youth and sharp intellect, nodded. Jennifer's hands moved to assist Shinra with the communications setup. Meanwhile, Jamie reviewed the ship's specs, ensuring they had all the data needed for a smooth operation. "Let's ensure we have all the data we need for a smooth operation," she said, her tone serious, betraying the gravity of their task.
Jamie Stark, also my youngest sister, focused on the ship's specs. Her hands moved deftly over the controls as she reviewed the data. "Absolutely," she chimed in, her voice steady as she continued her meticulous review. "We can't afford any oversights if we want this mission to succeed." Her words echoed Jennifer's sentiment, highlighting the importance of thorough preparation.
Jamie added, "I'll run a diagnostic on the derelict's structural integrity. We need to know it can withstand the jump."
Director Senzo's image flickered on the screen once more, a stern reminder of the urgency. "Even if you return now, the fleet can't make the FTL jump until all ships have returned to their hangars and docking bays. You have time to tug the derelict ship back to the ICV Argos-1."
Noah, absorbing every detail, finally responded. "Understood, Director. We'll secure the ship and ensure it's ready for the tug. Argonaut out." His voice, firm and confident, belied the racing thoughts of potential complications and the precision required for their new task.
The directive was clear, and the crew of the Argonaut was ready. Despite the risks, the potential rewards were too significant to ignore. As preparations for the operation began in earnest, the sense of unity and purpose among the crew was palpable. The bridge buzzed with activity, each member of the crew moving with purposeful speed. The Argonaut, once a silent observer among the stars, was now a hive of focused energy, ready to execute a directive that could very well shift the balance of their task. Each member knew their role and was prepared to execute it with precision. The arduous task of securing the derelict ship was directive from above; it was a challenge they were all eager to meet head-on.
"Let's get to work," Noah said, his gaze sweeping over his crew and his family. "We have a ship to secure." His statement, simple yet laden with unspoken responsibility, set them into motion, each person aware of the part they played in the intricate dance of space exploration and survival. Aboard the Argonaut, there was no room for doubt. Only action, determination, and the collective will to succeed in the face of the unknown. Then, they would make the FTL jump to Eden-109 to aid the colonists under siege.
[First] [Previous] [Next] [YouTube]

I accidentally posted this to my username instead of my subreddit so here is is:
The Mortgage, Part 3
“Fuck,” I said as I drove to work in the old beater that only started on the fourth try because it could tell that I was pissed off. Ray’s case started at two o’clock, and I was heading to the office to get ready. “Fuck fuck fuckity fucking fuck. Fuck.” I’d wanted to tell Angela about Ray’s case, and how I was sorry that I hadn’t wanted to help him, but now I would, I would help him, and I would win, but then I’d gotten her all riled up on something else, something totally different, something way more serious.
My wife had given me a triple ultimatum: fix things up with her father, save idiot Ray from Sy-Co Corp., and somehow find a downpayment for the place she wanted to buy, in the little townhouse infill project in Bixity. It was like demanding I do a double bank shot, and then run over to the baseball diamond and hit a home run after first pointing to where it would land, Babe Ruth style.
Angela was mad at me, seriously mad. She’d slipped out that morning before I was even awake, sliding quietly past me on the couch. I didn’t realize she was gone until I heard the faint click of the front door closing. I jumped up, tripped over a blanket, and by the time I got up and my robe on, the elevator down the hall dinged, and Angela was gone before I opened the apartment door.
I swore at myself some more and pounded the steering wheel, “I fucked up,” I said, several times as I hit the wheel over and over again, until I accidentally honked it, and then looked all sheepish when the guy in front of me gave me the finger. I reached my office without further incident, but instead of walking in the front door, I went further down the hall, and into the office of Mark Cecil-Rowe, Barrister, LL.D, the man with the finest speaking voice I ever heard. When I entered his office I forgot for a minute about Angela and her father and sleeping on the couch the night before. I forget about everything, except the reason that I had come to Cecil-Rowe’s office: to stump him with a legal problem that I had solved, but which I was pretty sure he could not. In other words, I had come to preen and to brag and to boast. No one likes a showoff, and I had come to show off. I put my hand on the door and turned the knob. After a brief pause, I flung open the door.
“I’m a goddamn genius,” I said as I strolled into the older man’s office.
I noticed the echo of a hastily closed desk drawer hanging in the air. In Aaron’s office, where I rented space, a sudden act of concealment implied cocaine, but with Cecil-Rowe, the item in question was probably a mickey of vodka. I had the sense that he’d been drinking a bit before I arrived, but his powers of observation were unimpaired, and when he looked into my face, his expression showed sympathy, and actual pain.
“What have you done now?” he said, as set the papers before him to one side, and readied himself to hear my latest tale of legal brilliance.
“I’m a genius,” I said.
“Oh dear. Have a seat.”
“No really, I am. I’m a genius. I got this case that everyone says you can’t win, but I’m gonna win it, and when I do, I’m gonna look like a genius.” Cecil-Rowe gave me a sad indulgent smile.
“Whenever you tell me you’re a genius, I am always concerned about what is to follow. When you get wrapped up in what you call your genius, you tend to ignore the more mundane things we lawyers have to do to win a case. You think you’re going to win by genius alone.”
“Let me tell you why I’m a goddamn genius.” With effort I wiped the smug, self-satisfied expression that was on my face.
“Tell me why you’re a genius,” Cecil-Rowe said, “while I pour us a coffee.” He heaved his bulky body up from his chair and shuffled over to a counter. He picked up a carafe of hot coffee sitting on a hot plate, and poured two cups. “Speak,” he said, handing me one. I took a sip of the coffee, and told Cecil-Rowe the tale of Cousin Ray: his purchase of a franchise from Sy-Co Corp, its swift demise, the crash and burn in Commercial Court, the Minutes of Settlement, the seventy-one kilometer limit, and lastly, Sy-Co’s motion scheduled for two p.m. that very day, seeking an interim injunction shutting down Ray’s place.
Cecil-Rowe absorbed all this without the need to take notes. Instead, he sat back while he eyed me, taking the occasional sip of coffee, and smiling at the extravagant flourishes and details that brought out Ray’s story to full effect.
“Obviously Ray is dead on arrival,” he said, “but I guess this is the part where you tell me how you’re going to win.”
So I told him how I was going to win, but it didn’t have the desired effect. “I told ya I’m a genius, Mr. C,” cueing him to applaud, to admit what a brilliant lawyer I was. But there was no applause from Mark Cecil-Rowe. He looked at me without so much as a smile.
“You can cling to that genius notion as a consolation prize, after you get whipped this afternoon in court.”
“No way,” I said, “not a chance. I got this thing won hands down. I’m gonna kick ass in court today and--”
“And how exactly do you plan to do that, if you don’t have evidence?”
“What?”
“Evidence, Calledinthe9os. It’s what lawyers like me use to beat geniuses like you.”
“But I’m gonna win without proof. I don’t need proof. The argument I’m gonna make, relies on simple facts that are totally obvious, so the judge is gonna--” Cecil-Rowe stuck up his hand.
“Stop right there. I know what’s coming. You’re going to ask the judge to take *judicial notice.”
And he was right. That was exactly what I was going to do.
There are some things so obvious that you didn’t have to prove them, things that everyone knew. You didn’t have to prove that water froze at zero degrees and boiled at a hundred, or that Bixity was between West Bay and East Bay.
“You got it,” I said, “judicial notice all the way.”
“You’re going to tell the judge that the centerpiece of your argument, the lynchpin of your case is a fact known to pretty well everyone, and so you don’t need proof.”
“Exactly,” I said. Cecil-Rowe took another sip of his coffee, and left me hanging in the silence for a while before he spoke.
“If that’s true, then why does coming up with that argument make you a genius?”
“Oh, I said,”I didn’t think of that.”
“It is acceptable to rely on judicial notice for minor, ancillary points. But you never should walk into court thinking that the court will take judicial notice of your entire defence. It’s just too risky.”
“But how am I going to rustle up a witness in time for this afternoon?”
“Worry about that after you leave my office. I can’t help you with that. What I want to know, is why you’re doing this at the last minute.”
“What makes you think I’m doing this at the last minute?”
“Because you never would have resorted to judicial notice if you were properly prepared. If you’d opened this case a bit earlier, you’ve have everything lined up. But you got to work on it late, and so you want to rely on judicial notice. You’ve messed up, Calledinthe90s, and you know what my rule is when you mess up.” Cecil-Rowe didn’t extend aid to me, until I admitted the error of my ways. It was infuriating, but he was inflexible. So I fessed up.
“My idiot cousin Ray’s been trying to retain me for almost two weeks, but I was putting him off because I was mad at him. So now my wife’s mad at me, and if I don’t win this case, I’m dead. Plus her dad’s mad at me too and --” My brain roared into overdrive, a mess of family and law and fear, and at the centre of it, thoughts of Angela’s anger and her father. My mind took off, and then came to an instant halt at a helpful destination.
“Yes?” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Sorry. I just realized how to solve the evidence problem. Look, can I ask you about the thing I actually came here to ask you about?”
“You have a problem that’s worse than having no evidence? What could be worse than -- oh. You don’t have a retainer. Your client doesn't have any money.”
“Exactly. How do I get paid? That’s the problem.” I explained that Ray had no money, as in none, and that if he did have money, he wouldn’t spend it on me. Instead, he’d go back downtown and throw his cash at some big firm, who would take on his case, and proceed to lose it in a calm, careful, sober manner, ending in a reporting letter to Ray telling him that he’d lost.
“Now that’s a problem I can solve,” Cecil-Rowe said.
“Really? ‘Cause I can’t see a way around it. I think I’m gonna have to do this for free, and that really pisses me off.” Cecil-Rowe shook his head.
“You may or may not get paid, but you can set things up so that if you win, you’ll win pretty good.”
“How? Ray’s a deadbeat. Tapped out.”
“But is he desperate?”
“Totally. The first time he failed, he lost his own money, but if he goes under this time, he’s taking family money with him, and he’ll be the black sheep forever.”
“And he’s using family to emotionally blackmail you into helping him?’
“Like no shit. That’s the part that pisses me off the most. I’m like a goddamn slave, being forced to work for free.”
“Never fear, young apprentice. I have just the thing in mind.” He reached into a drawer, and pulled out a form. “Fill in the blanks, and have him sign.”
I looked it over, and saw that the document was a retainer agreement. I whistled. “Holy shit. If he signs this, he’s almost my slave.”
“Close, but not quite” Cecil-Rowe said, “the Latin term for this is "contractus pro venditione animae"”. It’s the ultimate retainer agreement. Once Ray signs that, you own any cause of action he has against the person suing him. You can settle the case on any terms you like, and you get to keep whatever proceeds there are.” Cecil-Rowe placed the folder back in a drawer, and from his manner you could tell that the interview was over.
“Awesome, Mr. C. I’ll call you from Commercial Court when we’re done.”
“Commercial Court?” he said.
“Yeah, Commercial Court.”
“This just keeps getting worse. Take notes, Calledinthe90s, while I school you on Commercial Court. Commercial Court is a jungle, and without preparation, you’ll get savaged.”
“That’s what happened to Ray when--”
“Take notes, young apprentice,” he said, tossing me a pad and a pen. He started to lecture, and I took notes that I have with me to this day, in a safe deposit box downstairs in the vault at Mega Bank Main Branch.
* * *
By the time Cecil-Rowe finished schooling me, it was close to ten, and the case started at two. I didn’t have much time. I ran down the hall to my office, and called Ray’s restaurant. No answer. Then I called Ray’s house. I expected to get Ray’s wife, but the man himself answered.
“You’re not at work. Why aren’t you at work?”
“Sy-Co Corp served all my employees with a cease and desist letter. They all got scared and took off. The place is shut down.”
“You gotta fax machine at home?” He did, and asked why.
“I’m taking your case, but only if you sign the paper I’m about to send and fax it back.” I sent the fax, and five minutes later it came back signed, and it was official: Ray had sold me his legal soul.
I went out to the parking lot, got into my beater and drove fast. In less than thirty minutes I reached my destination. I knocked on the door, and when it opened, my diminutive mother-in-law poked out her head. “What a pleasant surprise,” she said.
“Sorry, Mrs. M, but I’m in a super hurry. I gotta rush to get to court to help Ray. But first, I gotta speak to Dr. M.”
“He’s not here,” she said.
“Not here?”
“He’s on his way to his bridge game. He left just a few minutes ago.”
“Where’s the club?”
“He’s walking there,” she said, and pointed down the street.
“Thanks.” I got into my car and headed where Mrs. M had pointed, passing big houses and new project with an “Opening Soon” sign. And walking past it was the figure of Dr. M.
“Hey, Dr. M,” I called out the window. He stopped and looked around, startled. But he didn’t see me, not at first.
“It’s me, Dr. M. Me, Calledin90s.” He leaned forward as if to see me better. I got out of the car.
“Is something wrong with Angela? Or the baby?”
“No, no not at all, sorry to scare you, it’s nothing like that. I need your help.”
“Oh.” He started walking again, and now it was my turn to be a bit stunned, watching my father-in-law walk away from me. I caught up with him in a few quick strides.
“Listen, I really need your help.”
“And I really need to get to a bridge game.”
“This isn’t about me. It’s about Ray.” That brought him to a halt. He turned to me, angrier even than he’d been the night before.
“Did you drive all the way out here just to make fun of me? To remind me of how you won, distracting me with nonsense about Ray’s case?”
“I mean it,” I said, “I can win Ray’s case. I can prove it in a few words.”
“Prove it, then.” So I did. I spoke words, only a few words, but they were the right words to speak to Dr. M, for the words I spoke were in his language, words that he understood perfectly.
“I understand,” he said, “you’ve come to boast some more, to prove that you were right after all.”
“I want to win Ray’s case, but I don’t have any proof of what I’m saying.”
“You don’t need to prove that two plus two is four.”
“This, I gotta prove, and I need you to help me prove it. I need you to come to court with me, as my witness.”
“I can’t do that. I didn’t witness anything.”
“As my witness. My expert witness.” Unlike a normal witness, an expert witness can give an opinion. An expert is there not to advocate, I explained to Dr. M but to instruct, to teach.
“My bridge partner won’t be very happy,” he said.
“But Ray will, and so will Mrs. M and Angela and--”
“Very well. Do you have a cell phone? We can call the bridge club from my car.”
* * *
We were on the highway getting close to the downtown exit, when my wife called my cell phone. Back then cell phone service was super expensive and my wife only used it for emergencies. Or when she was really angry. I picked up the phone, wondering which it would be.
“I’m so happy that you made things up with my father,” she said.
“How did you know?”
“My mother called. She says you took him with you, that you went out together.”
“He’s with me right now,” I said.
“Where are you going?”
“To court. Going to court to win Ray’s case for him.”
“And you brought my father with you to watch?” She was so happy, I could hear in her voice that she was smiling. “That’s a great way to bond with him, Calledinthe90s. Look, I’m sorry I got so mad at you earlier, I really am. My dad’s a bit too sensitive and--”
“Sorry, Angela, your dad’s not coming to watch me.”
“Why is he with you, then?”
“He’s my witness,” I said.
“What?”
“His expert witness,” Dr. M said, loudly enough for Angela to hear.
My wife’s anger exploded into the phone. She wanted to know how I could expose her elderly, vulnerable father to the stress of a court case. I tried to tell her how I needed him, how there was literally no one else I could turn to, that her father was an expert, a true expert, and the judge was legally bound to believe him, but Angela heard none of this.
“Look,’ I said, “I promise you that--” And then I lowered the phone and pushed the red button, terminating the call. I’d learned that the best way to hang up on someone, was to do it when I was doing the talking. That way it looked like the call had dropped.
“I’m going to steal that move,” Dr. M said.
We rolled into the parking lot. I grabbed the cloth bag out of the back of my car, the bag that held my law robes and shirt and tabs, plus the other stuff I needed for court. It was one-thirty, still thirty minutes to go, not a lot of time to get robed and ready for court. It was just past one-forty five when I, with Dr. M in tow, opened the door to a courtroom on the eighth floor of an old insurance building that had been converted into a courthouse, the home of Commercial Court.
“Commercial Court is an exclusive club,” Cecil-Rowe had explained to me earlier that day, “the legal playground of the rich and powerful. They’ll know instantly that you’re not one of them.” And he was right. It was clear from the moment I walked in that I did not belong, for I was the only lawyer in robes. Everyone else was wearing a suit, and not some cheap thing off the rack like I wore.
There were a half-dozen lawyers present, and after they saw me, they exchanged knowing looks about the stranger amongst them. I ignored them, and walked up to the Registrar. I told him the case I was on, and he signed me in.
“First time in Commercial Court?” he said, eyeing my robes. “You know you don’t have to be robed in Commercial Court.” In other Superior Courts, you always had to bring your robes and get all dressed up. But Commercial Court had its own set of rules, and in the court for rich people, their lawyers did not have to wear robes.
“You’re here on the Sy-Co case?” a young woman asked. She was a junior like me, give a year or two either way. She was dressed in the finest downtown counsel fashion, some designer thing that Angela would know if she saw it.
“Just got retained,” I said.
“You know there’s no adjournments, right? We don’t do adjournments in Commercial Court. I’m just trying to be helpful, because I don’t think you've been here before. You know you don’t have to be robed, right?
“So I heard.”
“So where’s your material? You haven’t served anything, so how do you plan to argue your case?”
“I gotta witness,” I said.
She smiled. “There’s no viva voce evidence, either. Affidavit only.”
“We’ll see what the judge says.” There was a knock from the other side of the door to the judge’s chambers, and then the man himself entered.
I was amazed to see that even the judge wasn’t wearing a robe; instead, he was wearing a light coloured suit and a bright blue bow tie. He was dressed as good as the lawyers, all part of the downtown Commercial Court club, the playground of the richest and most powerful corporations in the City.
“Commercial Court’s not like other courts,” Cecil-Rowe told me earlier that day, explaining that most cases were over in fifteen minutes or less. A plaintiff showed up with some papers, and had a short consultation with the judge. The judge signed an order granting an injunction, or taking away a man’s business, or freezing his money. Commercial Court is where you went to get quick and simple court orders that eviscerated your opponent before the case even got going.
Defendants would appear sometimes in Commercial Court, Cecil-Rowe explained, but it was usually their last time up. Defendants always died a quick death in Commercial Court.
The judge took his seat, and then looked over the lawyers before him. His eyes moved along, and then stopped when they reached me, the one lawyer who was not like the others.
“You don’t need robes in Commercial Court,” the judge said to me.
“I’ll remember that for next time,” I said.
“What case are you on?”
I told him.
“He’s filed no responding materials,” my opponent said, “nothing at all.”
“I’m just vetting the list,” the judge said, “I’ll circle back to you two in a few minutes.” I listend while the judge vetted the rest of the afternoon list: a Mareva, plus a Norwich order, with counsel on those cases sent away in a matter of minutes.
Now the courtroom was almost empty, just the judge, two lawyers, the registrar and my star witness and father-in-law, Dr. M, who sat in the back of the courtroom dressed in an old business suit, put on hastily at his place two hours earlier, when I urged him to hurry it up, to not waste so much time on picking a suit.
“Back to you,” the judge said, addressing my opponent, “I thought this was an uncontested matter. That’s what your confirmation sheet said.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honour, but I didn’t know until I got here that the case was defended.”
“I got retained at the last minute,” I said, “barely three hours ago, the day after I read the papers. But I’m ready to go, ready to argue the case on the merits, so long as you grant me an indulgence, and let me call my witness, to let him testify in person instead of by affidavit, there being no time for me to draft anything.”
Opposing counsel was on her feet. “That’s not how things are done in Commercial Court,” she said, “or any court that I know of, for that matter. My friend (that’s what they make lawyers call each other in court, ‘my friend,’ even though you might hate the other guy’s guts),” the lawyer said, “my friend should have served his responding materials and filed them with the court. Instead, he’s taken us totally by surprise.”
“I’m sorry my friend is surprised by opposition,” I said, “but then consider, it’s my client’s livelihood that’s at stake. If my friend gets her injunction, Ray Telewu’s business is dead, and he loses everything. So yes, my client opposes the injunction, and yes, I’d like to call evidence.”
The judge didn’t consult the papers before him nor the books, but instead, he looked up at the big white clock on the courtroom wall. Its hands said two-fifteen.
“How long will your witness take, counsel?”
“In chief, ten minutes.” I’d practiced with Dr. M on the way in, and I was pretty sure he could do it in five, but I gave him a bit of extra time, just in case.
“We’ve got about two hours,” the judge said, “but I want to be fair to you and your client. Let’s take a fifteen minute recess so you can get instructions. Either we go ahead today with viva voce evidence, or we adjourn, and that will give Calledinthe90s time to file responding materials.”
When everyone came back, the junior’s boss was there, Senior Counsel, a heavy weight, one of those big guys downtown. Plus they brought this guy from Sy-Co Corp, the head of some bullshit division, with some bullshit title, Head of whatever, so that’s the title I’ll give him here. He was The Head. He was the man, the big cheese, the signer of the affidavit on which Sy-Co relied that day.
“What’s he doing here?” I asked Senior Counsel.
He stared at me, all lean and steel grey, looking every inch the hard hitting lawyer that commanded the biggest fees. “If you’re calling a live witness, then so can we. The Head will give evidence today, in advance of your client, so that the judge hears it from him first.” His junior smirked at me, and the two of them sat down, delighted that they’d thought of a way to one up me.
Except that they’d done it by exposing their client to cross-examination. The judge came in, allowed the Head to testify, and when he was done, I stood up.
“Just a few questions,” I said. Senior Counsel was stunned for an instant, and then he stood.
“This serves no purpose, Your Honour. The witness has confirmed the simple facts of his affidavit, and there’s no disputing it. Ray Telewu opened a restaurant less than seventy-one kilometres from Bixity City Hall, and that’s in breach of the Minutes of Settlement he signed.”
I did not bother to respond. Instead, I just stood, and I started to ask questions.
“Have a look at that map in your affidavit,” I said, and he did. I picked up my copy, and tore the map out of it. I passed it up to him.
“What do you notice about this map?”
“That it’s accurate,” the Head said, repeating his evidence in chief, amplifying it, talking about how the map contained perfect measurement.
“You will notice that the map is flat,” I said, laying it on the witness box before him.
“Of course it’s flat. That’s what maps are. Maps are flat.”
“But the earth is round,” I said, “or more properly, a sphere.” Senior Counsel was on his feet in an instant.
“What difference does that make?” he said.
“What you’ll hear from my expert witness, is that a flat map cannot accurately show Earth’s curves. A flat map distorts distances, and in this case, reduces them.”
“But that can’t be by very much.”
“In this case, by just over twenty meters,” Dr. M said from the back of the court.
“That’s my expert witness, the esteemed Dr. M.” I didn’t actually say Dr. M. Instead, I said his real name. But I’m not going to use the real names of my family here, so I’ll just keep calling him Dr. M. “Dr. M was a professor of Physics at the University of Bixity for almost thirty years. He has published numerous papers on particle physics, and is the first Canadian winner of the Wolf Prize for physics.”

• * * *

It went downhill after that for Sy-Co Corp. My father-in-law testified, explaining in simple language, language that even a child could understand, that the Earth was a sphere, that the shortest distance between two points on Earth was a curve, not a straight line. He summarized his calculations in plain English, dumbing down the math, so that everyone present imagined, if only for the moment, that they shared his understanding of a difficult mathematical equation.
Senior Counsel tried to cross-examine Dr. M, but it did not go well, my father-in-law indulging him, gently chiding him, continuing his explanations until the lawyer sat down, defeated by Dr. M’s mastery of the subject,his own lack of preparation and his inability to improvise. When counsel said that he had no further questions, the judge addressed us all.
“I’m not going to reserve, and I don’t think I need to tell everyone why. I think it will take about a minute for me to write a decision saying that the Earth is not flat. I’ll give you some more time after that, but after fifteen minutes, I”ll be back to render my decision.” He rose, everyone bowed, and he disappeared behind the door to judge’s chambers.
I pulled a piece of paper out of my file, and slammed it on the desk before Senior Counsel and his junior. “Fill in the blanks, and sign,” I said.
Dr. M’s head shot up at the commotion, and he shuffled over to see what was going on.
“What’s this?” Senior Counsel said, picking up the paper I gave him..
“Minutes of Settlement. You fill in a number, a big number, for the costs you gotta pay me. Your client signs, and then we’re done.” Senior Counsel opened his mouth to bargain, but I overrode him.
“You know your client’s going to lose; the judge made that obvious. Hurry up if you want to settle; we don’t have much time.”
At the end of most Canadian court cases, the loser has to pay at least part of the winner’s legal fees. That’s the way it’s been since forever, and I think it’s a good rule. Sy-Co Corp had lost, so it had to pay a good chunk of Ray’s costs, and Ray’s costs were somewhere between whatever bullshit figure I claimed they were, and where they actually ought to be. Senior Counsel took the paper over to his client. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back, with the form signed, and a number written in the blank space.
I’ll give it to Sy-Co Corp and their lawyer. It wasn’t a bullshit number, a low ball number. They gave me a real number, a number more like something I’d actually accept, a number that made sense to pay me in costs, in light of the success I’d had, and how I got it. It was a respectful number, a common sense number, and I appreciated it an awful lot.
I tossed the paper back at them.
“Add a zero,” I said, continuing on when Senior Counsel blanched, and his junior retreated a step. “I know what’s going on here. Your client sold mine a bullshit franchise, one with a history of failing.” The franchise had opened up again under a new owner not long after Ray had lost it and then it promptly failed again. Like I said at the start of this story, it’s an old story. It’s how some franchise companies make money. “Your client makes more money selling bullshit franchises doomed to fail, then it does from the honest ones that make money. So add a zero to that number, or Ray’s gonna sue you, class action and all that, for all the people you’ve fucked.”
The Head stepped forward from the benches and spoke to me.
“We get threats like that all the time, but no one follows through. They don’t have the money to fight us, and neither does your client. So go ahead and sue.”
“It’s true that Ray doesn’t have jack shit,” I said, “not a pot to piss in, but he’s my cousin, Ray is, and even if he doesn’t have money, he’s got me. Ray’s family, and for Ray, I’ll sue you guys for free. Hell, I’ll even pay the expenses. Plus I’m gonna put a jury notice in, too, come to think of it, ‘cause juries--”
Senior Counsel cut me off, and moved his client to the back of the courtroom. There was a brief discussion, and then they came back. I watched as Senior Counsel wrote a single digit on the Minutes, a zero, written right where I wanted it.
“You’ll have to initial the change,” I said to the Head of Sy-C0, and it gave me great satisfaction to watch him sign.
“Don’t forget,” I said the moment his pen stopped moving, “for the settlement to be valid, I need to get the money today. Right now.”
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” the Head said.
“Not if you want the settlement to stay in place. I’ll follow you back to your office, and you can put a cheque in my hands.”

• * * *

“What’s this?” my wife said when I entered the apartment later that day, after I’d driven Dr. M home, stopping first at a local pub for beers.
“It’s an absurdly expensive bunch of flowers,” I said, “although no flowers, however beautiful, however expensive, could expiate my--”
She took the flowers, and gave a kiss.
“My mom called. She told me what happened. You fixed things with my dad.”
“Yup,” I said. I had certainly done that. I’d made Dr. M a professor again, if only for a few minutes. Not only a professor, but an expert witness. The judge had declared him an expert in plain terms and Dr.M had beamed when he’d heard those words.
“And you won Ray’s case, too. But my mom didn’t know how, and I don’t know how you did it either.”
“I’ll tell you over dinner tonight,” I said.
“But we agreed no more dinners out; we have to save money, now that a baby’s coming.”
I passed her the envelope that I’d received a few hours before. She opened it, and took out a cheque, a cheque drawn up for an amount I specified, made payable to Mr. and Mrs. Calledinthe90s.
The moment I got that cheque, all I could think about was how my wife would react when I put it into her hands. I could not wait to see her eyes bulge, to hear her voice say “oh my god,” to hear her laugh.
She did none of these things. Instead, she cried.
“Does this mean we can buy a house?” The money wouldn’t be enough to buy a house, not nowadays, with prices being so crazy. But things were different back then in the 90s. Sure, the internet was barely a thing and cell phones were super expensive and a lot of things sucked, but I’ll give the nineties one thing: houses were cheap.
“I think so,” I said.

ADHD is not an excuse. I (27f) have very severe ADHD and I know that he(27m) has ADHD as well, but the problem is that my boyfriend is too lazy to critically think or reflect on anything. I know this topic is full of similar posts about a loving, attentive, well-meaning boyfriend who just seems to lack common sense and critical thinking skills, but the conclusion of those posts tends to universally be “he has ADHD and medication”. I’m a clinical psychologist. Again, I have adhd as well and while I understand we all have different levels of executive function and varying abilities to complete tasks, my boyfriend has expressly made laziness part of his identity. Any time I ask him to do any task (big, small, 1-step, 4-steps, immediately, tomorrow, anything) he says “that’s too much work”. And it’s not about me because that’s his reaction to anyone. If he’s playing a game with his friends and they suggest he grab an extra weapon he will definitely need, he says “eh, that’s work”, and will literally die in the game rather than do those extra steps. So when it comes down to behaving like a complete idiot when put in the position to critically think or reflect on information, he will just not. He was raised by an idiot misogynistic unmotivated father and his mother who is a hard workeseems to think for them both and I think i might have to break up with him before i end up living a similar life. And it’s extremely difficult because even as a grown man he worships his father and blames his mother for their recent divorce because “why couldnt she just be happy instead of constantly trying to push his father to do more and more”. He doesnt see that his father is an idiot nor that his mother should have left him longggg ago. So as a result he lives life with no critical thought like his father and (as another redditor so well put it) just does things based on what he feels would be a good choice instead of taking 10 seconds to think about what to do. His father has convinced this grown man that “as long as you tried, you did it. It doesnt matter if there were directions or a specific intended goal, just trying anything at all is more than enough effort for him”. And that is incorrect 100% of the time.
For example: I visit his house and have to clean the shower before i get in because its typically dirty. One time i was unable to finish the cleaning, only able to sprinkle the comet around. I asked him to finish cleaning it for me and he just rinsed all the cleaner off. Didnt think to use the scrubber or any other sort of cleaning tool, just rinsed it all off. Was there a single reflective thought about the resulting appearance of the shower? No. Because he did what i asked at all so he must have done it correctly- I’m just being picky.
We’ve had many conversations about this. He’s cried because it seems like “no matter what he does he cant do anything right” and while i would never want him to feel like an objective failure, I WISH I COULD DISAGREE AND HIGHLIGHT THINGS THAT HE DOES IN FACT DO CORRECTLY. He takes any criticism as a personal attack, which deeply emotionally hurts hum. On top of that, he always dismisses me and my concerns as being picky which hurts MY feelings because what the fuck makes you just know that everything on earth just has no correct way to do it or intended outcome? If I tell you to feed the dogs, why not change their water too? Yes there is still technically water in their bowl from 24 hours ago, but its less than a half inch deep and WHO DOESNT NEED FRESH WATER ON A DAILY BASIS? What one organism? Please tell me because the way i have had this specific conversation with him so many times and he still refuses to change their water ultimately makes me feel like im crazy. The time it takes to refill water (not even with the bare minimum expectation of washing out the used bowl which would of course be too much) is about 20 seconds more than just feeding them. And this doesnt stop with household tasks, those just come to mind easily but the overall issue is a refusal to participate in critical thinking. If I want him to complete a task completely, i need to give him specific directions, usually in writing, as well as a verbal reminder again immediately before he does it or else he will completely forget any directions and just do whatever tf he feels like doing which usually messes up some plan. Like the others, I love him and he is a very loving person and partner, but I wanted to know if there were any sort of courses or apps to look to for basic critical thinking development. The process of using multiple sources of information to solve problems, thinking about the best option of the ones you have, and how to plan anything at all are skills that I remember learning and practicing in elementary school. So I’m hoping there are any resources not focused on phonetic reading or something that I could direct him to/work on with him. As a literal clinical psychologist the ADHD is only prt of the problem but the lifelong atrophy of problem-solving skills is not something medication will address. Individual counseling can help with the self esteem which certainly plays a part, but learning how to put a square peg in a square hole instead of slamming it into every hole there is until it works is something he (and a lot of these other men trained to be thoughtless meat bags) needs more than anything. Sorry I’m SO angry about a specific conflict earlier this afternoon so I know my tone is reflecting that but JFC i need help and yall are the last resource I have confidence in.
We’ve discussed weaponized incompetence, he clearly makes more effort on the specific tasks i highlight to him, but not enough progress globally.
TL;DR: Man refuses to think because his dad told him that’s dumb and extra work. Resources used to teach critical thinking skills to children please. I dont want to leave him but might need to if nothing helps.

Blachowicz here.
Kept yah’ waiting, huh? Heh, sorry about that one, but I can explain. As we all know… we lost a few good men the last few months.
That’s the brutal part of a hybrid war like ours: We’re fighting a foe unconventional, with half our arsenal tied down because those who grant us authorization are either in disbelief of the true facts, or scared… or already assimilated. That being said our momentum recently was a change not seen in years, and because of that… despite the losses we have garnered, we were close through a breakthrough. One last night Krol pulls myself and other two must trusted squad leads into the back of our COP. There is one of our equipment cages, surrounded by m-bitter radios, tripods, and several hundred thousand dollars of equipment he brought us around a simple worn table. Before us he laid a map of eastern poland… red markings indicating cells that seemed to dot the countryside like a pestilence, or used to… as deep gashes of advance from raids had trisected their lines, even if ones did pop up in the interior.
It was a back and forth; an outside virus infecting Polska at it’s heart, and we were the antibodies sent to drive them out. To which… Major Krol points to one of the largest symbol on the map: a dark red diamond, the NATO symbol for an enemy unit, deep inside of an untouched wooded area, adjacent to a mountain ridge. Several jagged lines indicated entrenchment, with red horizontal lines indicating possible enemy control… or our contested control, for over 20kms surrounding it. Letting us all look, the Major lit himself a cigarette.
“Sir, you sure it’s wise to smoke in here with the dive tanks just behind us” 1st Squad’s lead quipped. “Fuck off” Krol dryly said.
“Alright… this is it… this is the one we’ve been searching for for years, this is the nucleus my predecessor commander died trying to find” he says, pointing to it. Not far from Zamosc, it was almost touching the border with Belarus, the contested area indicating the Strigoi did operate over it… indicating one of the largest spill through points. “-It’s an old soviet bunker, made during their 1960s initiative it was designed to hold the munitions and manpower of several units in the event of a NATO first strike” Krol explained. “It’s gotta be massive then…” I said gazing at the map; “Didn’t the army demolish all of the old soviet hulks near Belarus to prevent any infiltrations?” 3rd Squad’s lead asked. “National Police took the effort over… and by extension, the Strigoi. It was halfway demo’ed before they burrowed into it and have been using it as a bridgehead ever since. This is it…” Krol said. He looked around at all of us, a sense of certainty I had never seen before as he blew smoke from his nostrils; “We’ve been fucking around in the dark for so long, it’s hard to believe we’ve made any progress, but this is it. With this gone, this will set them back over a decade and the momentum will finally shift into our favor… into Poland’s… -Europe’s”.
I swear there was almost a flash of joy, of pride in his eyes and a phantom of a smirk before reality set back in “That being said… we can’t leave this to chance, especially not something as important as this. We’re going to have to go there ourselves… clear through every inch of that place, and tear it all down, piece by piece. I will be straight with you all… when we go, there will be some of us that aren’t coming back. -but we are going… a whole generation is counting on us, and unborn billions rely on us to succeed”. We all nodded, a silent agreement washing over us as we took this upon ourselves. Echo-1 spoke up: “So… They’re authorizing a raid? How big?”. “We’re rolling in as a hard target, armor, explosives, and air support” Krol answered, taking a drag off his cigarette. “Aviation? How the hell did we get that approved, we’ve gotten attempts shot down four times due to those leeches” I said in disbelief. “There’s too much evidence here pointing to the human trafficking tied to their actions… We’ve finally got too much weight pinning them down, to keep the hammer from slamming into their necks” Krol chuckled. He looked around “Any questions?”. “When?” Echo-3 asked. “Three hours. We’re hitting them in the dead of night, only time we could get the birds authorized. Get your boys ready. We’re rolling out” Krol said, dying the cigarette bud out on the table. I can’t begin to tell you the euphoria we felt leaving that cage, as our men started arriving, they did so a lot quicker, and with their heads a lot higher than they had in weeks. As Second Squad’s lead we were going to be one of the main arms of attack into the bunker, thus I made sure we had a breacher loaded with enough thermite, charges, and tools to cut through anything. Our shield bearer we ready to go, as was our assaulters, grenadiers, and machine gunner. I double checked each and everyone of their weapons; ensuring the feeder paws of our squad’s belt fed were intact, making sure every breach charge we had was properly set and packed. There was going to be no mistakes, no slip ups. The margin of error needed to be the smallest it had ever been for us tonight if we were going to make the gore spilt worth it.
Finally… there on the outside of the building, the bright LED lights kept the darkness of the ensuing night at bay as the roar of our MRAPs could be heard. It was said once that war is 99% peace, and 1% chaos, they were right. The slow periods where the blood slowed and the doubt creeped in was the worst… yet we all kept it at bay. We needed to, there was going to be no backing down tonight. All three squads were up, all of us ready to go… we circled up… short stares and shaky nods telling us one things: We were in this together, till the end… the finish line so many before us had been searching for, we were being granted tonight.
A single set of footsteps could be heard as we turned, Major Krol stepping into the center. He took the last drag of a cigarette, throwing it down to the ground and stamping it out onto the damp concrete. He looked around… his chin strap blowing in the weak air as he met everyone of our gazes… then mine… then looked around. “I want you to remember every detail of tonight, as you have every other night… when you are situationally aware, scanning for the enemy, liberating the subjugated, I want you to remember the sting of anxiety, the shake of adrenaline, the chill of the bunker, the heat of your weapon as it cuts them down… because tonight we are going to write every fine detail of our victory, their defeat, in history…” Krol’s words echoed deep into our souls. He paused for a moment, staring around he looked down… a small pause before he said “When you are ruthless in combat, remember to be patient, and reserved in victory. This conflict is for our existence… a lot of innocents have bled due to the mistakes of those who failed to listen, a lot of our brothers are now laid under because we had to bridge the gap of uncertainty with their lives. We remember them now… but in an hour? We forget them… when we raise our barrels, when we cut into those foes, and we liberate Polska!! This does not end tonight, but history puts everything in it’s place, and patience is the companion of the victor… All of our hard work will be cemented, no matter the obstacles we face in that darkness… no matter the demons, the blood, no matter what incomprehensible horrors, we will make them comprehend that to invade our land, to bleed our people, the justice will be paid in full… Load up. It’s time*”*.
The purpose in our steps was heavy as we climbed the back ramps of the MRAPS; Four of the heavily armored vehicles, one for each squad with an additional for attached personnel including our JTAC, the term means Joint Terminal Attack Controllers. With air support requisitioned to us for this operations, there needs to be a definite liaison on the ground who can directly communicate to the birds, and coordinate their fire and progress. I’d worked with many of them in the past, resourceful guys, quick thinking though I guess that comes with the position they hold of needing to quickly figure out what bombs to drop, on which target, at what precise points, whilst taking contact. He loaded in the lead vehicle with Major Krol… and soon, our convoy kicked off.
The drive was several hours as myself and my squad sat in the back of that forty ton goliath, the rumbling of the engine keeping us awake as the crap heater fought to keep the cold from the outside frost from setting in. I looked around to each of them, some were catching some sleep because even with the circumstances… better to get all the energy you can, than to stay awake for nothing. Others were checking their weapons… My gunner locked eyes with me, the same one from the village extraction… many of these men I had trained with for a while now, fought with for months.
We may have met on unconventional circumstances but those in JW Grom thrive on austere chance and create opportunity from scratch. I was pulled from my thought by the sound of a transmission, my peltors were set up for dual comms so I could both receive information from the Major and other leads, whilst communicating with my team.
Krol himself sent out: [“Approximately 10 minutes from enemy AO…”]. As the rest of the squads acknowledged, I quickly sent out [“Echo-2 Copies”], before kicking the boots of any of them sleeping: “Look alive, we’re here”. Through the exterior net armor of the MRAPS, and the bars protecting the small reinforced windows, we could barely see jack shit. I reached up, turning off the overhead light as we all looked through our nods to scan the outside. A dark wall of dense trees was shown before us, making it difficult to see… in addition to night vision capabilities we had also requisitioned ourselves some thermals… when mounted onto rifles they were bulky, made it a pain to aim down quickly, but considering the supernatural capabilities of spotting our foes we needed every advantage necessary.
I flipped out one of my tubes… scanning the outside with my scope. I looked over to one of my assaulters who had been assigned to man the turret of the MRAP, seated near the view screen as he controlled the 50. Cal. Each of the vehicle turrets had been assigned a direction to cover… we took the 9 o’clock, the left flank. “See anything?” I asked. He shook his head; “Negative… wait… I’ve got two cold signatures, front left heading to our rear”.
I quickly scanned the far tree line, at approximately 60 meters off our left were two cold signatures… followed by a third heading to our front… then another. They were surrounding us, moving at speeds so fast I could barely keep my reticle on them. Is this what the National Police saw? What they faced at that lodge without the benefit of a foot of heavy armor protecting them on all sides. Then… suddenly. Something slammed into the side of our MRAP so hard, it caused it to shake. From over the leader comms, Echo-3 quickly shouted [“Contact right!! 4 hostiles!!”].
One of the Strigoi… so bold, had charged and slammed into the side of our MRAP. I quickly looked to see the figure, a dark blue mass of cold energy through my thermal, back away without so much as a stagger… as they tried to flee into the woods, the white hot justice of Echo-3’s gun fired at them, cutting them down. “Blachowicz I’ve got a few breaking for our vic” my man on the turret called out, I spun around, spotting out the window.
Just then, Major Krol announced [“weapons free, watch and shoot for targets of opportunity…”]. I turned to him… “take those fuckers out-”. Without hesitation my vic’s turret began to quickly target them, and through the darkness I saw a stream of outgoing fire bisect one of them, the ISR of the black blood freaking out the optic so badly it didn’t know what temperature to register it as… but it did register it. As another was cut down, one broke through the tree line and latched onto the side of our MRAP. The thing tore at one of the outer net armor panels, usually made to stop RPGs. It grabbed at the bars near the windows, tearing one off… I lowered my rifle as we locked eyes through the reinforced window.
The thing… the Strigoi looked at me, skin cracked as putrefied muscle fibers seemed to leak through dead flesh. It’s teeth were corroded and worn down to sharp fragments, alongside newly mutated fangs that messily protrude from the jaws. Even through the thick walls of the MRAP I could hear it’s roar, as it then tried to punch it’s way through… it cracked the outer coating of the vehicle… but it wasn’t getting anywhere near. My machine gunner, seated next to me, seemed to chuckle at the sight, quippily saying “Yeah… fuck you too”. It’s then our vehicle lurched upwards, as we began to climb the small incline of the bunker. I knew the layout, mapped it in our head, the main entrance was built into the rocky side of an old cliff meaning we could easily set up a defensive perimeter around it, a horseshoe. Krol’s vehicle was first, taking to the right as Echo-3’s MRAP followed. My vehicle, third, left the incline and took a left and… that’s where things got complicated.
We’re still trying to work out what happened but… from what Joakim says his drone captured. Right when the MRAP turned, several of the monsters quickly slammed into the side of the vehicle, as another more bulkier one, pushed at it’s undercarriage. The result.. Was the 40 ton armored vehicle tipped over. It wasn’t uncommon, hell in some cases a well placed IED, a good shot with a recoilless rifle, have been known to tip over Oshkoshs and Maxpros all the time. But this beast? Needless to say we barely had a second to comprehend it as it leaned to the left; “Grab on to something-” is all I had time to shout. A mess of gear and men spilled onto one side of the vehicle as it slammed into the old gravel and dirt.
Several of my assaulters, my grenadier planted right ontop of myself and the others as we came to a stop. Someone’s knee slammed directly into the side of my skull, causing me to dazily bob in and out of consciousness as my face was smushed against the glass of one of the windows.
Through my peltors, the other squads were erratic;
[“Echo-2’s vehicle is down!!”].
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2… Echo-3 to Echo-2…”].
Krol’s voice came through the comms;
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-2… Fuc-... Echo-1 secure Echo 2’s flank, Echo-3”].
[“Echo-3 to other units, they’re spilling through, I’ve got several enemy combatants converging on Echo-2’s vehicle”].
I pushed the legs of my grenadier off my head as I fought to my hands and knees, unfucking my nods as I looked around… “Fuck it… we’re going lights on, shield your eyes” I muttered as I reached for the overhead lights and flipped them on. The bright LEDs bathed the inside of the vehicle as we all gained our bearings, a mess of multicam, gear, and weapons as we quickly pushed each other off. My gunner caught as he fought to realign his promask, from what I gathered one of the assaulters had landed directly into his gun, pushing it directly into his jugular, as pulled back at the rubber and coughed, freeing up his esophagus. We didn’t have time to think however… the sound of bending metal caught our attention… as the back ramp door of the MRAP was ripped clean off. I could barely believe it but as the white light of the MRAP’s interior poured to the outside, a hulking mass leaned in, the dead flesh on it’s face nearly fallen off as the hideous Strigoi leaned inside.
Without hesitation I aimed took aim, yelling “Keep to the deck!!” to any of those inbetween myself and the invader as I opened fire. A burst of full auto fire tore through it’s collar and neck, my men quickly clung to either sides of the fallen MRAP as a few more fired out. As the thing backed up, a blast of .50 cal fire quickly tore it to shreds, along with several others as I realized they were fuckin swarming over the outside of our vehicle. Echo-3’s vehicle continued to carefully fire on the Strigoi on the outside, the sounds of .50 cal ricocheting off the outside of our armor was enough to make the pucker factor set in.
[“Echo-3 to Echo-2”].
[“This is Echo-2, we’re green on ammo, equipment, men”].
[“Roger, we’re shifting fire, exit the vehicle”].
“Hurry up let’s go!!” I barked to my men, leading the way as I staggered out. I turned on my peq, taking aim at silhouettes in the brush as I began to fire. The sounds of machine guns lighting up the brush, as a sea of growls, howls, and incomprehensible roars fired back at us was the ambient noise of the night. My men quickly exited, my gunner being the last as he and I pulled back to the rest of the defensive perimeter. I set in my men to take up the frontal security, as 3rd squad took the right flank, 1st squad to the left. Major Krol and the JTAC were bickering with each other; “How far out are the birds”. “They’re entering airspace now…” Joakim said, already scanning his smart book.
I asked “What’ve we got?”. He then flipped through… to the NATO combined arms segment, quippily saying; “Apaches…”. This caused me to pause as Echo-3 turned their head whilst directing their squad’s fire “The hell… where did we get apaches from?”. “The Americans… they volunteered” Krol said dismissively as he took aim at the darkness, firing off a controlled trio. “Volunteered? They’re aware of what’s going on?” I asked.
Krol seemed to stop, glancing back at me before returning his focus “There’s a lot more going on than you realize, Blachowicz… Prep the breach, you and 1st are going on”.
I quickly pulled my breacher off the line, securing some thermite as the reinforced bunker door wasn’t going to go as easily as a conventional door breach would. 1st Squad pulled back, stacking up and preparing themselves to be the first in. All the while… Joakim gave his firing solution; “Alpha Hotel Two Five Nine, This is Bravo-4…… Type 2….”.
I snapped to my right, watching as a Strigoi managed to dark across the clear gravel field, only to be cut down by my gunner, the peq’s laser marking the burst as it tore through the beasts’ hips, as it hit the ground and still continued to claw, another GROM operator took aim and fired into it’s skull. Joakim popped up to his feet…. “Marking laser, high power…”. He then pulled out a target marking laser… if you’ve watched night operations, you’ve probably seen them.
The green laser than as it says on the label, marks targets. The pattern of which can vary… if it’s a point target, it’ll usually lasso an area, or remain on target until the target is removed with extreme prejudice. If its close air support, then it’ll be a line of the general area… and Joakim damn near marked the entire perimeter around us. He quickly pocketed the tool, turning back to Krol; “Don’t go past 20 meters unless you want to be liquidated”.
With that… 2nd and 1st stacked up at the door as 3rd squad took up the perimeter security. As Major Krol went over to Echo-1… I saw them. A single blinking IR strobe from the beasts as they moved on the far off horizon, converging from several angles… and fired. The sound of the Apache’s main gun, the M230, truly sounds like the hammer of god… the 30mm cannon shot through the dark sky, lighting it up as we saw three incoming streams tear up the woods. Only then as the sound broke did we start to hear their rotors as they broke and began to circle, firing again… then… Joakim dipped his head and looked to Krol; [“Foxtrot Mike, hang onto your teeth…”]. One of the Apaches fired off a AGM-114… a Hellfire. I barely saw it out of the corner of my eye as the Apache from our right flank fired off at a target approximately 200 meters off. A fireball lit up the forest as the horrendous roar echoed throughout… then went silent.
Echo-3 scanned the horizon carefully;
[“Echo-3 to Echo-Lead, enemy contact is starting to die down”].
[“Maintain perimeter, Close Air is to maintain fire mission until we are boots up, Break…”].
[“Echo-Lead to Echo-1, condition white has been met. Proceeds”]. I saw Echo-1 and his men quickly stack up close to the wall and gesture to me; Breaching. I quickly pulled my stack back against the wall as his and mine breacher quickly hit their actuators. Now under normal circumstances, it doesn’t take much for thermite to melt the locks off of a metal surface, in fact it’s a more precise took as alternative means get real medieval like saws, pry bars… we weren’t in the mood for precision, we need to breach their little lair, and drag them out. The sound of several pounds of hellfire burning through the metal could be heard around the corner as a sea of white and red sparks flew out… after several seconds, two of our men tossed a fragmentation grenade and a nine-bang through the opening… a series of concussive blasts and a large explosion rang out.
Echo-1 and his men maneuvered. 1st Squad quickly converged as we followed them in.
Stepping through the black wall of smoke, the dark abyss of the interior was illuminated in a white light as entered barrels raised. Shots rang out as several of the beasts near the entrance were cut down, though not immediately, rounds disconnected the shoulder of one of them, leading to their arm hanging limply by a single tendon as they roared… another series of rounds putting them down. What greeted us was a messy concrete hell of rust and debris, fecal matter, trash, and all kinds of obstacles laid in our way, our boots sticking to the floor. I thank every god we had promasks that night. I called my shield bearer up, 2nd squad leapfrogging ahead to take the next corridor as 1st squad checked their weapons.
One of my men mule kicked the metal door ahead, twice, finally the latch gave away as we tossed in a grenade. A horrifying roar was cut off as an M67 shook the walls of the ancient soviet mausoleum, frag and spall kicked off the walls as I moved in right behind my shield man. The cramped russian design meant there was barely enough space for three people, and that’s three normal people, not in 50kgs of kit, moving slowly and maneuvering against creatures of the dark. Still… we moved forward, my shield bearer and I pushing the pace as two stacked of either squad formed on either wall.
As we passed doorways they flowed in… “Door Left!!”, “Door Right!!”. “Move!!”.
Two men entered each side, no gunshots, we moved up, a roar came.
“Door left!!-”. A series of gunshots came out as we continued to push forward.
“Two down!!”. “Confirm them” Krol commanded, as a series of gunshots run out in response. From one of the doorways, a Strigoi emerged… a female… clumps of hair had been ripped from her decaying skull, as her blooded eyes locked on myself and my shieldman. The skin on her hands had been tore down to the point where barely her bones and tendons remain… looking like huge talons as she roared and lunged at us. He fired off his pistol, though the rounds did little to stop her as she pushed against our stack.
“Fuck!!” he muttered, somehow her strength caused him to stagnate, holding up the advance… fuck that. I shoved the muzzle of my MK18 into her ribcage, flipping the weapon to auto as I fired of round after round. The 5.56 salvo disconnecting her spinal column, causing her to fall as I continued to fire, along with a man to our right and left as the stacks reformed as we pushed to the end of the hall. I fell back, dropping the magazine and loading a fresh one, like clockwork a GROM Operator from 1st squad took my place. Krol was beside me as we approached the end of the hall.
[“-Prep an entry”] I radioed to my breacher, a comrade handed him one of the charges from his back panel as he took to the door, quickly securing it. We all moved as far back as we could, look away, exhale. The blast knocked metal and wood in all directions, scrapping against our uniforms and kit as we made our way in and what laid before us was… it used to be the center atrium of one of these bunkers. Soviet’s loved their grandiose designs, the complex was supposed to be a circular room around a central planning table… instead. It had been turned into some sort of church. Runes and old eastern Romuva pagan symbols written in black ink and blood across the walls, old rotten filing cabinets, long receipt terminals. In the center… several of the Strigoi were kneeling before the table where someone had been tied down, flayed, and… shared amongst the group. They rose to their feet, we aimed our barrels…
The ladder amongst turned to us… his skin wasn’t cracked, or flayed, it was smooth… it still looked dead as the body on the table but it seemed more… accustomed to it. I don’t know… evolved? Under the surface however I could see it’s darkened veins pumping whatever cursed blood ran through them as it locked two blood red eyes onto each of us. It’s nose had long since been turn off, exposing boney nostrils to the open air as it seemed to smirk. All across it’s body were the same symbols on the walls, in every cell… markings of death, of rebirth, of assimilation… From behind this seemingly Alpha emerges another figure I had never seemed before… dressed in a white cloak with a deer head.
"So they've followed the trail... they're too late" the Deer headed individual spoke, definitely not from here, a dialect similar to an Americans but... aristocratic? Each word was drawn out, assurance as if they had everything mapped down to our actions. They didn’t sound like they were from Poland or the east.
“Doesn’t matter…” the Alpha growled… and then, it lunged at us. Quickly breaking from their ground it slammed into my shield man knocking both him and myself at the ground as it displayed an intense feat of strength. Around us I could see several of the Strigoi leap at our comrades… though to no fruitful endeavor as I could see one GROM operator cut two down, as another got into a hand to hand confrontation… my breacher, crafty as they were, reached back and slammed one of the prybars of his kit into the skull of the beast.
The Alpha however was not content as it threw away the 90lb shield, sending it flying across the room as it grabbed my comrade by the skull. I quickly kicked up at it, firing my MK18 into it’s body as the rounds pierced it’s gray and rune covered flesh. The thing simply seemed to chuckle… that was until Major Krol blasted away at the side of it’s head, the alpha turned… and it’s smirk turned to a scowl when face to face with the major. A knowing pause almost like they had done this dance before…
The creature lunged, locking up with Major Krol as it swung and slammed railing. Krol didn’t back down however as he pushed against the creature, hiptossing it to the ground even as it tore at his armor and gear. But the beast pulled, both of them rolled and the Major was on his back as the thing reached for his neck. I fought to a kneel, firing into the creature messily with my MK18, trying not to hit my commander… then…
Click. A sound sends a chill up the spine of every warfighter during a firefight.
My gun ran dry. I dropped the magazine, looking to load another, but the thing came up and with one of it’s claws, sliced deep into my cheek, through the pro mask. I could feel my own blood go flying through the air as I landed hard on my back plate, spitting out red iron as I quickly tried to adjust my mask. Through my fogged up, blood covered lense… I saw my shield man raise his pistol, firing into the skull of the thing staggering it with a roar. Krol came from behind, drawing his knife he sunk it deep into the neck of it…. I reached for my rifle, forcing a new magazine in and damn near punching the bold release. ““Sir, down!!” I shouted, Krol rolled away, back to his own rifle as I fired. So did my comrade as he continued to fire his pistol… so did the Major as he fired his rifle. All of us chewing through that apex predator of darkness, that beast… the leader that had been preying on our people for so long. Layer by layer, muscle group by bone… eventually… the alpha landed on whatever was left of his back.
The silence of the fight died down as all of us checked our surroundings, GROM Operators putting controlled pairs in the heads and nerve stems of any Strigoi laying around… I flicked my weapon onto safe, letting it hang as I pulled off my mask. I dared not touch the wound on my face… the pain nearly crippling me if it wasn’t sheer will pushing me through, and adrenaline doing all it could to subdue it. The sound of the apaches continuing to lay hate drew us from our moment of contemplation as the Major went back to work; [“Confiscate any info, burn the rest…”]. He turned back to me as I shoved my damaged M50 mask back into it’s bag, chuckling as he looked at the sight; “You need a medevac, Blachowicz?” he quipped.
I shook my head, barely able to speak as I muttered; “Negative sir…”. The two of us scanned the room as my shield bearer went to collect his defense implement turned 90lb projectile, we scanned the center of the room, checking and confirming bodies, until we got to the last one alive. His white gown was soaked in red crimson and black ooze, as his dear head was mangled from bullet fire and impact from falling on it. I swear… the way his blood poured out of it though made me wonder if it was a mask. I gave it no second thoughts as he looked to Krol; “You… you can’t stop this, they’ve already-”.
The Major was in no mood for communication as his rifle snapped up and fired off three rounds to the body, four the head. The violent yet quick salvo ending the cultists life, I looked down at it, then to him as he remarked; “Have your squad drag him out to the front, burn the rest”. I stood alongside him, looking down as the sight of it’s deer head was both captivating and horrifying… the curiosity in me wanting to look closer at it fighting the primal instinct I had to burn the thing to ash. “-Haven’t seen one of those before…” I muttered, thinking the Major had an answer.
He didn’t. Krol saying “Neither have I…” shortly before he walked away, was what truly shook my soul about that entire night. Victory stood firm in our hearts that night as we stood outside of the bunker. The night sky burning with fire and white phosphorus as we watched the ruin burn from the inside from the other side of the lot. In the distance, the Apaches continued to scan and circle the forests, no longer firing…. Which meant they had driven any or turned to glass any enemy combatants within a four miles, probably both, more than likely the latter. Echo-1 patted me on the shoulder as we stood there, soaking it all in, though Krol looked none to pleased. “In the time it took us to take this one down, they’ll be trying to set up three more cells… that being established…” he said, looking to either of us, then to Echo-3. “-Hell of a thing we did tonight, been waiting for this one for a decade, cleanly, maybe more… but no time to rest on our laurels… we’ll have another task for us as soon as we’re boots down back home” he said, to which his eyes followed mine, the body of whatever cultist that was zipped up in a black body bag beside the wheel of one of the MRAPs. The fire from the bunker casting an orange hue over it’s shiny jet black outside, something didn’t sit right with me… “That wasn’t a Strigoi…” I said to Krol.
“That’s very clear…” the Major said, shoving his mask under his arm and lighting a cigarette. “So… someone’s helping them?” I asked. The meer notion of it shook me to my core, sickened me. This parasite was already badly infecting Europa, Polska… if it was spread like this throughout the world. Krol settled my nerves: “We’ll be ready… It’s not just us anymore”. As he said that, I realized what he meant… my eyes looking to the Apaches as they started to form up, leaving the areas as their thunderous propellers melted into the night’s calm, unnerving ambience.
It’s been a couple of weeks since then, Echo Detachment has been busy. We’ve gained good ground against the enemy and honestly I think in a few years, we might see a much larger change. For now… we must keep going, that being said the Strigoi aren’t the only ones we’ve been combating. Recently we’ve made contact with of some sort of extermination coalition, they’ve known about the Strigoi, and others plaguing the world, the level of corruption and corrosion on society goes deep. Regardless a lot of the units we’ve been working with are apart of NATO, such as this “4th Special Forces Group” of the American Military. I don’t know where the road from here leads, but we’ve gotten momentum on our side, finally. Just remember… these things are out there, in every town, every city, every nation… preying and waiting for you to be alone, vulnerable, so they can take you and replace you.
Watch your back, and stay safe.
For now, Blachowicz signing out. Until next time

At the world’s top college of magic and technology, every day brings a new discovery -and a new disaster. The advanced experiments of the college students tend to be both ambitious and apocalyptic, with the end of the world only prevented by a mysterious time loop, and a small handful of students who retain their memories.
Surviving the loops was hard enough, but now, in his senior year, Vell Harlan must take charge of them, and deal with the fact that the whole world now knows his secrets. Everyone knows about Vell’s death and resurrection, along with the divine game he is a part of. Now Vell must contend with overly curious scientists and evil billionaires hungry for divine power while the daily doomsday cycle bombards him with terrorists, talking elephants, and the Grim Reaper himself -but if he can endure it all, the Last Goddess’s game promises the ultimate prize: power over life itself.
[Previous Chapter][Patreon][Cover Art]
“Four years on and the headache still sucks,” Vell groaned to himself.
Though most of the loopers had managed to make it to midnight alive, they had nothing to show for it but headaches. They had not succeeded in digging Cane out of the rubble, or investigating his apparent ghost theory in any other way. That was a complication, but not a fatal one. They had some leads to work with, at least, and Vell knew where to get started on the ghost angle. Vell gladly made the call that would get them started.
“Goooooood morning Mr. Harlan,” Harley chimed. “What’s happening?”
“Frog invasions, among other problems,” Vell grumbled.
“Oh, that’s a time loop headache if I ever heard it,” Harley said. She’d run into that affliction more than a few times.
“Yeah, it’s not great,” Vell said. “Listen, do you still have Garrett’s number?”
“Ooh, ghost problems, eh?” Harley said. “I’ll text it to you.”
“Thanks. I kind of got to get right to it, so I’ll have to give you the details later, alright? Love you, Harley.”
“Love you too, bud,” Harley said. “Say hi to Garret for me.”
Vell hung up the first call and braced himself for the second. He liked Garret, but he could also be a lot to deal with -a fact well-demonstrated by the phone call beginning with Garret’s theme music blaring over the phone. Once the bombastic rock and roll stopped, Vell was disappointed to hear a mechanical beep indicate the start of an answering machine message.
“Hi, you’ve reached Garret Geist, Ghost Getter,” the message said, in Garrett’s usual southern california drawl. “I’m currently on a long-term submersible mission to exorcise the ghosts of shipwreck victims who’ve been trapped undersea for centuries.”
“What?”
Vell knew it was a recording, but needed to voice his offense anyway. It was hard to truly be mad knowing Garrett was doing something so incredibly heroic, though.
“I should be back to the surface and ready to help in a few days, so please leave a message and I’ll get to you as soon as I can!”
The automated message clicked again and fell silent. Vell hung up the phone and let out a low groan of despair.
“Okay, we’re not screwed yet,” Vell said. “Just need to wait a bit.”
Vell brushed his teeth and rushed through breakfast, and then, right on cue, heard a knock on his door. He whipped it open to find a bothersome scientist once again at his door.
“Hi, good morning,” Vell said, as he opened the door. “You here to bother me about Quenay?”
“I- uh, I have some very interesting theories.”
“I’m sure you do,” Vell said. “If you can just hold on one second…”
Vell paused and waited. The bothersome student also waited, at least for a few seconds.
“What exactly are we waiting for?”
“This.”
Cane grabbed the student by the collar and yanked them away from the door. Vell invited him in and slammed the door shut behind them to really drive the point home.
“Thank you for that,” Vell said. “Did you need something?”
“Just to talk to you,” Cane said. “I was trying to get people together to hang out tonight. Figured you’d want in, if you’re not too busy.”
“I could probably make it, I just have to…”
Vell froze. He really should’ve come up with these lies in advance.
“You good, Vell?”
“I, uh, sorry, just losing track of things, mentally,” Vell said. “I’ve had a lot of people, uh, ask me for help with things.”
“What kind of things?” Cane said. “You need a hand?”
“Maybe.”
Vell contemplated how to proceed for a moment, and then figured he’d probably built up enough good will with Cane over the past four years he could just dive right in.
“You ever heard about frog ghosts?”
“Yeah,” Cane said, without so much as blinking.
“Oh, cool,” Vell said. “What about them?”
“Well, hold on, are you talking about frog ghosts as in the ghost of frogs, or a ghost related to frogs?”
“Either or, I guess?”
“Okay, because I don’t know anything about any ghostly frogs,” Cane said. “There is supposedly the ghost of a guy obsessed with frogs on campus, though.”
“Interesting. Tell me about the frog guy.”
“I don’t know all the details, it was kind of an urban legend even when my brother came here about a decade back,” Cane said. “All he ever told me was the this frog-obsessed sophomore died while studying, and he haunts the basement of the sophomore dorms, I guess. ‘Some say you can still hear faint croaking in the basement’ and all that horror story shit.”
“Interesting,” Vell said, again. “Let me look into that and we’ll circle back later, alright? I gotta go, see you.”
“Vell-”
“Sorry, kind of in a hurry, bud,” Vell said, as he left and shut the door behind.
“This is your dorm, dude,” Cane said.
***
“You were not exaggerating about this headache,” Alex said.
“We warned you,” Kim said. “Man, it’s almost better to die.”
“How do you have a headache, you’re made of metal!”
“It’s complicated,” Kim said. Her synthetic body did not spare her from the time loop headache, no matter how she rebuilt herself.
“Good morning everyone,” Helena said, as she whacked the door open with a crutch. “What did I miss?”
“Quiet down a little, please” Hawke said.
“Why?”
“Do you not have a headache too?”
“No, I died pretty early,” Helena said. “Got a frog on me.”
“You died from a frog touching you? What condition do you have that causes that?”
“Well it was a poison dart frog, so I guess ‘being alive’,” Helena said. Samson pursed his lips and said nothing. “What did you all get up to while I was busy being dead?”
“Vell found out the frogs were summoned by a weird frog-obsessed ghost,” Hawke said. “He apparently knows a guy who might be able to help.”
The loopers then proceeded to relax and chat about frogs, ghosts, and other miscellaneous topics for about seven minutes, which made it a lot less dramatic when Vell barged in and announced Garret would be unable to help.
“Oh come on,” Kim snapped. “What’s the point of knowing a ghost hunter if he never helps hunt ghosts?”
“He’s on some undersea mission to rescue lost souls,” Vell said. “Which makes it really hard to be mad at him.”
“And yet I manage,” Kim said. She didn’t begrudge Garret personally, but she had been hoping for their first easy win of the year. All the apocalypses thus far had been a major pain in the ass.
“Aren’t you people supposed to be able to handle things like this?”
“Yes, Alex, and we will,” Vell said. “Just would’ve been nice to have a professional on the job.”
“I’ll get the ghostbusting stuff ready,” Hawke sighed. He would’ve loved a chance to outsource their daily nonsense.
“Keep it on standby for now,” Vell said. “Ghosts have unfinished business or regrets. If we can help our ghost deal with whatever frog-related business he’s got going on, maybe we can fix this without having to bust anyone.”
“That’s your plan?” Alex said. “Be nice to the ghost that crushed a building and hope it goes away?”
“Yes,” Vell said, with a completely straight face. “And busting is plan B.”
“Bustin’ makes me feel good,” Hawke sang, as he grabbed all their various ghostbusting gear.
“True professionals at work,” Alex scoffed. Everyone else rolled their eyes and got back to work.
“Vell is an old pro at being nice to people,” Kim said. “Just ask Helena’s sister.”
“Don’t pat yourself on the back, Joan’s incredibly susceptible to manipulation,” Helena said. It was disturbing she’d say that, and even more disturbing she knew that. “That said, anyone dumb enough to get stuck as a ghost for decades will probably buy into your routine just as easily.”
“Thanks for your input,” Vell said. “I’m just going to go ahead and get started.”
He said that both because it was important and because it was an excuse to get away from Alex and Helena faster.
“Need any backup?” Samson asked, for similar reasons.
“I’ll check it out solo first,” Vell said. Historically speaking, he was the best people-pleaser, a dubious honor at best, but one that came in handy when dealing with a frog-summoning ghost. “I’ll let you know if I need backup.”
“Or busting,” Hawke said.
“Or busting,” Vell agreed. “I have to find out where the ghost is, for starters. I’ll be in touch soon.”
***
Finding the lair of the ghost was the first hurdle. As it turned out, the sophomore dorms had a lot of basements. Every building on campus had a lot of basements, so Vell was not all that surprised. At least these basements didn’t have booby traps or old experiment equipment in them. They mostly just had a lot of junk. Vell kicked aside some old food wrappers and scanned the room.
“Why do people treat these empty rooms like dumping grounds?”
“People are usually different when they think no one is watching.”
Vell whipped around and saw a transparent head poking through one of the nearby walls. A ghost if Vell had ever seen one.
“Oh, hi,” Vell said. “Uh, weird question, how do you feel about frogs?”
“I’m ambivalent at best,” the ghost said. “Are you looking for the frog guy? Because he haunts two rooms over.”
The ghost pointed to the right, down the hall, and Vell looked that way.
“Thanks,” Vell said. He took a few steps towards the door before spinning around to face the other ghost again. “Uh, do you need any help like, moving on? Finishing unfinished business?”
“Nah, we get wifi down here, so I don’t mind just chilling,” the ghost said. “Thanks for offering though.”
The ghost drew back into the wall and vanished from sight. While Vell was painfully curious as to how a ghost accessed wifi, he decided it was time to move on. The frog ghost was apparently close by, after all.
Vell followed the wifi ghost’s directions and hopped two doors down, barging into a subterranean room that was uncomfortably moist and smelled of mud and rainwater. Condensation dripped from the ceiling and onto Vell’s back, sending an unpleasant shiver down his spine. Unlike other rooms, this one was completely free of any garbage, but Vell took no comfort in that.
“Hello? Anybody home?”
A chill ran down Vell’s spine that definitely was not another drop of water. He waited two seconds, took a deep breath, and turned around.
“Hello.”
Vell was just inches away from another transparent face. This one had a slight green tint, with wide set eyes and a broad, flat mouth. Vell wondered if the similarities to a frog had been there during this person’s life, or if they just liked frogs so much their ghost had slowly shifted to reflect their passion.
“Hey! Hi, uh, nice to meet you,” Vell mumbled. “I’m Vell.”
“I’m Raine.”
“Neat, nice name,” Vell said. If Raine noticed the awkward hesitation in the compliment, he didn’t show it. “So, uh, I was wondering, well, I heard you were the guy to ask about frogs.”
The already wide eyes of the ghost got even wider, and visible excitement trembled through their spectral form. Vell began to think he may have made a mistake.
***
“So even though it’s the biggest frog in the America’s, the helmeted water toad is still only half the size of the Goliath frog,” Raine said. “Which must be wild for the helmeted water toad. Could you imagine crossing an ocean and finding out the people who live there are literally twice your size?”
“Must be pretty mindblowing, yeah,” Vell said.
“And that’s not even going into the real extremes,” Raine said. “Do you remember our pal P. Amauensis?”
“How could I forget,” Vell said, about something he had definitely forgotten.
“Not just the world’s smallest frog, but maybe the world’s smallest vertebrate,” Raine said. “Only seven point seven millimeters long, a literal fraction of the Goliath frog! Could you imagine meeting someone who’s only as big as your toe?”
“I actually did, once,” Vell said. “Shrink ray.”
“Oh. Was...was it weird?”
“A little,” Vell said.
“Wow. You almost know what it’s like to be a Goliath frog meeting a P. Amauensis,” Raine said. “I’m so jealous.”
“Yeah, I’ve done a lot of interesting stuff,” Vell said. “What about you, what’d you get up to when you weren’t studying frogs?”
Raine tilted his spectral head and stared blankly at Vell.
“You did do things other than study frogs, right?”
“Not if I could help it,” Raine said.
“Okay, uh...what did you like to eat?”
“Oh, I just ate food whenever I was hungry,” Raine said. “What I really liked to do was gather samples of different bugs and other frog dietary staples, so I could try to get a sense of their diet for myself.”
“Like, cooked bugs, or just raw, living bugs,” Vell said. He’d eaten a few different varieties of cooked bugs, just for the experience, but couldn’t imagine eating raw insects.
“If I could find them, yeah, live ones,” Raine said. “It got pretty hard after I got banned from the entomology department.”
“That’d do it,” Vell said. “So, did you, uh, go swimming a lot?”
“Oh yeah, all the time,” Raine said. “Until I got banned from the pools too. Trying to swim like a frog doesn’t work very well, and they got sick of having to rescue me, I guess.”
“You could’ve just swam like a person.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To...I don’t know,” Vell said. He was starting to feel like Raine’s entire life and unlife revolved around frogs. “Did you ever do anything, I don’t know, human?”
“Oh, I studied frogs,” Raine said. “Frogs lack the self-awareness to understand frogs. It’s their only flaw, really.”
“I see. So what’s your favorite frog?”
As expected, this set off a long rant, as Raine found it hard to pick a favorite and had to start listing pros and cons of various frog species. It was not exactly scintillating conversation, but it kept Raine talking instead of somehow summoning frogs. Vell kept reminding himself that was the real goal. He was not here to have a pleasant chat, he was here to prevent the frogpocalypse. Anything that kept Raine ranting was good. He was saving the world.
As Raine started ranking every existing frog species by maximum jump distance, Vell kept repeating that to himself. Saving the world, one frog jump strength at a time.

So this is a long one. Like, I'm going back over it and damn. This is longer than I thought it would be. Throwaway account, I've only made one other post to this relating to what's going on. Instead of updating the other post, I figured I'd make a separate one about the whole shit show I experienced, and the shit circus I uncovered and avoided. I'll try to keep this in as chronological an order as I can.
As the title says, my abusive/narc mom and pos/delusional/golden child brother started trying to reach out to me a few months ago wanting to make amends and build bridges with me again. There were a few people that commented on my previous post in another subreddit that may be a little disappointed in me for how I handled this, and a few that might enjoy that I handled it the way I did. Someone commented to not let them use my good nature. My nature is dependent on who I'm dealing with, and when it comes to that side of my family, I'm more stick than carrot. So their attempts did not go ignored, and did not go unpunished.
Growing up, I was always closer with my Dad than my mom. My brother was the epitome of "pampered mamma's boy". He started having seizures as a child and was diagnosed with epilepsy, which I thought was why my mom babied the absolute fuck out of him long into adulthood. He would go a year or 2 without any seizures, and then there would be a few months where he'd be having them every other day. At Anytime he got in trouble at home or school, my mom would find a way to blame me, for not making sure he knew whatever he was doing would get him in trouble, or she would blame my dad for not being "involved enough in their baby's life." My dad was in the Navy and I remember any time he'd deploy, I'd dread every day until he came back. My brother would taunt me that he knew whatever he did, I'd be the one to get in trouble for it. My dad would always make things up for me when he got back from his deployments though. We'd often have weekend trips just the 2 of us. And then around my 12th birthday, my mom insisted on sitting us all down and explain to that she and my dad were getting a divorce. We got the whole talk about how they still love us and they just can't be together anymore, etc. my dad told us both that he still loved us and he would be there for us whenever we needed him. He explained that he would be moving out, but he would be by to pick us up to spend the weekends with us. I was nervous and honestly scared of what it would be like without him. But I was looking forward to the weekend when I got to see him again. That never happened though, and that was the last time I ever got to see him.
Right before his weekend with us, my mom explained to us that my dad didn't want anything to do with us anymore. There was some news story about a father that killed his kids when he had custody of them and she used that to terrify my brother and convince him that our dad wanted to kill us to start his life over. We left damn near everything behind and moved in with my mom's brother in Florida (from Virginia) a couple days before my dad was supposed to come get us. After that, she went to great lengths to make sure we had no contact from him.
Years went on, my mom seemed more indifferent towards me than ever. She never seemed interested in anything I did unless my brother also seemed interested in it. She didn't show any interest in my wanting to learn guitar until my brother also showed interest in it. Then we got one guitar that we had to share, I'd take lessons on the condition that I taught my brother whatever I learned in them. My brother eventually wound up breaking the guitar and I was blamed for not storing it in the case it came with. I had to share my N64 with him whenever he wanted to play it. I was playing perfect dark one day and having a hard time killing the skedar leader at the end of the game. My brother burst into the room saying he wanted to play his MegaMan game, to which I just replied "give me a minute, this boss fight is hard, once I'm done you can have your turn" He didn't like that. He left the room and came back with a hammer and smashed the console while I was still playing. My fault for not letting him play it. The only thing I had that he could not use was a pair of roller blades my aunt got me for my 14th birthday. I specifically asked for roller blades to get around instead of a bike because my brother and I had different shoe sizes, so he couldn't wear them Because of constant shit like that, I never really put much value in having things growing up. I didnt want to buy something or get something as a gift just to have it fucked up in a few weeks or months. At some point, my "little" brother became the larger one, so my clothes all became "hand-me-ups" as he outgrew everything. So, because I didn't really have any distractions at home, I turned into a high achieving student, rarely got in trouble. made the honor roll all throughout school. But that wasn't something to celebrate as it was expected of me. I had long since decided that I was moving out as soon as I could once I turn 18. I got a job working at a Walgreens as soon as I could and started saving up for a car. My mom however took issue with this and would never agree to take me looking for one and absolutely refused to ever have it put on her insurance. This is where my Aunt comes in. She and her son are the only 2 on my mom's side that aren't some sort of degenerate. She had her son young, but put herself through college while raising him alone and eventually got her MBA and a cushy upper corporate job. She told me to tell my mom I had to go in to work on one of my days off, that she would pick me up and she would take me car shopping. So that's what we did. I couldn't quite afford a cash car, but she helped me with the financing. I put down what I had as the down payment, the arrangement she made with me was that 1- as long as I was in school, she would cover the insurance and payments for me, however, if I got into an accident, I was responsible for paying the deductable. And 2- as long as i was living with my mom, the car remained in her (Aunt's) name. And if anything happened to it, to let her know so she could get the appropriate authorities involved. My mom was PISSED when she found out I now had a car. Her reasoning (that she said in front of my aunt) was that she didn't think it was fair for one of us-either me or my brother- to have something the other couldn't use. Due to him being 13 and having epilepsy, he couldn't drive, so why should i have a car if my brother doesn't? That turned into a long shouting match between my mom and Aunt that basically ended with my aunt explaining that since it was her car, and all paperwork on her name, I was just on the insurance for it so I could drive it. But if anything at all happened to it while I was living at my Mom's, that the police and insurance companies would get involved. My mom still kept track of all the miles on the car to "make sure I was only going to work and school and wherever she told me I could go". Most of the time, when I hung out with friends, I wasn't the one driving. From that that point though, my mindset was very much "keep my head down and nose clean until I can leave." I graduated a month before my 18th birthday. After graduation, my mom and i got into an argument about me contributing to her bills. I eventually dropped the ball that I planned on getting back in touch with my Dad and leaving. She started laughing. Something about that laugh made me really uncomfortable. She then said "well, you can certainly meet up with him whenever you want! I'll supply the gun if you buy the bullet!" And told me my dad had died when I was 15. That. Fucking. Broke. Me. Later that night, i called my best friend and vented everything to him. He was in the DEP program for the Navy and would be shipping out in a few months, he told me to come by first thing in the morning and talk with him and his parents about the whole situation. I basically packed up all of my clothes and left the day after my 18th birthday. I just left my house key and a note that said "I'm not your problem anymore." I couch surfed for a little while until after my best friend left for boot camp, then I was able to move in and live with his parents (chosen parents basically). My only real rules were keep the house and my space clean and make sure I had a job and/or going to school. I spent a few months mourning my dad and kind of in a haze. Since he was in the Navy though, that meant I was reliable for financial aid for school. My second dad helped me get everything put together to start receiving that so I could start college.
Well, after a couple years of this, my brother, who had spent his time at school more as "forced socializing" instead of learning, was expelled from public schools for allegedly setting off a fire extinguisher in a classroom. He had to enroll at an alternative school called "the drop back-in academy" that was specifically for dropouts or anyone that got the boot from the public school system. My mom reached out to me and asked me if I would drive him to this school in the mornings, she'd pick him up in the afternoons, and she'd pay me $20 a week.I agreed to it thinking this was out of character for her, but she surprisingly held up to that agreement. I drove him for a couple years until I was ready to start my bachelor program. My second parents were getting ready to move back to their hometown and I was going to start school on the other side of the city. So, I was moving to that side of town and couldn't really drive out of my way to pick up and drop off my brother anymore. He continued his enrollment at this place for another 3 years (5 years total) and it turned out, he was never attending. I would drop his ass off there every day and he'd just walk home immediately after I pulled out of the parking lot. He'd just tell my mom that he finished his work early and decided to walk home instead of wait around for her. One afternoon, I'm coming home early from work and my brother is just sitting on the steps to my studio apartment. He tells me that he and our mom got into a really big argument and he needs a place to stay. I (reluctantly) let him in. I'm stuck thinking he must be really desperate if he's coming to me for help. But I start thinking at this point, he's 24, jobless, and probably needs to learn some self discipline and responsibility, and our mom just never did that for him. So I try to help. I ask him what their fight was about and he tells me that he started dating this girl at his alternative school. She was 21 and got the boot from the school system for being too old to attend (we actually have several relatives that were kicked out of the school system for the same reason) and that he accidentally got her pregnant and our mom did not take kindly to that. I called my landlord and explained the situation to him. He was okay with it, so I let him crash on my couch for a little bit (until the end of my lease, then I'd be moving) and just told him to clean up after himself, take care of himself, etc until we could all work this out. He crashed there for a few months and did Jack shit. He would complain that I didn't have a computer for him to use (I only had a laptop I bought for school) and I didn't have any video game consoles for him to entertain himself with. So he was stuck there bored all day. I got tired of the complaining and lack of effort and told him he had to go back to our mom's if he wasn't going to be an adult. We started shouting at each other until he dropped this little bombshell. He yelled "I can't go back to Mom's!" And when I asked why, he just blurted out "because it's to close to that elementary school!" That stopped the whole thing. "And why is that a big deal now?" I asked him. I already knew why that would be the problem, but 1% of me was holding onto the hope that he was got jumped by a gang of 5th graders and the trauma was too much for him to bear. I told him he could either tell me what's going on, or I could make a phone call and get every last detail I needed. He confessed that he had been leaving that school and going over to his "girlfriend's" house and waiting for her to get home. And that one day, her mom ended up catching them in the act. I explained to him that he was leaving out important details if that was the reason he couldn't be near a school.
He told me she was 14, not 21. I. Lost. My. Shit. Everything after that is kinda fuzzy, but he was arrested, mom posted bail, and since she lived right around the corner from an elementary school, he couldn't stay there. So they told his parole officer that he'd be staying at my address until his court date.. his PO had swung by a couple times, but I was always either at work or school or out somewhere. At this point, I told him the lease was up in 6 weeks, I couldn't stand to be around him. I packed my stuff early, moved out into a storage unit, and I stayed at an extended stay hotel until it was time for me to move. Called my landlord and told him what was going on, and if my brother was still there the last week of the lease, nail him for trespassing. My landlord was a good guy. I never had any problems with him. I paid up the last 6 weeks and threw him since extra cash for his troubles as I knew I wouldn't be getting my deposit back. That was the last time I saw my brother. After I moved out of state, I cut all contact with everyone in that family except my Aunt who was the only one that ever helped me out or even had my back. But even then, it was just through email. We'd mainly email birthday and holiday wishes to each other. Updates from my side on how life and career are going.
I never had a myspace or a Facebook growing up. I either never had a computer to check it on, or I was just so accustomed to not having any online distractions that I just never got around to making one. I did finally make a Facebook and I did get in touch with my dad's side of the family and reconnected with them. I hadn't seem most of them since I was 4 or 5. Some of them had been in contact with my brother (he fucking knew our dad died) and was spinning some sort of web about how he graduated high school early, had gone to college for pre-med and then got some sort of full ride scholarship to some prestigious medical school in Florida. He told them I wasn't on social media because I had been arrested for selling drugs and that he was taking me in after I got released. He was also using my senior portrait as a profile pic. They were surprised when they saw me and how I "looked just like my brother!" I had set the record straight. They looked dumbfounded when I told them that he couldn't get himself out of the 9th grade in 10 years, and now would likely never complete his high school journey due to the fact he can't be within 100 yards of a school.
So, fast forward to last week. I checked my email for the first time since late January (for my aunt's birthday) and noticed a few from her saying my mom wanted to reach out, then several emails from a new address. It was my mom's first initial and last name. Subject lines usually read "please respond" and "let me know you're okay" and stuff like that. I'd copy some of them over, but holy shit this is already a novella. Basically she got my email address from sneaking my aunt's phone (aunt did not sell me out). She's trying to apologize for how she treated me growing up and trying to excuse it by saying I reminded her of my dad and then she was going through menopause and just any excuse to dishes full accountability it seems. She acknowledges that it was wrong to hold me accountable for my brother's fuck-ups but dismisses that by saying he didn't know any better and she needed me to be a good role model for him. Things have been hard for her since I left, since she "had" to take my brother back in (I would've left him on the street or in jail), she had to sell her house (she was only 10 years into her mortgage) and buy another smaller one further from a school for him. He never did get a hs diploma or GED because how can he? And she's been going through breast cancer treatment for the last several months and just doesn't have the energy to take care of her 33yo baby anymore. She asked me if I lived close enough to them to take him in for a little bit while she focuses on her health. I left Florida 8 years ago and haven't even lived in the same time zone in 6 years. She can only check her email at work since she no longer has Internet at home. She had to cancel her home Internet service because of him. So, I decided to just put my brother's name into a search bar and the first thing that pops up is a FDLE sex offender's page. And holy shit has he gone downhill. He had a second arrest when he was 27 for the same thing, and then was caught in communications with another girl (like Chris Hansen sting) and was released from prison at the beginning of the year. And the mugshot.... You know the pale lady from the scary stories to tell in the dark movie? Think that, but with a patchy beard. Beady eyes, bad skin and all. According to the sheriff's office inmate search, he's been arrested 5 times in the last 10 years. Twice for lewd and lascivious battery of a minor (aged 12-15), once for solicitation of a minor, and twice for probation violations.
The TL/DR: abusive mom took all her frustrations out on me, blamed me for everything my brother did, hid my father's death from me until I was almost 18, and reaches out after 8 years of no contact and wants me to take care of her pedophile son while she's in poor health.
I'm attaching my response to her below.
Hi. I'm alive. I'm well. I'm also not okay with you contacting me, especially under the circumstances that you violated the privacy of your own sister to get my contact information. I have read your apologies and excuses and I do not accept either. You say I reminded you of Dad? He spent more time with me and showed more interest in my well-being than you ever did, and that's including the 6 years he was absent from my life by your own selfish design. Menopause? I find that hard to believe as this went on for the better part of half a decade and not once in that time did your attitude towards brother change. You always treated him with the same coddling infantile obsession and patience that one would show a toddler. It was and is clear that you have a preferred child as that adult-sized pile of shit is still living comfortably with dear old mama. I'm guessing no one else is willing to take him in? Are Uncle and Cousins afraid of him doing something to their daughters or grandchildren? I do believe you when you say you want to rebuild the bridge that you nuked from orbit years ago, but I can't believe it's not for your own selfish desires. And I can't find any reason or way my quality of life could be improved with your presence. The reality is, my life has been far better without you than it could be with you. I've never said this to anyone, but if there is a sense of karma and balance in the universe, your current situation is proof of that. The next time I see your name on my computer screen, had better be for your obituary. But since you and the monster you raised both decided to keep Dad's death a secret from me, and remove any choice I had to mourn or pay my respects, I'll return that kindness to you.
Please die away from me.

This is one of my favorite parts from a Japanese fan novel that I really like. The characters are reincarnated in another world, with some of them retaining memories of their past lives. Mondo is a 32-year-old carpenter, and Celeste is a high school boy recently arrested for certain illegal acts. I really like Celeste's description of the killing game, so I wanted to share it. Here is a translation:
•••
About an hour later, Oowada was visiting a certain place. He took a deep breath through his nose.
"Smells moldy," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't sure if it was actually mold. He clicked his tongue loudly, causing a staff member in the corner, who was spreading out a notebook to record their conversation, to flinch. Oowada closed his eyes and laughed through his nose, wondering if such a timid person could handle working in a juvenile rehabilitation facility.
This was his first time visiting here as a visitor. A cramped, narrow cage that boxed everything in, isolating the boys from society. It was a place he had been confined to many times before and hated more than anything.
But even so, his safety was guaranteed. There was no way a killing game would happen here.
"It's lukewarm... no, that's how it's supposed to be," he muttered as the door opened with a cheap-sounding clatter. At that sound, he quietly opened his eyes.
Sitting with his legs spread on the hard, leather sofa, arms crossed, he watched as a beautiful boy, dressed simply in a shirt and slacks, entered the room with a straight posture. When the boy saw Oowada, he lightly tilted his head and smiled, causing his neatly trimmed long black hair to sway.
"Hello, uncle. I didn't expect you to come."
Oowada’s eyes twitched at the boy’s words, but seeing the suited facility staff who entered behind the boy, he closed his mouth.
The boy sat down across from Oowada with a low table between them, placing a hand under his chin and deepening his smile.
"It’s been a while."\ "…Yeah."\ "I was just getting bored, so I’m very glad."\ "…Yeah."\ "I thought you were hospitalized… Are you feeling alright?"\ "…Yeah."\ "So, uncle. Why the sudden visit? Did something happen?"\ "…Yeah."
As Oowada grunted in response, he glanced around the room, noting the staff in the corner and the one quietly standing guard by the door, wondering how to begin. The boy, seemingly understanding everything, smiled knowingly.
"...It seems like it might be difficult to talk like this."
Oowada raised an eyebrow suspiciously at the boy who whispered this in a low voice. At the same time, the boy raised one delicate hand, snapping his fingers lightly.
At this signal, the staff in the corner nervously, and the one by the door calmly, exited the room. Their abrupt departure made it seem like they could no longer see Oowada and the boy.
In shock, Oowada stood up from his chair.
"What the...?"
"Well, as they say, money talks," the boy said nonchalantly, brushing aside the troublesome bangs that fell over his forehead with a swift motion of his fingers.
"No matter the means, the assets I’ve accumulated have come in handy. I went through a lot, you know. Selecting useful personnel, seizing opportunities, negotiations, instructions, and so on. The fact that you’re here talking to me now is thanks to my sweat and tears."
"You made it so I could get in here by claiming I'm your family?"
"I just included potential visitors on the list. I asked them to allow visits by making up a connection within three degrees of kinship based on the visitor's age."
"Who the hell are you calling uncle, you..."
"You're my uncle. You should feel honored and act accordingly. Don't make that face like you're some relative mooching off a rich family member."
"Huh!?"
"Well, whatever. In any case, you're my first visitor. Welcome."
Ending the pointless conversation, Oowada, finding himself unsure of how to direct his emotions, clicked his tongue and looked up at the ceiling with a weary expression. Contrary to Oowada’s rough demeanor, the boy elegantly crossed his legs, lightly arching his back, and smiled mysteriously.
"So, once again. It's been a while, Oowada-kun. It's the first time we've talked properly since our past lives. A lot happened the other day, but I won't apologize. So don't expect an apology. With that out of the way... what brings you here today?"
A cramped, narrow cage for boys, cut off from society, where everything was neatly boxed up. It was a place he had been confined to many times before and had hated more than anything.
However, in the hands of Celestia Ludenberg, it seemed even such a cage could transform into a modest mansion with servants. Oowada, leaning back on the sofa and tilting his head back, exhaled deeply in exasperation.
What followed was a strange silence. Even though he had been asked why he was here, Oowada didn’t immediately respond. No, he couldn’t respond.
Torn between the hesitation of how to start the conversation and whether he should even talk, his thoughts bounced back and forth. Watching Oowada intently, Celeste shrugged slightly.
"Well, there’s no use rushing. By the way, Oowada-kun, when it comes to visits, one expects gifts. Did you bring something?"
"Huh? Oh, yeah."
As if he had just remembered, Oowada pulled out something from the pocket of his jacket that he had bought from a vending machine on the way here and placed it on the table. What was scalding hot when he bought it had now cooled to a lukewarm temperature.
"Luxurious Royal Milk Tea. Made with plenty of first-pick Uva tea. The smoothness of Hokkaido cream enhances the flavor. Enjoy a luxurious moment."
Celeste glanced at the so-called luxurious moment that cost 120 yen from a vending machine with a blank expression. Nevertheless, he muttered a thank you in a monotonous voice and reached for the pull tab. The expression on his face clearly read, "Are you kidding me, you piece of shit," but Oowada ignored it.
"Well then, until you're ready to talk, how about listening to what I have to say?"
Taking a sip of the Royal Milk Tea and making a noticeably displeased face, Celeste continued in a calm tone. Oowada didn’t mind. He nodded with just his eyes, and Celeste placed his fingertips on his cheek and looked up at the ceiling.
"At that academy, the mastermind... No, now that I remember, I can say for sure... The detailed and elaborate preparations of that rotten bitch Enoshima created an environment that made killing almost inevitable."
The sudden start of the unexpected topic made Oowada frown, unable to read his intentions.
"For example, the situation was based on several psychological theories. As I explained a few times at that school... no, with that corn-head of yours, you might not remember, so let me explain again."
"Huh? Are you picking a fight with me?"
"The prisoner's dilemma."
Ignoring Oowada's words with a calm expression, Celeste continued without even glancing at him.
"Additionally... the zero-sum game. Moreover, due to unconsciously recognizing a hierarchical relationship between the mastermind and themselves, there might have been effects similar to the results of the Milgram experiment."
"…Could you explain it in a way I can understand?"
"You don’t need to understand the theories themselves. To put it simply, as I said before, 'The mastermind created an environment that made us psychologically prone to committing atrocities.'"
Taking another sip of the Royal Milk Tea and making another dissatisfied face, he placed the half-finished can on the table and looked back at Oowada.
"This is just a psychological theory. But now, let’s bring in a sociological theory and consider this: 'Why don’t people commit crimes?'"
The emphasized words sent a chill down Oowada’s spine, and he rubbed his arms.
"Let’s start with an extreme example. Living beings act according to their desires. A lion would hunt a rabbit if it appeared before it, regardless of hunger. Humans are the same. So, 'Why don’t people commit crimes?' …What do you think?"
"If someone killed every person they passed on the street, they’d just be a lunatic."
"That's not an answer."
"Well, normal people wouldn’t do that. Even if we’re animals, humans are different from beasts."
"Exactly. Simply put, 'People don’t commit crimes because they possess social or psychological self-control.' …Of course, it also depends on their living environment, so it’s not a theory that applies to everyone. For instance, someone like Genocide Jack."
Crossing his legs, Celeste took a breath and said,
"There is a theory called the 'social bond theory' that considers the reasons why humans don't commit crimes."
"Huh?"
Once again, the conversation entered a more specialized field, making Oowada raise his voice in irritation.
"What about it?"
"This theory considers four main aspects as 'bonds,' and when these bonds break, crimes occur."
"So?"
"First, the first one."
Pointing a natural, though unusually long nail at Oowada, he stopped him from interrupting. The sudden action made Oowada freeze, his cheek twitching.
"First, there’s belief… essentially a sense of morality. This bond ties into the psychological aspect I mentioned earlier. In that environment, 'murder was deemed acceptable.' Thus, the feeling that 'murder is absolutely wrong' diminished, whether consciously or unconsciously."
The finger pointed at Oowada increased to two. Moreover, the finger, which had been aimed at his nose, was now directed straight at his eyes, as if ready to poke them.
"Next, the second. Involvement. In other words... let's see. If there was something to be indulged in, especially something healthy like sports, there would be no time to commit crimes. In that space, with few given entertainments and plenty of time to kill each day, who knows when someone might plot something wicked?"
"...You mean yourself."
"There's no guarantee that someone like me wasn't there after I died. Now, the third. Commitment. Risk and reward, let's say. Is it worth committing a crime even at the cost of everything one has built? Rationally thinking, it may be worthless, but in that space, in that situation, it was the ultimate reward. There's no need to explain what that is."
Moving away from Oowada, he leaned back against the uncomfortable chair, slightly waving the three fingers beside his cheek.
"...Graduation, huh."
"Yes. There was a bonus for me, but let's leave that aside. Now, the fourth. This is the main point."
Holding up four fingers in front of his face, Celeste's expression became somber.
"Attachment. It’s about family, friends, and companions. Surrounded by people who act morally, one wouldn’t commit crimes. They wouldn’t. That is, if 'the people in that space were such close individuals.'"
A gulp sounded from Oowada’s throat. His sharp eyes widened.
"...There wouldn’t have been any killing?"
"I can’t say for certain. But if it were me..."
Breathing out faintly, Celeste shook his head gently. Oowada, sharing similar sentiments, lowered his eyes.
By now, talking about "what ifs" and "if onlys" wouldn't grant them forgiveness.
"...Hey, our memories were erased to make the killing game more likely. We understand that, but..."
"...Let's add one more thing. 'What if, after committing murder, we regained our memories?'... What would happen?"
"!"
That was their current situation exactly.
"Impossible, right? Even if Junko Enoshima had planned that far ahead… I don't remember anything like so from 'that world.' There's no way that bitch could control reincarnation or anything so godlike."
"...In other words."
"In other words, this situation is an 'unforeseen despair' even for Enoshima. Realizing the person you killed was a close friend, a dear classmate, a loved one… is a despair beyond imagining."
Celeste suddenly leaned closer to Oowada, their faces inches apart, his crimson irises intense. Overwhelmed by the pressure, Oowada didn't move, captivated, listening intently to his alto voice.
"The person they killed... was someone they had spent two years with, a dear classmate, a friend with whom they laughed together, someone they had feelings for. Isn't that despairing?"
Oowada swallowed loudly.
"...I understand why you're here."
After staring at each other from such a close distance, Celeste slowly moved away and looked down at the seated Oowada.
"It's about Kuwata-kun, isn't it?"

Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. I grew up as a military brat, so my childhood memories are a blur of packing, unpacking, and getting settled. It had been seven years since we arrived, and nothing but the grace of God would make me move again. A few years ago, my father got orders to station at a base in the middle of the Mohave. I was only seventeen then, but after a few dozen screaming matches, I decided to strike out on my own a little early. I got a part-time job at the cafe, which was enough to rent a little run-down shack a couple of blocks from downtown. As far as I was concerned, I was living the dream—serving coffee a few hours a week and spending the rest of my time hanging out with friends, listening to music, and drinking.
That particular morning started the same as any other. I woke up around noon with a text from Mark to meet me at the cafe. Took me about two hours to get up and head over. The sun had just begun its descent as I pushed the door to the cafe open, the bell above tinkling softly. The sound bothered me a little bit, but I couldn’t tell why. It seemed to ring a little louder than I was expecting, and gave me this strange drilling sensation inside my head.
I ignored the feeling as the smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries washed over me. I saw Mark and Jamie already sat at our usual spot. Mark looked up as I approached, a grin spreading across his face. "Hey, Alex. Sarah should be here soon."
“So what's on the docket today?” I asked as I sat down, stealing a bear claw off Jamie's plate and taking a large bite before he had the chance to protest.
Mark’s excitement was almost palpable. He was always the one with the big ideas and crazy schemes, which I honestly appreciated. They got us into trouble more often than not, but it beat day drinking in the Walmart parking lot like everyone else our age.
"Alright, check this out," Mark said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "I was talking to my cousin who works for the county. He told me about this old, abandoned food processing factory just outside of town. They used to can peaches there."
I gave him a skeptical look. "That’s your idea? Old, canned peaches?"
"No, idiot," he scoffed. "They left behind a ton of nitrates and phosphates. I’ve been doing some reading, and we can use them to make fireworks. I was up all night figuring it out and putting these together." He subtly opened his backpack to reveal at least a dozen PVC pipes fitted on both ends.
"Now that's what I’m talking about," I said, grinning.
Sarah walked in, catching the tail end of our conversation. "Sorry I’m late, I had a breakout and had to stop by the pharmacy. Upped my allergy meds. I fucking hate pollen," she said as I scooted over to make room for her on the bench.
"Is there anything you aren't allergic to?" I laughed.
She rolled her eyes, ignoring my question. "So, what's the plan for today?"
Mark, Jamie and I exchanged cheeky glances. "Well," I started, "let’s just hope you’re not allergic to peaches."
We finally managed to pry the side door of the factory off, which broke free from the hinges and smashed against the floor. Stepping inside, the air was thick and rancid as we bounced the beams of our flashlights around the packaging floor.
"We should split up," Mark suggested. "Alex, you and Sarah check out the storage rooms for the chemicals. Jamie and I will find the control room and see if we can get the power back on."
All of us nodded as we went our separate ways. Sarah and I wandered down the dark hallways, kicking open doors and looking for anything that looked vaguely like chemicals. The corridors were dark and damp, with black mold snaking along the walls like veins.
The first few rooms we checked were empty, filled only with dust and the remnants of long-abandoned equipment. Each door creaked as we pushed it open, revealing more decay and desolation.
As we moved further down the hallway, the mold seemed to become more aggressive, spreading in thick, dark patches along the walls and floors. The air grew heavier, making it harder to breathe. We kicked open another door, our flashlights revealing more of the same—nothing useful.
"This place is a bust," Sarah muttered,
"Let's keep looking," I replied, though I was starting to feel the same way. "There has to be something."
We continued down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the silence. As we approached the end of the hall, something caught my eye. One door stood out, covered in black, creeping mold that seemed to pulse and writhe. Tendrils of fungus snaked out from the edges, reaching out into the hallway.
"Sarah, look at this," I said.
She turned to see what I was pointing at and her eyes widened. "That’s... different."
We approached the door cautiously as the tendrils moved and swayed.
With a deep breath, we each grabbed one side of the door and pulled. It resisted for a moment before giving way, the mold snapping and tearing as we forced it open. The smell that hit us was overpowering, a mix of rot and decay that made my eyes water.
Inside, our flashlights revealed a horrifying sight. At the back of the room sat several pallets with dozens of boxes of peaches each. But it was what grew from these boxes that will haunt my nightmares till my dying day.
The entire back wall was consumed by a towering fungal mass. Thick, fleshy stalks jutted out from the base, climbing nearly to the ceiling. The surface of the fungus glistened with a slimy, wet sheen, appearing almost like rotting flesh under our flashlight beams. Each stalk was covered in a mottled, sickly green and yellow hue, with patches of black mold that seemed to pulse in the dim light.
Interwoven within this horrific sight were bulbous growths, each one throbbing rhythmically, as if with a heartbeat of its own. They resembled obscene, overgrown tumors, ready to burst at the slightest touch. Long, sinewy tendrils extended from the main mass, creeping over the boxes and along the floor like the fingers of some malevolent creature, seeking out any life to ensnare.
The tendrils near the door twitched, slowly inching their way toward us as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores, glimmering in the light like tiny stars, each one a potential harbinger of decay and death.
"Oh my god," Sarah whispered, her voice barely audible over the sound of our own breathing. "What is that thing?"
We stood there, frozen in shock and disgust, before I slammed the door shut.
"Let's get the hell out of here," I said.
We hurried back down the corridor, our footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The lights in the facility flickered on, casting a blinding white light. I heard a bubbling, groaning noise emanate from behind the fungal door, sending a wave of nausea through my body.
We met back up with Mark and Jamie in the main area and quickly told them what we saw.
"Yo, that sounds sick," Jamie exclaimed. "We should blow it up. I found the chemicals in the control room and these bad boys are ready to go," he said, holding up a pipe bomb.
"Yeah," Mark agreed, his eyes alight with excitement. "We'd be doing the world a favor, getting rid of that thing."
Sarah shook her head, her face pale. "No way. I'm not doing this. That thing... It's not normal. We need to get out of here and call someone who knows what they're doing."
Jamie frowned. "Come on, Sarah. Don't be a buzzkill. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance to do something epic."
"Epic?" Sarah snapped. "That thing is dangerous. We don't know what we're dealing with. I'm not risking my life for some stupid joke."
Mark stepped in with a grin. "Alright, let's all calm down. If you’re scared you can just let the men handle it.”
Sarah crossed her arms. "Fine, but I'm staying here."
"Suit yourself," Jamie said, shrugging. "But we're not leaving without taking care of that thing."
"Alright, let's do this," Mark said, looking at Jamie and me. "We'll be quick. Sarah, stay here and keep an eye out.”
The hallway looked completely different in the fluorescent lighting. I could see now that each vein of fungus emanated from that single door, like a spiral portal threatening to suck us in.
"Let's make this quick," I whispered, glancing back at Jamie and Mark. "We light the bomb, throw it in, and get the hell out of here."
Jamie nodded, holding the pipe bomb tightly in his hand. "Ready when you are."
We reached the door, and the tendrils of fungus seemed even more aggressive, writhing and pulsing as if aware of our presence. The air was thick with spores.
"On three," I whispered, gripping the edge of the door. "One... two... three."
We yanked the door open, the mold snapping and tearing as it gave way. The smell of rot and decay hit us again, making my eyes water. The monstrous fungal mass loomed before us, its bulbous growths throbbing rhythmically.
Jamie lit the fuse and threw the bomb as hard as he could inside. It struck one of the orbs, which burst, shooting a fine white mist into the air.
"Run!" I shouted, slamming the door shut. We turned and sprinted down the hallway. The explosion sounded behind us, the shockwave lifting me off my feet and sending me tumbling to the ground.
Living in a small southern town, you get used to the way things are. My parents were in the army, so we moved a lot, but now I'm staying put. I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small headache.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a doughnut off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Are YOU guys feeling ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a small migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a maroon off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“Y-yeah,” she replied. “Not really. Are YOU guys feeling Ok?”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “Yeah, we’re fine,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a piercing migraine.
I ignored it and slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie. “So what's on the docket today?” I asked, stealing a bagel off Jamie's plate.
“Going to go to an old peach factory and get some chemicals. I need to make some fireworks,” Mark replied, subtly revealing some pipe bombs in his bag.
Sarah walked in towards the tail end of our conversation and silently stood next to our table.
The three of us glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed. “Sarah,” I finally started. “Are you ok?”
“What's going on?” she asked, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m scared.”
We exchanged uneasy glances. “It’s fine, Sarah. Just take a seat,” I said. After a moment, she shook her head and sat down as we continued our plans.
That evening, we broke into the peach factory. We found this disgusting, gigantic fungal growth coming out of some boxes of peaches and we blew it up with some pipe bombs.
The next day I woke up around noon and got a text from Mark to meet at the cafe. The smell of slightly stale coffee and pastries greeted me as I arrived. The bell's ring seemed off, giving me a splitting migraine.
As I slid into the seat across from Mark and Jamie, I noticed Sarah outside, fixated on a bird suspended in mid-flight. I went out to see her.
"Are you seeing this?" she asked, her voice tinged with astonishment.
"Yeah," I replied nonchalantly. "That happens all the time. Are you sure you're feeling okay?"
"What the hell do you mean, 'Am I feeling okay?'!" she screamed. "That bird is frozen mid-air, and you don't think anything weird is going on?"
Her yelling took me aback. I didn't understand her alarm, so I shrugged it off and joined Mark inside. As we began planning our nightly excursion to the peach factory, Sarah burst through the door, screaming, then vanished in a puff of smoke.
"That's odd," I mused, my brow furrowed in confusion before we shrugged it off and resumed our scheming.
The day after, I met Mark again at the cafe. This rhythm had become our existence: meetings by day, adventures by night at the old peach plant. That evening followed the familiar pattern; we reveled in the thrill of hurling pipe bombs into that small enclosed room.
This routine had completely engulfed our lives. Day after day at the cafe, night after night at the factory—it seemed as though this cycle was all we had ever known. Reflecting on it, I couldn't remember any other way of life.
However, one thing increasingly disturbed me—the ringing of the doorbell at the cafe's entrance. Each time I entered, the sound seemed sharper, more grating. Focusing on it brought a searing pain to my head, like a needle drilling through my skull. Yet, despite the agony, I found myself obsessing over it, the sound gnawing at the edges of my sanity.
One day, driven to the brink by this incessant ringing, I decided to confront it head-on. I stood by the door, letting the bell chime repeatedly. Each ring sliced through my mind, but I persisted, sweat beading on my forehead, teeth clenched in torment.
As the pain crescendoed, reality shattered. I woke to the blaring of a fire alarm, not the quaint doorbell I had imagined. The cafe was engulfed in chaos. The hallway was consumed by a sprawling fungal mass, its tendrils creeping along the walls.
In the dim, flickering light, I saw Jamie, or what was left of him. Half of his skull was missing, the fungus attached grotesquely to his exposed brain, pulsating with each eerie beat of his fading heart. Mark was there too, seemingly unharmed physically, but trapped in a delusion, his eyes glazed over, a smile playing on his lips as the fungus encased him.
Sarah lay collapsed by the fire alarm, her hand still on the lever. She had managed to pull it before succumbing to the spores that now clung to her body.
The tendrils that had enveloped me snapped violently, each break releasing a sickening crack that echoed through the eerie silence of the hallway. An outline of my body remained imprinted in the fungal mass, a mold from which I had desperately broken free.
Gritting my teeth against the pain and horror, I scrambled to Mark and Sarah. Mark was less entangled, lost in his fungal-induced stupor. I grabbed him under the arms, his body limp but alive, and dragged him across the floor. The fungus resisted, stretching like sinew before tearing away from him with wet, ripping sounds.
Sarah was heavier, her body weakened but still fighting. I clasped her wrists, pulling with all my strength. The fungus clung to her, tendrils winding up her arms like ivy. With a final, determined yank, the last of the tendrils snapped, freeing her. We left behind fragments of the monstrous growth clinging to her clothes.
Together, we staggered out into the night air, away from the suffocating enclosure. The cool air hit our faces, harsh yet cleansing. Behind us, the fire alarm continued to blare into the night. I fumbled with my phone, hands shaking, to dial the emergency number. The call went through, and within minutes, the sound of sirens cut through the stillness of the night, growing louder as help approached.
The next few days were a blur. I remember fading in and out of consciousness as nurses pumped antifungals directly into my IV, their faces blurring into the sterile environment. Once we were somewhat cognizant, the police wanted answers. One by one, we were interviewed, but we gave them nothing. I still don’t know what the exact penalty is for manufacturing explosives and using them to destroy a building, but I’m guessing it’s not community service. Jamie was still missing, and they hadn’t found any sign of him or his body. I tried to hide my tears as I knew he was already long gone.
After a few weeks, I was finally cleared for visitors and got to see Sarah again. She told me that after the explosion, she ran but couldn’t leave us behind. She came back, only to see us being consumed by the fungus. Try as she might, she wasn’t able to free us as she felt the oppressive spores take her under. She fought back and managed to pull the fire alarm before succumbing again. The doctors told her that her allergy medication gave her some resistance to the fungus; otherwise, she might have been a goner.
Mark was never the same. We never talked about what happened, and after trying once and him flipping out, I figured it was best to let sleeping dogs lie. That summer, he moved to upstate New York to work in his dad’s business. I haven’t seen him since. That fall, Sarah started college at Savannah State. I still call her every now and again, but it’s not like it used to be.
Despite all that happened, I’m not moving again. I’m happy here, and if it’s up to me, I’ll die in this little town. I still work at the cafe, as a manager now. On weekends, I come in and just sit at the booth we all used to share.
I still think about Jamie from time to time. I wonder if he's dead or still stuck in his delusion, picturing the four of us sitting at our table, talking, laughing, and passing the time. Sometimes, when the cafe is empty and the light is just right, I can almost see him there, his smile frozen in that moment before everything went wrong.
The cafe grows quieter each day, the hum of life fading into an eerie stillness. My skin feels different, as if the air itself whispers secrets I can't quite grasp. The itching that started as a minor annoyance has intensified, becoming a constant torment. I scratch at lesions that have begun to form on my arms and chest, red and raw, with patches of green spreading beneath the surface. I’ve started to wear long sleeves to cover my arms and a mask to hide my purpling lips.
Some nights, when closing, as I sit alone in the dim light of the cafe, the itching becomes unbearable. I claw at the lesions, feeling a dampness beneath my skin. Sometimes, when I cough, I could swear I see tiny spores hanging in the air, reminiscent of the bursting nodules growing on the stalks of the monster.
Occasionally, I hear the bell ring and the door open, but no one is there. I look outside into the empty night and see nothing. This went on for weeks, becoming more frequent. But one night, the door opened, and I saw Jamie standing there, the picture of health. I went to embrace him and noticed my lesions were gone too. It was almost as if we had never gone to the peach factory. It was suddenly morning, and the light shone through the cafe. For the first time in forever, we were happy. We talked about nothing, passing the time.
After what felt like hours, he told me it was time to go. But his mouth wasn’t moving—I felt like I could read his thoughts, and he could read mine. We stood up as I took one last look at the cafe and headed off with him, back to the peach factory.
As we walked, a strange calmness settled over me. I remember feeling that I wanted to ask if he had talked to Mark or Sarah, and wondered how they were doing. But deep down, somehow, I could feel their presence and I knew they were doing just fine. The sun was bright, the air crisp. The itching had vanished completely, replaced by an inexplicable craving for the sweetness of ripe peaches. Jamie and I shared a silent understanding, a bond deeper than any words could convey.
The factory loomed ahead, its doors wide open as if inviting us in. The familiar scent of peaches and something else—something earthy and ancient—filled the air. We stepped inside, side by side, feeling at home for the first time in ages.
The last thing I remember before the darkness took over was the feeling of the soft, warm peach flesh in my hand, and Jamie’s voice in my head saying, "Welcome home."

Kind of a rant but also any advice would be great so tagging as question.
This is long .. sorry. I'm in a mental spiral and a bit all over the place right now
Scanned for dropping naps here and found some super useful tips around the ultimate end game no nap life (shout out to this recent post)
But it's daycare that's my problem really, not the dropped nap.. they're not having any part of him not napping unless he's on best behavior it seems.
maybe I'm just blinded by my child but I feel like that is a lot to expect from a 2.5 year old and there should be some sort of middle ground or game plan or something ... Seriously, call me out if I'm off here.
My son has been in this center since he was 9months old. The director knows him well, she was a lead teacher and AD during his time there before her current role. The staff all know he is high energy, always been on the lower end of the sleep scale and have always been good with him. Recently they had a big move up, so the class is at max (18 kids) and with this self decided nap dropping my son has been 50/50 angel or a monster without his nap.. ( side note here, yes we've had some testing done. his pediatrician doesn't believe he has any behavioral issues, just on the more energetic side of normal.)
Over the past week he has decided fully against any naps and is either passing out hard at around 4/5pm ish or staying up and over tired for his usual bed time of 8pm and fighting it pushing himself to almost 9.
Last week I had to pick him up twice because he was "too altered" (language barrier and the translation doesn't always come across clear but taking this to mean he's just gotten to be too much). So last week Monday he was fine, and did take a short 45min nap. Tuesday I was asked to pick him up around 3, Wednesday he had no nap and no problems were noted. Thursday they noted problems but that he settled after snack and playground time and Friday we again had to get him early, they called a little after 3.
Normal pick up is right around 5:15, Fridays my husband gets out early and picks him up by 4:30.
Yesterday we didn't send him in at all. Wasn't going to even bother. he passed out sunday around 6pm and wouldn't wake, then was up at 3am ready to take on the world and around 7:30am started getting fussy so husband and I each took a half day and split duty.
He napped about 30min in the car when I had to bring him with me on an errand for work but still went to bed at normal time with a slight fight but not bad, he was out cold by 8:30pm
Today they called me almost immediately after nap time (1:30pm) because he wouldn't nap, was removed from the room. They brought him back after everyone was asleep and let him watch videos (..ok, I get it) but when the other kids started waking up he was "riding tables and causing disturbance" So I again had go get him. Thankfully my boss is pretty understanding and has a toddler who they just started in day care so he gets it for the most part.. but I can't keep this up.
How the heck do I make this work with day care if he is truly ready to drop a nap?
When he went to one nap going into the older toddler room he was grumpy but not awful and 95% of the time he'd power nap on the 15-20 minute (PM traffic here is a nightmare) ride home. sometimes a few min longer and id use the time to sit in the car and catch up on emails and things until he'd wakeup/I woke him up, we go inside, have dinner, play, tub, bed no problem. That doesn't work now.
I just honestly don't know what to do.
We have no family here no friends that can watch him .. we both need to work. Just ...ugh

Hello everyone. Hard to believe but I just actually started to read in my life. I read simple books here and there in school but after that nothing. My reading level was low and I just couldn't get into any books. Fast-forward and I have money now to look for books that might interest me. I've been recommended several and I've wasted time on several.
Let me start by saying what I've recently read and loved.
The hobbit, lord of the rings fellowship - Return of the king, the silmarillion, the last wish ( I plan to read the rest of the witcher), red rising 1-3, a game of thrones (I plan to read the rest).
Now let me say what I was recommended and hated.
Anything by Sara J Maas. I just feel like every time I go to Barnes and Noble that's all they promote. I can't relate with female lead characters and that's all I see being shoved down my throat in the fantasy section. I want more books where it's an adventure and not destiny's plot armor making a loner teen from the USA being teleported to a world where every magical creature wants to bone them and they somehow defeat the most powerful God by themselves.
I want more depressing dark adventure books. They can have romance but when they're in each page just drags me down. It might just be my barnes and noble since it's the only bookstore in my town but I'm fed up with "the chosen one protagonist" killing an unbeatable Villain who has to choose between a half wolf half ghost goth kid or her other half fairy half frog prince.
Shoot any books my way please.

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

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

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

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

Hi all,This year I moved to a new school after 7 years in a previous school (Catholic college - primary and secondary). I left due to 2 colleagues I once admired, respected, enjoyed working with and called friends either bullying, excluding and/or undermining me in front of my students and theirs across the whole school year.Moved to a new school (Catholic and systemtic) and am finding many of their ways of operating very foreign, adding to my work and time and am constantly frustrated by lack of consistency, lack of standards and zero acknowledgement of my noticeable student progression and improvement since my arrival.
A few factors that are frustrating and aggravating:
-Apart from myself and one other staff member, ALL other staff (teachers, Teacher Assistants, the Deputy, office admin, specialists) are ALL part-time in the primary campus. In and of itself this is not a problem, however it leads to a lack of consistency and stability for me as I am constantly playing catch-up due to the rotating nature of the year-level team. It affects student behaviour (not so much mine, but the other classes) due to no consistency with teachers. Seems to be a high level of rotating teahers on LSL (short stints) and staff on and off from parental leave. No staff nmeeting I have been to yet has had all staff there.
-Behaviour of students is atrocious when compared to other schools in the area and previous schools from my decade + experience. Students are verbally rude, cannot settle and focus and there are often physical altercations in the playground. I've spent a term and a half really breaking down behaviour expectations, routines and standards. I am making progress, but there is so much stacked against us.
-Parent copmmunity is INTENSE. Moreso than I have ever experienced. Teachers are consistently told their "tone"when talking to parents is rude/negative/insert critique here, parents are constantly emailing teachers to complain about other children and flat out ignoring any and all comunication about their own child. When I asked leadership about this, the reasoning given is either, "Parents at this school have always been like this" or "It's the culture of the area. We get families from all over"meaning the greater metropolitan area. I persoinally do not think this argument holds up as previous schools I've been at have accepted students from relatively large areas in terms of distance.
-EVERYTHING is done as a team." While this sounds great on the face of it, it adds so much to personal workloads when reporting, individual lesson planning, unit planning, NCCD work, resouirce development and/or sourcing, sending emails to parents, responding to emails from parents and more all has to be done as a committee of 7 people. Nothing gets done efficiently or within a desired timeframe.
-Classes - For each year level (double-stream), we routinely mix and match students. Not just for programs (e.g. Spelling) but for ALL subjects and curriculum areas. This means that in theory, I have a class of 31 (e.g. my roll call list), however in any given lesson I could be receiving students from the next-door class. Sometimes the classes stay the same (students) but we (teachers) swap. This makes assessing and reporting a nightmare, as it is unproductive, inefficient and there is no consistency.The reason for this has nothing to do with student learning, outcomes or development. It occurs "to stop parents complaining about which teacher they do/do not get for their child," "to stop parents emailing and complaining about if child x or y is in their child's class."It also means that due to the way the "team-teaching" works, I will never teach certain subjects (e.g. Science or Geography) this year. I have been given subjects the other teachers on Year 5 do not want: Religion, History for example
-Students miss out on opportunities for growth, e.g. in Science as we need to fill out risk assessments for items like using the school oval outside of lunch times and for simple, basic Science experiments (e.g. mixing two liquids - liquids that are not hot, cold). EVERY science experiment of any category needs a risk assessment.I came in so excited about subjects like Science... no more. Can't take the class outside for a brain break as we'd have to book the oval and fill out a risk assessment.
-Class sizes are 31+ and the school has a high volume of EAL and students with various diagnoses. In a class of 31, 20+ are either EAL and/or have a diagnosis (e.g. autism, ADHD, etc)-Zero autonomy. I have to go through 3 supervisors just to respond to a parent email (even if it is wholly positive), I am told what kind of visual aid posters I can/can't have in my room (e.g. a times table chart or a poster on English contractions).
-Release time a joke. I have to sit in my class cupboard as this is the only place in the school that is:--Free of gossiping staff--Free of staff talking in general--The only place staff and/or students will not interrupt me.-Staff are friendly (cheerfully greeting/seeing how my day is/was, seeming interested in me as a person and educator) but there is so much gossip about each other and parents/families. I could go to a staff member with a purely work-related question (e.g. planning or how a school process works) and the conversation almost always ends up being twisted to a poorly behaved student/complaining/gossiping. Even after I have point blank made it clear I do not engage in gossip and find it fractures teams/colleagues and do not have the time for it.
-Multiple duties each day of the week (as we are únderstaffed'' - same as every other school in Australia)-Duty roster (playground) changes every single week due to the high volume of absent staff, staff with multiple roles, etc So no stability or consistency there either.-Foced to pay money into a school social club each week for amenities (e.g. milk/coffee/biscuits) which I never use in a staffroom I never visit or for gifts of departing/retiring/staff going on parental leave.... Yet every time a staff member fits these categories, we get emails from leaders asking if we would like to choose to put towards a gift.... so unsure why I was told the social club goes to gifts. Tried getting out of it in writing (I pay more being one of the few full-time staff) only to be told, "In your contract, you signed that you will be paying money into the social club." Nothing in my contract at all, and I asked the state union to have a look just in case I am blind and having a man's look. They too clearly stated there is nothing in there.
My question is, after 7 years in a school I enjoyed (apart from the aforementioned 2 colleagues changing how they interact with me) is this the norm in Australian Catholic schools (primary and/or combined primary/secondary colleges). I used to be so effective, productive and built strong and positive student relationships. I am now ineffective, unproductive, my time and experience is wasted and my experience seems to be for naught.
*Is this the new normal?
*Is anyone else so utterly heartbroken, soul-crushed and demoralised (and I guess, angry and frustrated) by red tape/inefficiency/unproductiveness, etc?
Any thoughts? Cheers, legends.

LONG POST WARNING
Hello everyone,
My partner (24F) and I (25M) returned home from our 3-week Japan trip last week and due to us using this sub a lot during our planning I thought it would be helpful for other current planners to upload a trip report.
Our main interests are Japanese traditions and history, street style/culture, and food so keep reading if these interests are mutual. Read to the bottom to see how much we spent plus some tips and disappointments.
Prelude
We were caught up in the madness at Dubai airport during our layover. Long story short; Airport (and the rest of Dubai) flooded and caused all the flights to be cancelled. What was meant to be a 5-hour layover turned into a torturous 36 hour wait. No staff to be seen, crowds of people arguing, fighting, and crying. We queued for 12 hours to get a new boarding pass for the next flight to Japan. We were meant to fly to Haneda but settled for Narita as we needed to get out of that place as soon as possible but still ended up missing our first day in Tokyo (should have had 5 days). We can’t complain too much as some of the people I spoke to on emirates were in the airport for up to 5 days before getting a flight back to their departure destination. Oh, and our baggage was missing with us only receiving our checked in bags on day 19. Cheers Emirates.
Day 1
Arrived in Shinjuku around midnight. We went straight to Don Quiojte to buy some replacement cosmetics and clothes. The combination of no good-quality sleep for 48 hours and the stimulating nature of the store was very intense! We then started to walk back towards the hostel and passed a Ichiran, so dropped in for some 2am ramen. Not the best ramen I’ve ever had but was still very good for the price.
Steps: 21,643 (includes some airport steps)
Day 2
Woke up and ate the free breakfast at the hostel (this turned out to be a really good money saver for the whole trip as we are not huge eaters in the morning anyway, but it was good to get something light in us before a long day walking). We then walked through the Shinjuku Gyoen Garden – saw some late blooming cheery blossoms and overall, it was a really beautiful botanical garden.
The next stop was Meji Shrine and a walk through Yoyogi park. The shrine was cool to see, especially as it was our first one in Japan. Saw a middle-aged man wearing denim hotpants so short that his balls were hanging out?!?!
Walked to Shibuya to see the scramble. This was cool but also felt it was a bit underwhelming at ground level but the view from Shibuya station walkway was wicked. Lunch was at a conveyor belt sushi place on the top floor of this department store right next to the scramble. This would be higher than average quality sushi in Europe, so it blew our minds that it was available on the top floor of a department store and for so cheap.
Shimokitazawa – We picked up some bargains at 2^nd street and I treated myself some Japanese jeans from a small Demin shop called Bears. The guy in the shop was super helpful and friendly and even tailored the trousers to exactly my size.
In the evening, we first had a poke around Golden Gai and then headed towards Shibuya and stopped in a cool bar where the owner was mixing vinyl while he mixed your drinks (think it was called Q Bar).
We had previously bought tickets to a gig at Circus for one of my fav rappers who I’d been wanting to see for a while. Also really enjoyed seeing the local Japanese warm up acts. Stayed until 5am and then go the train straight to the Tsukiji outer fish market. Was there way too early and had to wait roughly an hour for thing to open. Went to chill by a bench for a bit and by the time we went back to the market it was rammed! Went to bed around 8:30am.
Steps: 32,159
Day 3
We woke up at 2:30pm, got ready, and headed to the Bunkyo civic centre for the free observation deck. We heard it wasn’t meant to be the best Tokyo skyline view but for a free attraction we thought it was very good! Jimbocho book town was also very cool to see. We had a peak into a couple adult movie/magazine stores where I don’t think the owner appreciated our presence as western tourists.
In the evening, we first went for Ramen at Motenashi Kuraki in Asakusa Bashi. Honestly probably the best Ramen I’ve had to date. I ordered the Black Pepper Shio special, and it blew my mind. Even though the staff didn’t speak English they were very accommodating for my partner who doesn’t eat meat (pescetarian but will brave a meaty broth).
We then had a stroll around Akihabara and played some dance mat games in the arcades before heading back for an earlyish night.
Steps: 28,680
Day 4
I couldn’t sleep so got up around 3am and did some admin stuff to try and get our bags back to us ASAP. Chatted to people in the hostel for a few hours.
We arrived at Senso-ji for around 8am. Wasn’t too busy at this time and the temple was impressive. Went for a coffee down the road and had a chill for about an hour before heading into Asakusa. Got admission to the Drum museum which was wicked. Only 400 yen each and had the whole place to ourselves to smack some big fucking drums and make as much noise as we wanted.
We then started to head towards Ueno but made a slight detour to Kappabashi Dougu street to peruse the Japanese chef knives and other cookware. Grabbed lunch from a 7/11 and went and sat in Ueno park which was super busy. There was some food market event on which loads of food stalls had set up. There was also a stage with some J-pop performers and people dressed as ninjas dancing in the crowd. Weird to say the least. By mid-afternoon we were pretty tired so headed back to the hostel for a nap.
In the evening, we headed down to Harajuku and stopped by Big Love records. My partner is really into vinyl, so this was definitely a highlight for her. She picked up Wu Tang 36 chambers in case you were wondering. We then went for food at Afuri as my partner wanted to try the Vegan ramen to which she said it was ok but nothing special. My cold dipping noodle dish was very tasty, however. We then stumbled across this vinyl listening bar called Bar Music on the 5^th floor of this pokey building on the outskirts of Shibuya for a few drinks before bed. There was such a good vibe in there and the cocktails were super good for the price. If you’re looking for a romantic spot, then this is the place to go.
Steps: 31,818
Day 5
Today we headed to Kyoto on the shinkansen around midday after a slow morning chilling in and around the hostel and catching up on some sleep. Checked in to the hostel and had a walk around downtown Kyoto, stopping at 2^nd Street to buy some more clothes.
In the evening, we headed to Kodai-Ji to see the shrine lit up at night. We couldn’t believe how few people were there as it was stunning and truly magical place to be at night. It also has a bamboo grove (much better than Arashiyama, see below). The bar for Kyoto shrines/temples had been set very high.
Walked down Pontocho alley and stopped at a yakitori restaurant which was just ok. We knew it was going to be average when we looked around the restaurant and it was just western tourists dining.
Steps: 25,255
Day 6
First thing in the morning we rented bikes and cycled across the city to Arashiyama. Parked the bikes at the train station and walked up through Arashiyama. We were expecting it to be busy but there were so many people it was almost impossible to move. Had a look around the bamboo grove and was slightly underwhelmed after our visit to Kodai-Ji so we took the tram and then bus up to Kosan-Ji. This was very much worth the 45-minute journey as there was only one other group there and the temple nestled between the trees overlooking the river was breath-taking. On the whole, Arashiyama was way too packed during peak times to enjoy and with everything else Kyoto has to offer we wouldn’t say it was a must see.
We then picked up the bikes from the train station and cycled back across Kyoto taking the long route to explore and get lost. Once we dropped off the bikes, we went for another explore and this time went into WeGo for more clothes shopping. At this point we’d pretty much matched the amount of clothing that we had packed in our checked-in luggage that was still stuck in Dubai.
After a nap we walked towards the metro and stopped at a Katsu restaurant as we wanted to try something different, and it was pretty good. For the price of 1300 yen each we got so much food/sake and left stuffed.
Fushimi Inari in the evening. Like Kodai-Ji, we would recommend visiting Fushimi Inari at night. Firstly, to help avoid the crowds (we got there around 9pm and there was hardly anybody there) and secondly as seeing it lit up at night is a nice change. It was however slightly creepy at night, especially as it was lightly raining. My partner started to get a bit scared once we saw the signs to be careful of the wild boar and monkeys haha. We didn’t make it to the top of Mt Inari as the rain started to get heavy but still very much enjoyed walking through the hundreds of tori gates, stopping off at the shrines and soaking up the history.
Steps: 23,686
Day 7
Today was a late start as even after 8 hours sleep the 25k plus steps a day was starting to catch up with us.
We took the metro to Shimogamo Shrine in north Kyoto. It was very peaceful and quiet however temple fatigue had definitely set in at this point. We then walked through Kyoto to the beginning of Philosophers path. We had seen on this sub that people recommend skipping it unless its Sakura season however we disagree. The path along the river is so pretty and atmospheric, along with the fish gently swimming along in the river.
Kyoto Hand Crafts Centre – if you have the money then this is a great place to pick up souvenirs.
Pre-booked Sushi Iwa for a 15 course Omakase. The food was amazing, but it came to an eye watering 28k yen each. The difference for our western palettes between mid-range sushi and exceptional sushi is negligible. Nonetheless it was a good experience and I’m glad that we did it.
Steps: 23,751
Day 8
Today was an empty day in terms of things we wanted to do, so used it to walk the city and explore.
We checked out the Nishiki market and ate various fried foods on sticks which were all pretty tasty. We then walked northwards, stopping for coffee before reaching the imperial palace. By this point we were very much bored of temples and structures of similar architecture, but we actually ended up enjoying walking the palace grounds and seeing the buildings more than we thought and would recommend it to those who find themselves in north Kyoto.
A leisurely walk back down towards downtown Kyoto, stopping off at a wicked standing soba joint. Forgotten the name but their curry soba was delicious.
Chao Chao gyozas (only veggie gyoza place we could find) for our evening meal before a night cap at the bar across the road before bed.
Steps: 23,304
Day 9
Shinkansen to Hiroshima arriving around 11am.
Checked into hostel and then went straight to the A-dome, peace memorial and museum. We thought the museum was very moving and captured the horror of the events that unfolded very well. A must see for sure.
Okonomiyaki at Okonomimura and then some vintage clothes shopping in Hondori.
Went back out for food in the evening and ended up getting Okonomiyaki again. This time it we enjoyed it a lot more than we did at lunch (probably because we got it covered in cheese). There are a few streets by Hiroshima station with lots of bars and restaurants on top of each other, much like Golden Gai in Shinjuku, however they are not super touristy and has a more laid-back feel to them.
We then went to some bars in the city centre. The best one we stumbled across was called Tropical Bar Revolucion. It was on the 8^th floor and the smoking balcony overlooked the city. Plus, the beers in there tasted so good and I’m not sure why.
Steps: 23,299
Day 10
A hungover morning. Headed to the Hiroshima National Gardens. Going to some gardens is my go-to hangover activity as its low effort, relaxing, and feels productive. These gardens in particular were great and we really appreciated the signs explaining the history behind the space. Overall, we enjoyed this more than the national gardens in Shinjuku.
Public baths near Dobashi in the afternoon. If you’re feeling brave enough to get your kit off in front of 10s of strangers, then this is a good experience. Male and female baths are separate. Can’t go wrong for 400 yen.
Went for a drink at Bar Pretty and then realised the effect of golden week on trying to get a table walking into a restaurant. Walked around for about an hour with no success so settled for food from a department store food court. Sounds miserable but the food was pretty good for the price, and it was busy in there, so it still had an atmosphere.
Steps: 29,487
Day 11
Miyajima Day. Took the ferry to the island arriving at 10:30am. The Ryokan staff met us at the port and collected our bags to take back to the hotel.
Had a mooch around the port area before doing the hike up Mt Misen. The climb to the top on a hot day is not to be underestimated. Sweating buckets, but the route and the view from the top was amazing and one of the standout highlights of the whole trip.
After descending Mt Misen, we bought some beers, oysters and, ice cream and sat along the beach wall and chilled in the sun for a couple hours. The hotel staff then picked us up from the ferry terminal, we checked in and went straight to the Onsen for a couple hours before dinner. Dinner was a traditional kaiseki meal (with more courses than I can remember) served in the banquet hall with the other guests.
While the staff converted our retro ryokan room and set up the futons we had a few more beers before bed.
Steps: 20,803
Day 12
Today we had a chilled morning on the island, having a stroll and stopping for some coffees. We then took the ferry back to Hiroshima, stopping for Okonomiyaki one more time, before taking the shinkansen to Osaka.
Checked into our hostel near Namba and went out for a walk around 8pm. When looking for somewhere to eat we walked past a sign for a vegetarian Indian restaurant called Shama. After nearly two weeks of pure Japanese food we were craving some variety so decided to head in. Located on the basement floor of a particularly run down looking building the restaurant was not the most glamorous. Barely enough space for 10 people, it was hot in there. A constant stream of people was coming in and out of the restaurant and we were lucky enough to walk in when there were two spaces available. From sitting down at the table to receiving our food we waited just under an hour. This would be enough to put most people off but fuck me the food was good when it did finally arrive. We got a selection of 4 different curries, naan breads and samosa. We left stuffed. If you’re in the area this is definitely a place worth checking out.
Steps: 25,502
Day 13
Our first stop of the day was the Umeda Sky Building. Not suitable if you are scared of heights as the glass elevator made our stomachs drop slightly. The views were impressive but we thought the price was a bit steep at 1500 yen each.
We then spent the afternoon wondering about near Namba and Shinsujibashi dropping into shops and picking up some food.
For dinner we made a reservation for a Mexican restaurant near Dotonbori. Massive margheritas, nachos and enchiladas. The food was great, and it shows by how busy the place was still at 10pm. It had been open since the late 70’s with the décor to match and it had a great atmosphere.
Steps: 27,290
Day 14
Checked out Tsuruhashi and Korea Town. Loved the market – dimly lit maze of numerous food and clothing vendors. Stopped to have some Korean stew and pancakes and it was delicious. One of the best meals of the trip.
Shinsekai in the evening. What I can describe as the armpit of Osaka. We loved it. Dirty? Yes. Rowdy? Yes. Rough around the edges with a red light district to top it all off. We had Kushikatsu to finish the evening off. Fried stuff on a stick – of course it going to be tasty but it wasn’t exactly flavour town.
Steps: 23,777
Day 15
Took the train to Minoh and hiked up the trail to see the waterfall. Hike was easy in comparison to Mt Misen and the waterfall was very cool to see. Had a wonder around Minoh stopping for some lunch at a Ramen bar.
We went to the Team lab botanical gardens in the evening. It was very awe inspiring seeing all the installations lit up.
After sampling Japanese McDonalds (I had a burger where the buns were made out of rice) we went for some drinks at Zerro. We liked this bar a lot, the guys working there were very friendly and it had a good vibe.
We then sat and watched the skaters at triangle park with some beers from the konbini before going to see Dj Masda at Circus until around 4am. This area of Osaka was such a vibe and came back here a few times over our 6 days here. Overall, a very fun evening.
Steps: 26,130
Day 16
Woke up chronically hungover but powered on and went to see a baseball game. You’re allowed to bring food and drink into the stadium (as long as alcohol is in plastic/paper cups) so we grabbed some beers and snacks from family mart. We had no idea what was happening but the atmosphere was electric and we enjoyed getting pissed and cheering.
Had a nap and then went to Hafez for middle eastern food. The food was good but not amazing, nothing in comparison to my local middle eastern restaurant back home. Chilled around the Namba park/Big step area. Loved this area so much, we are big into street fashion and culture so this place really ticked some boxes. Lots of skaters and street wear stores concentrated around here. Got an early night watching Battle Royale back at the hostel.
Steps: 22,065
Day 17
Today we went to the Umeda area. Popped into some shopping centres and had Omurice for lunch. It was tasty but not something I will crave when back home. Good experience trying it though. We then walked through Yodoyobashi along the rivers and got gelato and sat in the rose garden. The sun was beating down and we enjoyed just chilling in the sun eating our ice cream.
Compufunk Records were holding a party in their store. Decent gaff with some very welcoming and kind people to party with until the early hours.
Steps: 21,267
Day 18
We reluctantly left Osaka for Hakone today. Very sad to go but onwards to the next adventure. Took the shinkansen to Odawara and then the Hakone Tozan Train to Gora. Checked into our Ryokan and relaxed in the Onsen for a few hours.
Went for a walk around Gora and had dinner at the Ryokan before watching Predator in bed.
Steps: 16,926
Day 19
Today we did the Hakone Loop, starting early in Gora.
Started with the Open-air museum and it was great. We loved the installation and ended up spending 3 hours slowly making our way round. Got some cool photos as well for the gram.
Ropeway to Lake Ashi. This was absolutely terrifying. You have to swap cable cars 3 times on the way over and the warnings of the service being suspended due to the wind was announced at each stop. I’m not going to ruin the surprise, but one section made me literally freeze in terror due to the winds outside so try to do it on a calm weather day.
We then took the pirate boat (bit underwhelming) across the Lake and stopped for some soba noodles and a wander around. Unfortunately it was way too cloudy to even get a chance at seeing Mt Fuji.
Train to Kamakura and checked into our super cute traditional hostel near the beach.
Dinner at an Izakaya from the hostel owners recommendation. Food great and beers slipped down a treat. First time I tried Yuzu Kosho as well – I’m now addicted to the stuff and literally cover all my food with it.
Steps: 19,512
Day 20
A slow start to the morning. Weather was pretty bad but we still managed to hit all the main sights in Kamakura. Big Buddha was a refreshing sight from the temples. Did some shopping up Komachi Dori. Highlight of the day was Hukokaji temple. It was so peaceful and zen in the rain with its very own matcha tea ceremony backdropped by bamboo forest. This turned out to be our second favourite temple/shrine we visited, just being beaten by Kodaji.
In the evening we went for Sushi at a conveyor belt place. Figured this would probably be my last Japanese sushi of the trip so devoured 7000 yen worth of sushi and beer. Went back to the hostel and invited some of the other guests to drink with us. The owner of the hostel had some bayberry homebrew, so we got stuck into that.
Steps: 20,494
Day 21
Enoshima Island is just a 25 min train from Kamakura. Started off the day by walking to the top of the island to get French toast and a beer with a lovely view across the bay. We then headed up the Sea candle to check out the observation deck, still the illusive Mt Fuji hides behind the clouds.
We then bought admission to the caves beneath the island which was pretty cool. I won’t ruin the surprise but there’s something waiting for you at the end of one of the caves.
Had an explore around the rockpools near the caves and took some cool photos. We then had a pizza with fish on which was pretty crazy. Walked around the island a little bit more and I picked up some more Japanese denim which wasn’t the cheapest but the quality of the trousers are great and will last me a lifetime.
Back to Tokyo in the evening.
Went for Izakaya around Asakusa and popped into a couple bars. One was called Not Suspicious and the whole bar was covered in handwritten notes by patrons. Very touristy but quite cool at the same time. Our favourite was a drawing of Mario saying It’s a Me Muthafucka.
Steps: 25,903
Day 22
First stop was Don Quiojte to pick up some Yuzu Kosho (if you know you know) and weird flavoured KitKats.
Kappabashi Dougu street to purchase a fine Japanese carbon stell Santoku. Honestly in love with this knife so much. The people at the store were very happy to hear exactly what I was looking for and even let me try before you buy on some daikon radish.
While in Asakusa I had to return to the place where I put the best thing in my mouth in Japan. Motenashi Kuroki. Switched it up this time and had their classic Shio ramen plus the duck rice as a side. Honestly this place is amazing, and you have to go there if you have time. They aren’t veggie/pescy friendly so my partner went for one last round of sushi round the corner. We met up at a massage chair parlour and spent 30 mins relaxing in the chairs.
We had a bright idea to watch the sunset one last time so headed over to the rooftop park on a department store in Shibuya. Sipping on an ice cold Kirin, the sun slowly dropped behind the distant mountains and we knew our trip had come to an end. How symbolic.
Flight at 11pm from Haneda.
Steps: 23,187
On reflection:
I honestly think this trip was almost perfect in terms of hitting our interests and travel style. There was a good balance of doing the typical first time visit to Japan sights and activities while still exploring and seeing what we came across in the moment.
It hard to pinpoint exact highlights of the trip as everywhere we visited had so much going for it in different ways. We loved the rugged and trendy vibe to Osaka, and I think this would be the city I would most want to live in for a considerable amount of time (If I had to choose). Miyajima was also stunning and a great overnight trip with the Ryokan experience. We also underestimated how much we would enjoy Kamakura with its laid-back surfer vibe and access to Enoshima Island.
One random memorable moment that has stuck with me was when we landed at Narita airport, we took the limo bus to Shinjuku. As the driver pulled away, all the staff at the station turned and bowed in unison. It felt so special to first observe a culture totally opposite to the one I grew up with and was at this point I knew I had embarked on the trip of a lifetime.
If I could go back and change something I would probably miss out Hakone and do an extra day in one of the major cities. This isn’t because we didn’t enjoy Hakone, but we feel like it’s a place that needs more time to soak in what’s going on around you (plus the weather was bad when we were there). This being said the Open-Air Museum was amazing and we enjoyed it more than the Teamlab botanical gardens so the trip up the mountains was worth it just for that.
So, how much did we spend per person (not inc flights)?
Accommodation - £765pp
Given that we spent a couple nights in Ryokans raising the average price slightly, we were pretty happy with the accommodation costs. We stayed in a mix of private room and shared dorm hostels and pretty much all of them were spot on. Travelling as a couple meant that anywhere with a private room split the price between 2. The only hostel we didn’t like was the one in Hiroshima, there wasn’t anything in particularly wrong with it, there was just a really bad vibe from the owner and other guests.
Transport - £344pp
This includes shinkansen to and from all the major cities as well as our suica top ups for metros and buses. Unless your itinerary is something like 3 days Tokyo, 2 days Osaka 2 days Kyoto then there really isn’t any point getting the JR pass now that the price has increased.
Activities – £280pp
It is hard to give an exact amount for activities and food as 1) I didn’t track what we spent our cash on and 2) my partner and I would take in turns paying for things like temple admission. That being said I’ve allocated 25% of the cash we spent to activities such as temple admission. Activities includes our baseball tickets plus club entries as well as temple and museum admissions etc.
Food – £962pp
As above, its hard to give an exact amount for food. On the whole we tried to eat cheap with possible, especially at the start of our trip. There were a few expensive meals peppered in plus we ate out twice a day towards the end of our trip as we realised we were under budget.
The total is a bit skewed as this includes all the alcohol we bought in bars as well as the konbini trips for beers and cigarettes. I estimate that booze accounts for around a third of the total per person. If you would like to do Japan on a budget, reducing the booze will make a big difference.
Shopping/Souvenirs/Gifts – £607 (just me)
We went hard with the shopping. We didn’t actually receive our checked in luggage until day 19 so we had to buy all new clothes and cosmetics. If this wasn’t the case, then I don’t think I would have spent so much (airline is comping us for the additional clothing bought anyway). I also bought a fairly expensive chef knife and Japanese denim pieces, plus lots of gifts for friends and family. Obviously, this number could theoretically 0 if you are on a serious budget and did no shopping but I really underestimated Japanese shopping, especially thrifting. Also, given our cheap choices when it came to accommodation we could afford to splurge. However just to note my partner spent less than half than I did on shopping.
Total: £2958 (582,628 yen at time of writing)
I kept within my budget of £3000. I definitely got a bit frivolous with the cash in the last few days or so, if being as careful as I was towards the start of the trip, I think the total would be closer to £2500.
Disappointments
Takoyaki. We thought it was going to be all about the octopus but were disappointed with our balls of sloppy goo surrounding tiny chewy pieces of octopus. We tried it twice and couldn’t get behind it. Sorry Takoyaki fans.
Arashiyama. Way too busy, especially around the main station and bamboo grove. If it’s the bamboo you are going to see, then Kodaji is a much better spot.
Dotonburi. Albeit we were there in golden week, and it was pretty busy. However, I get the feeling this area has fallen to the past its golden days title and has become a bit of a cash cow for places selling spiralised potatoes on a stick. The area around Namba park was a better option for us.
Tips
Konbini. Absolute life saver for snacks and drinks on the go. The food quality for a convenience store is higher than most other countries so we had no problem with grabbing a meal from one to help keep within our budget.
Don’t over pack – even though we didn’t get our checked in bags, I still packed light so had plenty of space to bring stuff back. Emirates give you your allowance by weight rather than number of baggage so we could check in additional bags on the way back.
Don’t be scared of hostels. If you don’t want to brave the shared dorms, then most hostels offer private rooms with just the shower and toilet shared. Obviously, it’s cheaper if there are two people sharing a room.
Don’t stress about cash. Most places take debit/credit card and if they don’t, you’re never more than 5 minutes from a konbini ATM.
For us, golden week didn’t seem that big of an issue. No problems booking shinkansen around GW. We spent most of GW in Osaka, as such it was going to be busy anyway so maybe we didn’t see much of a difference from normal numbers in the spring.

Edit: If you are going to comment on the length of this post, please don't. This is not a simple snark but rather an actual critical think piece about feminism and Taylor Swift.

Introduction

Pertaining to Taylor Swift, "Female Rage" has deviated from its intended meaning after Swift debuted a new performance of The Tortured Poets Department during the Eras Tour. Now, according to Swift's use of the phrase, female rage is interpreted as public backlash against Swift's dating choices rather than as a response to the broader injustices against women and women's rights. This post examines Taylor Swift's flawed feminism, philanthropy, branding, and the controversial trademark petition for the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical". Swift's background as an entertainer, indeterminate politics, and alignment with capitalism over feminism pervades her legacy, again threatening her public tolerance as not just an individual but as a brand.

Once Upon a Female Rage...

If you were cognizant in the early 2010's, you've heard countless jabs at Taylor Swift in the media. Magazines, radio, or online. Music critics did not take her seriously as a songwriter; parents put a woman on an unrealistic pedestal as the ideal role model for their children; she dated too much and used men as lyrical fodder. No matter the story, it inevitably spread, conjoined with everyone's respective opinions, and you'd be left to wonder, "Why does everyone hate this girl so much?"
Taylor's target demographic has always been young or adolescent girls, more so when Swift herself was one. She made music that spoke to the awkward misfit, cultivating a para-social relationship with fans on MySpace, then later twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, where Taylor posted relatable vlogs showcasing the life of a homegrown American girl. Taylor had a delayed public "growing up" and, compared to her female pop contemporaries, Swift never "gratuitously sexualized her image and seems pathologically averse to controversy" (and, apparently, never even had a sip of alcohol until she turned 21). She was more than happy to spin this narrative to allude to an inherent moral superiority above other women in the industry (Better Than Revenge, heard of it?), engaging in the very slut-shaming that she herself endured (the Madonna and Whore archetypes). The victim complex arose with the need to prove Taylor as a different type of pop girl. Based upon her holy and clean image, Swift had been dubbed "a feminist's nightmare", and that "[To Swift] other girls are obstacles; undeserving enemies who steal Taylor’s soulmates with their bewitching good looks and sexual availability." Feminism and Tennessee-Christian country values don't exactly mix, it seems.
Years later, Swift befriended Lena Dunham and thus experienced white feminism osmosis, where Dunham taught Swift that real feminists defend rapists, makes insensitive jokes about rape and abortion, and prioritize all-white casts. Swift then declared herself a feminist in 2014, saying,

"Becoming friends with Lena – without her preaching to me, but just seeing why she believes what she believes, why she says what she says, why she stands for what she stands for – has made me realize that I’ve been taking a feminist stance without actually saying so."

I suppose the male-centric songwriting subject that permeates Swift's discography contained covert feminism and that we just didn't see that. Perhaps, the "Bad Blood" song and music video were written only in jest and not about poor Katy Perry, for Swift, as a feminist, would "never make it a girl fight" or tear other women down (though all Katy did was date your terrible ex-boyfriend and allegedly steal three backup dancers from your tour). In 2013, Swift said, in response to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler's joke towards her serial dating, "There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
There was that time in 2015 Taylor said that Nicki Minaj was "invited to any stage [she is] on" (as if Taylor expects to have access to every stage, award, and platform that Nicki might not otherwise have as a black female artist...yikes!) in response to Nicki's criticism of the white + thin VMA nominations. Later, Nicki responded with confusion, as Swift continued, "It’s unlike you to pit women against each other. Maybe one of the men took your slot..". Of course, this 'beef' was 'squashed' when Nicki performed with Taylor at the VMAs, with Nicki quite literally only having 38 seconds of stage time without Taylor. Maybe all that parading around with a legion of famous white women - similar to the way Taylor might've done with her numerous 1989-era handbags - was in fact a stance against gender inequality, and that this display of "girl power" should be enough to constitute Swift as a feminist icon.
Even while Swift says that Dunham informed her feminist outlook, she dances around the exact contents of those beliefs: "what she believes, what she says, what she stands for" is not exactly insightful towards what beliefs Swift might have inherited. Taylor never broaches women's rights topics such femicide, FGM, forced pregnancy & marriage, sex trafficking, women in slavery, women's financial and political oppression, women's educational rights, women's health, or women's autonomy, so we can assume she only gives a fuck about "girls supporting girls" (whatever that fucking means).
Despite some questionable (and sometimes vindictive) behavior, Taylor as a young woman did not deserve every media lashing that she received. We cannot deny that most headlines and criticisms perpetuated a misogynistic rhetoric which has plagued Swift for a majority of her career. Acknowledging events such as the development of her ED, her sexual assault trial, "Famous" lyric and MV depiction of Taylor, and the explicit Twitter deepfakes, for example, as both disgusting and unfortunate things that happened to a young woman in Hollywood does not negate the fact that Taylor is mostly a performative feminist.

Get Your Fucking Ass Up and Be a Philanthropist, It Seems Like Nobody Wants to Be a Philanthropist These Days

In 2013, Taylor Swift cut the ribbon at the grand opening of the Taylor Swift Education Center at the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, Tennessee. The donation amount - $4 million - was the largest individual artist gift ever donated to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which is, of course, mentioned on Swift's website. The two-story facility features three classrooms, an instrument room, and an interactive children's exhibit gallery. Swift also performed at "All for the Hall" charity shows and has donated numerous artifacts from her career (such as notable guitars, tour costumes, etc) to the museum.
This was over 11 years ago, and it is still the only notable philanthropic contribution Taylor Swift has made.
For a woman of her net worth and stature, and a woman who recognizes the difficulties for women in film and music, you would think that Taylor Swift might establish a scholarship program for women to study the arts or something. Perhaps Swift might even consider becoming a member of organizations that support female artists, or one that supports LGBTQ+ causes (since she is now proudly an ally), yet she remains superficial with her graces. Broader philanthropy, such as donating relief aid to Palestinian women or women impacted by violence and discrimination will probably never receive any financial support from Miss Swift because then she'd be using her money towards philanthropies involving anyone but white entertainers.
She even says herself in Miss Americana, "My entire moral code as a kid and now is a need to be thought of as 'good'." Well, she's certainly thought of as good, though her actions say otherwise. She's more than happy to do a vaguely altruistic song and dance for a clip-worthy interview quote and mass appeasement, then fuck off to one of her mansions on a 20 minute private jet flight, rather than actually contribute to anything pertaining to the causes she has endorsed. Yet, far too many people continue to give a woman such as her their money, time, and energy, and she hoards these resources to herself.

I Like Some of the Taylor's Songs, But What the Fuck Does She Know About Feminism?

Swift continued with her self-proclaimed feminist campaign, positioning herself as a political activist and LGBTQ+ ally in the Miss Americana documentary. The primary focus of the documentary consists of the sexual assault trial, Andrea Swift's cancer diagnosis, Taylor's ED and body dysmorphia, media scrutiny, and, largely, finally speaking up about her politics publicly, mostly her opposition to the 2018 Tennessee Republican senate candidate, Marsha Blackburn, and Blackburn's beliefs. Swift says, following a scene discussing her experience during the trial,

"I just couldn't really stop thinking about it. And I just thought to myself, next time there is any opportunity to change anything, you had better know what you stand for and what you want to say."

We must ask ourselves, though: when has Swift ever spoken up to change anything? Okay, pulling her entire catalogue from Spotify because they didn't pay their artists enough and similarly pulling her catalogue from Apple Music are changes that she leveraged due to her revenue potential and power, but they are not pertinent to the average woman's rights. Moreover, these are issues that directly impacted Taylor's income, which was enough reason for her to protest in the first place. Swift has sold the most units for a female artist in first week sales, is the first female artist with 100k monthly Spotify listeners, is the first female artist to win the Album of the Year Grammy 4 times, and is the first female artist to do X, Y, and Z, all while being inoffensive and family-friendly to boot. The actual Taylor Swift seems unwilling to compromise the brand of Taylor Swift by contributing in meaningful ways to feminist causes, especially if it is for women outside of America and Hollywood.
The reason political anthems such as "The Man" and "Only the Young" of the Lover era feel disingenuous and corporate is because, well, it is. Taylor has taken every opportunity to advance her career or public image at the expense of other women. What is truly genuine to Taylor's outlook on other women is vying for male attention, taking down female competition, and vocalizing feminist injustices only if they directly impact her and her money. Some will argue that it's satisfactory for a woman with such a huge platform to even TALK about feminism, but that just isn't enough. It's even less impressive when you candidly look at the scope of her feminist lens: "If I was the man, then I'd be THE MAN", or "I really resent the ‘Be careful, buddy, she’s going to write a song about you’ angle, because it trivialises what I do", and, of course, "We all got crowns". Feminism, but only when it happens to me. It gets worse when you look at Taylor's track record of copying other famous women and removing other female artists as potential threats to her pop prowess.
It's good for PR to align yourself with certain blanket feminist and political beliefs, therefore good for branding, therefore good for ticketing and merchandise sales, therefore good for business. And Taylor Swift is a business.
She's not a feminist. Taylor Swift is a capitalist.

I Can't Pay Those Sweatshop Workers a Livable Wage or Benefits! How Else Would I Make My Billions?

Recently, Taylor's team filed to trademark the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical" after Taylor said during Paris N1 of the Eras Tour,

"So you were the first ones to see The Tortured Poets at the Eras Tour...or as I like to call it, 'Female Rage: The Musical'."

This trademark petition was filed last week on Saturday, and news comes about just as numerous unofficial fan-made merch designs have cropped up with this phrase plastered on Fruit of the Loom basics. I'm of the opinion Swift's team motioned for a trademark so that they can send out cease & desists to all those that make knockoff merch, which disrupts potential sales for Bravado, UMG's choice merchandising company; however, since it was filed earlier, perhaps Swift has bigger plans with the bizarre use of the gendered phrase. One Swiftie referred to the phrase "female rage" as "a funny Eras Tour joke". Could it be a possible fourth version of the Eras Tour Movie? Whatever the reason, the motion to capitalize off of such a concept is disgusting, but not unsurprising, for a woman that profits on her vain feminism.
Swift, through her company, TAS Rights Managements, has also trademarked over 200 phrases, including "1989", where she owns the property rights to this calendar year on keychains, phone cases, sunglasses, stationary, bags, beverage ware, clothing, entertainment services, your subconscious, and, of course, Christmas ornaments.
The vapid consumerism in Swiftie culture is, frankly, disgusting. Bravado's sustainability statement is non-existent, the quality control is abysmal, and the materials they use are horrible. The materials, such as acrylic and polyester, are made from petrochemicals. This means they are non-renewable, shed microplastics, and are quite toxic in production. The manufacturing process to make all of those lazy-rushed Eras Tour logo graphic tees is a huge blow to environmental well-being. Apparently, though, Swifties don't give a fuck. They sell out products in seconds and either have to face the manufactured scarcity or buy from a scalper that resells for 200% of the already ridiculous retail price. This doesn't include the environmental impact of vinyl records, CD, and cassette production, of which Taylor produces many variants that sell unsustainable amounts.
If we're talking about women's rights violations, why is no one acknowledging the women that work in the inhumane sweatshop conditions that have to pump out fugly t-shirts and hats? The millions of plastic microfiber dander they are inhaling, or the toxic dyes that touch their bare skin? Are they being compensated fairly for their skilled labour and are they in safe working environments? Do these women have minimal bargaining power, and do they have authority over their worker's rights? Is Taylor Swift female raging at their injustices? Does Taylor Swift ever feels bad that her wealth was built on the backs of women of color, disadvantaged by the demands of the global economy and garment industry? Do you think she ever says a little white feminist prayer for them before she goes to sleep at night?
What's even crazier is not that Taylor herself doesn't care, it's that Swifties don't care. There CANNOT BE ethical billionaires. You only make a billion dollars if you are exploiting other human beings for capital gain. Based on public perception of the possible "Female Rage: The Musical" trademark, it seems like Swifties are already asking for merch with this phrase. "If Taylor made it, I'd buy it." Oh, cool. So not only do you champion Miss Swift's avarice and billionaire status, but you also are unashamed to admit to your blind consumption of her music and merchandise, no matter where they might originate in production or sincerity. Just as Swift takes and takes and takes, Swifties' consumerism of Taylor Swift cannot be quelled.
The tortured artist's most vulnerable and sincere poetry...available now in 21 different versions!

I Am Tortured Poet, Hear Me Whinge

Look - even if Taylor's intention is to characterize TTPD as more "tortured" and "angry", the main thread of the album is "I was ghosted by my decade-long situationship with a controversial indie boy and my fucking stupid fans wrote a 'Speak Up Now' open letter prompting me to drop him" anger, which is adequately expressed in the lyrics and performances. The extent of Taylor's "female rage" on TTPD is on tracks such as "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?", which contends with relentless media scrutiny; "But Daddy I Love Him", where Swift firmly states she'll date whoever she likes no matter how "Sarahs and Hannahs" may react; and "The Albatross", a track mythologizing her reputation and the consequences of dating her. Of course, these coincide with deep psychological wounds that formed during Swift's early years in the media, and so, from her feminist perspective, these subjects tackle the misogyny and double standards that she faced.
Yet Taylor Swift still has no grounds to be claiming that TTPD best exemplifies female rage and therefore she, in the context of this album, is female rage incarnate. As the daughter of a stock broker and mutual fund marketing executive, Taylor was born into wealth and allowed privileges like trips and subsequent relocation to Nashville all so that she might get a record deal. Her father even invested at least $120,000 into the then-fledgling label, Big Machine Records, which ensured Taylor's place with Borchetta after leaving her dead-end development deal with Sony. The fact that her parents were able to buy her a fucking brand new guitar for Christmas and pay for music lessons says so much about the financial security and safety of her childhood.
Money is privilege and protection, and despite Swift's experiences with misogyny and loser boyfriends, she does not know what female rage is.
Her rage is derived from her frustrations with her obsessive fans pulling the moral superiority card on Taylor in response to her rebound with Matty Healy. That's literally it. She's just pissed that the monster she created is no longer obediant, it's become a feral, sovereign entity that depletes the world of its natural resources and thinks it is more intelligent than it actually is because it's mommy has started to talk to it with big words. Apparently, 'illicit', 'elegy', 'nonchalant', and 'precocious' are considerably big words for the oafish monster, and I find it strange that this level of literacy is present in a group of fans that allegedly have GPAs of 3.5 or higher, but I digress.
Taylor Swift has never been one paycheck away from destitution. Taylor Swift has never experienced racial discrimination. She may have instances of gender discrimination, but she possesses the ideal white, blonde American beauty standard and therefore reaps the benefits of being a conventionally attractive woman. Taylor Swift has sufficient social capital. Taylor Swift is a billionaire woman prolonging her victimhood though she, as a woman, has mostly had control over her image and music (unlike her contemporaries). Taylor Swift is NOT entitled to be championed for her "female rage", nor should she be. Taylor Swift has never even been the struggling artist, for fuck's sake. I don't give a fuck if she's trying to fill the empty lunch tables of her past. Taylor Swift purporting herself, her unpolished album, and her lukewarm feminism as a musical bleeding with female rage is asinine.

Sigh Try and Come For My Job, Poors

Out there in the world right now is a 23-year-old woman, a recent college grad, who works as a barista. She has to wake up and get ready to go into a minimum wage job because she cannot get a job in her field. She doesn't have healthcare benefits or sick time, so she has to go into work no matter how she's feeling. All day long she is berated by vicious customers and creepy men, and, exhausted from being on her feet, she knows she has to go home to her shitty roommate that never does the dishes and her roommate's shitty dog. To comfort herself, she considers getting a treat, but thinks against it when she remembers that matcha lattes cost $15 and they taste like milky dirt. She knows that she needs to buy groceries this week, and so the woman resolves to go home, but notices that her gas tank is low. She goes to put gas in the car, but the pump stops at $27.86 because that's all that she has in her checking account. The woman, bereft and reeling, sinks into the driver's seat. "Well," she thinks, her head in her hands, "at least I don't have Taylor Swift's job. I just couldn't imagine."
Fame is somewhat of a choice. If at any moment Taylor feels that she is misunderstood, misconstrued, or overwhelmed by public opinion, she can LEAVE the public eye - Lord knows she has the retirement fund and residuals to do so. In "I Can Do It With a Broken Heart", the TTPD song about meeting the demands of your career-zenith mega-tour while in the relationship trenches, Taylor ends the song by rambling,

"You know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart...you know you're good...and I'm good, cause I'm miserable, and no one even knows!...try and come for my job."

Yeah, obviously we wouldn't know, you recently passed the billionaire threshold and are the most famous and in-demand performer in the world right now. Taylor Swift makes an estimated $10 to $13 million dollars A NIGHT on the Eras Tour. Furthermore, the Eras Tour movie grossed $261.6 million globally, (which, as the producer, Taylor takes home 57% of the ticket sales) not counting the streaming revenue from Amazon Prime Video and the estimated $75 million deal that Disney paid to have it on Disney+. We're not even considering the income from cheap plastic popcorn buckets and drink cups plastered with colored squares in her Era-specific likeness.
It's funny. Taylor Swift often said that being famous wasn't hard, that she "isn't complaining". I'm sure it is difficult to always have to present in a good mood, else you'll end up misrepresented in the media, and I'm sure it's invasive to virtually have no privacy or semblance of anonymity. Still, Taylor Swift shows up each night of tour and performs. For a majority of her career, she has penned her sad songs while on the road. Most of "Red", her breakup album, was written in the thick of the Speak Now World tour. Now, some Swifties say they almost "feel bad" for attending the Eras Tour with Swift's revelations in this song, that they have had a 'dimmed experience' upon hearing Taylor's misery whilst performing. Despite the fact that Taylor said that "this was the happiest she's ever been" at Gilette Stadium in May, the lyrics "boohoo, woe is me, smile for the cameras and make the fans happy!!!" are jarring for Eras attendees.
While Taylor Swift was making double-digit millions a night in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and feeling miserable, Ana Clara Benevides Machado passed away due to heat exposure. The concert promoters, Time For Fun, are now the subject of a criminal investigation due to their lack of adequate hydration and safety. Taylor Swift cancelled the Sunday show that was to follow and offered VIP tent tickets to Benevides Marchado's family, which was a kind gesture, but perhaps incongruous to the incident of which they were offered as consolation. Everyone grieves differently, of course, but I'm not sure attending the very show at the very same venue that my daughter or sister passed away in two days prior, where the singer CONTINUED the show despite her death, would be healthy for closure.
There was no female rage at the show as Swift never saw Benevides Machado pass out. There was no female rage towards the disregard for fans as humans while Swift elected to proceed with her Brazil tour dates despite the country being in historic heatwaves (at risk of overheatting herself). If Taylor Swift was so shaken by touring with a broken heart or a fan's passing, she wouldn't have added an additional North American leg of Eras just two months after the Matty breakup. She's brokenhearted but willing to mend the cracks with your money and move onward with her worldwide female rage induced pillaging.
No matter what happens, even if you die at a Taylor Swift concert, Taylor collects a big fat check and flies away. She doesn't know you as anything other than a conversion rate or earning potential despite what her nearly 20-year long parasocial relationship with fans might otherwise indicate. She knows that, while some Swifties are without disposable income, they feel obligated to spend on a "48 Hours Only!" exclusive vinyl variant instead of necessities because they are so entrenched in Taylor Swift's intoxicating celebrity, they'll prioritize materialistic fandom before their needs. This is good enough for her because this means she can expand her real estate portfolio and finance her cat's lavish lifestyles. They're worth an estimated $100 million dollars. Her three cats could pool their net worth and solve world hunger.
While you and I might be denied bereavement leave and barely surviving the current political and economic climate, Taylor Swift has to, instead of gets to, perform for stadiums at full attendance for three nights in a row across the globe. You and I might be replaced by AI at our longtime jobs, but Taylor Swift is threatened with losing more and more money each time you listen to a "Stolen Version" of her songs. If we don't buy every variant of all of her albums, then who is going to pay for the fucking cats?
It is tone deaf to spend as she spends and lives as she lives in this economy, but this is her reality. She was able to donate $100,000 to all of her tour truck drivers, and that's wonderful, but it leads me to wonder about the ethos of the 2020s where one woman can hoard such life-changing amounts of money. Remember in 2014 when she gave a fan $90 ($120 in today's money) to get Chipotle because she had no fucking clue how much it cost? This is a 34-year-old woman who is increasingly out of touch with the reality for working class people and women in general. Normal everyday adults must wake up and go to their thankless jobs, and yet Taylor Swift, despite all her riches, incessantly references the lows of her life and career as a public figure and entertainer to farm sympathy and drive sales. And still, the corporate women have latched onto "I cry a lot, but I am so productive! It's an art!" as their cubicle battle cry.
Do you think that, from up in her private jet, Taylor Swift gazes at the world through her poetic, tortured eyes, and thinks, "All the little people, in their cars, walking, going about their lives...all those girls that don't support girls...do they know that I've made an album about female rage?"

Conclusion/TLDR

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your critical insights towards this entire ordeal: TTPD, the trademark, the implications of it all.
TLDR: Taylor Swift is a bad feminist and is delusional to think that the TTPD eras set exemplifies female rage at women's injustice.

I (25F) finish my SCITT (School Centered Initial Teacher Training) course in July this year in the UK, training to teach science (chemistry) in secondary school. Before this I taught for 2 years in the middle school sector american curriculum in an international school in Saudi Arabia. I am fully aware of how demanding the teaching profession can be - my degree is in Education studies - but during this year I have been more sick with stress than I ever have in my life and have had more sick days off due to being physically sick or even I mentally couldn't hack it to the point the thought of going into school would make me cry at times.
The workload is ridiculous pushing past the point arguably of what teachers actually do, I'm expected to observe lessons in time that I don't have - I'm expected to teach 15 hours a week (the lessons being planned from scratch by myself which none of the teachers that work of the school do as they just use lessons from a shared area that I can only really use for 1 or 2 lessons a week.), the amount of paperwork to complete for my evidence bundle is insane including 3 page lesson plans for each lesson I teach, a sequence of learning to explain why I had done and planned the way I had, weekly reflections that need to be submitted, plenty of outer reading with proof you're doing it, behaviour management and professional behaviours logs, additional subject knowledge tasks and time taken away from PPAs for subject training. The lack of support for all this work is minimal because none of the teachers have enough time to sit with me and talk about the lessons or help plan and I often think I'm just in their way. On top of all this paperwork I am also expected to write my PGCE assessments, which due to a failure on the university's part half of my cohort have failed the second assessment, partake in the revision sessions for year 11 after school 3 days a week, be part of the science club for year 7s and mark all the books for all 10 classes I teach - I won't officially get home until around 6pm where I have dinner and take a shower and continue to lesson plan and do work until around 1am because all lesson plans need to be submitted to my host teacher for that class 48 hours before the actual lesson.
I honestly just feel burnt out and don't think I can cope with it all along with the attitude and behaviour of the students that are so disrespectful. Should I quit?

Synopsis:
Carlos was an ordinary software engineer on Earth, up until he died and found himself in a fantasy world of dungeons, magic, and adventure. This new world offers many fascinating possibilities, but it's unfortunate that the skills he spent much of his life developing will be useless because they don't have computers.
Wait, why does this spell incantation read like a computer program's source code? Magic is programming?
___
Here we go with book 2!
<< First < Previous Next > (RR) or Next > (Patreon)
Carlos lounged comfortably on one of the mayor's fancy sofas. At 23 years old with a healthy body he really didn't need cushioned upholstery, but he liked how it felt. Honestly, he was probably more comfortable with high quality furniture than someone of his relatively low-income background should be in this world. Spoiled by the mass production factories of modern Earth, I suppose. All of this stuff here is probably handmade. Er, make that definitely handmade. Unless they have magic factories I haven't heard about, or something. He mentally shrugged. There was no point trying to change his attitudes toward furniture now. While this world might have higher prices for a lot of things than he was used to, he was also a lot richer than he was used to thanks to having become a noble lord. People would expect him to treat fine furniture as cheap because of his station.
I might have the physical habits of a couch potato, but at least I don't look like one. Too skinny. Not as skinny as Amber, though. He smiled as he watched the young woman next to him on the sofa continue animatedly expounding on their recent adventures together. She was lanky, with few curves to speak of and spindly limbs, far from any conventional picture of feminine beauty. Her hair, a slightly lighter shade of brown than his own, was cropped short. He thought she was 18 or 19 years old, but wasn't sure. Have I really never asked her age before? ... Would that be a rude question here? Regardless of her age, she had grown her confidence a lot since their first meeting a few weeks ago. She'd found her footing in a new life that she'd seized with utter determination, and he saw no sign of the shyness that she'd first greeted him with. The way her potential was finally blooming was beautiful to watch.
Carlos turned his gaze to the sofa across from them and carefully held back from laughing at the expressions Trinlen was making as Amber wrapped up explaining the events and developments they'd gone through since their introduction to him at the Royal Mage Academy. Carlos had contributed a fair amount to the explanation at first, but Amber had taken to it with enthusiasm when she arrived, and he could tell she was enjoying it. The young man in front of them, newly graduated from said academy, was on the edge of his seat and leaning forward, hanging attentively on every word. His casual attire, plain and made of cheap materials, looked thoroughly out of place on the finely embroidered velvet of the sofa, but he'd shown no sign of even noticing the finery around him. Excitement warred for control of his face with surprise, disbelief, envy, and dismay.
Amber finished her impromptu monologue, and Trinlen slowly schooled his face into a neutral expression. His voice was tense and tightly controlled. "So... In short, you're telling me that in the mere two weeks since you met me, you discovered a mana-poaching conspiracy of nobles, were abducted right under the noses of two royal guards without them even noticing, absorbed mana so fast that you gained 6 levels in a day and a half - so unfair, by the way - somehow learned an obscure portal spell from just its name and description, found evidence of a conspiracy against the Crown, and personally met a princess." He paused, then threw his hands up as he wailed in frustration and disappointment. "And I missed it!?"
Carlos threw back his head and burst out laughing. He couldn't help it. Trinlen just sounded so much like a little kid who'd barely missed out on a candy store giving away its entire stock for free. It was such an incredible light-hearted contrast with how everyone else viewed these same events that the sheer ridiculousness of it was overwhelming. Amber joined the laughter a moment later, shaking her head in amused disbelief, and after a few more seconds Trinlen started chuckling too.
Carlos's laughter eventually trailed off, and he took a deep breath to settle down. "Thanks, Trinlen. It's been a very stressful two weeks, and laughing like that helped release a lot of it. Feels good. Anyway, what have you been up to? I thought you would take a whole month to graduate?"
"Technically I only said 'next month', not that it would be at the same point in the month. But yes, this is earlier than I expected. The normal graduation ceremony is still a week and a half away." Trinlen shrugged. "They didn't explain the reasons, but after what you said I'm guessing your meeting with the princess prompted her to do something. The vice headmaster called me to his office yesterday morning, a few teachers grilled me on my classwork, and they declared I'd passed my exams. Then they told me to pack because I'd be teleported to my new employers the next day, and here I am." He sighed. "Hmph. Now I won't get to humiliate Norla in front of the whole academy when she gives her speech." Then he perked up and grinned widely. "But it sounds like you two are going to be so much fun that I'll get over it in no time!"
"I'm not sure if I agree with your idea of fun, Trinlen, but if it motivates you to help us more then that's good enough for me." Carlos chuckled again. "Anyway, do you need some time to get settled in? You might need to think about lesson plans for us too. We don't need just catalogues of incantations to learn anymore, at least not for simple ones, but I believe you learned other things in the academy too. You mentioned creating your own spells, as I recall."
Trinlen nodded. "I did mention that, yes. I'm guessing your lack of need for a catalogue is because of your newfound ability to somehow pull entire incantations from thin air? You'll have to at least tell me about the limitations of that so I'll know what I still need to teach you, but yeah, there are other things. For one thing, there's your sloppy terminology! Why does no one outside of the academy care about properly distinguishing between the states of mana? Is it really that hard to understand that calling aether, mana, and essence all by the same term obscures your meaning and often causes confusion? Or are people so stupid that they can't even understand the difference?"
Carlos blinked and exchanged a look with Amber. His comprehension aid informed him about the distinction the instant Trinlen spoke the terms. That would have been nice to know earlier. The comprehension aid is a house secret, so we should let him explain. "At least for us, it's just ignorance. I don't think I've even heard the other two terms you mentioned, and certainly no one ever explained them. So, what is the difference?"
Trinlen paused, cocked his head for a moment, and slowly deflated after his impassioned rant. "Yeah, okay, that's fair. I don't think I ever heard about it before going to the academy either." He sat up straight. "Aether is what you've been calling ambient mana. It's thin like air, and it's everywhere. Its only use is converting it to mana or essence. Mana, using the term with proper precision, is thicker but still fluid like water. It exists primarily in people or creatures and is used as fuel to supply power for spells and magical effects. Essence is hard and solid. It is the material that soul structures are made of, as well as the forms of active spells and enchantments. Am I clear so far?"
Amber answered first. "Yes, I'm familiar with each of the forms you described. I have questions about more details - so many questions - but you should get properly settled in, and maybe eat lunch, before we really get down to it. Have you spoken with Mayor Stelras yet? Do you have lodging sorted out?"
"I went by his office first. He's having someone take my luggage to an inn. The Adventurer's Haven, I think? He said something about a 'low-value target' and having an empty suite already booked." Trinlen's eyes widened. "Waaait a minute. Is he putting me in the room you two were abducted from?"
Carlos shrugged. "Sounds like it."
"Nice! Think there'll be any evidence left of how it was done?"
"Haha! Probably not by this point, but you're welcome to look. Now go get unpacked, eat a meal, and start planning your lessons for us. I'm glad you're here, but we have some other things to do too."
Trinlen nodded and stood up. "Sure. I'll be back before you miss me."
Carlos waved as Trinlen sauntered out the door. He and Amber sat in companionable silence for a while as he felt the mana - or essence? - of Trinlen's soul moving off into the distance. "Well. That was interesting. It's good to have him, but I was expecting a bit more time to think and plan before he'd get here."
"Yeah." Amber stretched and then leaned back into the sofa's cushions, luxuriating in their soft firmness. "So, how much are we going to tell him? How useful will his knowledge even be for us, now that we have, what did you call it, the reference documentation? That bit about the states of mana is good to know, but is it really relevant and important, and how much more can there be that's not in the documentation?"
"Be careful talking about that out loud, remember?" Carlos relaxed and draped his arms across the sofa's back as he focused his mind on their mental bond through Purple, their friendly dungeon core. [On Earth, we made many languages similar to the language of incantations, and we had the reference documentation for all of them. We even published that documentation free for everyone to have. Teachers for those languages were still useful, and even critically important for many people. Having access to knowledge doesn't mean you automatically understand how to properly apply it. There may be related knowledge we have no idea even exists. There could be techniques and patterns for how to use the language that are simply outside the scope of the documentation. Perhaps most importantly, a teacher can use their experience to notice a student's mistakes and correct them before they become problems.]
[Hmm.] Amber bit her lip, thinking. [Like how I knew about making soul structures and synergies between them, but had no idea about the importance of being able to examine and fix them, I suppose.]
Carlos nodded. [Yeah. And that's a really simple example. I know some that are a lot more complex, though I'm not sure how many of them are even applicable for incantations. Inversion of control, dependency injection, factory patterns...] He shook his head. [Just the context knowledge needed to be able to fully understand those could take days or weeks to teach well enough for you to use them. I could maybe explain the basic ideas faster with some simplified analogies, but that would lose so many details that I doubt it would still be useful.]
Amber paused. [... Even my comprehension aid is baffled by the terms you just said. It translated the individual words that you said, but all I got for the phrases is a confusing jumble.] She chuckled. [Anyway, I concede the point. Trinlen will still be able to teach us important and useful things. We still need to decide what secrets to share with him.]
[A lot depends on how good he is at keeping secrets. We don't actually know him all that well yet. He's certainly fun, and he seems clever, but for assessing his integrity we're leaning pretty hard on just a janitor vouching for him.] Carlos frowned in thought. [In order for him to do his job, he needs to know that we can only "pull an entire incantation from thin air" if it's a simple one. He does not need to know the full details of help, however, and most certainly does not need to learn to use it himself. That secret is a very sensitive one, where even just letting too much knowledge of it spread would lose us a major advantage.]
[Definitely. No casting help where he can hear it, and don't say anything about it that's not directly relevant for his teaching, either. Not until he's earned our full trust.] Amber lapsed into silent consideration. [We should introduce him to Purple. We'll kind of have to at some point anyway, and the really valuable thing there is Purple himself, not just the knowledge of his existence.]
Carlos nodded. [True. I think that probably is the least sensitive of our house secrets, and being able to call him through a bond with Purple would be useful.] He chuckled. [And maybe his cleverness will end up producing some good ideas for Purple to use. See if he can find a more productive outlet than pranks for his creativity. And then... If he keeps that secret well enough for long enough, we can consider trusting him with more secrets.]
Amber sent back wordless agreement.
Carlos started sitting up, lifting himself out of the comfortable cushions. "Well, we should get some food ourselves, too. And maybe introduce Trinlen to everyone else along with Purple." He stood up and spotted a letter he'd set aside when Trinlen arrived. "Oh yeah, and what do you think we should do about Kindar?"
"Wait, what's this about Kindar?"
<< First < Previous Next > (RR) or Next > (Patreon)
Royal Road Patreon Discord
Royal Road and free Patreon posts are 1 chapter ahead.
Please rate the story on Royal Road!
Thank you to all my new patrons!
Special thanks to my Mythril patrons Scott Snyder and Barbar!
Patreon has 5+ advance chapters if you want to read more.

As many of you may have read, there is a case of two missing adopted kids in North Carolina, where remains have been found. The news has reported that their adoptive “mother” is Avantae Deven.
I’m a curious person and started digging up information on Avantae Deven when I first read the story in my news feed and could not believe what I was reading. It seemed like whomever this woman is must have be using an alias; Avantae Deven is not a name like Kim Jones or Mackenzie Smith.
The more I dug, the weirder it seemed to get. I found a property deed to a place in Sedona, Arizona, and figured out that whomever this Avantae person is, she at one point in time had owned a home together with someone named Nicole Adams. So I dug into who Nicole Adams was, and learned that she was the widow of a spiritual leader named Robert Adams. It appeared to me that there would be no way to identify who Avantae really was, unless I could also identify the true identity of Robert Adams.
*******
I've done investigative work for many years, including skip tracing. I can conclusively state that there was absolutely no person actually named Robert Adams born in New York State on January 21, 1928. This is demonstrated by the New York Birth Index. I have combed the census records for 1930, 1940, and 1950, and cross-checked them against multiple databases, and am confident that nobody with the birth name of Robert Adams was born anywhere in the United States on January 21, 1928.
Moreover, there was absolutely no person with the true name of Robert Adams who died anywhere at all in the United States, let alone Sedona, Arizona, on March 2, 1997. This is demonstrated by the Social Security Death Index.
I began this research largely by performing exhaustive searches on the known addresses that are associated with Robert, his wife Leonie (who used to use the alias Nicole), and Avantae Deven (who turns out to be their daughter Michelle who began using the alias Avantae in the mid-1990’s or so). Most of the addresses are PO boxes. Those that are PO boxes are all *private* PO boxes, not PO boxes that one can rent from the United States Postal Service. To me, that spoke volumes. The family were clearly using aliases.
As I explain further below, I eventually determined that “Robert Adams” was Robert Spiegel, born 21 January 1932 in New York. “Nicole Adams” was actually Aileen Beverly Leonie Maxwell, born February 2, 1929, in Jamaica. “Avantae Deven” is actually their daughter, Michelle K. Spiegel, born on October 1, 1960, in California.
One of Robert’s many false stories about Robert’s life that my research has refuted is Robert’s claim that his mother was Jewish and his father was Catholic. That was a lie. Both of his parents were Jewish. It’s also interesting that he claimed that he was “raised Catholic.” There is absolutely nothing to suggest that. His mother always, in New York, lived in Jewish neighborhoods. Moreover, as will be discussed below, his parents had a Jewish wedding. It’s also downright absurd that he would tell people that he was “half Jewish.” If your mother’s Jewish, you are Jewish, pure and simple. Even if Robert’s father had truly been Catholic (which he wasn’t; his name was Samuel Spiegel and he immigrated to America in 1907, lived with his Jewish, Yiddish-speaking cousins, and spoke Yiddish himself), Robert would have been Jewish because the status of being a Jew comes from the mother. Robert’s mother’s name was Fannie (nee Fleisfeder) Spiegel. Fannie’s parents were Itzik Fleisfeder and Esther Libke (nee Rifkin) Fleisfeder. Esther’s parents were Mendel Rifkin and Sarah whose maiden name is lost to time and the disappearance of the shtetls. Robert’s claim to having had a Catholic father was utterly false, but is part and parcel of his ongoing compulsive daily lying about anything and everything.
Here is the story.
*******
Kolomyia, formerly known as Kolomea, is a city currently located in the Western Ukraine.
On January 21, 1892 (the same year that Kolomea tallis¹ workers went on strike for better pay and working conditions), Kolomea resident Rachel Katz, wife of Abraham Spiegel, gave birth to a son, who was given the name Schmuel.
On the date that Schmuel Spiegel entered the world, Kolomea was ruled by the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy, and almost half of the city’s residents were Jewish.
In June of 1907, fifteen-year-old Schmuel² boarded the Zeeland, which sailed from Antwerp, Belgium, arriving at New York Harbor on June 18, 1907. The ship’s manifest states that Schmuel’s father had paid for his transport, and that Schmuel intended to reside with his father, Abe, in Brooklyn. Schmuel was granted entrance, and took up residence with his cousin Charles Fetner, who resided at 353 Myrtle Avenue, Brooklyn, in Apartment A with his wife Jennie and their baby daughter Ettie. The sparse record that exists suggests that although Schmuel’s father was, indeed, named Abraham, Abraham lived and died in Europe, without immigrating to America.
The 1910 census describes Samuel’s cousin Charles as a carpenter, who had been married to housewife Jennie for six years, and a father of three children-- Ettie age four, Nathan age two, and baby Jacob, who was not even a year old. Eighteen-year-old Samuel was identified by profession as a “Foreman Sailmaker” in an industry described as “pocket-books.”
Three and a half years after being granted admission, on a bitterly cold winter day, January 4, 1911, Schmuel (now employed as a pocket-book maker, and having Anglicized his name to Samuel) signed and submitted his declaration to become a United States citizen. He stated, in that declaration, that he was born on January 21, 1892.
By 1915, Samuel had left his cousin’s abode and was residing as a lodger in the home of a widow named Rose Hammer, who lived with her two adolescent sons, Meyer and Louis, at 531 E. 5^th Avenue; Samuel was now working as a “driver.”
Two years after the 1915 state census was taken, Samuel had moved back to Myrtle Avenue, but this time at building no. 849. On June 15, 2017, Samuel registered for the draft, and described himself as being a pocketbook maker, working for “A. Shoenfeld,” at 101 Crosby Street, New York. He was single. He stated, in his draft registration, that he was born on January 21, 1892.
*******
A woman named Fruma Fleisfeder was born in Beltz, Bessarabia, sometime between July 1, 1893, and 1901, to Itzik Fleisfeder and Esther Lieba Rifkin. Fruma (not living up to her pious given name) provided different dates and years of birth to different authorities on different occasions, making it impossible at this point in time to know her true position in the birth order of her family. Regardless, Fruma, who began using the name Fanny upon her entrance to the United States, did have three brothers and a sister who also came to America-- Louis Fleisfeder who was born April 10, 1890, Max Irving Fleisfeder who used October 10, 1892 as his birthdate, Hersch (later known as Harry), whose official birthdate was December 15, 1901, and Sylvia who was born in approximately 1906.
On December 1, 1919, Fruma arrived in New York Harbor on the ship La Touraine, declaring her intention, at entry, to become a United States Citizen. The ship’s manifest describes her as five feet five inches tall, with fair hair, blue eyes, and a fair complexion. The ship’s manifest states that she was, at that time, age 24. If that were correct, she would have been born in 1895.
Fruma (then going by Fanny) took up residence with her cousin Ethel (nee Ruchlin) and Ethel’s husband Samuel Steinberg, on 15^th Street, Brooklyn. Soon thereafter, Ethel gave birth to her first child, a daughter named Theresa. The 1920 census states that Fanny was Russian, didn’t speak English but, rather, spoke Hebrew, and worked as a milliner in a millinery store. The 1920 census also states that Fanny was age 25, which lines up with her being age 24 in the prior year’s ship manifest.
*******
Sam and Fanny married in Manhattan on January 24, 1925. Their marriage certificate (signed by each of them) identifies Sam as being age 32 (contradicting, by one year, his immigration records which would have placed him at age 33), and identifies Fanny as age 24, the same age that she had claimed to be six years prior, and also contradicting an immigration petition that she would file two decades in the future, which generally placed her birth year at the mid-point of 1893.
If Fanny’s immigration records (which included a petition with her signature on it) were correct, Fanny would also have been age 32 as of her marriage to Samuel, not age 24.
So did Fanny lie in her marriage certificate? Or did she lie in her immigration petition?
The marriage certificate identifies Sam as having been born in Kolomea, Austria, and his father being Abraham, and his mother being Rachel Katz. It identifies Fanny as having been born in Beltz, Russia, to a father named Isaac, and to a mother named Esther Rifkin.
The marriage certificate does not identify Fanny as having any profession, but identifies Sam as being a pocketbook maker.
Sam and Fannie were married at 125 E. 4^th Street, Manhattan, a six-story apartment building with retail units on the ground floor that is now an expensive co-op, with three-bedroom units selling for over $900,000. Present-day real estate advertisements alternatively state that the building was built in 1894, 1903, and 1905.
The first name of the rabbi who officiated was Harry. His surname starts with Reid, but the remaining letters of his signature are illegible. Rabbi Harry identified his residence as 232 Broome Street, which, at the time, was a four-story mixed use building that, among other things, housed Chevrah Ahavath Zedek Anshei Jaskinover.
Witnesses to the marriage were Mayer Budmon and Samuel Steinberg.
*******
Sam and Fanny’s existence was documented next in the 1925 New York State census by census. They were living at 205 S. 2^nd Street. Samuel was still working as a “pocketbook maker.” Fanny was identified as a “housewife.”
Fanny was identified as age 25. This was in accordance with her age as stated on her marriage certificate, but not in accordance with her immigration documents or the 1920 census.
Sam was identified as being age 28, which conflicted with all prior records.
*******
In 1930, the couple were again enumerated, this time in the Federal census. The enumerator, whose signature appears to be “Max Krahn” (or something like that) stated that he obtained the information on April 16, 1930.
Sam was identified as a “framer” of pocketbooks. He was identified as being 36 years of age, which conflicts by two years with the age that he provided to immigration authorities. Perhaps the enumerator was simply sloppy; Samuel was also incorrectly identified in the 1930 census as having been born in “Poland,” with parents who were both also born in “Poland,” notwithstanding other governmental records having identified him as being Austrian. The language he spoke? “Jewish,” according to the enumerator. Was that to mean Hebrew? Yiddish? Both?
Fannie was identified as age 30 (directly in conflict with the information she supplied in her immigration petition, which bears her signature) and as being “Russian,” with parents born in “Russia.” The 1930 census enumerator incorrectly wrote that her year of immigration was 1921. Fannie, too, was identified by the enumerator as speaking the “Jewish” language.
Although later records reflected that Sam and Fannie had a son named Irving who was born in 1926, Irving was not recorded in the 1930 census. Was he missed by the enumerator? Or was he a later-adopted son?
The couple also had a boarder, identified by the 1930 enumerator as one Esther “Larson,” age 40, born in Russia, and similarly a speaker of the “Jewish” language.
*******
The New York Birth Index identifies a baby boy, Robert Spiegel, as one of many babies having been born in the city on January 21, 1932.
*******
On May 21, 1936, Samuel committed suicide by hanging in the family residence, a tenement apartment located at 1168 Union Avenue, in the Bronx. Although, based upon the date of birth that Samuel used for official governmental purposes he was age 44, the death certificate stated that he was age 43.
Fannie engaged the Gordon Funeral Home to prepare him for burial.
Strangely, although Samuel’s headstone accurately identified him in Hebrew as Schmuel Spiegel, son of Avraham, it inexplicably incorrectly stated that he died at age 40.
Fannie of course knew her husband’s real age; both of them signed the marriage certificate that had Samuel’s correct age listed. Furthermore, Samuel had petitioned for citizenship in 1911, and stated that his date of birth was January 18, 1892.
Why would Fannie commission a headstone with a false age? Perhaps she, like her son, was a compulsive liar. Maybe that’s where Robert got it from.
*******
The 1940 census has Fannie (identified as age 38), Robert (identified as age 8), and Fannie’s son/Robert’s brother, Irving Spiegel, age 13, as living with Fannie’s 72-year-old mother, Esther Fleisfeder, at 1537 Fulton Avenue, in the Bronx. Fannie and Esther were identified as widows. Esther was identified as “U” (unable to work), while Fannie was identified as engaged in housework. No source of income for the family was identified.
No explanation is obvious regarding where Irving was living in the census taken a decade previously. Was he adopted?
There is no “Irving Spiegel” listed in the New York Birth Index for either 1926 or 1927. There is an “Irving Spiegal” listed, who was born April 29, 1926. But he is not Irving Spiegel.
I initially thought that perhaps Irving might be one of the unnamed Baby Boy Spiegels born in New York in 1926 or 1927, and that he left the hospital unnamed because his parents were waiting for his bris before naming him. However, Robert left the hospital with the name Robert. Why wait until the bris to name one child, but not the other?
*******
Slightly less than two years after she was enumerated in the 1940 census, Fannie’s mother Esther died, at home, at 1537 Fulton Avenue. The causes of death were “Coronary Thrombosis, Pulmonary Oedema Nephritis, Hypertension, Arteriosclerosis.” Esther left this world on February 6, 1942, the same day that the W. L. Steed was torpedoed, shelled and sunk less than a hundred nautical miles east of the mouth of Delaware River by a German submarine.
She was buried at Mount Moriah Cemetery in Fairview, New Jersey, the same cemetery where her son-in-law Samuel was interred.
*******
On November 12, 1943, Fannie, now residing at 1985 Bathgate Avenue, in the Bronx, petitioned for citizenship. She claimed, in that document bearing her signature, to be fifty years of age, meaning that if she was telling the truth, she would have been born in approximately 1893.
*******
On January 19, 1948, Robert (having assumed a false date of birth, that being January 18, 1931), enlisted in the New York National Guard. On paper, he had turned age 17 the day before his enlistment. In reality, he would be turning age 16 two days after his enlistment.
On December 9, 1949, Robert was discharged from the national guard, apparently for having been AWOL.
The discharge document identifies his address as being 1985 Bathgate Avenue, New York City.
*******
The 1950 census places Robert again at 1985 Bathgate Avenue, New York City. It correctly identifies him as age 18, and states that he worked as a shipping clerk for a newspaper company.
According to the 1950 census, Robert resided at the Bathgate Avenue address with his mother Fannie, who was purportedly still age 50 (seven years after she had previously claimed to immigration authorities to be age 50), and Robert’s brother Irving, age 24.
Irving was listed as unemployed and moreover, according to the census record, had not worked for the prior year. Fannie was employed full-time as a milliner in a hat factory.
*******
Military records reflect that Irving J. Spiegel, born in 1926 and a resident of 1985 Bathgate Avenue, who had completed two years of high school education, had flown bomber planes over Germany during the war. In his military documents, Irving described himself as single, with two dependents.
*******
On February 2, 1929, a baby girl given the name Aileen Beverly Leone Maxwell was born in Lucea, Hanover, Jamaica, to William Maxwell and Daisy (nee Tibbits) Maxwell. Her birth was registered by her parents.
*******
In 1954, Robert Spiegel and Aileen Maxwell were married in New York City. Their marriage license was given License No. 10284.
*******
The following year, the Kingston, Jamaica, Gleaner reported on June 6, 1955:
Miss Leonie Maxwell, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Maxwell, was married recently in New York City to Mr. Robert Spiegel of the U.S.A. Both the bride and groom are students at the New York Institute of Dietetics. The bride left the island nearly two years ago for New York. Her wedding gown was chantilly lace and nylon tulle. The bodice was fashioned with a wide, scalloped neckline and elbow-length sleeves. Her three tier skirt of chantilly lace was over pleated nylon tulle. Her fingertip-length veil was adorned with pearls.
*******
If the claim regarding the couple studying at the New York Institute of Dietetics was even true, their studies at this institution didn’t last long. In May of 1956, a number of advertisements bearing Robert’s photograph appeared in the Kingston, Jamaica Gleaner. The advertisements described Robert as a psychologist, author, lecturer, and “practitioner in auto suggestion,” and identified him as “Dr. J. Robert Spiegel.” Readers were invited to come meet Robert on May 21, 1956, at Record Plaza, where he would be autographing his “latest” “world-wide” 33 and 1/3 RPM record, “How to Stop Smoking in 7 days by Auto-Suggestion.”
*******
On May 1, 1959, three residents of 1985 Bathgate Avenue, Bronx, New York, came through customs, having returned from a trip to Jamaica. They identified themselves as “Robert D. Spiegel” born in New York (in addition to giving himself a false middle initial, Robert neglected to complete the I-94-A fully, specifically by leaving his birthdate blank), “Leonie A. Spiegel” born in Jamaica on February 2, 1929, and their minor daughter, and “Sharon S. Spiegel,” born in New York. Someone also neglected to fully complete Sharon’s I-94-A, specifically by leaving her birthdate blank.
*******
Leonie had taken Sharon to Jamaica two years earlier. There are no publicly available records pertaining to their outbound transport from the United States to Jamaica. There is, however, a record pertaining to their return to the United States. That publicly available record does not provide their address, but Sharon is identified as weighing 1 stone 5 pounds (a total of 19 pounds), and Leonie is identified as weighing six stone 5 pounds (89 pounds). Interestingly, Leonie used the name “Aileen Spiegel,” and the records assert that Aileen has no middle initial. Aileen was / is her true legal first name, but it is a lie to say that she has no middle initial.
*******
Almost two years later, on January 5, 1958, the Kingston, Jamaica Gleaner reported:
Staying at the Tamarind Hotel are Mr. and Mrs. Bob Spiegel and daughter Sharon of Miami, Florida. Mrs. Spiegel is the former Leonie Maxwell, daughter of Mr. and Mrs. W. J. Maxwell of Lucea and has been in the United States for several years. A welcome party in their honour was given last Saturday night by Messers. Horrace, Ray, and Dennis Maxwell, brothers of Mrs. Spiegel. It was a very enjoyable affair.
*******
In 1963, roughly five years after their 1958 visit to Jamaica, Leonie petitioned for naturalization, in Louisiana. Although I am in possession of the index showing that she petitioned in 1963, I do not possess the petition itself. However, the fact that she petitioned for naturalization in Louisiana demonstrates that that at least she was residing in Louisiana at the time. Since she stated that she didn’t leave Robert’s side for over 40 years, presumably Robert, young Sharon, and also baby Michelle were living in Louisiana at that time.
*******
People who knew Robert personally relate that he stated that Leonie was a Cayman Island heiress. She wasn’t. Not only was she not born in the Cayman Islands, Leonie’s father’s estate was litigated (with the judge ruling against her) long before Robert started telling people that his wife was a Cayman Islands heiress.
Leonie’s father did leave an estate, but not to her. On November 9, 1967, the Gleaner reported that the Supreme Court had upheld the will of the late William Josiah Maxwell, the father of Horrace, Ray, Dennis, and Leonie, and the husband of Daisy Maxwell, who had contended that William’s signature was a forgery and that the person to whom his estate had been bequeathed had exercised undue influence. The court disagreed. The article reported:
The estate, which one of the executors described as “a sizeable one,” included 112 acres of land at Paradise and three houses at Lucea, Hanover.
*******
Robert apparently wasn’t banking on Leonie’s inheritance in any event. In May of 1966, advertisements appeared in the Houston Chronicle with Robert’s photo on them, selling a record that would purportedly assist people in stopping smoking in seven days. He identified himself as “Dr. J. Robert Spiegel.”
*******
On page 55 of the November 15, 1969, San Antonio, Texas Express and News, was an advertisement stating:
SCIENCE OF THE MIND
Dr. J. Robert Spiegel of Houston, director and founder of the Science of the Mind Foundation there, is conducting Sunday evening meetings at 7:30 p.m. in the Sheraton Inn, 1400 Austin Hwy.
*******
On page 4 of the July 10, 1970 edition of the Fort Worth Star-Telegram was a photograph of Robert, with a brief local news blurb:
GUEST – Dr. J Robert Spiegel of Houston, Science of Mind Foundation director, will speak at the 10:45 a.m. service tomorrow in First Church of Religious Science, 2001 6^th Ave. His subject is “What Religious Science Teaches.”
*******
On page 8 of the June 18, 1970 edition of the Houston Daily Cougar was this advertisement:
HOME OF UNIVERSAL LIFE
“Teaching Aquarian Meditation For The New Age
Meets Every Sunday, 11:00 A.M. At The World Trade Center Auditorium
Houston, Texas
DR. J. ROBERT SPIEGEL (BRAHMADANDA) DIRECTOR - FOUNDER
Aquarian Meditation Initiation for the first time offered through correspondence. For those sincere students wishing to bypass evolution and enter the 5th Kingdom. Initiation includes meditation technique, Mantra, how to "live” 24 hours a day, and much more. Write for application today:
P.O. Box 53328 Houston, Texas 052
*******
From the Galveston Daily News, May 02, 1971, Pg. 31:
AQUARIAN MEDITATION SOCIETY PRESENTS DR. J. ROBERT SPIEGEL AN AUTHOR, LECTURER, TEACHER OF YOGA & SELF DEVELOPMENT WILL SPEAK ON MAN, MIND & THE UNIVERSE WEDNESDAY, MAY 5th AT 7:30 P.M. IN THE RECREATION CENTER HARRIS COUNTY PARK, NASA RD. # 1 ALL WELCOME — DONATION $1.50
*******
The 1972 Spiritual Community Guide lists Robert twice, in the San Diego area. First, on page 117, using his alias “J. Robert Spiegel”:
THE TEMPLE OF METAPHYSICAL ABUNDANCE. J. Robert Spiegel, 1118 Torrey Pines Rd., 92037. Teaches yoga, nutrition, ESP, metaphysics, psychology, mind control
Second, on page 124, in which he, as one might have predicted, was masquerading as some sort of medical man or scholar:
"AQUARIAN MEDITATION SOCIETY, U. S. Grant Hotel, Attn: Dr. Robert Spiegel, 453-7588"
*******
Also in 1972, Volume 25 of San Diego Magazine published in November advertised gift certificates for the “Astrology Research Center.” “Give your loved one the gift of love. Only $50” said the advertisement. Where was this entity located? At 1118 Torrey Pines Road, the same address as Robert’s Temple of Metaphysical Abundance. The advertisement purported that person identified as “Lil Canaan” was the director. The telephone number was 459-6400.
In 2013, the San Diego Union Tribune published the obituary for Lillian Mulonas, who founded the La Jolla “Astrology Research Center.” At this point in time, unless Robert Adams’ only surviving daughter, Michelle/ Prentiss/ Avantae knows the answer and talks, we will not know what relationship, if any, existed between Robert’s Temple of Metaphysical Abundance and Lilian’s Astrology Research Center, both of which were located at 1118 Torrey Pines Road in 1972.
*******
From the July 12, 1973, San Diego Reader:
BRAHMADANDA FOUNDATION
“Teachings of the Cosmic Way” meets Sundays, 11:00 a.m., U.S. Grant Hotel, Crystal Room. Free admission, refreshments served. Call 453-7588 for more information.
*******
On page 51 of the June 29, 1974 edition of Phoenix’s Arizona Republic was the following advertisement:
Speaker from San Diego
Dr. J. Robert Spiegel from San Diego, a traveler and lecturer, will speak at 8 p.m., Friday in Universal Series Center, 4340 N. Seventh Ave., on the topic “Science of Being.”
He is the founder of the “Aquarian Meditation Society” in Jamaica and is founder and publisher of “Equinox,” a philosophical newspaper.
*******
The family (Adams or Spiegel, however one might want to refer to them) have resided in (that I know of) New York, Miami, Jamaica, Louisiana, La Jolla, Los Angeles, Houston, New Mexico, Hawaii, Las Vegas, Scottsdale, Sedona, and a number of cities in North Carolina.
*******
In at least the 1990’s, before he left for Sedona, Robert Adams used the address PO Box 7210, Jordan Avenue, D-30, Canoga Park, CA. He used that address on correspondence he wrote, and on at least one published document. Who else used that address? The data aggregators show that this address was also used by a Michelle K. Spiegel, and a person going by the name Leonie Maxwell. Michelle and Leonie also used other addresses associated with Robert, those being 1815 Willis Avenue Panorama City, and 21551 Burbank Boulevard, Woodland Hills.
*******
The California Birth Index shows that Michelle K. Spiegel was born on October 1, 1960, in Los Angeles County, to a mother with the maiden name Maxwell.
*******
In later life, Michelle used the addresses above that are associated with Robert and Leonie, as well as an address of 12004 Vanowen Street #14, North Hollywood. This is the same address at which Denniston Keith Maxwell, one of Leonie’s younger brothers, resided at, after his immigration to the United States. Denniston was one of Michelle’s uncles.
In a recent Facebook posting, Michelle/Avantae stated: “Never knew anything personal about said uncles, etc. Never asked, never cared.” Really? She shared an address with an uncle? Her uncle lived within a few minutes’ drive from her parents, and Michelle/Avantae never knew anything about him?
As an aside, Michelle/Avantae alleged (or admitted) that she “never cared” about anything personal regarding her uncles. If that is true, what does that tell us about Michelle/Avantae’s fundamental character? Antisocial? Psychopathic? Narcissistic in the extreme?
*******
On August 2, 1996, Michelle, going by the name Avantae E. Deven, married Tyson Ruben Alvarez in Las Vegas. The two had addresses in common in Arizona, Nevada, and Montana.
*******
Robert “Adams” died on or about March 2, 1997, in Sedona, Arizona.
Shortly after that, in the spring of 1997, “Nicole Adams” and “Avantae Deven” (both aliases; the correct legal names are Aileen Beverly Leonie Spiegel and Michelle K. Spiegel) purchased a home together in Sedona, on Navahopi Road. Shortly after the purchase, “Nicole” quit-claimed her portion to “Avantae.”
On July 17, 2001, Tyson, still married to “Avantae,” quit-claimed any interest in the Navahopi property to “Avantae,” and had the county recorder send the deed to “Avantae” in care of the Infinity Institute, at that time located at 9101 W. Sahara Ave. Suite 105 C29 (in other words, a private post box), in Las Vegas.
Avantae divorced Tyson in 2006. She had, by then, moved to North Carolina. She “served” Tyson via publication summons, claiming that she was unable to find him, despite his information being on multiple data aggregators.
You can go to various Facebook groups, and other sources, to pull up the documents that people have uncovered showing who is associated with the "Infinity Institute," and in what fashion, and also the addresses that they have used over the years.
In any event, this is the information regarding Robert that I think that people need to be aware of.
Why turn to a known liar and con man for spiritual guidance?
1A tallis is a prayer shawl.
2The ship’s manifest states that he was age 14, which conflicts by one year with what Samuel identified as his date of birth. These errors are not uncommon; his fare could have been purchased when he was age 14 and the records not updated.

This complete guide on The Fool tarot card is brought to you by psychics4u.net. For more valuable information, insights and resources, visit: http://psychics4u.net/
What does the fool mean in the tarot cards? The fool is the most wild tarot card in the deck that you can ever get in a psychic reading. The meaning of the fool tarot card is all about new beginnings, a journey which is usually spiritual and fast change. It indicates that things are really going to go forward for you whether it’s love, relationship, money, work, career and health. But all of these good predictions will come true, only if you will believe in yourself and take calculated risks.
If you are interested in learning everything about the meaning of the fool’s journey tarot card, you came to the right place. Keep on reading till the end of this guide as you will find here lots of useful information regarding to:

1. The fool’s journey tarot card description and symbolism.
2. Personality traits.
3. The meaning in love, relationship, money, work, career and health.
4. Is the fool a good tarot card or is it bad?
5. Does the fool tarot card mean yes or no?
6. How to read the fool’s journey tarot card in upright and reversed position.
7. The fool tarot card meaning in past, present and future.
8. The meaning of the number 0 (zero) and 22.
9. Interpretation of astrological zodiac sign.
10. Meaning as feelings.
11. The fool tarot card art and history.

The fool tarot card meaning: Description and symbolism
When we take a first look at the art of fool’s journey tarot card, we immediately notice the bright yellow sun light, the worm rays, the orange – yellow sky and the lite brown ground. The fool has loose and comfortable clothes with flowers patterns on them, mostly yellow which also matches the shoes` shade. Yellow symbolize enlightenment, happy feelings and positive energies.
The fool is ready to take the leap of faith – start a journey to the unknown territory. He doesn’t care if he will encounter obstacles down the road or dangerous situations in the way. He is ready to go no matter what will happen. In fact the fool doesn’t even think about the meaning these problems.
The fool doesn’t care too much about the material world. He collected just the necessary items and packed all his little possessions in a small bag, holding it with his right hand. On the left hand he is holding a beautiful white rose. It means the willingness to scarify and devotion to the spiritual path of life.
Look at his face directed forward and up to the sky, they are full of inspiration, vision and confidence in the current moment. He is free of fear but also innocence because he isn’t aware of the fact that bad things might happen during the unknown journey.
He is standing on the hill, one step before the deadly abyss, caught in the moment. He trusts the universe that everything will turn on the right and positive side. The white dog is barking and jumping, trying to warn him about the chasm. The snowy white mountains and hills from behind also represent a potential slippery outcomes.
The fool is in movement, he is not just standing there, he took the first step and willing to take many more steps in order to complete the journey. In the end he is seeking meaningful spirituality, to be developed to a higher self. However, right now he doesn’t know exactly how to achieve it. There is no plan, no logical calculations, not even knowledge nor experience. Just the element of fire – the burning desire to go forward.
When we look at the fool’s face we can’t really recognize if it’s a man or a woman. That interpretation means it has both the male and female energies, working together in symbiosis.
The fool tarot card meaning as Personality (Persona)
The fool is a free spirit that has no worries, doesn’t always aware of dangerous and the consequences of his action, too impulsive, acting before thinking. This is why the fool needs help when making big decisions.
He is just like a little kid who is very curious and loves to explore everything about the world. He knows he will make mistakes and it will hurt a lot. Yet it doesn’t stop him from taking an action. He likes the experiences of life whether they are good or even bad. He can learn from each situation and grow wiser and stronger. His main goal is to go after the possibility, even if it doesn’t look very clear or doable at the current phase.
The art of celebrating the joy of life. Admiring the beautifulness of the little things, very positive, optimistic and looking at the bright side.
Flexible, can adapt to most situation. He doesn’t have a solid philosophy or principle he must apply, other than been carefree. He still doesn’t have a strong personality and foundations. He is waiting to be shaped by the future experiences.
He is new to this world; he doesn’t always play by the social norms or cultural rules. Mainly because the fool doesn’t knows the meaning of most of them yet. But after the experience is gained the personality will be shaped on the positive way.
What does the fool card mean in love and relationship reading?
The fool card in love and relationships is meaning a huge surprise. You might encounter your lover in a sequence of events that you never would predict, out of the blue. For example, a new stranger that comes into town, new neighbour or new work colleague.
It can also indicate that there is a person that is close to you, but you haven’t really thought you two are compatible in terms of romance, or can go along together because you two have different personality traits. You will suddenly realise that it can happen.
When it comes to a new relationship there is a lot of excitement in the air, meaning fresh positive energy and optimism. While it might give you good feelings and joy, you also need to be caution a bit. You don’t see the whole picture and what you can’t see might hurt you.
There will be warning signs and it is advised to take in consideration every weird signal into consideration. Your friends and family might have an opinion about your new love relationship, please note that they are not jealous or want things to go wrong for you. They just care that everything will work on the good path.
Don’t be too much swept of your feet, in the end you will have to face reality. What you think about a certain man or woman and what is going on in real life are two different things. Once you encounter the polarity between the two, you might be very disappointed.
If what you are looking for is a long term relationship like marriage, than this is not a good tarot card. The fool’s journey tarot card is indicating the beginning but not the middle and the end. Things will change or develop. If you want this to success there is still a lot of work to be done. The person you are seeing right now is not looking for a commitment. Maybe in the future it will change.
If you are a woman the fool tarot card also stand for fertility. It might predict a pregnancy – start of a new life.
The fool tarot card meaning in work, career and money
New possibilities are coming in your way. This is the time to take action and do what you always wanted. Maybe you always wanted to change your career, maybe you want to work somewhere else or maybe to have your own business.
The main interpretation or meaning is that you need to go with what you believe in, even if there will be hard times during that period. Some people will not like what you are doing, they will try to stop you and change your mind. Situations like this need to be balance. On the one hand it’s good to listen to them, because they have other point of view and might teach you new perspective. On the other way don’t let it to discourage you from achieving the goal.
Understand that making a change related to work and money has its own risks. You can find yourself unemployed for a while or even loosing money. But when we are looking at the long term of the journey, in most cases there will be a success.
The fool tarot card meaning health
Regarding health, the fool tarot card meaning is good physical conditions.
If you were sick before, the interpretation is that the illness might begin to disappear and you suppose to feel much better.
Another possible meaning and interpretation is regarding to health is physical accident. As you may very well know by now, the fool is taking risks without thinking about them too much. The fool is on the verge of the cliff and if something will go wrong he will slip down.
Is the fool a good tarot card or is it bad?
Basically the fool’s journey is a good tarot card, as the main meaning is a new beginning. Usually when we have something new in our life, it is exciting, gives us good feeling and very interesting and intriguing. At this moment we pay attention only to the good and positive aspects of the event. We normally drawn to the situation, don’t think too much about it and we don’t want to ruin it, just flow with the current.
However, nothing is perfect and you also need to be aware of dangerous situations that are a head of you. There will be warning signs of bad energies. Therefore the best practice is no keep an eye on what is going on.
Does the fool tarot card mean yes or no?
The fool’s journey tarot card is usually neutral. The card is symbolizing something fresh and new possibilities. It can turn bad or good depending or the steps you take during your journey. More often than not it is interpreted as a yes card.
The fool’s journey tarot card upright meaning
Upright keywords: new beginnings, freedom, originality, foolishness, spontaneity, travel, adventure, leap of faith, careless, innocence.
The upright meaning of the fool tarot card is about taking risks in order to improve your situation and gain more of what you really want in life. Every one of us has certain desires and personal goals that we want to pursue. So if this card show up in a psychic reading than it is a good time to start a new adventure.
You have to be brave and face your inner demons and fears. Although the card is generally positive, the road to happiness is not easy and you will encounter some problems. From that reason it is very crucial that you will have faith and believe in yourself. Believe that you can do it, even if right now it is not very clear how, you will find the solution. Even if everyone around advice or telling you that you will fail, don’t listen to them too much and go only with your inner true.
Don’t look back on past experiences. Even if you had bad moments, don’t let them hold you from changing your situation. Remember the lessons you have learned and just keep on go forward all the way.
The fool’s journey tarot card reversed meaning
Reversed keywords: lack of direction, chaos, naive, reckless, lack of direction, poor judgement
When the tarot card is being spread upside down (reversed), it means that you jumped too far without thinking about the implications of your action, this might put you in trouble. As shown graphically in the fool tarot card, he is standing right before the cliff. Every big step or reckless movement can bring him to death.
Even if the fool tarot card is showing in reversed it still means a new beginning, but something is holding you back. For example it can be fear of the unknown future, failure and inability to make decisions.
The reversed meaning in love and relationship: if you are single than you are not ready for a long term relationships, you will not find term partner. If you are already seen someone that he or she doesn’t ready to make a commitment. They just want to have fun and fool around.
With money and career, when the tarot card is reversed, beware that no one is taking an advantage or you. For example someone can offer you a bad business idea or shady investment opportunity. And in the end you will lose lots of money.
The fool tarot card meaning in past, present and future
When we relate to the past, the meaning of the fool tarot card is that you have wasted lots of time and energies on people or work or relationships that you are no longer interested in. you had enough with all of this and you are looking for something different.
The present: right now you need a change, you don’t know if it will turn out to be good or bad. You are standing on a crossroad, you need to make a choice and just go for it. Things are looking too complicated right now, this is fine and you will have to address those issues but not right now. The most important thing is that you’ll move on to the desired direction.
The future: the fool tarot card is mainly concern about the present moment. But it can give us a little projection on the future as well. In the future you will have to invent yourself, adapt and be very flexible. When you will see a new opportunity, don’t hesitate and don’t go back to your old habits, which are holding you back.
The fool tarot card number meaning
The fool tarot card is a part of the whole 22 major arcana cards. It referred to key number 0 (zero), meaning the first in the deck. But it can also be placed at the end – key number 22. Because of that fact, the fool symbolizing the beginning and the end of a life cycle. Further more, the cycle is endless so in theory it goes in never-ending loop forever and ever, repeat itself to the eternity.
During our life, we will go through the 21 keys or elements of the fool’s journey. We will meet people who will teach us lessons about life. We will change our behaviour and feelings in order to continue with the journey. So in the end we will go back to the very first place that it was all begun, but now we are different in the way that we are wiser and stronger. It is more like spiritual voyage of self discovery.
The word fool in French language means a sack that is full of air, not with material objects. This is the reason why everything is possible even if it doesn’t seem so. It is also a symbol of triumph.
The number zero in numerology represents no limitation and lots of positive options to choose from. It is nothing and yet it is also everything together. The order of the numbers doesn’t apply to zero, as it all start afterwards. So there is no past for the fool, only future.
22 innumerology is great transformation energy. It is the ability to turn dreams and wishes to come true to the world of reality.
The fool tarot card astrological zodiac sign
The fool tarot card astrological zodiac signs are Aquarius and Pisces.
Aquarius is the 11th zodiac in astrology, mainly represents the element of water. Liquid flow that travel on earth. Strong current of water that can creates its own path by shaping rivers, lakes and the bottom of the ocean. Always on the move, looking for new adventure and can get bored really quick.
Pisces is a dreamer very much like the fool’s personality from the tarot card. They want to go somewhere, but they can’t decide what the right direction for them is. They have this conflict as depict in the zodiac sign – two fish, each one of them is swimming to another side. Pisces are also very emotional and control by their feelings.
In astrology the role of Uranus planet is to be like a clock, to awake us and get us doing things. This is very similar to the fool’s situation as described in the tarot card. There is some burning flame of fire inside of him that wouldn’t let him rest until he will find his answers. It is a call to take immediate action.
The fool tarot card meaning as feelings
As feelings, the fool’s journey tarot card gives us positive feelings. In most cases the answers to you questions are yes, there are good energies and positive vibes surrounding you. Even if the tarot card show in reversed it is still have bigger aspect of positivity with a minor challenge that stands in your way. In fact, it the ancient days of psychic reading the card was actually a joker – the most powerful item in the deck.
The fool tarot card art and history
Long time ago when tarot cards were used as a game and not for psychic reading, the fool’s card was the most powerful card in the deck. He was outside of the order and if you had it, you could protect and win the game.
Few hundreds year later the art of this tarot card was described more as someone who has unwanted personality in society, and therefore he lost all his magic and power. People didn’t want to associate themselves with this image. It was considered a negative energy and bad omen from the future. It symbolized unsuccessful life, misfortune and tormeneted feelings.
Later on, the fool’s image became a man of courage. Until that very day, the fool’s is still the hero card on the tarot deck. Although he is numbered 0 (zero) which mean nothing, he denotes new journey and possibilities, which is everything we need.
In many myths, legends and folklore story through history, the fool is actually the wisest person of all. He might look a little different or simple or even out of the common norms, but he knows better. Although at the beginning he didn’t had too much wisdom, his actions and failures through life, brought him new experiences and valuable lessons to learn from. All of this could happen just because of one thing: he wasn’t afraid to take the risk.
In fact, those who are dismissing him or don’t understand him, are the real fools because they don’t know how much wisdom he has to offer to the world.
Other names for the fool tarot card: joker, jester, clown, buffoon, folie, fov, il matto, le fou, and le mat.
Feel free to write your thoughts or questions in the comments below. I'd love to hear from you!

Race Information

• Name: Eugene Marathon
• Date: April 28, 2024
• Distance: 26.2 miles
• Location: Eugene, OR
• Website: https://www.eugenemarathon.com
• Strava: https://www.strava.com/activities/11285376078
• Time: 2:46:46

Goals

Goal	Description	Completed?
A	2:41-2:44	No
B	PR	Yes

Splits

Mile	Splits
1	6:08
2	6:23
3	6:24
4	6:15
5	6:15
6	5:55
7	6:19
8	6:04
9	6:23
10	6:39
11	6:23
12	6:13
13	6:12
14	6:12
15	6:14
16	6:19
17	6:19
18	6:04
19	6:37
20	6:44
21	6:10
22	6:31
23	6:40
24	6:34
25	6:45
26	6:34
0.2	1:27

Training

After racing the Tokyo Marathon in early March, I had 8 weeks before racing Eugene Marathon, which was my second spring marathon. During those 8 weeks, I ran the NYC Half, the Cherry Blossom 5K and Cherry Blossom 10 Miler, and was either recovering from those races or doing my usual runs and workouts to keep my fitness sharp. The workouts and my race results during this time (finished in 1:19 high at the NYC Half on tired legs two weeks after Tokyo, and finished the Cherry Blossom 5K in mid-17s plus turned it around in less than 24 hours after to finish in the low 59 minutes range at the Cherry Blossom 10 Mile Run) suggested that I was in shape to go for a sub-2:45 marathon.
Ultimately, I settled on aiming to finish Eugene somewhere between 2:41 and 2:44. Because this was my final marathon of the spring training cycle, this was my last opportunity to run a fast marathon. Based on my recent race results plus observations from my coach, I was in PR shape; Eugene has ideal weather, and the course was ideal to make such an attempt. Or so I hoped.

Pre-race

I flew over to Portland on Thursday night and spent a couple of nights at my friends’ place and got to hang out with them, plus walk around Portland and check out the sights with them as well. On Saturday, my friends and I drove over to Eugene and we went straight to packet pickup at a hotel around downtown Eugene. The packet pickup was quite smooth, and I was able to pick up my packet and spent some time browsing the vendors at the expo afterwards. The rest of the day was chill; my friends and I did a bit of exploring around downtown Eugene, and we had dinner at the Old Spaghetti Factory that evening. Before heading to bed that night, I laid out my race kit and prepped my gear bag so that I could get dressed and head out to the shuttle pickup area as soon as I woke up that morning.
I woke up on 5 AM on race day, had a quick breakfast, got dressed and headed out of my hotel towards the designated shuttle pick up point. Got on the shuttle bus and we arrived at Hayward Field around 6:20 AM. I quickly took care of business in the bathroom, then went over and dropped my gear bag at the bag check area. I ran into a friend at the gear check area and we went inside Hayward Field so that we could take a look at the famous venue. We then made our way to the start area, and we did a quick warm up jog nearby before entering the start corrals themselves and lining up close to the start area. I took half of a Maurten 160 gel before starting, and I had plans to consume the remainder after the first six miles.
After the usual pre-race remarks and the singing of the National Anthem, the race started at 7 AM and we were on our way!

Race

Start to 5 miles

The course was a bit crowded at the beginning, primarily because the marathoners and half marathoners started at the same time. There was quite a bit of rolling hills during the first 5 miles and so I focused on getting into a groove and going by effort and doing what I could to try to not go out too fast. My bladder was feeling a bit full at the start and I ended up taking a quick pee break after mile 2 and lost 20 seconds in the process.
Otherwise, this stretch was uneventful. We went through some really nice neighborhoods within Eugene during the first two miles, and saw some scenic stretches along the way while heading south towards the first turnaround point. I crossed the 5 mile mark in 31:17

5 miles to 10 miles

As we headed back north towards the center of Eugene, we overlapped a bit with the marathoners and half marathoners coming through in the opposite towards the mile 3 marker. I held my efforts relatively steady on this stretch, and I still felt quite good so far. I took my first gel sometime mile 7, and I was fueling every 30-40 minutes or so throughout the race. After going through the mile 9 marker and running past Hayward Field and the start area (which had been taken down at this point), my stomach started to feel a bit weird and I realized I need to find a porta potty at the next aid station to take care of this, and soon. Fortunately, I did not have to wait too long; there was a porta potty half a mile ahead, and I went straight to it and took care of business there, losing about 20 seconds in the process.
Besides the untimely bathroom stop around mile 9.5, nothing else happened to me on this stretch. I went through the mile 10 checkpoint in 31:23 (1:02:40 elapsed)

10 miles to 15 miles

After passing the mile 10 marker, we went onto the bike path along the Willamette River, before easing back onto Franklin Boulevard. I saw signs telling half marathoners and marathoners that the half/full marathon split at mile 10.75 was coming up; seeing that, I mentally prepared myself to run a good portion of the races with not many runners around me. At mile 10.75, the half and full marathoners split off, and I headed east, crossing the river into Springfield and looped through there for a mile before heading west to continue the rest of my race. Most of this stretch was quite flat, and I got comfortable easing into my goal pace and ticked off the miles. I took another gel sometime after mile 12 and was hitting up almost every water stop along this stretch. After mile 14, we went onto the wooded bike paths, where we would spend most of the second half. The crowd support started to diminish, and this was going to set the tone for the rest of the race.
I went through the 15 mile checkpoint in 31:16 (1:33:56). The organizers did not set up an official halfway checkpoint but based on watch data and the paces from the 5 mile splits, it was likely that I came through the halfway point a few seconds under 1:22.

15 miles to 20 miles

Besides briefly crossing paths with the half marathoners after the mile 15 mark, things started to gradually get tough for me. I was mostly running by myself on the wooden bike paths, with few runners ahead of me or behind me. And the crowd support was sparse too, which did not help; I only saw small crowds every few miles or so. Pace wise, I was holding on, but I was starting to increasingly feel the fatigue and I began to negotiate with myself. Which isn’t what I needed at this point. I wasn’t feeling too great somewhere between the mile 19 and mile 20 markers, and I ended up taking a quick 10-15 second breather at the aid station to catch my breath, take a caffeinated gel and grab some hydration, and put myself back together before continuing.
I went through the mile 20 split with a 32:05 split (2:06:01 elapsed). With a 10K to go, it was going to get harder for me the rest of the way.

20 miles to Finish

What I do remember about the last 6.2 miles, unfortunately, was how hard this was for me. Admittedly, this felt much harder than the last 6.2 miles at the Tokyo Marathon. It was giving me a lot of deja vu, which was not what I needed. My legs felt very heavy and there were times where it felt like I had leg weights tethered to my legs. My legs did not have any life left in them either. I wasn’t feeling too great either, even after taking a quick stop a moment ago. Realizing my predicament, I decided to break the remaining distance up and focused on getting to the next mile marker(s) as a way to keep me motivated the rest of the way. One mile at a time. Then two miles at a time. As I was gradually fading the rest of the way, I remember at least 8-10 runners passing by me during this stretch and clearly they were having a better day than I was having. It didn’t feel great seeing that happen to me but there was nothing I could do about it. Crowd support continued to be sparse up until less than a mile out from the finish at Hayward Field. I took my final gel around mile 23 so that I had enough left in the tank to take me the rest of the way.
It felt like forever, but I finally got to the mile 25 marker, and I remember telling myself “only 1.2 miles left to go”. Soon after I crossed the mile 25 marker, the marathon course merged with the half marathon course and half marathoners were running on the left hand side of the road making their way to the finish, while marathoners were running on the right hand side of the road. I navigated through an underpass, and after coming out of the underpass I saw solid crowd support for the first time since the first half of the race. Lots of spectators were lined up along the road leading to Hayward Field. Completely exhausted at this point and my legs feeling like lead at this point, I interacted with the crowds as best as I could while holding onto the pace the best that I could.
I crossed the mile 26 mark and saw Hayward Field in the distance. I made a right hand turn to enter the track at Hayward Field and took it all in: I am running on Hayward Field itself. What an incredible feeling to experience. With 150 meters to go on the Hayward Field Track, and with the finish line now visible, I picked up the pace and waved to the crowds at the stands as I covered the last 100 meters to the finish.
I crossed the finish line in 2:46:46, finishing 7 seconds faster than the time I ran at Tokyo two months prior. I knew it was going to be close, but talk about cutting it quite close! The 7 second marathon PR that I set at Eugene is now my smallest marathon PR, beating the 9 second marathon PR that I set at the 2021 Chicago Marathon. My result was good enough to place within the top 100 overall, which is quite nice I must say!

Post-race

After crossing the finish, I took a moment to catch my breath, and then took in the moment. I was standing in Hayward Field, where numerous high profile track meets were hosted. And I got to run on the small part of the track on my way to the finish. How cool is that?!
Walking through the chute, I collected my finishers medal and ran into running friends who were either spectating in the standards or crossed the finish line behind me and had quick chats with them. While getting post-race pictures at Hayward Field, I noticed a stain on my singlet and I realized that I experienced significant nipple chafing to the point that my nipple bled. So much for having nice finishing line and post-race photos! And it was the first time that it happened to me. I picked up my post-race food in the Hayward Field stadium tunnel, and gradually made my way out of the stadium towards the gear check area; I eventually reunited with my friends who came with me to Eugene to support me there. Eventually we ran into some of the same running friends at the gear check area and we sat around chatting about how our races went.
My friends and I drove back to Portland later that afternoon, and after I got myself cleaned up, we went over to a nearby bar to celebrate.

Final Thoughts and Updated Marathon Progress

While it was a bit disappointing that I faltered down the stretch and did not hit my goals, I am glad that I held on and squeeze out a small PR of 7 seconds at Eugene; it could have gone a whole lot worse. Hindsight is 20/20 of course, but when I was comparing my pace data and elevation data, it appears I went a big aggressive with the paces and took a bit of a risk there. Much of the rolling hills were in the first 5 miles of the race, and chances are I might have overcooked myself on that stretch; if I had done this differently, I would have told myself to relax on the paces on the rolling hills and not overcook myself in the process.
Above all, I am very grateful to make it through this long (and sometimes weird!) training cycle mostly intact, did not experience significant injuries along the way (!), did not burn out along the way (very important!), and picked up numerous PRs along the way: 10K (en route, twice!), 10 mile, half marathon, and full marathon (twice!). And I think it is fair to say that many people would kill for the kind of success that I’ve had during this training cycle.
That said, I learned a few important lessons throughout this training cycle. First, it appears I got into peak shape during the training block leading up to the Tokyo Marathon, and I did not make any subsequent fitness gains afterwards. It probably did not help that I was recovering from Tokyo or recovering from the shorter distance races that I raced during that 8 week period between Tokyo and Eugene. I’m not getting any younger with every passing year, and I probably need to be more diligent with recovery from races moving forward. That said, I have no regrets about doing those races because I still got solid results out of them. And finally, I realized that I prefer shorter training cycles – specifically ones that are between 12 and 16 weeks in duration – and I peak out at anywhere between 10 and 13 weeks into a training cycle, and I’d like to take advantage of my peak fitness soon after and not any longer beyond that. I’m grateful that I was able to handle a 20-week training cycle so that I could stay in shape for both Tokyo and Eugene, but admittedly this was a bit too long for my tastes. Lessons from this longer-than-usual training cycle will have a significant impact how I plan out my training cycles and races moving forward.
The road ahead for me will only get harder, and I vowed at the beginning of the training cycle to trust the process and not let sub-par workouts or sub-par race results drag me down and cause me to lose sight of the bigger picture. And I am still committed to doing that for myself.
For now though, I’m taking some time off training, running for fun, and looking forward to having a social life and enjoying life in general for a bit before transitioning over to summer outdoor track season. And I look forward to what is next for me!
With that said, here’s the updated version of my marathon PR progress within the past few years.

• 2017 - 5:07:32 (Marine Corps; debut)
• 2018 - 4:03:43 (Chicago)
• 2019 - 3:53:20 (Los Angeles) / 3:31:00 (Berlin)
• 2020 - 3:09:54 (Rhode Island)
• 2021 - 3:09:45 (Chicago)
• 2022 - 3:03:20 (Hartford)
• 2023 - 2:58:06 (London) / 2:50:28 (Berlin) / 2:49:16 (Chicago)
• 2024 - 2:46:53 (Tokyo) / 2:46:46 (Eugene)

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
He was back at Smiley’s taproom with a petite brunette dangling from his arm, the young signal operator whose acquaintance he’d made while assigned as a liaison officer with the Exploratory Corps. There he was, all big and stiff in his brand-new dress uniform, trying desperately to impress someone who was astronomically more attractive than him and making a priceless ass of himself.
“So,” she purred, eyeing him over the rim of her glass, “Tell me again about the surface. What’s it like wandering up there above all us wee mortals?”
“Erm,” Rene cleared his throat, feeling a hot flush creeping up his reddening neck, “It’s, uh, quite remarkable really. Simply fantastic.”
Having run out of things to say, Rene took a snootful of his drink in an attempt to sharpen his wits. It was so hard to focus with her hanging onto his every word like this.
“Ooh, you make it sound so exciting,” Deborah had tittered. Or was it Devorah? Her name had gotten lost in the fumes of fermented honeydew clouding up his brain. Perhaps another sip would jog his memory. Rene downed the horrid swill and coughed as it burned its way down his throat and up his nostrils.
“Would you look at the state of him!” someone guffawed, slapping Rene on the back, “Cool as cucumbers under fire when there’s a hundred dirty Amits breathing down our necks, but prop him up next to a lass and he goes completely to pieces.”
“Ah, piss off,” Rene said fondly. He turned to see Lethway sitting next to him flanked by two buxom blondes, an Amit axe buried deep in his neck.
“I’m only saying. You’ve got to keep your head on your shoulders, man,” Lethway said, as his own tumbled off sideways and hung on by a flap of gristle, “We’ve got a long night ahead of us with our fine lady friends here. It wouldn’t do for you to be sleeping on the job.’
“Why, Lethie my dearest. I’m sure Mr. Louvoture has the…stamina…to keep up,” the brunette said demurely, batting her eyelids at Rene, “Go on. You were telling me about how amazing it is up there.”
“Yes,” Rene puffed out his cheeks and marshalled his scattered thoughts, “It’s like this, see…how can I put it? Words can hardy do it justice.”
“Try me,” Deborah/Devorah said, tugging at his arm with her warm hands. The girl was practically throwing herself at him no matter how badly he was fumbling the ball. Rene my lad, if you don’t make it tonight you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life, Rene thought to himself.
“Alrighty then,” Rene said, deciding to risk everything by gaze deep into her eyes, which if the romance novels were to be believed, were windows into a woman’s soul. She had very pretty irises, all velvety and shining with something bordering on hero-worship.
“When you’re topside and the suns go down beyond the hills, and the clouds weep tears of crimson as the sky rolls over into a bowl of stars holding all the universe above you, it feels like…like…” Rene trailed off.
“What?” she whispered into the hush that had settled over the bar.
“Well, it feels a little like this,” Rene said softly, leaning in for a kiss. Her lips tasted his, the tip of her tongue quivering with longing. She drew him into her embrace, gripping him around the waist and pressing into him.
Awfully forward, these girls from Mound Sierra, Rene thought with some alarm. Not that he was complaining. They spent an eternity entwined like this, the whole taproom cheering and egging them on.
“Woof!” Rene broke away to catch his breath, “Is it me, or is it getting hard to breathe in here?”
“Shut up and kiss me again,” Devorah/Deborah said impatiently, wrapping a leg around his and holding him tight. Rene put a hand on her thigh and found that she was surprisingly hairy for a girl. Feeling a little repulsed at this he tried to peel himself away, but found that he couldn’t move any of his limbs.
“Mmph. Hmmgh!” he mumbled, his voice muffled by her insistent mouth. He cocked an eyebrow over her shoulder at Lethway, who’d just propped his head back up onto its stump.
“Cheers, big fellow!” Lethway tipped a glass in his direction and downed his glass in one gulp, the drink trickling out of him through a large bullet hole in his chest.
“I hate it when that happens,” Lethway said, staring sadly at it. He looked back up at Rene and said: “Oy! What did I tell you about falling asleep on the job. Isn’t it about time you got moving, trooper?”
“Not yet,” Devorah/Deborah sighed, kissing his neck, “First he has to tell me how much he likes my eyes. You do like my eyes, don’t you?”
“Why, of course darling—” Rene began. But then she pulled back to look him in face, and the words curdled and died on his lips.
Gone was the petite brunette in her oh-so-short skirt, replaced by a furry, many-eyed freak with quivering mouthparts. In an instant Smiley’s taproom was torn away to reveal the awful truth of his current circumstances: he was hanging upside down from a tree and caught in monster’s deadly embrace. He was trussed up by his legs which had gone completely numb, and his wrists were bound together by loops of silk that felt as strong as steel chains. Yelling incoherently, Rene started wriggling like a worm on a hook. The creature tightened its hold and pressed its fangs against his throat, delicately avoiding piercing the skin while looking at him through its row of eyes.
It was a warning. Rene wisely heeded it and stopped struggling. After a long moment the monster let him go, although they both continued to dangle upside down. Rene stared at its face in horrid fascination. He saw now that it had four eyes on its flat, squarish face, the centermost pair dwarfing the two ancillary ones on either side of them. In the place of a lower jaw it had four vertical mouthparts, the shorter ones in the middle tipped with curved fangs while the rest functioned like antennae, moving constantly with little taps and clicks, its grotesque head nodding along with them.
Rene thought the motion was reminiscent of a person’s lips as they mumbled, and he had a disturbing suspicion that the monster was trying to talk to him. The fact that he was still alive also lent credence to this theory. After all, if Amits were intelligent lifeforms, why couldn’t this one be as well? Hoping against hope, he stammered out:
“I—I don’t understand. I’m afraid I can’t speak your language. Haven’t got the equipment for it. See?”
Rene bared his teeth at it in a forced smile, tying show it what he meant. But the monster recoiled from him, pushing off the trunk behind him and leaping back some twenty meters away from him. It alighted on a tangle of creeper vines and hung there in all its awful majesty, eyeing Rene through its four unblinking orbs. It had ten appendages including its stubby antennae, each of them ending in a three-clawed hand. Its shoulder and thigh muscles were enormous, though its potbellied torso was as round as a wagon wheel, sporting a disgusting hump of flesh on its back. No doubt it contained even more musculature to support its powerful limbs, which at the moment were bunched up and ready to spring.
He had startled it, Rene realized. His own mouth was probably just as alien and repulsive to its sensibilities as its physiology was to him. Before he could derive some small satisfaction from that, more of the monsters emerged to join the first, darting out of the shadows with an unnatural, jittery motion. They moved in stops and starts, periods of immobility interrupted by burst of blinding speed, here one moment and gone the next.
“It shpeaksh…” Rene heard someone say in a voice somewhere between a dry croak and the gurgling of a water pipe. Rene looked around for the source of the voice and was shocked to find that it was issuing from the largest monster, the one reclining on the vines like some misshapen ape. He couldn’t believe his own ears. It was speaking Fleet cantish, mangling its way through the words somehow despite the total absence of a jawbone.
“Gallivant?” another queried with clearer pronunciation.
“No blade-wing, thish,” the leader clicked its palps thoughtfully, “Too shoft. Too schtupid. Came from the fire giant. Dropped a sheed pod, it did, like a tree in the wind. The sheed shpun a web and floated. Down, down, down.”
“Shoft like a grub,” agreed the smallest monster somewhat belatedly. A frothy substance with the consistency of saliva dripped from its fangs. It took a step towards Rene, stiffening all over. Before he could even blink it had launched itself through the air directly at him. In the same instant the leader also leapt, slamming bodily into its subordinate and throwing it to the ground.
“No,” the leader rasped, letting the other monster limp away having been suitably chastised, “Questions firshht. The fire giant. Are you itsh hatchling?”
It was staring at Rene when it said this. Rene thought quickly. It was a binary question and he felt that his life hung in the balance, the odds being even either way. Heads or tails? From what he’d heard it was clear that the only thing keeping him from lining the stomachs of these monsters was their abiding curiosity. They had witnessed the Divine Engine and his impromptu ejection from it, and they were under the impression that it had been a living thing and that he was its offspring. It followed that the best thing to do was to maintain their interest in him for as long as possible while he thought of an escape plan. Heads it was, then. Rene said:
“Yes. Yes, I am its ‘hatchling’.”
He glanced around until he found his sword where he had left it leaning against the buttress root, still in its sheathe next to the survival kit. If he could just reach down and grasp it in his hands…
“Good,” said the abomination, “And know you the secret of itsh power?”
“Of course,” Rene said, slowly and surreptitiously stretching out his arms, reaching for the sword hilt with all his might.
“Good, good,” the abomination crooned. There was a blur of motion and the leader materialized in front of him, their faces inches apart. It seized him by the hairs and yanked him close.
“Then I, too, will know its inner workingshh. Once I open your head and drink deep from your mind.”
Should have gone with tails, Rene thought as it lunged for him.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road