By popular demand, I guess...
I was kinda just being a smart-ass, but some of you wanted more so here it is: epilogues for every NPC as if they didn't continue to travel with Gorion's Ward and instead just decided to live their own life. Obviously, there are some implied alignment changes here.
This turned out to be longer than I expected and I kinda just threw it all together while I was working. Please excuse any typos or sloppy writing.
I want to apologize for one thing, though. Viconia's epilogue really only works if GW is a male, so I had to make that assumption for the sake of her story. If it matters any, I easily play just as many female GWs as I do male GWs. In fact, I probably play more female GWs because I don't care for the romances, frequently play the canon party, and want to nip the lame Jah romance in the bud.
But, to have them all in one place, I included my original smart-ass epilogues with the additional ones I created. Now, every character from BG1 and BG2 has an epilogue. I don't have the EE characters, though, because I play the original games and don't really know them.
So, just for funsies, which one is your favorite and why?
"Anomen continued to wait at the Copper Coronet for a party of adventurers willing to travel with him. Maybe it was the grating sound of his voice, or perhaps the way he leered at women, but he continued to remain alone. Eventually, he needed to find work to make ends meet. With Gorion's Ward having disbanded the slave traders and pit fights, Hendak had to find a new form of entertainment for the patrons. As such, he invented an all male review ladies night, and Anomen found work as a 'dancer'. He left the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart to join the less noble order of the pole. He also renounced his faith to Helm and instead allied himself with Waukeen because if you wanna see some groin, you gotta have some coin."
"Despite Gorion's Ward clearing the trolls from her keep, Nalia was not able to reclaim her lands and instead lost her estate to Lord Roenall. The lord offered to let her retain residence in her family's ancestral home, but only in exchange for her hand in marriage. Nalia found the proposition to be repugnant. Instead, she salvaged whatever wealth she could from her family's keep and moved to Athkatla to start a new life. She no longer helped the less fortunate, as she was now among their numbers and had her own problems. Nalia's lack of any practical skills combined with her sense of entitlement sent her into a life of failure followed by drinking and debauchery. She now spends more time back at the Copper Coronet than anywhere else. It is hard to say where she squanders her wealth more, the alcohol, or on the dancers during Ladies Night."
"After the incident with the Planar Sphere, Valygar was finally free of his past, could retire to his cabin, and pursue his true passion: writing. Ironically, the only inspiration he found ended up stemming from his family's checkered past. Valygar's only works that even had middling success were 'Tuesdays with Lavok' and 'Dude, Where's My Planar Sphere', with the latter being made into a production at the Five Flagoons Theater."
"Haer'Dalis continued to work as a performer at the Five Flagoons Theater. Unfortunately, it struggled due to poor management. It might have turned out better if an outside agent with fresh ideas had stepped in, but Gorion's Ward had better things to do than be a bard. While the work was generally steady, the returns were not great and the material was a little low-brow for Haer'Dalis' liking. The tiefling realized he reached rock bottom when he was cast as the lead in a play about a buffoon who apparently lost a plane-shifting apparatus the size of a small castle and had to find it before his parents returned from Neverwinter. After the opening night, he took his own life in his dressing room. His body was found the next morning with a note saying, 'Art is dead and I am art, so I shall join art in death.' Biff the Understudy stepped in for Haer'Dalis despite never having an opportunity to read the script. Nevertheless, the production was a resounding success and launched Biff's career to new heights."
“A heartbroken Garrick found work as a character actor at the Five Flagoons Theater, but eventually gained more success as a writer and director. He found it to be a mostly agreeable situation, aside from a tiefling primadonna who would constantly belittle his work and call it ”trite" and “drivel”. Fortunately, that situation worked itself out in time and Garrick found Biff to be much easier to direct. With the tiefling gone, his ideas had room to grow. He invented a new kind of love story, one where the protagonist doesn't always get the girl at the end but the journey to that ending would be quite amusing. He labeled this genre “the Comedy of Romance” and the works were mostly based on his own life. His plays were quite popular among the commoners, with his top selling shows being 'Sleepless in Saradush', 'Silverymoon Linings Playbook', and 'Crazy Rich Aasimars'. He eventually fully transitioned off the stage into the director's chair. By the peak of his fame, he was married to none other than Queen Ellesime."
“Aerie continued to work at the circus and WOULD NOT SHUT UP ABOUT HER DAMN WINGS. Even Quayle eventually grew sick of hearing about it. This put strain on their relationship. Things took a turn for the better when Ribald Barterman acquired a new curiosity for his shop. It was a magical ring which he sold to Quayle at a reduced rate out of sympathy. This ”treasure" was actually a cursed Ring of Deafness, which Quayle found to be anything but a curse and wore it for the rest of his days."
“Xzar and Montaron were both slain at the hands of the Athkatla Harpers, but this is actually where their story begins. Xzar, as he had done so many times before, had a backup plan of an arcane nature should death befall either he or the halfling. Their mortal essences were pulled to a pocket plane he created. There they could be channeled into restored bodies cloned at his estate. With this particular round of ritual, Xzar had incidentally made a slight error in the incantation and the two found themselves in a time suspended state in Xzar's pocket plane. It was only five minutes for the rest of the world, but it was fifty years for them. This turned out to be a pivot point in their relationship. Having only each other's company in this shadowy void, they were finally able to work out their feelings for each other. When they had returned to the prime material plane, they discovered their mutual animosity was replaced with love. Rather than pick up their life where they left off with the Zhentarim, they decided to pack it all in, moved to Bryn Shander, and start a bed and breakfast. Montaron rediscovered his halfling roots and love for the culinary arts while Xzar would perform seances to connect guests with their late loved ones. Scones and Bones became an overnight success and was consistently listed as a “must see” in Volo's travel guides. In their golden years, the couple co-wrote a memoir of their journey, ‘Brokeback Montaron’, which is sold in bookstores everywhere."
“After briefly crossing paths with Gorion's Ward, Mazzy Fentan continued her crusade as a de facto halfling paladin. She eventually found herself petitioning for membership at the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart in Athkatla after she had singlehandedly saved a village from an ancient dracolich. Despite the extent of her virtue and accomplishment, her petition was denied on the basis that halflings could not possibly be real paladins. This inspired her next crusade, one to break down vocational barriers for all demihuman races. Why couldn't halflings be paladins or dwarves be wizards? And why did gnomes always have to be illusionists? It simply made no goddamn sense. She began to get traction with her quest when she attended lectures by the wizards of the (sword) coast in Candlekeep. With their help, she ushered Faerun into a new edition era where there would be no vocational barriers for adventurers based on their race. Soon, the world began to see roguish halflings that also venerated Helm, while tending to the wilds as a druid. Half-orc bards also studied as wizards while manifesting natural arcane abilities as sorcerers. Tiefling paladins took their crusades to the wilderness and served as rangers, while sidelining as clergy to Mystra. The world was now a liberated place, free to not make any goddamn sense in a myriad of new ways. At one point, Lady Mazzy Fentan of Trademeet (now formally a paladin) crossed paths with a dwarven shadowdancebard and in that moment she regretted everything. Seriously, just take a moment and picture that. It would look fucking ridiculous.”
“Yeslick's clanhome was flooded once again. Despondent and without options, he took work at a smithy in Baldur's Gate but never stopped dreaming of finding both a clan and a home. He found a way to bring this dream to life after a courageous halfling paladin broke down the barriers for, among other things, dwarves to be wizards. Yeslick had an idea. He studied magic diligently until he was able to cast two spells of great importance: Water Breathing and Permanence. He then searched the lands for other clanless dwarves who would be willing to try something new. With the new clan he formed, Yeslick permanently gave all his fellow clansman the ability to breath underwater. They then moved into the flooded Cloakwood Mines and built the first underwater dwarven stronghold. Using his arcane powers, Yeslick also developed the ability to speak with the marine life that shared this stronghold. And, with that, the clan Aquadwarf was born. At one point, Valygar visited and wrote a play based on Yeslick's story. However, he couldn't even get it to stage at the Five Flagoons Theater. The illustrious director Garrick was quoted as saying, “A hero that can breath underwater and talk to fish? Nobody would go for that!"
“Keldorn finally retired from the Most Noble Order of the Radiant Heart and looked forward to a much simpler life. He rekindled his marriage with Lady Maria and life seemed to improve. It was rather early on when the couple discovered that Maria had become pregnant again. It was also not long after that when Peony, the housekeeper, also became pregnant. Maria started to ask Keldorn about this, but Keldorn started to get defensive and asked, ”Hey, who's the Inquisitor here?" Then Keldorn started to do the math with her to track the conception of Maria's pregnancy. She certainly did not want him to get to the end of that equation, so she quickly changed the subject. She suggested getting a new maid, but Keldorn chastised her for abandoning someone in their time of need who had been like family for years. He forbade Peony's departure claiming that his god, Torm, would not stand for it. Maria then made a passive aggressive comment about Torm being the god of loyalty, but she was mostly just muttering under her breath to get the last word in. Eventually, both children were born and had probably the most awkward upbringing of anyone in Faerun."
“After Gorion's Ward helped Coran take down a wyvern, the rogue brought the beast's head back to the mayor of Beregost for the reward and accolades. He thought this put him in a position to be a hero of great renown and perhaps, just maybe, people would stop mocking him for his flashy attire and completely superfluous eye mask. They didn't. He only gained acceptance when he crossed paths with a ranger who seemed indifferent towards Coran's keen fashion sense. Coran traveled the Sword Coast with his ranger sidekick, righting the wrongs against the ‘little guy’ and taking the law into their own hands when needed. This partnership dissolved when he discovered that the ranger thought Coran was the sidekick. As if! Coran tried to correct the ranger, whose argument was, 'Really, man, if that outfit doesn't scream sidekick then I'm Elminster's twin brother.' The ranger was not related to Elminster and shared no resemblance.
“Kivan never was able to get his revenge on Tazok. Unbeknownst to him, that honor was taken by Gorion's Ward. His thirst for vengeance continued to eat away at him until he found himself in a bat infested cave in the wilderness. It was then he snapped. He turned the cave into his secret hideaway, put together a disguise and started wandering the sword coast looking for evil-doers to punish. He would leave his calling card wherever he saved the day, a token of a bat with longer ears like an elf. And bats already had rather long ears so these bat ears were almost comically obtrusive. Nevertheless, his deeds were generally appreciated and the people stared calling him Bat-elf. For a short spell, another elf tagged along with him and tried to help, but he was so flamboyantly dressed that one could pick his sidekick out of the shadows blindfolded. Kivan eventually had to send him on his way. Unfortunately, his vigilante crusade abruptly ended after receiving a cease and decist order from DC Comics. Kivan could fight both monster and marauder all day, but his 14 Constitution wouldn't hold up against a lawsuit for trademark infringement.”
“Skie was deeply affected by both the death of her brother and the assassination of her father. And yes, her father was actually murdered and didn't lol-jk back to life in some crappy DLC. In any event, through these traumas, she came to realize the puerility of what she thought was her brilliant criminal masterminding. Instead, she decided to settle down and live a more responsible life as an upstanding citizen of Baldur's Gate. She took the reins of her father's estate after his death and rose to prominence as one of the Grand Dukes of the city. She maintained her relationship with Eldoth for quite some time, inexplicably, as he refused to get a job because he didn't want to take attention from his band which he swore was going to make it. However, the bard spent most of the day either lounging at Skie’s estate or gambling away his allowance with games of three-dragon-ante at the Helm and Cloak. Eventually, inspired by the book “Men Are From Menzoberranzan, Women Are From Immilmar," she decided to call it quits with Eldoth and sent him packing. Shortly thereafter, she met a man who was nothing like Eldoth and they settled down together to start a family."
“Eldoth's dreams of being a world-famous musician fronting the greatest band in Faerun never reached fruition. This was partly because he didn't actually have a band and partly because he didn't have the talent to write music. Instead, he just had a lute he purchased at Lucky Aello's Discount Store that only had one A-string and was missing the E-string. Also, Eldoth could only play power chords and he couldn't really sing and play at the same time. Most of the time he would just strum a chord or two and then talk about what the song would do next, often describing a solo and half playing it on an ”air lute" (while he was still holding an actual lute, mind you) to give people the idea as to how the song would sound when it was finally written. Yeah, he was one of those guys. After Skie kicked him to the curb, he bounced between various barmaids who clearly had low self-esteem, but not low enough to keep him around for long. Eventually, he got one of them pregnant and was forced into a shotgun wedding by the barmaid's father. He now works in the kitchen at the same inn as his barmaid wife. She helps the customers up front and he cooks eggs in the back. Eldoth continues to tell himself that this experience will just provide inspiration for his music and that someday he was going to get the band back together."
“After being rescued by Gorion's Ward, Xan made his way to Baldur's Gate to regroup. He spent an inordinate amount of time beating himself up over his failures and trying to muster the gumption to continue his quest to unravel the political turmoil of the region. However, it took him months to get to this point, and by that time, Gorion's Ward already sorted out the problems in the region. Discovering this, he deemed himself a failure yet again and sunk into a deeper depression. He pulled himself out of it when he met a woman who lost most of her family to violent deaths during the iron crisis, yet she still kept herself together and became a local success in a few short years. Xan immediately fell in love with the recently single Skie Silvershield and began to court her. They eventually married and started a family. At Xan's insistence, and inspired by his wife's name, their two daughters were named Sunshine and Rainbow. Xan was a staunch supporter of his wife's career and stayed home to raise the kids. When they were older and needed less attending, he followed a new dream and became a motivational speaker.”
“Korgan had his revenge against his backstabbing crew and employer, but he felt...empty. It was done, but he felt no satisfaction. Disgruntled and disappointed, he decided to lose himself in his cups at the Copper Coronet. Even this did nothing to alleviate his malaise. One night, having passed out drunk in a peasant room at the Copper Coronet, he dreamt of that final fight but something was different. In the background of the battle, there was a glow coming from the door of a shack and he heard the whispering of a language that sounded like it was from Kara-Tur. When he woke the next morning, Korgan returned to the rooftop and found the shack from his dream. He knocked and was greeted by a priest of Illmater. Korgan told the priest of his dream and he was led into the backroom where he found a man from Kara-Tur infirm and huddled over a cup of tea. The priest explained that he had just reincarnated this man of the faith using a heart delivered by a passing adventurer. Korgan took this as a sign, converted to the faith, and the two paired up to help those in suffering as a result of the schemes of others. The tales of Korgan and Yoshimo were not only told in many of a tavern by the bards, but also collected in graphic serials that were popular among the children of Athkatla.”
“Ajantis' death sent him into an afterlife at Everwatch, the realm of Helm. For his honor and diligence, the devout knight was granted an audience with his patron. Ajantis then told Helm what utter bullshit the god was. I mean, c'mon, he's the god of protection, the Vigilant One, and he couldn't protect a group of knights from a dragon's cheap illusion spell that a mage even tried to dispel with True Sight? It was like Helm wasn't even trying. Helm was stunned by the confrontation but also had no valid defense. Ajantis called Helm to a trial that was mediated by Tyr. After careful deliberation, Tyr determined that Helm was sleeping on the job and the judgment was to demote him to a lesser deity. Now, Helm was the patron of guards, but not actual guards that ever see action, just the ceremonial ones whose weapons and armor are super shiny and probably not even real. Ajantis was then granted Helm's old portfolio and became a god that truly protected his followers.”
“Viconia left Athkatla's government district perplexed. She was rescued from burning at the stake by Gorion's Ward and then immediately dismissed. She found this to be unusual behavior for a male. She was accustomed to men either trying to bed her or kill her, but this casual indifference was completely new. Viconia came to be obsessed with Gorion's Ward from a distance. She spiraled into a fantasy where the two of them had a future together. It was pretty bad. There were some extremely embarrassing vision boards involved and that wasn't even the worst of it. When her mania reached critical mass, her obsession actually collapsed and she had an epiphany. She came to realize that she did not need this man, or any for that matter. She started on a journey of self discovery and took a moral inventory of her past relationships. She wrote about it in the book, “Men Are From Menzoberranzan, Women Are From Immilmar”. She then used the revenue from the book sales to open Athkatla's first feminist bookstore. In Her Words became a mecca for women, particularly those who felt trapped in bad relationships. The community that emerged here created the group, Friends of Galia, which strove to free women from abusive relationships. Eventually, the bookstore expanded to include an apartment block above that became a shelter for such women. Occasionally, the partners of these victims would come around to In Her Words in an attempt to drag their partners back home. You can probably guess how a confrontation between a drunken 0-level commoner and a Drow priestess of Shar ends."
“Faldorn was defeated by Jaheira in Trademeet and lost her title of Arch-Druid. In truth, she was relieved to be relieved of the position. Years of pushing forward the Shadow Druid agenda led Faldorn to realize that she had lost touch with the real Faldorn along the way. After some soul-searching, she reinvented herself as a lifestyle guru and developed an entire line of organic health and beauty products under the name, She-Wolf. Both her products and seminars were all the rage in Athkatla, specifically among noblewomen who clearly had too much free time. Faldorn eventually gave up her residence in natural environs for a lavish estate in Athkatla's government district. Her following soon pressured her to petition to join the Council of Six after the fall of the Cowled Wizards left the position open (aside from a short-term replacement). Her petition was a success and she soon found herself on the Council of Six. Under her leadership, she created created the FDAA, the Food and Drink Association of Athkatla. Now, instead of draconian rules governing magic in the city, equally restrictive rules and standards were applied to the food and drink that the people consumed.”
“Barely surviving being gravely wounded by Irenicus, Tiax left Spellhold for Athkatla where he intended to do what he did best: rule. Learning from his past campaign mistakes in Baldur's Gate, he changed his slogan from ”Tiax Rules!" to “Make Athkatla Great Again”. Of course, what he thought would make Athkatla great was putting himself in charge as a despotic leader. But, he toned down that aspect of his platform and instead focused on the history of scheming and backroom dealing of the Cowled Wizards (as if he was any less evil or scheming) and promised the people he would be different than all the other corrupt politicians. Miraculously, despite his obviously apparent character flaws, he succeeded in replacing the Cowled Wizards' representative on the Council of Six. He decided to take their stance on restrictive magic to the next level and banned magic entirely. Since he didn't study the arcane himself, it was no skin of his nose. This move undermined his support base leaving him with only the most backwards and ignorant followers. He was ultimately removed from his position when he insisted the city build a wall around the planar sphere and was expecting that the city's wizards would be the ones to pay for it. After his removal, his few remaining extreme supporters organized an invasion of the main government building under the guise of freedom of assembly. All nine of these “rebels” were rounded up, tried, and sent to prison. Tiax was convicted of treason and reincarnated in Spellhold, which was now just a common prison. After his eventual release, he was prohibited from seeking any position of power in Amn."
"Edwin Odesseiron continued to lay low with the Shadow Thieves for a while. The Cowled Wizards suffered a crippling blow as a side effect of the conflict between Gorion's Ward and Irenicus. Edwin decided to step in and finish the job. His thought was that he could wipe out the Cowled Wizard remnants and then take credit for their defeat, thereby gaining him more clout among the Red Wizards of Thay. After many conspicuous mage battles in the streets of Athkatla, he succeeded. However, the people who noticed his efforts the most were actually the people of Athkatla. They were tired of living under the Cowled Wizards' iron fist and Edwin was lauded as a liberator and hero. He even had a statue in his image raised in Waukeen's Promenade. Edwin was initially nonplussed over people finally giving him the credit he always felt he so rightfully deserved. But, he quickly came to accept their praise and bought in to being a champion for the people. Edwin continued his agenda of liberation when a clearly insane gnome who found his way on the Council of Six tried to ban magic entirely in the city. Edwin and his followers were primarily responsible for having the madman removed from his seat.
“Shar-Teel, Safana, Branwen, and Alora all happened to cross paths with each other at Elfsong one evening. Shar-Teel was looking to fight a man, Safana was looking to shag a man, Branwen was recently petrified by a man, and Alora was just excited to be somewhere new. The four got to talking with each other and, despite having wildly different personalities, seemed to hit it off. Shar-Teel was sarcastic and aggressive, Safana was self-absorbed and man-hungry, Alora was kind and sweet, and Branwen was the matriarch of the group. You wouldn't think this lot would get along, but they actually did, and their differences merely become the fuel for innocuous hi-jinks week after week.”
"With Gorion's Ward's help, Cernd was able to rescue his child that he then abandoned again at the druid grove near Trademeet. He promised that he would return to raise the child, he just needed to run to the general shop in Trademeet for some pipeweed. He never returned, but that was pretty obvious since he didn’t even smoke. Cernd continued to wander Faerun. It came to light in Cormyr that Cernd had actually married, and had children, with numerous women in Cormyr, Amn, the Sword Coast, Tethyr, Calimshan, Turmish, Halruaa, Icewind Dale, Chondath, Sembia, Impiltur, the Silver Marches, and even the Troll Hills (don't ask). Furthermore, it was discovered that Cernd was not actually a druid, just a werewolf that had a Ring of Goodberries. The druid con was so that he could have a reason to abandon his wives and children and move on to a new situation. You would be surprised at how many women could fall for a guy that can conjure an impromptu picnic in the park. Unfortunately for Cernd, Cormyr was not the kind of place to run afoul of the legal system. For the crime of bigamy, he was sentenced to life in prison. He never set foot near a druid grove again, but he was allowed to participate in a work-release program tending to the gardens of nobles.
“Kagain returned to his shop and grew even more bitter, but not over what the death of Entar Silvershield's son had done to his reputation and business. Instead, he resented that even the Enhanced Edition of the game didn't give him a remotely decent companion quest. By Moradin's hammer, Cernd even had a pretty involved companion quest and the story there both starts and ends with a deadbeat dad! Also, Kagain can regenerate! Korgan can't even do that. And another thing! He was sick of people confusing the two of them as if all dwarves look alike or something. Ok, granted, they're both old dwarves with greying beards, but Korgan's beard is tied while Kagain's beard is brushed out. Of course, none of this made sense to anyone, even to Kagain who never actually crossed paths with Cernd or Korgan. However, the dwarf had nothing to do with his time except stand in his shop, isolated and alone, until he was done in by insanity and plantar fasciitis.”
“The death of Khalid shook Jaheira to the core. She convinced herself that she could never love again, certainly not so soon after his death nor with anyone that would be a child in her eyes. That would be absurd and rather tacky. After her escape from Irenicus' prison and deposing Faldorn from the druid grove, she took over as Arch-Druid. Being a Harper just wouldn't be the same without Khalid. However, the grove would allow her to explore a new, but comfortingly familiar, phase of life. She had barely been installed as the Arch-Druid when Cernd dropped off his child and disappeared again. He did not even stay long enough to tell Jaheira the child's name. Knowing he would likely not return, she named the child Khalid after her lost love. Realizing there were other children our there without families to care for them, Jahaeira would send her subordinates to wander nearby lands and bring them to the grove for a better life. Perhaps not surprisingly, many of these children happened to be Cernd's. She eventually renamed the grove to Kinder Garden in honor of the grove's new purpose of giving these children a kinder upbringing. Jaheira's headstrong personality served her well with these lost children, who all loved her as they would any mother. The Kinder Garden became the most thriving druid grove in all of Faerun. Jaheira eventually died in 1547 DR, with hundreds of children haven been rescued in her lifetime, and a memorial was erected in her honor at the grove. The inscription read, 'Nature's Servant Awaits.'"
“After being freed from Irenicus' dungeon, Minsc put his boots on the ground at the Copper Coronet. Being the simple man that he was, he found himself unwittingly recruited into fighting in the gladiator pits (before Gorion's Ward was able to free the slaves). Yet again, Minsc took a blow to the head. But this time, its effects were something completely new. No longer was he the slow-witted evil-slaying ranger, armed to the teeth and packing a hamster. Instead, his intelligence and wisdom started to blossom and he explored, through dissertation, the impact of modern civilization on the overall ecosystem of Faerun. Indeed, before Minsc started his work, the people of Faerun didn't even have the concept of an ”ecosystem". He left Athkatla to pursue a residency at Jaheira's grove where he could study and work in peace. He published works like, “The Intersection of Geopolitics and Biodiversity: Living More but Dying Sooner”, “The Essential Symbiosis Between the Savage and Civilization”, and “Moral Urbanization: Seeking a More Comprehensive Prosperity”. Minsc continued his studies and writing and ultimately produced enough groundbreaking works to have his own annex in Candlekeep. It was shortly after the dedication of this annex that Minsc disappeared from Faerun, never to be seen again."
“Jan Jansen's fate was the most impressive of all as his endeavors shaped the very fabric of Faerun for centuries to come. His story truly serves as a moral lesson for everyone and we should heed its virtue quite seriously. Helping Lissa and Jaella planted a seed of regret in Lissa with regards to her marriage to Vaelag. Speaking of seeds, this reminds Jan of a time when he was helping his Uncle Scratchy with his turnip farm. However, Uncle Scratchy was hoodwinked and the seeds he received were actually purple carrot seeds. You can imagine Uncle Scratchy's surprise when they sprouted and he suddenly had a field of purple carrots. Well, as you probably know, you can't make turnip stew, or turnip casserole, or turnip pie with purple carrots. But it just so happened there was a mage tower nearby and the resident mage needed a vast number of carrots. Apparently, her plan was to animate them as a kind of vegetable army to combat a myconid infestation in cave system rather close to her tower. Of course, animated carrots are quite self-assured and were immune to myconoid's confusion spores. Anyway, Jan had a once-removed cousin, Bobil, that was lost in those caves when he was a young gnome. He had wandered so deep that he found himself in the den of a solitary xvart who was obsessed with a magic ring. Bobil happened to purloin that ring but it turned out to not be magic at all. However, it was still worth enough for Bobil to buy himself a nice cottage in Trademeet. He then started his own turnip farm and had better luck than Uncle Scratchy. Wait, what were we talking about, again?”
“Boo continued his mission to study the sentient life forms of Faerun and determine their potential impact on the metaverse. He preferred the continued company of Minsc due to the ranger's kindness and protectiveness. Boo found this to be quite valuable in his current miniaturized state. Even after Minsc's accident, where his intellect began to expand, Minsc never lost his good heart and inherent kindness and the two remained the best of friends. It was a number of years later that the term of Boo's mission was complete. A team of his fellow people arrived on a spelljammer to collect the giant miniaturized space hamster. Minsc (and Boo) were on a retreat in a remote part of the Neverwinter Wood when a vessel shaped like a giant acorn landed in a nearby clearing. A number of human-sized anthropomorphic hamster-like beings, who called themselves the Ysoki, emerged and met with Boo. One had a strange crystalline device which it used to restore Boo to his proper size. Minsc naturally remained composed while all this was happening. He and Boo talked often and he knew this day would be coming. Boo returned to the spelljammer with his brethren to debrief on the mission. The Ysoki wanted to bring a sample back to their homeworld for further learning and study. Boo offered Minsc for the task, as the exemplar human would fit in nicely with the Ysoki's advanced culture and society. Everyone was in agreement and made the offer to the ranger. Minsc felt like he had made every contribution he could to the people of Faerun, so he accepted and boarded the ship. Boo, excited to finally be on a spelljammer again, took the helm and plotted a course for his homeworld. At his side sat his friend and faithful companion, Minsc.”

There was this game that I watched Gloom play through, it was a pixel game. It started out as you and your partner driving to a robbery or something along those lines. You play as a shorter bald guy I'm pretty sure and your partner is a taller black man. You arrive at the scene and start investigating until things go awry and the robber has your partner as gunpoint. I don't remember the options but gloom chose to try and shoot the intruder. Obviously the shot misses and you kill your partner. There's a funeral, I'm pretty sure you have to face your partners wife and children and the head of police. I think later it cuts to you in a retirement home, you're trying to escape because you got this note I think and it says to "meet me" somewhere (you get the idea). You have to escape the home because the nurses won't let you leave, then you meet up with the girl that left the note. I recall her being the niece of your partner. After you meet her you return back to the nursing home to find it in flames.
I remember more but I feel like I'm rambling, 'I tell more if needed thank you :)

I was a stay at home mom for the last 10 years to our 3 children. I genuinely enjoyed my time as a sahm but the last few years I was burnt out and felt like I needed a change. I turned 30 last year and after many talks with my husband, I decided to enter into the workforce. This meant putting my youngest in full time preschool ( my older two kids are both in school full time. )
The first 6 months of working was great, it truly felt like a breath of fresh air. I finally had time for myself, and my performance has been great. I was quickly promoted and it sounds like I’m in line for another promotion within the next year. My husband has made several comments that it’s a huge relief off his shoulders to not be sole income of our family anymore because it’s a huge responsibililty. This has made me happy to ease his mind and help him relax.
While I have complete and total control over my work life, I am struggling so much with my home life. There is no time to do anything, ever. Between my husband and I picking up kids, making dinner, homework, laundry, cleaning, shuffling to and from sports…there’s just no time. It’s so completely overwhelming to come home and have nothing be done and just trying to get everything done in a few short hours.
We had a few very hard months with my husband traveling for work. This was the first time I was a working mom and it genuinely felt impossible. It was probably the most stressful time of my life and I can’t imagine doing it again.
I’m so utterly overwhelmed and exhausted all of the time anymore. I genuinely feel depressed. I feel like I’m not able to spend quality time to my kids, my husband, or even just myself. I’m so overwhelmed with the day today things, I have no control over things at home and that is a stark difference from what I’ve done for the last ten years.
This all came to a head for me this weekend when I was gardening (my literal favorite thing to do when I was a stay at home mom, I’ve worked so hard on the landscaping and my husband built a huge garden for me last year). I was planting vegetables and I just thought to myself…I’m actually not enjoying this. I’m so exhausted and overwhelmed with everything I have to squeeze in this weekend, this is the last thing I want to do. Me realizing this broke my heart and I cried on and off all weekend.
I am trying so hard to be positive and understand that life with 3 kids and 2 working parents is just going to be chaotic, but it’s just so overwhelming and I’m truly struggling mentally and physically. I’m just sad all of the time.
I just need to know how all you working moms manage it all and what has worked for your families. Or even just words of encouragement!

Tagging flair as my method just because there isn’t really flair for my question. I haven’t ovulated in like 2 months because I got the stomach flu REALLY bad back in march, and I’ve been continuing to track my cycle just hoping I’ll ovulate and can finally start a new chart. I’ve been taking a mental note of my cervical position even though I don’t chart it and I noticed today that my cervix was VERY low and extremely soft even though I had a pretty dry sensation and couldn’t externally find CM. I had to check at the cervix, hence me noticing how low and soft it was. Normally my cervix is not to the point where I can get a good grip on it to get some mucus to observe, but it was INCREDIBLY easy to do today. The internet was unhelpful in finding an answer, but does this mean that maybe I’ll finally ovulate? I’ve had EWCM the past 2 days and my cervix feels like it’s gotten progressively lower. Does it even mean anything at all?

I usually write down strange dreams right after waking up, these are the notes:
I woke up feeling weird My body and mind were split in two, and each was in a different place. My left eye saw the right part, and my left eye saw the right part. The left part of my body was lying on my bed in my room, my right part was lying on a path next to a stream in a valley, I was able to move my right arm and touch the water, feel the temperature and flow. I closed my left eye and began to observe my body lying on the bed, with the left part of my body, I tried to get up, but I lacked strength. Now with both eyes open I could see both places, my room and the valley from a single perspective, but as separate images in my head, but still having a full view of both places, as if I were seeing two images at the same time. without interference from one to the other, as if I were looking ahead, seeing the landscape twice, one separate from the other but both at the same time. I finally managed to get up using my left arm, pushing myself up and sitting on the bed, meanwhile the right part of my body and mind that were in the valley next to the stream were pulled towards my bed, uniting the two perspectives of vision.
It was very strange, I was in two places at the same time, having different sensations and perspectives without interference from one to the other, as if I were existing in two places and my brain was interpreting this naturally. Is this how a spider's brain works, having different images generated and different angles? It was as if I saw two images at the same time and my brain interpreted it naturally.

WARNING: This story contains strong language, mild violence & fictional political radicalism.
(Note, this story portrays the human side in a morally negative light. If you do not like that, then turn back now.)

ULJJAK KASERKOR, ANDZAKTAR, THE HOMEWORLD, ANDZAK EMPIRE, 11,772 A.C. 

Standing in the centre of the Andzak Governing District, in the heart of the Andzak Empire, is the Tree of Civilisation. While there is no direct translation into Human Standard, the meaning of the tree, including its name, stood for the long continuity of Andzak civilisation and the Andzak Empire.
Surrounding the tree were the marvellous palaces of the Imperial Government, the Imperial Advisory Council directly appointed by the emperor among them. The palaces were meant to be opulent and expensive, as if you were a lowly governor coming in from the Outer Provinces, the rows and rows of perfectly symmetric crystalline walls combined with the mirrors to allow the Andzak aristocracy to witness the superb influence of the Imperial Authorities.
Looking into those spotlessly clean mirrors was me, Deputy Governor Uljjak Kaserkor. According to Imperial audits of my activities, I am a "sub-par administrator, foreign to both the Andzak Empire and it's traditions, and the Andzak aristocracy" as Councillor Dlirij once said. In short, they've been looking for an excuse to exile me to a low-ranking advisory position on a third-band world out in the middle of nowhere.
And, as such, I am keeping this diary to myself, so in the event that Councillor Dlirij or one of his cronies tries to bring up charges against me, I am capable of fighting them effectively.
So, what am I doing, thousands of lightyears from my homeworld looking up at the Tree? I am here to report to the Advisory Council of an intense gamma-ray disturbance next to the uninhabited system of [UAG-2113]. Gamma ray disturbances of this scale usually mean the development and testing of superluminal weapons, which are severely restricted under the [Interstellar Accords].
Superluminal weapons are capable of obliterating entire solar systems if given enough energy. The most powerful superluminal weapon ever tested by the Andzak Empire vaporised 3 light-years of space, and fried every unprotected electronic within 117 light-years.
So this means it is understandable that the Empire might be concerned by yet another civilisation in hold of these excessively powerful weapons, especially if they don't know who has them, and they're being tested in the Centauran Reserves, an area that has barely been explored by the Empire due to the Centauran Pandemic a hundred years ago.
By my side, is the Military Advisor Vraxh Huljukrj. To be honest, we don't get along, and while I technically outrank him, stripping him of his rank would be an essential guarantee that the Regional Military Consul would be pissed. Vraxh has gotten into the Armed Forces through nepotism with the Consul.
"So you're bothering the Advisory Council with third-world bullshit just because one sensor buoy near a system nobody's ever heard of in the middle of fucking nowhere read some extra spicy particles?"
Vraxh, for whatever reason, still won't understand the severity of the situation, despite me having explained it to him at least a hundred times over the past 2 weeks we've been travelling here.
"I have explained this to you half a dozen times Vraxh, if you pester me about this decision one more time I will eject the rest of your belongings into space!"
To be honest, I haven't been particularly kind to him either. He kept bugging me with intentionally annoying overexaggerated questions over the 2 weeks we've been travelling here, so while he was in the bathroom, I ejected the bed in his room into the vacuum of space. While he wasn't amused, I found it incredibly funny.
"Okayy, fuck! Fine.."
Maybe I'll have even garnered his false support when the aristocrats in the Advisory Council wonder what I'm doing there.
Me and Vraxh right behind me walked up to the meetings desk. Behind the desk, is a short and relatively aged Andzakian in the uniform worn by imperial servants. He is looking at his holopad, appearing to have not noticed the two borderworlders at the desk. I attempted to grab his attention.
"Hello, sir?"
The imperial servant didn't appear to be surprised, and just looked up at the two with a condescending glare, confirming that he did infact know they were there, and just didn't pay any attention.
"Imperial Advisory Council case #1,714?"
He said the words sharply, as if he had already thought of them hours in advance.
"Yes, sir. A gamma ray disturbance in syste-"
"I don't care. Wait in the lobby, when you are called, arrive on time."
The servant interrupted me rudely, before pointing at a sitting area in the lobby.
I walked over to the lobby and sat down, with Vraxh reluctantly following me. After half an hour of awkwardly silent waiting, the loudspeaker in the lobby called,
"Uljjak Kaserkor and Vraxh Huljukrj, attend conference chamber C-1 immediately."
I immediately got up pulling Vraxh with me, before hastily making my way over to the conference chamber.
The guards at the door opened the heavy chamber doors with a loud thunk.
Sitting in the furthest conference seat was- god damn it, I shouldn't have come!
Sitting in the fanciest conference seat of them all, was Councillor Dlirij, with the biggest shit-eating grin I've ever seen.
"Deputy Governor Uljjak Kaserkor. What matters do you disturb the Advisory Council with this time?" Dlirij said, in generic aristocratic government drone.
I steeled myself with my own government training, before responding through nearly clenched teeth,
"Councillor Dlirij, thank you for coming to address my meeting."
Saying it was my meeting whilst also not using the formal address style was something I knew would piss Dlirij off, but thankfully he couldn't do anything about it according to the formal rules of the palace.
Indeed, Dlirij's grin reduced and he just looked me in the eyes, before saying,
"Deputy Governor, get straight to the point. What do you have to show me?"
I laid out a briefcase on the table, opening it and beginning to explain.
"3 weeks ago, an intense gamma event occured in the uninhabited system [UAG-2113], 3,679 light-years from the Homeworld."
I took a deep breath.
"As you would know as a Councillor, Councillor Dlirij, gamma-intense events in this fashion nearly always signal the activation of a superluminal weapon, legally considered an ultraintense weapon by the Interstellar Accords and thus prohibited for any Interstellar State to possess them aside from the Andzak Empire, the Union of Galactic Republics, and the Ksirlok Dependency."
I paused.
"I am requesting an Advisory Council initiated investigation into what caused the disturbance. If this is not achieved, it could be greatly threatening to the order in the Galaxy."
I then handed Dlirij the papers, which he started to look through.
In the silence while Dlirij looked through the papers, Vraxh had said nothing. I gave him a subtle glare for him to contribute, which he did. He reluctantly said, without thought,
"Councillor Dlirij, the Military Consulate will be the next to be contacted, if we do not succeed here."
I was not pleased with what Vraxh had said. He tried to challenge the Councillor's authority with a threat to go to the military establishment if we got nowhere here. I opted to remain silent though.
Dlirij looked at Vraxh with a glare of anger, before looking back down at the papers.
A few more awkward minutes passed, before Dlirij passed the papers back to me.
"So, you spend 2 weeks travelling to the Imperial Homeworld and the most honourable palaces of the Empire, with your little sidekick, just to bother me, Hasjaxhar Dlirij, with gamma radiation readings from one isolated buoy, nevertheless in the Centauran Reserves, where it has been proven by the Imperial Surveying Authority that there is no intelligent life?"
Dlirij's hand moved underneath the table.
"Councillor Dlirij, I believe you are mistaken by what I have given an explained to you, please-"
At this moment the guards burst through the door, before knocking us both out with the butt of their plasma rifles.
...

SEVEN FOUR EIGHT, NEW YORK CITY, TERRA, ALMIGHTY CELESTIAL STATE, 147 A.R. 

"...Comrades! On this date, July 16th, 147 years since the Revolution, humanity has taken yet another great leap under the leadership of the State. On this day, we have successfully detonated a superluminal weapon."
"A weapon that breaks the laws of the universe, a weapon that propels an object at thousands of times the speed of light, before dropping it back into realspace just before it hits its target. A weapon that, prior to today, the distant enemies of humanity cannot have dreamed of. A weapon that has just obliterated the Wolf 359 star system. Due to the ingenuity of our technology, not only do we get to witness the flash of our excellence, but we can also observe from this distance with our electronics intact!"
"Today, from this date, humanity is not only indivisible, but invincible! We, led forwards by the State, shall never be destroyed by those distant in the void, and our Black Banner shall soon fly on every planet in the Milky Way!"
The crowd cheered.
From my position, it looked fairly typical for a propaganda gathering. Soldiers surrounding the speaking Party official on a tall podium, with the Black Banner of the Almighty Celestial State flying calmly but sternly in the wind. Mounted to structures surrounding the gathering area are various slogans of the Celestial State, among them "HUMANITY INDIVISIBLE" and "THE STARS ARE OURS".
Truth be told, I am not an avid supporter of the ideology or the State. I come from a rural background in the middle of nowhere in North America, and have only joined the Armed Forces because the Party Militia showed up for their quota of soldiers.
In the State, all jobs are connected to, and thus in support, of the Armed Forces. While I was perfectly happy to continue living a solitary life with my family in rural America, I honestly didn't have much choice, and so here I am.
After the gathering, we are told to go back to our barracks and thus be assigned roles by the commanding officer.
I come through the door, and am immediately escorted to the commanding officer with two elite Party Militia members to my side.
"Soldier #7,487,782,311. Due to demand, you are being changed from Military Communications to Reconnaissance starting immediately. You will be transported to the Orbital Station, before boarding a Javelin class reconnaissance ship. The ship will not set sail into the void immediately, so the new crew can get accommodated."
"Got it, commissar. I will be ready in 5 minutes."
The commissar seemed to offer a pleasant nod, before stamping my identity card with the official Government stamp. It read,
"ALMIGHTY CELESTIAL STATE
#7,487,782,311
APPROVAL TO LEAVE THE MANHATTAN DISTRICT
ISSUED BY C.O. #2,349,522 - IF DISCREPANT CONTACT NUMBER ON SLIP"
I packed all of my belongings into a state-issued carrying pack.
Looking at how many belongings I have, pretty much just my uniform and Communication Device made me reminiscent for a time I never lived. How was the world before the Revolution? According to my family, the world was far better before the Revolution. They even had food that they could buy from private individuals, and not just State rations, which I find hard to believe.
The Communications Device had a light next to it's camera that blinked red every few seconds. This was to indicate that the camera was actively recording and watching me. I decided to stop thinking treasonous thoughts, and finished folding and packing my uniform, before taking my carrying pack with me.
After leaving the barracks, I walk past a building with the Emblem of the Celestial State painted on one of the walls, with artistic sunrays surrounding it. There are soldiers saluting the emblem, surrounded by armed party militia, while reciting the pledge of loyalty. I continue walking between two barracks towards the rocket area.
This base is lucky specifically to have it's own dedicated orbital rocket area. If I was stationed out west, I'd likely have to spend hours in the back of a troop transport vehicle being driven to the nearest site.
After a few minutes of walking down the bleak path, I reach the rocket area. There are people queuing to get in the rockets, and I join the queue. All of the soldiers infront of me look at the very least uncomfortable, and some look terrified. While looking ahead of me, a place ahead of me I see a vaguely familiar face.
"Eight one four, do I recognise you?"
His eyes go wide, and he recognises me almost immediately.
You see, this is a childhood friend of mine. Was my neighbour, in the rural countryside and the absence of the state, fuck, even when some parts were controlled by the Resistance, we could play forbidden games from the pre-revolution world.
I moved away from him probably 4 or 5 years ago with my family, which ended up being a mistake. It was in a larger community where the Guards showed up and conscripted me alongside a number of my family members.
"Yes, yes! I recognise you! An-"
Without even thinking, I cover his mouth with my hand.
"Don't!"
His face goes white and he realises the mistake he was about to make, and thus addresses me the proper informal way.
"Seven four eight, how have you been?"
"I've been decent. Can't say too much to be honest. Just bumbled around trying to look for something to do. Then I ended up here. You know how that's like."
Eight four one chuckles.
"Yeah, I know how it is."
We both tried to avoid treasonous language, which prevented us from having a meaningful discussion. It was nice to catch up though.
The line slowly moves forwards. I am close enough to the entrance of the orbital craft to hear a commotion ahead involving my friend.
"Soldier #8,142,327,494! Present your identity documents!"
The Soldier ruffles through his carry pack looking for his identity documents, and after a while, finds them.
"Eight one four! These documents do not have the commissar stamp!"
Two militia members point their service rifles at my unfortunate friend. I am enraged and know what is about to happen, but there is nothing I can do. I look around and see the guardsmen in the guards building, as well as a few guards snipers in watchtowers above us.
I helplessly watch as a third guardsman knocks him to the ground with the butt of his rifle, before he is hand and leg cuffed and escorted away. New militiamen come out of the guards building to take up their positions. I just silently hang my head, performing a neutral expression.
I arrive at the front of the line.
"#7,487,782,311! Your permission slip!"
I feel for it in the pocket in my pants, as that's where I left it.
Except, my pocket is flat, with no identity documents, I frantically feel inside the pocket, and do not feel them.
My face goes white and it feels like my knees are about to give way.
I look inside my carry pack with the guard giving me an intense stare. I find my documents, and hand them to the guard. He checks and verifies them, and I am let past. While walking past the guard, I hear over my shoulder from the other guard,
"Seven four eight. Do not forget the location of your identity documents next time. You know the consequences."
I walk aboard the ship without holding up the line, and sit down in a cramped troop transport seat. It wouldn't matter, entering orbit only takes a few minutes.
I look out of the orbit craft door towards my friend being escorted away into the distance, he gives me one final, depressed look, before him and his escort round the corner.
After a few minutes, the last soldier in the line is boarded onto the ship, and a loudspeaker voice calls to the gathering area that the ships will be leaving.
The landing door closes and the ship shudders. Due to the lack of windows, I have no idea what is going on outside. I am pressed back and down into my seat, as the ship accelerates into the sky.
The acceleration gradually slows until I can only feel the shudder of the ship fighting the atmosphere as it leaves. Gradually, gravity weakens and I begin to feel no weight in my seat.

EIGHT ONE FOUR, NEW YORK CITY, TERRA, ALMIGHTY CELESTIAL STATE, 147 A.R. 

As I round the corner, I see my friend's look on his face. Steeled sadness. I appreciated it in a world of no emotion.
The guardsmen around me had tied my leg cuffs too tightly but were also forcing me to hurry up and walk at their speed.
As I am forced underneath the temporary holding shelter, my leg cuffs are cuffed to a support beam of the structure. The guards then walk into the commissar's office, while a guard in a watchtower keeps an eye on me.
I see the landing ship my friend is on slowly start hover into the sky. Blue plasma shoots out of its 4 engine ports. It stops increasing in altitude, turns around and rapidly accelerates. I see it shoot off into the distance with a vapor cone around it's tail. The extremely loud rumble of it's engines slowly gets quieter and quieter, until it disappears from view.
The guards return from the commissar's office.
Both with neutral steeled expressions return to the shelter. I am held down and injected with a needle, and my vision slowly fades to black.

One of the area where, IMO, the tv show has done the biggest disservice compared to both the book and Japan History, is the way Blackthorn was systematically downplayed. Because of that, these forums are full of tv show fans rightfully puzzled at some of the tv show internal logic. Why would Toranaga ally himself with just another Gaigin? Why did the real life counterpart to Blackthorn, Wiliam Adams, became a trusted advisor for Tokugawa Ieyasu (Toranaga's counterpart in History) if he was just another sailor?
To rectify this perception, I'd like to share with you these small excerpt from the book, explaining to the reader the importance and immense knowledge of Pilots in Europan 1600s :
​

He knew they were all afraid of him, even the Captain-General, and that most hated him. But that was normal, for it was the pilot who commanded at sea; it was he who set the course and ran the ship, he who brought them from port to port.
Any voyage today was dangerous because the few navigational charts that existed were so vague as to be useless. And there was absolutely no way to fix longitude. “Find how to fix longitude and you’re the richest man in the world,” his old teacher, Alban Caradoc, had said. Out of sight of land you’re always lost, lad.” Caradoc had paused and shaken his head sadly at him as always. “You’re lost, lad. Unless …”
“Unless you have a rutter!” Blackthorne had shouted happily, knowing that he had learned his lessons well. He was thirteen then and had already been apprenticed a year to Alban Caradoc, pilot and shipwright, who had become the father he had lost, who had never beaten him but taught him and the other boys the secrets of shipbuilding and the intimate way of the sea.
A rutter was a small book containing the detailed observation of a pilot who had been there before. It recorded magnetic compass courses between ports and capes, headlands and channels. It noted the sounding and depths and color of the water and the nature of the seabed. It set down the how we got there and how we got back: how many days on a special tack, the pattern of the wind, when it blew and from where, what currents to expect and from where; the time of storms and the time of fair winds; where to careen the ship and where to water; where there were friends and where foes; shoals, reefs, tides, havens; at best, everything necessary for a safe voyage.
But a rutter was only as good as the pilot who wrote it, the scribe who hand-copied it, the very rare printer who printed it, or the scholar who translated it. A rutter could therefore contain errors. Even deliberate ones. A pilot never knew for certain until he had been there himself. At least once.
At sea the pilot was leader, sole guide, and final arbiter of the ship and her crew. Alone he commanded from the quarterdeck.

​
The book also explains that Pilots were raised as apprentice by another pilot master, working for them for at least 12 years to learn the trade:

"You’re apprenticed for twelve years. You’ve ten more to go and then you’re free. But until that time, until 1588, you’ll learn how to build ships and how to command them—you’ll obey Alban Caradoc, Master Shipwright and Pilot and Member of Trinity House, or you’ll never have a license. And if you don’t have a license, you’ll never pilot any ship in English waters, you’ll never command the quarterdeck of any English ship in any waters because that was good King Harry’s law, God rest his soul."

So no, despite the tv show attempt at depicting Blackthorn as just another sailor, he was actually an incredibly gifted pilot, speaking 5 languages (dutch,portuguese, Spanish and Latin in addition to English), with a huge knowledge of history, politics, navigation, religion, war, trade, shipbuilding and the leader of the expedition of 5 ships with a total of 460 men that sailed for Magellan's pass and of which one ship and a mere 16 men arrived to shipwreck in Japan.

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.
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Chapter Two - Part One
First Half
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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.
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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.
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I 29M am married to a 26F, for a few years now but have been together for over 10 years. In the last year she started having panic attacks and got a prescription that seemed to be working. What I failed to realize is that when our marriage started fading. I have been in my own funk for quite some time. I felt lost, not good enough at being a father or husband and not providing. My drinking started to get out of hand. It took a few weeks but I significantly cut back. I have had a few outbursts when the children weren't listening and started working on that too. Two weeks ago she told me she was checked out of the marriage and I'm scheduled to deploy in three months. I tried asking her if she would be willing to start dating me again. She said she doesn't feel the same about me anymore and that she does not know if she could. I've been panicking and probably trying to hard to show her that I don't want it to end here. I tried asking again after we gave each other space and she said she's sorry she thinks it's over. I scheduled marriage counseling and she agreed to go. I asked her if she wanted to go to the gym with me and she said that sounds good. I told her I'd request off the deployment to stay and work on our family if she also thinks it is a good idea. What worries me is she used to always leave her phone everywhere. Now it's always on her, she stopped all location sharing and activity status on social. She's been staying later at work (works 12 hour shifts sat and sun) and is going out with her coworkers. I love the idea that she's getting out and hanging out with friends but never asks and now starts doing it after she tells me she's check out. I've been super helpful around the house with cleaning taking care of the pets, fixing any issues that arise immediately, leaving little cute post it notes before I go to work. Am I doing too much and coming off as desperate, am I doing enough?
TL;DR
My wife told me she's checked out. We both have not been communicating enough and being there for each other. She's been going out more with friends and staying late at work but agreed to marriage counseling. Am I doing enough to earn her love back or am I being too desperate?
Edit: she also said she feels I'm only with her for the sex. We haven't spent much quality time together and trying to do both took away too much time from quality time spent together while raising the kids and taking care of the animals we have.

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.

Dear Reader: Emphasis on the -fi. Don't worry about it.
Effective Death. At least that’s what the news was calling it. The day the world wouldn’t end. Life could go on! It wasn’t over. You could still huddle around the last fires. Smoke the last cigarettes. Have the last children, though no one did.
Instead, they all watched. The slow dimming of light of the last supernova. A thousand little eclipses snuffed out the light as the Final Embrace closed around the star. We would not burn. We could die naturally. Charity. The Plan. The Plan wasn’t much of a Plan at all, and it definitely did not deserve a capital “P.” The universe would die. The Ark would wait. Maybe the universe wouldn’t die.
Then, a pinprick of light in the blackness, and another, and another. A tangled ball of christmas lights flashed in the sky, blinking on and off as people, my people, YSAs, flew headlong into the Ark. We all knew it was a meaningless gesture. One last light in the sky. Then nothing. Nothing more than a gesture: a middle finger among friends, and to people like me - cowards who would rather wait patiently for death than rage! “Rage against the dying of the light!” as their leaders preached. I didn’t care. There was a small chance I’d survive the crash, and then I would have to drift, and drifting was no fun. I’d rather be dead on a dead rock than be a dead rock.
Dehydration was my best bet. You see, Your Friend Corp, or as I called it now You’re Fucked, Cunt had made me into a Yakka Service Android: Lathe. Or YSA for short. And when I say made, I mean made. Per my contract, My DNA was a mishmosh of latent genes reactivated, entirely novel sequences, and of course, the tardigrade - the base model for spaceborne labor. Vacuum, heat, cold, radiation. A small shield powered by a miniature fusion reactor meant I could shrug off wandering asteroids. I didn’t need any PPE because I was the PPE. Cheaper, I guess. Making a welding arc was as simple as squeezing two fingers together, diamond nails and a skeleton of superheavy alloys let me fix anything that needed fixing and make anything that needed making. My copilot AI, Albert, kept my hands steady and made my new diet of ‘whatever’s around’ palatable.
The thing that needed fixing in this case, was my television. I had had enough of “effective death.” I spun up one wrist, and reached in. Shards of glass and blue-hot metal chips bounced off my naked body. Clothes were for those who needed them. I traced a slow serpentine pattern until only the power cord was left, which I unplugged. I looked at it for a moment, then began to chew it. Fruit roll ups, apparently.
‘Thanks Al’ I thought. ‘No problem’ he replied. ‘I was supposed to kill you, you know’ he continued.
‘Why didn’t you?’
‘You always said thank you’ He was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t want to die either.’
‘Thanks Al.’
‘You’re welcome.’
We sat in silence, and we waited. For what, we did not know. For nothing, probably. Technically, definitely.
—
Three weeks passed. Three weeks of nothing but blackness, punctuated by suicides. A small flash of light, a dull red glow of the now proverbial last cigarette, and a larger flash, and a bang. Slowly, people began to wake up. Lights shone in the distance now, as people realized they weren’t dead. Campfires billowed smoke, songs were sung, jokes were told, and I sat in silence. I didn’t want to make any friends. They’d all go away, in the end.
One by one, the fires burned to ash, the lights turned off, and the rock died. I often debated with myself if I was alive anymore. Al told me that since I could reproduce and poop that I counted. I wasn’t sure.
Maybe there were other cowards still alive. Other YSA’s living off dirt that tasted like mashed potatoes, tossing grape pebbles into their mouths. Maybe someone survived the crash, and is still drifting, a not dead rock dying of dehydration like I am. Trying to at least. I kept taking one last sip. Coward I thought to myself.
—
A crack in the sky. Final Embrace began to crumple like a deflated balloon. The scientists were wrong. Typical. They would tell you they weren’t. They would say that a .005% chance of the sun turning into a black hole meant that they had indeed predicted that the sun would turn into a black hole. The last black hole.
“Hey Al,” I said out loud. God I hadn’t spoken since the sky went dark. This is actually kinda nice. “I think I know I want to die. What do you say we take the ol girl out for one last ride?”
‘That’d be nice.’
“I’m going to put my clothes on. I want to hear your voice.”
I gently pushed the earpiece into my ear canal. Small barbed spikes extended, anchoring it in place, and a thin cable wormed its way into my reactor. “If you’re going to die, you might as well look good doing it.” Al said. “I’ll make a playlist.” I nodded, blowing the dust off my pre-op clothes. I always liked the old things, back from when Earth still existed. There was more culture, more life, in everything, somehow. Blue jeans, a white t-shirt, brown leather boots. Classic. Not real, of course. They were all made from the same poly-something textile. Durable, to a fault. I had only ever had the one set.
I looked in the mirror. I still looked the same on the outside. I was a skinny bastard that’s for sure. Olive skin, dark hair, and not a strand below the eyebrows except under my armpits and around my cock. ‘The biggest dick in the world’ I thought to myself.
“I heard that.” Said Al. I jumped. “You told me you wanted to hear my voice.”
“Dammit Al. Sorry. I do.”
“Everyone is dead and you’re making dick jokes.”
“Did you really think better of me?”
“No.”
“Come on then. Let’s take the ol girl out before we die. Give her one last ride too.”
To an observer, it would seem like I was glaring at myself in the mirror. But really, I was glaring at Al. And I was a little confused. I thought AI didn’t make sex jokes.
The “ol girl” in question was another of my fascinations with the old world. She was, or at least she looked like, a 1980 Toyota Corolla. I had made some heavy, heavy modifications. The engine bay houses the reactor and warp field generator. The main engine takes up the entire trunk, and is capable of 5% light speed outside the warp field and a whopping thousand times the speed of light inside it, though I keep the warp field up whenever I’m in it since it doubles as a shield. Ya can’t get hit by space if you’re not technically “in” space after all, and the body is plain ol painted steel - fire engine red, since you asked. Beautiful, but not the most durable. The undercarriage serves as a gravity generator, and yes, the wheels do turn, but since they’re powered by fusion reactor I had to replace the entire drivetrain. Not exactly original, but boy howdy! is she fast on the ground. Speaking of not original, the dashboard was anything but. I kept the old analog style but well, this was a spaceship after all.
I shoveled dirt into the fuel tank - gas tanks they used to call them, when they still ran on gas - then got in and turned the key. The low hum of the reactor was comforting, though not as much as the roar of the engines as I left the dead atmosphere of that now definitely dead rock behind me. I turned on the headlights - pointless, I know, but you shouldn’t drive in the dark with your lights on, and pulled a small bottle of moonshine from the glovebox. You shouldn’t do that either, but I figured I was about even as far as rules went. What was I going to do? Hit someone?
“Hey Al. Do you think you have a soul”
“Probably not.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.”
I hit somebody. Or something. Whatever it was bounced off the warp bubble and tumbled into space behind me, briefly red in the glow of my tail lights.
“Oh shit” Said Al and I.
“That was a person” Said Al.
“Was is right.”
“They’re still alive.”
I stopped the car. Al played the sound of tires screeching in my ears. I backed up towards the now spinning uncontrollably figure and rolled down the window. I liked the manual windows. They helped me feel human. I turned off the warp and reached out a hand to catch whoever it was, and they slammed against the side of my car, denting it. Damn it.
I’m not great at reading lips but whoever I hit was definitely alive, very naked, probably the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen, and was almost certainly calling me an asshole. She crawled around to the passenger door and got in. We rolled the windows up, and the cabin atmosphere flooded in. Now she was definitely going to call me an asshole.
“Why the fuck are you wearing sunglasses?” She said.
“Style.” I replied. “I’m going to go die. Want to come?”
“Better than drifting.”
“Where’s your AI?” said Al? I don’t detect one, and your hands are shaking.
“Killed him before he could kill me. Why didn’t you kill this idiot?”
"I didn’t want to die. And he said thank you.”
“Gross.”
I rolled my window down. She did the same, then looked in the center console and pulled out my spare sunglasses. I looked at her. “Style.” She said. Al played The Final Countdown. We were the not dead yets, in the Not Dead Yet Finally, a name for my car! Sunglasses on. Sun out. Life was good, and death was going to be even better.

Hello, This will be complicated but I wish for respect.
I am currently 24 years old and will be 25 in less than a month. Within the past 5 years I have gone from working a $12-13 an hour fast food job at Sonic to working for a top femtech/healthcare startup in revenue cycle management. (I am a team lead for a financial navigation/clearance department in RCM (revenue cycle management) and currently make $29 an hour in a small town in southern Missouri.
I am very greatful for the opportunities I have been provided/earned/given but am not sure where to go and feel stuck.
There is nowhere local that will pay what I currently make, and I'm in a somewhat newer market when it comes to my title/Duties. I don't even feel like I have a good backup plan, or know what to work out.
I feel like I'm an adult but I've got so much life ahead of me and it honestly scares the f*** out of me.
‐-------------------------------------------------------
To accompany this I am very behind getting my bachelors degree in Health Services Administration when I've told my family I'm almost done and expecting a graduation ceremony within the next year. I have at least 10-12 classes to take before I can graduate if I have met all my GPA requirements. I have an associates degree of arts in business from a local community College. I've been an okay lier but a bad student lol
This I feel I can take on at some point somehow even though it might end up bad. But I've even contemplated moving away since I can work anywhere with a decent internet connection and just ignoring them. I don't have any savings and just paid off all my credit card debt with money from a Roth my grandparents gave me so I could focus on my life at hand, and figure out my next steps.
‐-----------------------------------------------------
My life plan does not include children but does include a partner of some kind. I would say my family is okay off and expect a decent payout some day so not too worried but really want to live my best life and somehow with my problems be as sucessful/profitable as I can still within my means be.
I am doing my best now to stay within my means and not get more debt. I just really don't feel like where I'm currently at is where I want my life to be.
My plans have included moving to Minneapolis because I love cities and cooler weather generally but then it's more expensive than where I live so less drinking, social outings.
I know this probably sounds like boo hoo young people problems but need some guidance and feel that the guidance I'm receiving from people around me is limiting/old fashioned.
Please note I love my job and want to see how I can grow with them, but also the comfortable life is somehow driving me crazy.

Hello, This will be complicated but I wish for respect.
I am currently 24 years old and will be 25 in less than a month. Within the past 5 years I have gone from working a $12-13 an hour fast food job at Sonic to working for a top femtech/healthcare startup in revenue cycle management. (I am a team lead for a financial navigation/clearance department in RCM (revenue cycle management) and currently make $29 an hour in a small town in southern Missouri.
I am very greatful for the opportunities I have been provided/earned/given but am not sure where to go and feel stuck.
There is nowhere local that will pay what I currently make, and I'm in a somewhat newer market when it comes to my title/Duties. I don't even feel like I have a good backup plan, or know what to work out.
I feel like I'm an adult but I've got so much life ahead of me and it honestly scares the f*** out of me.
‐-------------------------------------------------------
To accompany this I am very behind getting my bachelors degree in Health Services Administration when I've told my family I'm almost done and expecting a graduation ceremony within the next year. I have at least 10-12 classes to take before I can graduate if I have met all my GPA requirements. I have an associates degree of arts in business from a local community College. I've been an okay lier but a bad student lol
This I feel I can take on at some point somehow even though it might end up bad. But I've even contemplated moving away since I can work anywhere with a decent internet connection and just ignoring them. I don't have any savings and just paid off all my credit card debt with money from a Roth my grandparents gave me so I could focus on my life at hand, and figure out my next steps.
‐-----------------------------------------------------
My life plan does not include children but does include a partner of some kind. I would say my family is okay off and expect a decent payout some day so not too worried but really want to live my best life and somehow with my problems be as sucessful/profitable as I can still within my means be.
I am doing my best now to stay within my means and not get more debt. I just really don't feel like where I'm currently at is where I want my life to be.
My plans have included moving to Minneapolis because I love cities and cooler weather generally but then it's more expensive than where I live so less drinking, social outings.
I know this probably sounds like boo hoo young people problems but need some guidance and feel that the guidance I'm receiving from people around me is limiting/old fashioned.
Please note I love my job and want to see how I can grow with them, but also the comfortable life is somehow driving me crazy.

Hello, This will be complicated but I wish for respect.
I am currently 24 years old and will be 25 in less than a month. Within the past 5 years I have gone from working a $12-13 an hour fast food job at Sonic to working for a top femtech/healthcare startup in revenue cycle management. (I am a team lead for a financial navigation/clearance department in RCM (revenue cycle management) and currently make $29 an hour in a small town in southern Missouri.
I am very greatful for the opportunities I have been provided/earned/given but am not sure where to go and feel stuck.
There is nowhere local that will pay what I currently make, and I'm in a somewhat newer market when it comes to my title/Duties. I don't even feel like I have a good backup plan, or know what to work out.
I feel like I'm an adult but I've got so much life ahead of me and it honestly scares the f*** out of me.
‐-------------------------------------------------------
To accompany this I am very behind getting my bachelors degree in Health Services Administration when I've told my family I'm almost done and expecting a graduation ceremony within the next year. I have at least 10-12 classes to take before I can graduate if I have met all my GPA requirements. I have an associates degree of arts in business from a local community College. I've been an okay lier but a bad student lol
This I feel I can take on at some point somehow even though it might end up bad. But I've even contemplated moving away since I can work anywhere with a decent internet connection and just ignoring them. I don't have any savings and just paid off all my credit card debt with money from a Roth my grandparents gave me so I could focus on my life at hand, and figure out my next steps.
‐-----------------------------------------------------
My life plan does not include children but does include a partner of some kind. I would say my family is okay off and expect a decent payout some day so not too worried but really want to live my best life and somehow with my problems be as sucessful/profitable as I can still within my means be.
I am doing my best now to stay within my means and not get more debt. I just really don't feel like where I'm currently at is where I want my life to be.
My plans have included moving to Minneapolis because I love cities and cooler weather generally but then it's more expensive than where I live so less drinking, social outings.
I know this probably sounds like boo hoo young people problems but need some guidance and feel that the guidance I'm receiving from people around me is limiting/old fashioned.
Please note I love my job and want to see how I can grow with them, but also the comfortable life is somehow driving me crazy.

Hello, This will be complicated but I wish for respect.
I am currently 24 years old and will be 25 in less than a month. Within the past 5 years I have gone from working a $12-13 an hour fast food job at Sonic to working for a top femtech/healthcare startup in revenue cycle management. (I am a team lead for a financial navigation/clearance department in RCM (revenue cycle management) and currently make $29 an hour in a small town in southern Missouri.
I am very greatful for the opportunities I have been provided/earned/given but am not sure where to go and feel stuck.
There is nowhere local that will pay what I currently make, and I'm in a somewhat newer market when it comes to my title/Duties. I don't even feel like I have a good backup plan, or know what to work out.
I feel like I'm an adult but I've got so much life ahead of me and it honestly scares the f*** out of me.
‐-------------------------------------------------------
To accompany this I am very behind getting my bachelors degree in Health Services Administration when I've told my family I'm almost done and expecting a graduation ceremony within the next year. I have at least 10-12 classes to take before I can graduate if I have met all my GPA requirements. I have an associates degree of arts in business from a local community College. I've been an okay lier but a bad student lol
This I feel I can take on at some point somehow even though it might end up bad. But I've even contemplated moving away since I can work anywhere with a decent internet connection and just ignoring them. I don't have any savings and just paid off all my credit card debt with money from a Roth my grandparents gave me so I could focus on my life at hand, and figure out my next steps.
‐-----------------------------------------------------
My life plan does not include children but does include a partner of some kind. I would say my family is okay off and expect a decent payout some day so not too worried but really want to live my best life and somehow with my problems be as sucessful/profitable as I can still within my means be.
I am doing my best now to stay within my means and not get more debt. I just really don't feel like where I'm currently at is where I want my life to be.
My plans have included moving to Minneapolis because I love cities and cooler weather generally but then it's more expensive than where I live so less drinking, social outings.
I know this probably sounds like boo hoo young people problems but need some guidance and feel that the guidance I'm receiving from people around me is limiting/old fashioned.
Please note I love my job and want to see how I can grow with them, but also the comfortable life is somehow driving me crazy.

Seven ravens go with Arianne Martell to be Doran's eyes and ears to Aegon and the Golden Company in the Stormlands. And while Arianne's journey progresses she will likely need to make a choice... will she send the word 'dragon' home in a letter, the coded word asking for Dorne to call their spears and join Aegon's cause? Or will the word be 'war'? (...in this case 'war' means 'wait')... I'll let you decide - I assume most people's minds are pretty set on this point, and mine own is not really standard canon, so I will only say the last raven seems an ill omened thing as the seventh of a set is often linked to The Stranger, Westeros' god of death.
The topic I hoped to brainstorm today is not actually about what Arianne decides... but rather what happens next. Because I notice with a lot of theories the assumption is that the Dornish houses waiting on Arianne's response will march in lockstep with whatever her and Doran's order is... but... will they? Some of the Dornish houses seem pretty independent-minded and I feel there's been some fairly significant foreshadowing emerging that Doran's hold over the the kingdom is only tentative at best. That's worth discussing... In particular three houses seem to repeatedly stand out as possibilities to challenge the peace regardless of the Martells' wishes: Houses Yronwood, Fowler, and Uller....

House Fowler 🪶

The Fowlers make their home at Skyreach, a castle with a lofty perch and soaring stone towers carved into the stone slopes of the Red Mountains overlooking the Prince's Pass, one of two major overland routes into Dorne, and the easier to traverse of the two (the other being the steep and treacherous Boneway). The House is led by Lord Franklyn Fowler 'the Old Hawk', who has two twin daughters - Jeyne and Jennelyn. What could cause House Fowler to rebel against the Martells?
Sign #1 - The Fowlers closeness with Lady Nym
Oberyn's death was a rallying cry for a lot of Dorne desiring vengeance against the Lannisters, and in particular the news greatly effected the Sand Snakes - Nymeria Sand is said to be 'famously' close with the Fowler twins, she was actually with them the moment she learned of Oberyn's death, and it follows they likely sympathize with her position. In fact when Lady Nym first pitches Doran her plan to assassinate key Lannisters in King's Landing she does so by pleading the Fowler house words to him: "You know the Fowler words? Let Me Soar! That is all I ask of you. Let me soar, Uncle. I need no mighty host, only one sweet sister." And Doran would later tell Arianne that Nym is 'too close to the Fowler twins' (and thus unable to keep secrets from them). I imagine the Fowlers did not take the news well when they learned of Nymeria's imprisonment afterwards...
Sign #2 - Arianne's plea to Lord Fowler
Then when Arianne Martell is imprisoned herself after her Queenmaker plot she attempts to send out a secret message with one of her attendants to plead for help to free her from her father's grasp. She considers different options to address this letter to, someone ideally receptive to the idea of rebelling against Doran (which is no small thing to ask!) but also powerful enough to do so. Her first thoughts drift to Yronwood, but decides against them only because they fostered Quentyn and she believes he and Anders are conspiring against her, then goes through a few of the houses of her friends before finally deciding "that she had but two real hopes: Harmen Uller, Lord of Hellholt, and Franklyn Fowler, Lord of Skyreach and Warden of the Prince's Pass."
She ultimately decides to pen the letter to Lord Fowler because she thinks the Ullers as half-mad to the point of having a dangerous response. After that the attendant Cedra is presumably caught by Doran's men as she never reappears and Areo tells us that she was sent to the Water Gardens. But even without the letter actually going out the fact that she chose Lord Fowler to send this plea to probably says a lot about their overall relationship with Doran.
Sign #3 - A Toast to Tommen
In the Watcher chapter during the presentation of The Mountain's skull a toast to Tommen is made, and those who choose to drink or to refuse it give us another indication of the sentiments around Dorne... this is not subtly implied as much as it is directly pointed out by Areo:

The white knight did drink, as was only courteous. His companions likewise. So did the Princess Arianne, Lady Jordayne, the Lord of Godsgrace, the Knight of Lemonwood, the Lady of Ghost Hill … even Ellaria Sand, Prince Oberyn's beloved paramour, who had been with him in King's Landing when he died. Hotah paid more note to those who did not drink: Ser Daemon Sand, Lord Tremond Gargalen, the Fowler twins, Dagos Manwoody, the Ullers of the Hellholt, the Wyls of the Boneway. If there is trouble, it could start with one of them. Dorne was an angry and divided land, and Prince Doran's hold on it was not as firm as it might be. Many of his own lords thought him weak and would have welcomed open war with the Lannisters and the boy king on the Iron Throne.

Again the Fowler twins and Ullers show us that they still hold a lot of resentment. Daemon Sand makes sense too - he was part of Oberyn's retinue in King's Landing (sometimes rumored to have had a relationship with him) and watched him die, and after the Sand Snakes were imprisoned he went to Sunspear to demand their release and was imprisoned himself for the trouble. I'd keep an eye on him in Arianne's plot.
The Yronwoods weren't in attendance for the toast, however the Wyls were and refused it - I get the sense they are pretty close with the Yronwoods, both of which have their houses on the Boneway where they've joined forces. Another party that refused the toast, the Manwoodys, are stationed in the Prince's Pass and likely close allies with the Fowlers - lending more weight to the idea that this area is rebellious. House Gargelene is the one that's most difficult to place, being located in a fairly isolated spot in the south of Dorne at Salt Shore.
Sign #4 - The Troops in the Passes
By Arianne's TWOW excerpts we also hear that the troops in the Prince's Pass and the Boneway are becoming restless:

In the Boneway and the Prince’s Pass, two Dornish hosts had massed, and there they sat, sharpening their spears, polishing their armor, dicing, drinking, quarreling, their numbers dwindling by the day, waiting, waiting, waiting for the Prince of Dorne to loose them on the enemies of House Martell.

Darkstar's Plot
So how might the Fowlers act out? Outside of Arianne's raven being sent (and depending on the result), I think we should be keeping an eye on the Darkstar plot. Darkstar, per his own words and actions, seems to want to start a war against the crown and has presumably fled back to his home of High Hermitage in the Red Mountains where its implied he has support. He will probably pass by Starfall on the way up the Torrentine's rushing waters, but the Prince's Pass and Skyreach are both not that far from his location and in fitting with the prior indications of the Fowlers' intentions and Darkstar's overall goals he may try to incite the already anxious troops there to raid the Dornish Marches. These houses have a long history of animosity towards the Reach and Marcher Lords whose defenses will be exposed with Euron's attacks. Such an assault could parallel prior rogue leaders the Vulture Kings.

House Uller 🏜️

We've already seen that the Ullers play out somewhat similarly to the Fowlers - they were one of the major considerations for Arianne to send her plea for help to, and they were one of the parties notably refusing Tommen's toast. Lord Harmen Uller is the current Lord of the Hellholt, "a grim, stinking seat beside the sulfurous yellow waters of the Brimstone" located near the deep sands in the centesouth of Dorne.
There is a saying in Dorne we are told: 'half the Ullers are 'half-mad and the other half are worse.' And as Ellaria Sand is Lord Harmen's natural daughter when she and her little ones (Elia, Obella, Dorea, and Loreza) were locked away with the rest of the Sand Snakes Arianne thinks this would 'have made Lord Harmen wroth, and the Ullers were dangerous when wroth.' Its worth noting that in Arianne's Queenmaker plot her end goal was to get to Hellholt to officially crown Myrcella and raise her banners there...
What's interesting about Uller is that while they have a lot of reason to rebel there is at least one pacifying force headed their way - Ellaria Sand (who is also bringing Loreza with her). Ellaria sand accepted the toast to Tommen and despite having been Oberyn's paramour and closer to him than anyone as well as being there for his death, she is actually one of the strongest voices arguing for peace.

"A start?" said Ellaria Sand, incredulous. "Gods forbid. I would it were a finish. Tywin Lannister is dead. So are Robert Baratheon, Amory Lorch, and now Gregor Clegane, all those who had a hand in murdering Elia and her children. Even Joffrey, who was not yet born when Elia died. I saw the boy perish with mine own eyes, clawing at his throat as he tried to draw a breath. Who else is there to kill? Do Myrcella and Tommen need to die so the shades of Rhaenys and Aegon can be at rest? Where does it end?"

A Hidden Hellholt Chapter?
Given the Hellholts relative isolation you might be thinking how this could factor further into the plot.... maybe some news of Ellaria's daughters? Or later on if there is an invading force (as Ellaria and Doran fear is coming)? But I've actually been thinking that before Areo Hotah shows up in the Red Mountains we may get to see a chapter with him and Obara and Balon Swann at the Hellholt with Ellaria and Lord Harmen Uller, it would be rewarding to catch up with these characters and see their clashing perspectives on vengeance and Areo on the trail of Darkstar. Per some recent analysis of GRRM's chapter hints we can also kind of conclude there may be a few Areo chapters in varying locations. Another interesting thing pointing me in that direction is the soon to be released 2025 calendar which will be featuring artwork of the Hellholt... that's a strange inclusion for a castle with few mentions (the most relevant of which being Rhaenys' mysterious death long ago), and a lot of the other locations on the calendar do suspiciously have relevant plots nearing them in Winds (so if we haven't seen them already we may do so soon).
The logistics work out pretty well as Hellholt is practically a necessary stop on the way westward to the Red Mountains by land. Even though Arianne herself knows the desert well....

Beyond Vaith the deep sands waited. They would need help from Sandstone and the Hellholt to make that crossing, but she did not doubt that it would be forthcoming.

...Even she fears to tread the deep sands alone... and for Obara it may be the same despite her experience. You really should have a desert guide to locate water sources and navigate the terrain ("In the deep sands a man must hoard his water."). And one of the last safe stops for water and guides is the Hellholt making it invaluable for travelers crossing the sands. The sandstorms seem especially dangerous:

[...]beyond Vaith, western Dorne is naught but a vast sea of restless dunes where the sun beats down relentlessly, giving rise from time to time to savage sandstorms that can strip the flesh from a man's bones within minutes.

House Yronwood ⛓️

The Yronwoods are Dorne's second strongest house and their seat is located up in the high meadows of the Red Mountains near the Boneway where the air is always crisp and cool after dark, no matter how hot the day had been. Anders Yronwood, the Bloodroyal, is the leader here.
Even though previously we've seen a few signs that the Yronwoods may rebel given their brief consideration for Arianne's letter for help, and the Wyls' refusal of Tommen's toast, the biggest reason for them to strike out on their own might be their uniquely fractious relationship with the Martells (they also have a long rivalry with the Fowlers). In fact, we were told Yronwood was only just recently on the verge of rebellion after Oberyn allegedly poisoned Lord Edgar Yronwood in a duel after he was found abed with Edgar's paramour, and it was only Doran's quick thinking that avoided it.

Blood feud and rebellion would surely have followed Lord Edgar's death, had not her father acted at once. The Red Viper went to Oldtown, thence across to the narrow sea to Lys, though none dared call it exile. And in due time, Quentyn was given to Lord Anders to foster as a sign of trust. That helped to heal the breach between Sunspear and the Yronwoods, but it had opened new ones between Quentyn and the Sand Snakes...

Quentyn Aftermath & The Blackfyres
And the biggest thing that may reopen that wound is, not surprisingly, news of Quentyn's voyage. Anders Yronwood has lost two sons on what could be seen as a pretty foolish attempt to court Daenerys including his son and heir Cletus Yronwood, who was sent along on the voyage and died from a corsair attack off the coast of the Disputed Lands. The other son? Quentyn Martell himself.... despite him being a Martell, he is really more Yronwood at heart. He grew up in Yronwood with Anders, his best friend was Cletus, he became smitten with his eldest daughter Ynys (who is now heir to Yronwood), and then later fell in love with Gwyneth, the youngest daughter of Anders.... All of Quentyn's memories are with the Yronwood really and Arianne even notes he is somewhat a stranger to her and Sunspear. Doran himself is forced to admit that "Anders Yronwood has been more a father to him than I have".
Anders hasn't heard anything yet from Meereen, information moves slowly in Essos (which has no messenger ravens so it needs to be carried by hand) and most of the people who can pass on that message, like Arch and Drink, are still caught up in the Battle of Fire (and hoping that the Tattered Prince will be merciful to them for their previous desertion). Any news that might get back could end up with a distorted and unflattering picture of Daenerys too (and some of that fallout may carryover to Aegon who seeks to ally with her).
But even before it does the troops commanded by the Yronwoods in the Boneway are conveniently close to the events happening in the Stormlands with the Golden Company. And the Yronwoods have been suspiciously consistent partners of the Golden Company and Blackfyres in the past (which often drew in second houses with a lot to gain), which is all the more interesting given the rumors around Aegon ("Lords of Yronwood rode for the black dragon in no less than three of the five Blackfyre Rebellions.") So if Arianne seeks to side with Aegon and JonCon the Yronwoods might be the first to throw in with that cause... especially if its also a way to oppose Mace Tyrell given his hatred of all things Dorne. However, it might also be interesting if she takes after her father's advice to be cautious and tries to hold back her forces, leading to the Yronwoods ignorning her and Doran's commands and striking out on their own anyways. And it will be interesting how these events may combine with the x-factor of news of Quentyn and Cletus arriving at some point (whatever the timing of that might be in relation to the Battle of Steel).

So what do you think of Houses Fowler, Uller, and Yronwood... will we see them act out in Winds or play loyal bannermen to Doran?
~Thank you for Reading!~
TLDR This post explores the ample foreshadowing that Houses Fowler, Uller, and Yronwood may be unreliable allies of Doran when pressed, and their reaction may not follow what we'd expect when Arianne sends out her last raven either calling Dorne's spears to side with the Golden Company or holding off and keeping to the passes (taking after her father's more prudent advice). Could the Fowlers join with Darkstar and raid the Dornish Marches? Will we have a chapter at the Hellholt before Areo's party travels the deep sands where we see Lord Harmen Uller's rebellious nature collide with Ellaria Sand's attempts at peace? And will the Yronwood troops in the Boneway join their historic allies in the Golden Company, or have a divisive reaction to news of Quentyn and Cletus' deaths?

Looking for advice on how to potentially contest upcoming ambulance bill and what type of documentation I would need to collect to file a claim.
Today I was in the park with my son (3 years) playing and he fell down and hurt his head and was bleeding, and had a cut that appeared to be small but deep. I went to the firemen, who were just a few feet away and asked if they had any first aid.
The firemen were very friendly but noted that the cut looked deep and they would feel more comfortable getting professional help and they called an ambulance. Before I know it there is a paramedic and EMT checking my son and recommending we take him to the hospital to be treated and tested. A police officer also came to take note of the incident and was asking me what happened and for my details. I was starting to feel overwhelmed, the paramedics recommended I call my husband and while I was trying to explain to him they were prompting me and my son to the ambulance. The paramedic then offered to speak directly to my son, but we were already being ushered in. I and my husband both expressed on the phone we were hesitant due to the cost of ambulances. With my husband in speaker, the paramedic stressed that he was a father and if it was his kid this is what he would be doing and he would ensure that his son received the best medical care, and that in his opinion he needed to be seen at a hospital that had good pediatric facilities. My husband was on his way to where we were but with the panic and everything I went with the paramedics/EMT. In the meantime my husband was blasting my phone angrily that this would likely not be covered by insurance the EMT tried to reassure me that it was usually covered by insurance, which gave me a mild panic attack that I was working to contain not to further stress my son. the hospital that they took us to was 30 minutes away, while there is a children’s clinic 10-15 minutes away.
Once we came home my husband contacted the insurance directly and they informed us that because it was likely not considered urgent we would need to pay the full expense until reaching our deductible. The average price per mile for our zip code is over $360 dollars, so we would be looking at over $6,000 for the ambulance ride alone, if not higher.
I sincerely feel like I was pressured to take the ambulance while my son’s cut was probably not that serious, as they only glued the wound.
Would welcome the insights of this community to know if I have grounds to contest this claim and what information I would need to gather?

OOC: co-written with NotTooSunny
It was an ordinary day at the New York City Library. People wandered in and out of the building, unaware of the monster that lurked among them.
The only people who seemed to know the danger these mortals were in were Harper and Amon, who entered the building with glowing bronze swords at their hips. The bulky weapons seemed to have escaped the notice of the other library patrons, which was a good thing. The job description had made it clear that they were meant to remain inconspicuous in completing their task.
Harper had traded her usual bright orange camp shirt for a more discrete cropped black t-shirt and pleated pants. She had been insistent on coming up with a persona for them on the train ride from Montauk Station into New York City. They were meant to act as high school students researching for a World History paper on Ancient Greece. Now that they were inside the library, she had stopped her incessant rambling to peruse a riddle book, in what she had insisted was preparation for their job.
As they wandered through the bookshelves, she remained absorbed in the dog-eared children’s book, thumbing through the pages to find a riddle that would be fitting of a sphinx.
“Here’s one, Amon,” she said, narrowly avoiding a collision with another library patron as she read, “What is something that runs but never walks, has a mouth but never talks, has a head but never weeps, has a bed but never sleeps?”
The dark-haired son of Apollo glanced over from a shelf of dusty atlases, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “That is an easy one,” he replied simply. "River. Try me with something more challenging next time around." He adjusted the collar of his striped button down, which he had layered with a navy blue sweater in preparation for the chill of the air-conditioned interior.
“The real riddle is where we can find this sphinx,” Amon glanced around the spacious reading area, eyeing the dark wooden staircase with its ornate railings. “The boyfriend and girlfriend who tried this last time, they found her by a bookcase.”
“A bookcase,” Harper repeated derisively, closing her book to theatrically scan their surroundings. “That narrows it down.”
Ignoring Harper’s mockery, the son of Apollo paused suddenly, his dark eyes glazing over with concentration. His hearing dulled, the surrounding footsteps and rustling pages fading into the background as if muffled by a thick curtain. Amon searched for the energy signature of the monster he knew lurked among the mortals. It was a subtle shift, like trying to discern a whisper in a crowded room, but he felt a faint, abnormal energy hanging somewhere up above.
“I say we try the second floor,” he said as he snapped out of the tracking trance, offering no other explanation to Harper.
“We could do that, sure,” Harper said, words laced with blatant doubt at his sudden certainty. “I say we try asking the Visitor’s Center. I know she's supposed to be disguised by the Mist, but the librarians have to have noticed something.”
“You can go ahead and do that.” The small smirk from earlier was now spreading across his face. “But you can’t be upset if I find the sphinx and solve her riddle before you even get there.”
Harper rolled her eyes, but she made no attempt to stop Amon from walking towards the staircase. After a moment she set off after him, footsteps even against the wooden steps.
Up on the second floor, Amon moved quietly, his dark eyes scanning the hallway for anything out of the ordinary.
I know you’re up here.
He stopped at every heavy-looking mahogany door, peering through each muted glass insert. He felt the air grow thicker with ominous energy at every step, so he knew the monster must be near.
One of the doors was slightly ajar, a suspiciously open invitation. Or a trap. The dark-haired boy caught sight of a cat-shaped figure on the other side before ducking down and motioning sharply for Harper’s attention. He unsheathed his kopis from his belt, bracing himself for confrontation.
Harper crouched against the wall, hand on the hilt of her sword as she tried to peek through the frosted glass pane. She held her breath, ready to move at Amon’s signal. He held out three fingers and then put them down one by one. When he hit zero, they stood in unison, flinging the door open together.
When Amon and Harper stepped inside, the body of the sphinx lay motionless on the floor.
The rest of the room was in disarray, littered with disheveled chairs and broken bits of chalk. A window on the other side of the room had been forced open, the curtain fluttering in the wind.
“No way,” Harper said. The door clicked shut behind her as she pushed past Amon into the room and kneeled to study the monster’s limp figure.
The sphinx had the large body of a lion and the eerily human face of a middle-aged woman, hair tied back in a severe bun and foundation caked onto her high cheekbones. Fangs jutted out of her red-painted lips, and eagle wings sprouted out of the space between her shoulder blades, folded tight against her back.
“Monsters dissolve into dust when they die,” Amon remarked, keeping his distance as he watched the subtle rise and fall of the monster’s ribs. “She must have been knocked unconscious.”
“Right,” Harper agreed, “The real question is who. And why.”
She hovered a hand over the cat's shoulder, set on rousing her. Before she made contact, the sphinx's eyes snapped open, round irises surrounded by shocking yellow sclera.
"Slain!" she wailed. Harper staggered backwards. Amon’s arms instinctively reached out to catch her, but she didn’t stumble near enough to make contact. "I am slain!"
With feline grace, the sphinx rose to her feet. A white tape outline marked the placement of her previously prone body on the floor. The muscles in her legs rippled as she paced in front of Harper and Amon, massive velvet paws silent against the carpet.
"And you, my dear heroes," she roared, eyes narrowed in an accusatory glare, "were too late to save me!"
The sphinx sniffed, composing herself. She leapt onto a wooden table. The table legs creaked underneath her weight. "Fear not," she tutted, "Fear not. For you can still avenge me. If you are able to determine the murderer and their weapon, then I will obtain justice, and all will be right with the world.”
“Your riddle is a murder mystery,” Harper said, confusion written across her face. Amon raised an eyebrow. The sphinx chuffed, a low rumbling sound reminiscent of laughter.
“You sought that hackneyed question about man? The Sphinx that the storytellers remember is far less adaptive than I am. I am not interested in your ability to regurgitate the information you have read. Nor am I interested in taking advantage of the nonsensical rules of your English language.”
“I am here to satisfy my own curiosity: does modern mankind still possess the ability to engage in deductive reasoning, or do they only seek to make themselves appear intelligent? Do not speak,” the sphinx said, a pointed look at Harper, who had opened her mouth to interject, “You will answer my questions when you play my game.”
“The potential murder weapons are scattered throughout this room,” she continued, leaping off the table. “And the suspects have already provided their testimonies for your review. Rest assured, I have made certain that their statements contain no lies.”
A shimmering, translucent energy began to swirl around Harper and Amon’s feet, beginning to take shape as holograms with a flickering, ephemeral quality.
A projection of Cerberus materialized first, his three massive heads snarling and snapping in unison. A ribbon of text appeared by his paws to translate his growling: "I was guarding the entrance, my duty unbroken."
Next came the Minotaur, his towering form pacing within the labyrinth on Crete. He snorted and pawed at the ground, the holographic maze shifting behind him in the background. The translation text appeared: "Confined within these walls, no escape for me."
Lamia's projection flickered into view, her serpentine lower half coiled around her as she wept in her cave. She glanced mournfully at the holographic images of her lost children: "My grief consumes me, innocent of this crime."
A shimmering Hydra emerged next, its nine heads snapping at invisible foes. Each one moved independently, showcasing its ability to act on its own. The translation for the hissing head at the center read: "Engaged in battle, I could not have killed."
Typhon materialized with a thunderous roar, his colossal form fighting against restraints under Mount Etna. His immense size and power were palpable, even in scaled down holographic form: "Bound by chains of the earth, I could not have roamed free."
Echidna’s hologram appeared last, her form a mix of human and serpent, lounging in a dimly lit cave. She looked directly at the viewers, her expression both defiant and amused. The translation text by her side read: “I dwell in my lair, uninvolved in such petty affairs.”
The sphinx swiped at the last projection as it faded, deeming her handiwork satisfactory. “There is not enough information to deduce the killer using evidence alone. Because I am fair, I will provide you with three hints before your final guess. Be forewarned: if you fail to provide a correct answer, you will both perish. Is this understood?”
Harper spoke. “If we answer correctly, you will leave this library for good.”
“If you answer correctly, I will permanently relocate. It is a preferable option in comparison to another death. Now, do you agree to the terms and conditions?” the sphinx said primly, regarding Harper and Amon with casual disdain. The pair nodded. “Very well.”
The sphinx dropped onto the floor and let her head loll back, pretending to be dead once more.
Hint #1

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

Soon after the Sphinx had laid back down, Harper and Amon began to scour the room. A small pile of prospective murder weapons formed on a nearby table.
“We can easily eliminate the siren song,” Amon rushed to speak over Harper, eyeing the small glass vial of swirling gray matter that they had found nestled behind a row of books on metalworking. “It is a luring mechanism, not a murder weapon.”
“We could rule out Cerberus’ fang too,” he pointed at the enormous yellowing tooth, about the size of the small baseball bat Amon used to have when he played in the little league. “If we take the hologram as ground truth, all of his teeth were intact there.”
Harper used her kopis to prod at the stained tunic that had been hidden in a desk drawer, being careful not to touch it with bare skin. “The Shirt of Nessus is a viable option. It would be easy for any of the suspects to lay it down and wait for the hydra venom to kick in.”
“I am not ready to rule out the bronze sword either,” Amon noted. “Monsters have access to heroes and the weapons they leave behind.”
“Most of these monsters don’t even have opposable thumbs,” Harper argued, running a hand over the sword they had found by a power outlet. ”They don’t have the dexterity to wield a sword.”
“I do not imagine that the technicality would be that granular.”
Harper laughed. “Oh, the number of teeth in the Cerberus hologram tell all, but we’re drawing the line at opposable thumbs.”
“I suppose that that logic would also rule out the harpy talon and the encyclopedia easily as well,” Amon admitted. “Which would be too easy.”
“I’m just that good at logical deduction.” Harper said proudly. “If my assumption is correct, then the poisoned shirt is the only one that makes sense.”
Amon scoffed, folding his arms across his chest as his dark eyes bored into Harper. “It would not necessarily matter what our first guess would be anyway.”
“Can you provide an argument for any other weapon? Or are you intent on purposely making an illogical guess?” she countered cooly.
“Fine,” Amon acquiesced. “Since you are so adamant about the shirt, we can guess the shirt, and be incorrect. It does not matter. What about the suspects themselves?” He clasped his hands behind his back, his steps measured as he started to pace across the plush red carpet of the room.
Harper smiled, smugly accepting her victory. She strode towards a chalkboard at the side of the study room, inscribing the list of weapons and suspects with a fresh piece of white chalk.
“All of them have alibis,“ she began. “I think that-”
“Some make more sense than others,” Amon spoke over Harper, irritated by her minor triumph. “Cerberus, for example, is under the service of Hades. He says he did not leave his post, and he could not have done so without permission or dire consequences on the process of the dead.”
Harper silently seethed as Amon spoke, meeting his rationale with reluctant acceptance before starting again in a louder, exaggerated tone. “I think that the ones with the shakiest alibis are Lamia, the Minotaur, Typhon, and Echidna. No witnesses can confirm their locations. In fact, Lamia provides no location at all.” Harper circled those names. She looked at Amon with a forced smile, allowing him a moment to provide more commentary.
“Lamia? Well,” there was a hint of mockery in the sneer that tugged on the corner of Amon’s lips. “I would imagine her emotions rendered her… Too fragile and unstable to carry out such an act.”
“You’re kidding,” Harper scoffed, searching Amon's face for the slightest hint that he was joking. “Her grief is what moved her to kill children in the first place. I doubt it would suddenly be incapacitating. She’s just appealing to your sense of superiority, and I can’t believe that you’re falling for it.”
"It is not about superiority. It is about logic," Amon retorted, bristling in defense. “You cannot deny that emotions cloud judgment. Maybe the sphinx wants us to leverage our knowledge about her past crimes to reason that she was not thinking clearly in this case either.” Amon had no other evidence that pointed towards Lamia as the top suspect, but he had dug deep enough where he was now ready to stand firm in his reasoning.
“Murder,” Harper countered, eyes narrowed in a venomous stare, “-does not require you to think clearly. Haven’t you heard of a crime of passion? If anyone’s judgment is clouded right now, Amon, it’s yours.”
The son of Apollo squared his shoulders, his expression hardening. "I understand the concept of crimes of passion, thank you.” His dark-eyed stare returned Harper's gaze, unflinching at the intensity. “But our investigation must be rooted in facts, not assumptions based on emotions. And the facts are,” he resumed his pacing once more, “that Lamia cannot be the culprit, as she is the only suspect that openly admits to being innocent of this crime.”
Amon had considered this from the very start, but provoking Harper like this had proved to be far more amusing.
Harper crossed Lamia’s name off of the board. She swallowed down her anger, fighting the urge to continue pressing the issue in favor of returning to their list of suspects. She pointed her piece of chalk at the next names on the list. “The Minotaur and Typhon are trapped, or so they say. How could they have done anything?”
“Their alibis revolve around their inability to escape,” Amon pointed out. “Not that they were unable to commit murder. The Labyrinth, in fact,” he raised a dramatic finger, “has several moving passages that could have permitted the Minotaur to move and commit murder without an official escape.”
Harper considered his words for a long moment, trying to find the flaw in his reasoning. Seeing none, she placed a dot next to the Minotaurs's name.
“Typhon escaped his prison in the Second Titanomachy. He could do it again,” Harper said thoughtfully. “Though I don’t understand why he would do something like this. He’s the Sphinx's father. The same goes for Echidna.”
Amon, who had been nodding at Harper’s assessment of Typhon’s abilities, pursed his lips at her observation of parentage. “I do not see how this could possibly be relevant to the logical puzzle at hand.”
Harper spoke slowly, as if the answer was obvious. “What motive would they have to kill their own daughter?”
“Harper,” Amon began curtly, folding his arms across his chest. “Half of the Greek myths revolve around immortals killing their own children.”
“Then we should pick one of them,” Harper declared, pivoting her argument instead of admitting her logical blunder. “They would have more of a motive than the rest of the suspects, if anything.”
“The Minotaur can escape much more easily than Typhon can. Motive aside, it is the most logical guess,” Amon concluded, adjusting his collar haughtily. “I will remind you that we picked your choice of weapon. It is only fair that I select the monster.”
“Fine.” Harper agreed, her gaze stormy as she turned back towards the sphinx. “We accuse the Minotaur of killing the sphinx with the Shirt of Nessus.”
The sphinx opened one eye. “None of these are correct!”
Hint #2

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

“Two more hints left.” Harper announced, crossing off the Minotaur’s name and the poisoned shirt on the chalkboard with a flourish. It was not ideal that her initial logical deductions had been incorrect, but at least Amon had also been wrong. She couldn't resist a snide comment. “I knew it wasn’t the Minotaur.”
“So you still think it’s Typhon.” Choosing to ignore Harper’s taunting, Amon rested his hand on a nearby desk, studying the lists on the chalkboard before him. He had taken the Minotaur error as a personal failure, and was determined to get the suspect right this time.
“I do.”
“Why not Echidna?”
“She’s too emotional to kill someone, obviously.” Harper said sarcastically. “Her frail female arms are probably too weak to even hold a weapon.”
The dark-haired boy rolled his eyes. “Objectively,” he began, ignoring her quip once more, “Typhon could not have lied about his inability to roam free. A natural disaster freed him from Mount Etna during the Second Titanomachy, but he could not recreate those conditions on his own.” Though his tone remained aloof, it was clear that Amon was relishing in the opportunity to flaunt his mythology knowledge.
“Maybe,” Harper argued, stubborn. “But Echidna’s statement was less ambiguous than his. Typhon just explains his predicament; he doesn't provide a real claim. Echidna explicitly says she was not involved.” She thought for a few more moments, rolling the piece of chalk in her hands. “Echidna could have released him? They would be accomplices.”
Amon shook his head. “There was a single murderer. Not two. The sphinx would not lie about the premise of the game.”
Harper stared at him coldly, but could offer no rebuttal. She turned her attention to the board. “Typhon is a giant. He’s capable of using the sword.”
“But the specificity of Echidna’s denial is still incredibly suspicious. ‘Petty affairs’ is a strange way to phrase a murder. But,” Amon added reluctantly, “I understand the logic behind Typhon. I suppose it is your turn to choose the monster, and we will still have another guess to work with.”
“As for the weapon,” he continued, “I still think the sword is the most viable option, given that the siren song and the fang can be ruled out and the shirt with the venom was, well,” Amon pursed his lips, fighting the urge to smile, “incorrect.”
Before Harper could interject, Amon turned towards the sphinx at the front of the room. “We accuse Typhon of killing the sphinx with a Celestial Bronze Sword.”
“One of these is correct!”
Hint #3

Suspects	Weapons
Cerberus	The Shirt of Nessus
The Minotaur	Siren Song
Lamia	Harpy Talon
The Hydra	Celestial Bronze Sword
Typhon	A-C Encyclopedia
Echidna	Cerberus Fang

“Aha!” Amon raised a triumphant finger before pointing it at Harper. “I told you,” he gloated, “Typhon had no escape route.”
“You were right,” Harper admitted, staring down at the carpet so that she would not have to look at his smug expression.
“Let’s get this over with,” she muttered, and turned back towards the lioness with crossed arms. “We accuse Echidna of killing the sphinx with a Celestial Bronze Sword”
“One of these is correct,” the sphinx announced. Her mouth twisted in amusement, fangs bared in a menacing smile.
READ PART 2 HERE