Hello! I'm about to jump back into the query trenches and thought I'd see what you fine folks had to say about the query letter. It's my first time querying horror and came across the term "light horror" which I think fits my story. It's not overly gory but it's essentially a haunted house story. If that's not the right term, please let me know. Either way, thanks for looking it over! I included the first 300 words below as well because why the hell not.
Dear Agent,
I'm seeking representation for my adult fiction novel CENTER VALLEY. I read on your [agency] bio of your interest in [something] and thought it would be a good fit for your list.
CENTER VALLEY is a light horror novel complete at 75,000 words. It will interest fans of HOW TO SELL A HAUNTED HOUSE by Grady Hendrix and THE SEPTEMBER HOUSE by Carissa Orlando.
Ben Baker never thought flipping a house would lead to a maniac attacking his family with a hammer.
He inherited his father’s hardware store and has been doing everything he can to keep it open, including dipping into his family’s savings account. His wife Hannah trusts him with the family finances until she gets into a car accident and finds out there’s not nearly as much in the bank as she thought.
Ben’s brother Hank offers a way to make some quick money—buy a foreclosed house on the outskirts of town and flip it themselves. With no other idea of how to replace the money, Ben reluctantly agrees.
But when they finally get into the house, they find something in the attic that neither can explain. A house—complete with windows, a roof, and a bathroom—sits behind a makeshift wall of thin plywood. Hank is curious but Ben is immediately unsettled, and neither can say exactly why.
Soon, Ben sees shadows move in ways they shouldn’t, hears strange noises from the attic, and realizes that they have a lot more to worry about than simply finishing the remodel within their budget when the strange occurrences follow him home.
[bio]
Thanks,
[me]
First 300 words:
I would’ve hugged my daughter a little tighter if I had known a madman would attack her with a hammer before her next birthday. But of course, there was no way for me to know so instead I just threw my empty beer bottle at Hank’s kneecap.
“Ah jeez look at that,” I said. This was one of our dad’s top moves. The other was to simply drop the empty bottle between his feet—he could be standing in the kitchen right next to Mom, it didn’t matter—and stare you in the eyes with this dumb grin on his face.
Hank just laughed and reached into the cooler on the opposite side of his lawn chair. Birthday parties are incredibly easy when your brother has a daughter the same age as yours. He pulled out another High Life and threw it back to me. April 26th was a tough birthday in middle Wisconsin. Depending on the year, you could get a nice spring-like day or a snowstorm. We lucked out this year.
“Why didn’t you get the big one?” Hank said, nodding to the bounce house that filled up more than half of my backyard.
“He didn’t want to pay for the semi to deliver it,” said Hannah. My wife of nine years. She was only five feet tall but goddamn she was a giant to me. Have you ever been afraid of a person you could throw through a window with one arm? That was her. Worthless on moving day but you didn’t want to see her get angry. I used to joke that she had an amplifier in her ribcage. The decibel level she could reach was freakish and downright terrifying, especially if you didn’t see it coming. She once stopped a dog fight just by screaming as loud as she could.

Not sure where to begin. I'm not happy with the house I bought. All my own fault for ending up in this situation. Rushed into buying the house, it was the first house I viewed since there was nothing on the market at the time, simple 3 bed semi detached, went 40k over asking. Since buying there's been so many better houses for the price I paid and even more bedrooms in those houses at that. Trying not to look at daft, it drives me mad.
Back to the house, it's mainly just the kitchen that bugs me. I am not sure how the sellers manged to get the kitchen looking so well on viewing, must of been some extraordinary lighting because the kitchen units are all ancient wood cabinets. The outside of them is painted but inside you can tell they are so old. They switched out all the appliances for older ones before closing (again my fault never got this included in contract) and the countertop is so dated and it's warping in places. I went so high on buying the house because I was of the opinion I wouldn't have to do any work on it but now I just feel like ripping out the kitchen.
I've decided to get the kitchen countertop and units resprayed, gonna cost just short of 1500e. See if that settles my mind. I don't really want to fork out for a new kitchen.
Can't believe I've ended up in this situation, more annoyed at myself than anything else. This is hardly a normal feeling? 😂 Buyers remorse maybe? Just feel like if I held out longer for the money I paid I could of gotten a way nicer house ugh.

As the last orange light of day drained from the sky, the living dead in Club Vlad rose. Max the skeleton and Jessie the…not skeleton…sewed up the gaping Y-shaped incision on Dom’s chest under Merrick’s direct supervision. Dom sat there, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. He’d woken with a headache and a feeling of cold, and even now, he could feel the dull throb above his left eye. It felt like someone was tearing his brain apart with a fork. He had told Merrick, and Merrick had nodded sadly. “Is my brain rotting?”
“Most likely,” Merrick had said.
There was a certain peace in the idea of losing his cursed humanity. As Merrick had said, he would feel no pain, know no quandaries. He would live only for the night and for his master. On the other hand, watching someone like Matt sit and stare into the distance, drool coursing down his chin and nothing happening behind his dead eyes, scared Dom. He didn’t want to be a braindead idiot. He didn’t care about keeping his emotions, he just wanted to function.
Like Merrick.
There wasn’t much he could do, however. He was dead and that was the end of it.
Once Dom was patched up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, Merrick called his children before him. “I have done my best to love and protect all of you,” he began. “Jessie, you were miserable with your grandmother, were you not?”
“Yes,” Jessie said tonelessly.
“You were depressed, bipolar, and cut yourself. Now you’re happy.”
“Yes,” she replied again.
“Joe, you were a two bit nobody staring down a ten year stretch in jail.”
“Yes.” Thin yellow liquid dripped from his nose.
“But now you are free.”
“Yes.”
“You appreciate what I’ve done for you.”
“Yes.”
Merrick flashed then, slamming his fist onto the arm of his wheelchair. “Then why do you keep fucking up? The police were here earlier. They have messages between you and Jessie. I told both of you to delete those. Then I find out that you bit someone and turned them despite my orders. We have an endless supply of blood here but you still went off on your own. How many are there?”
“Just one,” Joe said.
“Are you being honest with me?”
“Yes.”
Merrick sagged back in his chair, looking somehow older. “Joe, take Matt and go to her. Bring her back here before she causes any more problems. God alone knows how many people she’s changed. Too many vampires without a father will bring heat on us, and you know what happens in that case? We get pieces of wood shoved in our chests.”
Turning to Dom, Merrick said, “I have a job for you and Jessie. We’re nearly out of embalming fluid. You haven’t had your first dose and the rest of us are starting to get ripe as well. I have a contact at a funeral home. He texted earlier that the order he placed on my behalf has come in. I want you to pick it up and to pay him.”
Dom had never been picked for anything in his whole life. No one had ever wanted him on their team and no one had ever placed their trust in him the way Merrick was now. He was honored, proud, and would do anything to not let Merrick down.
“That cop who came here might be a problem,” Merrick went on. “We may have to deal with him, but we’ll leave that for another night. In any case, I want this place cleaned from top to bottom. If the police come, I want them to see nothing out of the ordinary.”
Now that everyone had their marching orders, they dispersed. Merrick handed Dom an evelope stuffed with cash, and Dom slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie. The other team - Joe and Matt - left, while the remaining vampires began tidying up.
A fleet of vehicles waited in the parking lot behind Club Vlad. Dom and Jessie took a black pedo van with no back windows. They drove in silence, the radio off. Dom did not want to hear music, nor did he wish to speak to Jessie. Their kinship was one of blood and circumstance, not one of words and emotions. He had no questions for her and wished to answer none of his own. The only thoughts he had were of the mission ahead and of the growing pain in his skull. He thought of the staring stupid Matt, of the decayed Max, and a shiver went down his spine.
What was left of his humanity recoiled at the idea of becoming like them.
The pain grew hotter, more intense. He forced it away and focused on driving.
The funeral home was on North Allen Street, next to a restaurant called Pepperjack’s. A tall, white house with dark shutters and a sign out front, it looked like a quiet, peaceful place. “Pull around back,” Jessie said.
Dom pulled the van around back and parked under a balcony, killing the headlights. They got out and went to the back door, Jessie in the lead. He assumed that she had done this before and that the seller would recognize her. She knocked, and a few moments later, the door opened. A youngish man with a shaved head appeared, wearing an apron and gloves. He saw them and tensed a little. Dom could smell, rather than sense, his fear, and his throat panged with thirst. “Come on,” the man said quickly. He stepped aside and allowed them to enter. Dom noticed that he walked behind them, wary of putting his back to them. “Do you have the money?”
“Do you have our order?” Jessie countered.
“Yes,” the man said, “I’m really risking my neck for this. They don’t just give embalming fluid away, you know. They keep track of it and if they realize I’m over ordering, someone from the state’s going to come down here and check.”
He led them into an embalming room. Three boxes sat on a table. Dom gave the man his money, and he and Jessie carried the boxes outside, loading them into the van. The whole time they were there, the man was edgy, like he was afraid they were going to attack him. Dom would be a liar if he said that the hot smell of the man’s blood didn’t excite him. Perhaps once his brain rotted away, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, but for now, he could.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through his head and he nearly dropped the last box onto the ground.
Once the man was paid, Dom and Jessie drove back to Club Vlad. In fifteen minutes, they were drinking side by side from two passed out partygoers, their reward for a job well done.
Meanwhile, across the city, Joe and Matt weren’t doing as well. They were standing outside of Heather’s apartment. Joe, slightly annoyed (anger being another emotion vampires could feel, along with fear) pounded on the door. He knew she was in there; he could smell the putrid odor of decay. “Let us in,” he said. “We won’t hurt you.”
Joe could barely remember changing her. He didn’t mean to, it just…happened. Like an unwanted pregnancy. You can bite someone as much as you want and drink as much as you want, but if you take too much at once and they die, you get the vampire equivalent of a baby. Joe liked the hunt. It was exciting. Having his meals brought to him Club Vlad didn’t arouse the same level of excitement. It was like shooting an animal tied to a tree. Or hiring a prostitute instead of wooing someone. No real satisfaction to it.
That was probably his greatest downfall. He had lured Jessie the same way, though Merrick was indeed interested in rescuing her from her grandmother. People you have saved obey just as well as people with no brains.
He felt fluid on his upper lip and sniffed. “Come on, let us in,” he said.
No response.
He looked at Matt and nodded to the door. Together, they rammed their shoulders against it. It shook in its frame. They were both dead and weak, but modern American architecture is even weaker, and the door eventually slammed open. The apartment beyond was dark, messy, and reeked of death. They searched high and low, and eventually found Heather huddled in a corner, trying to hide. She was naked save for a pair of panties, her body bloated and beginning to turn black. Her skin hung from her frame and her eyes were filled with blood and fear. It was a wonder no one had called the police yet. The smell was overpowering. “We’re here to help,” he said. “You have to come with us.”
She shook her head and trembled. Maybe she remembered that he was the one who did this to her. Maybe her memories had rotted away. Those were usually the first to go. Then your emotions, then your personality. Finally, your capacity for higher reasoning. “I’m sorry I did this to you,” he said. That was a lie. He was not remorseful. Nor was he proud, for that matter. It just happened. Like rain. “But I want to help you. We can fix you.”
No amount of coaxing or conjoling could induce her to move. Joe weighed his options. He doubted anyone would call the cops even if they heard the door coming down - people who lived in places like this rarely called the cops, which helped Joe and his cause immensely. Even so, there was the possibility. Every minute they spent here was a minute that something could go wrong, and Joe had a lot to lose.
So, too, did Merrick.
Giving up, Joe took out his cellphone and called Merrick. “She refuses to come,” he said simply.
The line was quiet for a moment, then Merrick’s voice came back. Cold. Calculating. “Then do what you must.”
That was the go ahead.
Hanging up, Joe looked around the apartment and found a wooden chair in the kitchen. He lifted it over his head and slammed it on the counter, shattering it into a million pieces. He selected the longest, sharpest, and sturdiest looking one. He went back into the room and directed Matt to hold her down. She fought, kicked, and spat, but she was weaker than even they were. They had been embalmed. She hadn’t.
Matt pinned her hands above her head and Joe straddled her. Animal terror filled her eyes and she whipped her head from side to side. Joe lifted the makeshift stake with both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could, driving it deep into her heart. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and a high, otherworldly scream ripped from her throat. She bucked, thrashed, and kicked her feet. Her resistance began to ebb away until she was twitching…until she was still.
Heather from OKCupid was dead.
Truly dead.
Joe couldn’t help wondering what it was like.
Pulling the stake out, he tossed it aside and got to his feet, Matt doing likewise. A soul petrifying scream might be cause for even the tightest of lips to start talking. “Let’s go,” he said. And together, he and Matt fled, leaving the poor, dead body of Heather behind.
***
As it turned out, one of Heather’s neighbors did call the cops. At 10;13pm, Vanessa Rodregiez arrived with two patrolmen and found the front door of Apartment 237 knocked down. Guns drawn, they entered, Vanessa at the head. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It jammed itself into her nostrils, shoved its tongue down her throat, and violated her - all without even buying her dinner first.
Vanessa hadn’t been at this as long as her buddy Bruce had, but she knew a dead, rotting body when she smelled one. They searched the premises, and sure enough, they found a vic in the bedroom, lying in the gap between the bed and the wall; it looked like the former had been moved, perhaps in a struggle. Vanessa knelt down to check the vic’s pulse, but stopped.
There was no need.
The vic - who looked like a female but could have been an overweight male - hadn’t had a pulse in a very long time.
Examining the body, Vanessa found a wound in the chest, just above the heart. Black, stinking goo leaked from it, and Vanessa gagged. She fisted her hand to her mouth, retched, and then ran for the kitchen sink. Her partner for the night, Jim Walsh, stared down at the stiff before him, and his face turned a sickly shade of green. He avoided puking because he didn’t nose fuck the wound like Vanessa had, but he wasted no time in getting out there, dry heaving in the hallway where the air was somewhat fresh.
After leaving her lunch in the sink, Vanessa radioed back to headquarters, and before long, the place was crawling with cops. The assistant medical examiner - who had taken over after Ed Harris quit the previous night - knelt over the body and studied it. A solidly built black man with a mustache, his name was Leon and he knew death just as well as his old boss, so when he said the vic had been dead nearly two weeks, Vanessa accepted it.
That begged the question: Who broke in and screamed just now? A relative? The caller clearly heard screaming and peeked out her door to see two males fleeing on foot. Maybe they found the vic and freaked out? Or maybe they were the killers returning to the scene of the crime. After all, the vic had clearly been murdered.
In fact, they found a likely murder weapon. A long sliver of wood soaked in black goo. Blood turns black after a while, but there was something different about this stuff. “What is it?” Vanessa asked Leon.
“I’m not sure,” Leon said and pulled off a pair of Latex gloves he’d donned to examine the vic, “could be blood or…”
“Or what?” Vanessa asked.
“Or something,” Leon said. “Give me a few hours.”
And a few hours it was. Just before 1am, Leon called Vanessa at her desk. “I think you should come down here,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Vanessa stood over Leon as he pulled the vic’s chest open with a pair of tweezers. “That’s the heart,” he said, “whoever stabbed her scored a direct hit, but this…this is what concerns me.”
He prodded a furry lump with the tip of his scalpel.
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “it looks like mold.”
That word - mold - triggered a memory in her brain. “Ed said something about mold last night. He found it in -”
“The Mason boy,” Leon finished.
“Yeah. The one who got up and ran off.”
Leon turned away from Vanessa and looked at the dead woman - for it was a woman. Vanessa got the impression that he didn’t want her to see his expression. “I’ve known Ed ten years. I know something happened last night, but a stiff getting up and walking off? I thought he was confused. Now…I don’t know. That makes two bodies in 24 hours. And get this. The chest wound? It was done post-mortem. I can’t find a cause of death anywhere. Except maybe blood loss but it’s hard to tell at this point. And speaking of blood…”
“What?” Vanessa asked quickly.
“When I opened her stomach up, a whole shit load of blood spilled out. And a lot of it was a lot fresher than she is.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow in confusion. “You mean…?”
“It’s not hers,” Leon said. “I can’t be 100 percent sure until I run tests, but I’d put money on it.”
Vanessa’s head spun with information both new and old. You know that full, heavy feeling you get when a poo is brewing in your guts? That’s kind of what Vanessa was feeling, only in her head instead of her stomach.
Leon was just as mystified by the whole thing as she was and stayed up late to run a few preliminary tests. By sunrise, he had confirmed that the blood inside of Heather’s stomach was not hers. In fact, it had come from at least three different sources. “Is it human?” Vanessa asked over the phone.
“Yes,” Leon said, sounding troubled, “it’s human.”
In the cobalt hour before sunrise, Vanessa sat at her desk and tried to piece this whole thing together. They had:

1. A corpse that (allegedly) woke up and dipped out
2. A dead girl who’d been stabbed in the heart with a piece of wood after somehow ingesting the blood of three different people.
3. Some missing kids
4. Oh, and both bodies - the girl’s and the runaway corpses’ - had the same weird fungus in their heart cavities.

All of this - even the missing kids, Vanessa felt - was related. She just didn’t know how. The only answer that half way fit was that both of those bodies were vampires. Like…what’s a vampire but a dead body that gets up and walks around at night? And how do you kill a vampire? Why, you drive a piece of wood through its heart.
The idea that vampires were real was dumb, but the more she turned it over in her mind, the more she became convinced that it was at least an option. A lot of things people thought were fantastic and made up turned out to be real, so why not vampires too?
Shortly after 8, Bruce came in. He was just sitting down when Vanessa came in and slapped her report on the desk. “Buckle up, bitch,” she said, “things just got weirder.”
He stared up at her with one of those grumpy - but cute -expressions he was so good at putting on. As he read, however, his brow knitted. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh.
“I have a theory - kind of,” Vanessa said, “but I don’t want to say it.”
“You might as well,” Bruce said. “It can’t be more kooky than reality these days.”
“Okay,” Vanessa started, “what if - and I’m just thinking out loud here - what if there are vampires in Albany?”
She expected Bruce to give her a dirty look, but he chewed it over, actually taking it seriously. “And those missing boys are victims?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “That girl’s been dead two weeks. Maybe she bit Dominick Mason and he came back for revenge after realizing he was cursed to be a goddamn shit sucking vampire forever.”
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, but who turned her?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa said, “I don’t know.”
***
Before dawn painted the eastern sky, Merrick Garvis sat in his chamber like a withered king, a mess of IVs hooked into his arms and neck. The vault was silent save for the soft noise of the machines as they filtered out the old embalming fluid and replaced it with new embalming fluid. Embalming fluid always made him spacy, like a drug. The others had gone first, and even now lay near comatose around him like addicts in an opium den.
As far as he knew, Merrick was the oldest vampire in the world, perhaps, even, the oldest vampire to ever live. Though he was not fully honest with Dom, he was not lying when he said that vampires rotted like any other dead thing. Conditions considered, you had a few weeks tops if left untreated. There may be living vampires in remote corners of Egypt or the northern most reaches of Russia, where the climate preserved dead things, but unless you made it to one of those places, you were pretty well fucked.
Merrick was not a proud man, nor was he concerned with saving face - the dead have no need for that. He was being truthful when he said that he feared death. What’s more, he feared being helpless. Deep down, vampires are people, and people don’t exactly have the greatest track record with caring for their infirm. He read once that the first sign of a civilization was a broken leg that had healed, as it showed that someone stayed with and cared for a fellow human long enough for them to get well again. In Merrick’s opinion, that was true…and thus there was no civilization. Merrick was fifty-one when he died in the year 1982. In his lifetime, he had seen The Great Depression, World War II, and a million small acts of cruelty and selfishness in between. He’d seen beggars starving in the streets, abused children shuffled out of sight and out of mind, and disdain for the poor and the weak.
The living were awful, and the living dead were no different. Once their humanity rotted away, they cared only about filling their stomachs. They were like ticks - they would drink until their bellies literally ruptured…and then keep on drinking.
That left him in a precarious position. He was old, his body was weak. He couldn’t stand unassisted and if left to fend for himself, he would decay into a pile of bones within days. He would be cursed to lay in one spot for all eternity, aware and hungry, little more than a ghost tethered to a black and still beating heart.
He refused to let that happen to him. Thus, he had created a family, a clan of vampires loyal to him and to him alone. He did this through acts of simple kindness and understanding…but also through deception. He knew, for instance, how to preserve the brain. He’d figured out how to do it early on - you pickle it. Like a fetus preserved in a jar. He sawed off the top of his own head and filled it with a special solution that kept his brain - and his intelligence - intact. It slowly drained out through the nose and ears in a thin, yellow liquid, but it worked well enough. He couldn’t save everything, however, and had lost vital things in the process, such as most of his human memories, his sense of humor, and some motor functions. He shared this secret with only Joe, and a few others before, because he needed a strong captain. He kept the others in the dark because vampires - like people - are easier to control when they don’t think for themselves.
Right about now, however, Merrick was beginning to regret sharing the formula with even Joe. Joe had brought him nothing but grief. Joe, you see, could think for himself. He could make decisions. He could go behind Merrick’s back. Joe had something called free will, and free will is a worse affliction than vampirism. Free will is messy, free will is dangerous.
Free will could very well turn Merrick into a pile of bones.
That was, of course, if they weren’t discovered first. Joe had made several mistakes lately, not least of which was the turning of Heather. Sitting there in the predawn hour, attended by Tony, his gay bartender and human familiar, Merrick decided to have Joe killed. There are only two ways to kill a vampire: The stake and the flame. The latter seemed somehow appropriate in this case. After Joe, there would be no more captains, only him, one father with absolute power. That was how it had to be. One man, one vision. Democracies didn’t work. That was especially clear today. Everyone was so divided and nothing ever got done. If the humans had one strong leader, they might go in the wrong direction, but at least they would go somewhere. Instead, they stagnated.
Merrick didn’t particularly look forward to killing Joe, but it had to be done. To protect the family. To protect him.
And Merrick would do anything…anything at all…to protect himself.
***
Vampires.
Bruce kept coming back to that single wor, hoping each time that he would chuckle at the absurdity of it.
But he never did.
Did that mean he believed it? Not necessarily, but damn it, he considered it a possibility, and that alone was enough to make him feel like a fucking clown. All the evidence he had pointed to vampires, but then again, it might point to other things as well. Like aliens.
But let’s say the whole vampire thing was real. Who, like Vanessa asked, was patient zero? Who started this whole mess?
A name came to mind.
Merrick Garvis.
He had not had time to check into Garvis the previous day, but by God, he was going to do it now. He ran his name and social through the system and everything seemed to check out. Merrick Garvis was born on June 31, 1963 in -
Wait a minute. Weren’t there only 30 days in June?
Bruce checked, and there were, indeed, only 30 days in the month of June. Hm. Bruce did a little digging and found something out. Before 1987, social security numbers weren’t issued at birth. You had to sign up, using other forms of ID. Merrick Garvis applied for his in April 1984 and the date of birth on his state issued driver’s license was June 31. Bruce spent an hour on the phone with the DMV and learned that they had never issued a license to a Merrick Garvis. He then spoke to the Social Security Administration, and after much wrangling and frustration, he managed to get a photocopy of the license Garvis used to get his social security number. It was dated 1983.
The face staring back at him was almost exactly the same face he’d seen at Club Vlad, except maybe a touch less stiff and waxy. Though not as rough looking, there was no way in hell Garvis was 20 in that picture. It had to be a fake,
Bruce thought back to the events of the previous two days. Missing bodies, staked corpses, hearts that still beat after death.
Vampires didn’t seem like such a crazy explanation.
And if anyone was a fucking vampire around here, it was Merrick Garvis.

Hi everyone,
I’m losing my mind a bit going back and forth with our builder, who we’ve had a great relationship with until recently when he’s been reluctant to share detailed breakdowns of his costs despite us being clear from the start of the project that we wanted to work with itemised invoices.
For context, we are in SE England, our house is a fairly major reno project (no working kitchen and barely functional bathroom when we moved in). My partner and I are both busy professionals so we opted for a builder who a) came highly recommended by a local family friend and b) does come at a bit of a premium for the quality of his work, attention to detail, and the level of management he takes on to keep things running smoothly.
We have always been happy to pay a little extra for the service he provides but lately these costs have started to seem extortionate and he has suddenly started refusing to provide detailed breakdowns of the sums. There have been at least 3 instances where we’ve raised an issue with him and he’s agreed to remove or reduce the cost he initially quoted. I don’t want to short change anyone and I am happy to pay a premium for quality work and management but I’m finding the lack of transparency stressful at a time when I am already experiencing a lot of personal pressure.
Here are some of the numbers I’m looking to sense check. I know costs are very dependent on a case by case basis but I’m hoping some of you more experienced renovators can tell me if these are in the right ball park or I’m being fleeced!
Electrical work to kitchen, which included disconnecting some old circuitry, rerouting and first and second fix for all new sockets, switches and lighting, installing and supplying spotlights, spurs and switches for appliances, certificate on completion C. £4000
Installing an extractor hood over island which needs to be vented through ceiling to outside. All Labour and materials C £875 + VAT
2nd fix plumbing to connect washing machine, dishwasher, kitchen sink, gas stove and radiator. C £875 + VAT

Hi,
I'm a first time buyer. Me and my wife are planning to live in a high roof extended van for 6 months of the year (in the summer). We can both work fully remote.
We would prefer to buy something that is ready built and make customisations as we go. We both have very little DIY/power tool experience so we would like to see how we get on making changes before committing to building something from scratch.
Our budget is 25-30k USD. We are not looking for "Instagram luxury". Just something that is comfortable, light and airy.
Main requirements:

• Bathroom:
  • Shower with hot water
  • Toilet that flushes (preferably, might have to settle for compost one)
• Power:
  • Enough battery capacity to charge two laptops
  • USB charging ports
• Workspace and Dining:
  • Convertible or fixed desk/dinette
• Sleeping:
  • Double bed
  • Storage space under bed
• Kitchen:
  • Propane or electric stove
  • Sink with hot and cold water
• Light and Ventilation:
  • Windows for natural light
  • Ceiling or wall-mounted fans
• Water System:
  • Freshwater tank (minimum 20 gallons)
  • Greywater tank for drainage

Shortlist so far (within budget): Ford Transit 350 (2017), Ram ProMaster 3500 (2017-18), 2015 Mercedes-Benz sprinter 3500.
We're open to buying a passenger van with windows and getting this converted by someone that knows what they're doing. For the requirements I've listed, what would be the estimated cost incl. labour?
Any recommendations or feedback is much appreciated!

Here we are again in the shit stew that is the Fallowveil trailer park. We’ve got soul eating strippers, jobs that kill us, and plenty of weirdos, both the trailer trash and the potentially paranormal variety. It’s the place where even your own computer sometimes threatens to kill you. I can’t tell if I should be worried, or annoyed that all my neighbors have such irresponsible web habits. I know it’s not me that brings in all these machine wiping viruses.
So even though I got a system error that literally said “you’re useless and you should die” I’m less interested in that. Stupid thing. Like I don’t already know I’m useless. That’s not what I’m depressed about.
Well… I suppose it's tangentially related.
I hope anyone reading will forgive me. I’m feeling the sting of rejection right now. It was really stupid of me to ask. Especially now. Nobody here really likes me. They’ve only been nice to me as a courtesy because I was almost involved in a god damn shootout. And my idiot self decided that was the perfect time to push one of my few friends all the way away. Never ask your friends out on dates. It ruins everything.
So there’s this woman. I’ve talked about her in the past. Trista Ramone. She lives in the far back corner of the trailer park. You can instantly tell which unit is hers because she’s covered every square inch of the property with gardens and a rabbit hutch. The place usually has beads and colorful flags hanging on its walls as well. She’s kind of a right winger’s nightmare. I know some of those flags represent various lgbtq plus communities.
She and I have been friendly in the past. We’re both night shift workers. We crossed paths quite a bit going to and from work so we struck up a friendship over the years.
Let’s just ripped the band aid off. Recently I’ve started thinking I had… stronger feelings for Trista. I got stupid and decided to tell her about them. She wasn’t interested. I get why. We have very different lifestyles. I like meat, and she thinks the meat industry is murder. I’m not willing to give up meat, and she’s not willing to give up her beliefs. It's as simple as that. Now things are incredibly awkward with one of my closer friends and I’m still spiraling into self loathing, where I belong.
She swore up and down that she absolutely still wants to be friends with me, but I’m not sure I believe her. The look she gave me when I told her I’d like to ask her out. It looked like sadness, but a small part of me is convinced it was pity, or worse, disgust and loathing, and that small part gave me ever shuts the fuck up. But anyway, she gave me permission to write about her.
She is one of the creepy fixtures of our little neighborhood after all. She told me to make her seem as insane and scary as I possibly could and that she should get to kill me at the end. She also handed me a few of her high school yearbooks, advised me to chat with another neighbor of ours who she went to school with, and to only use creepy rumors for the rest.
Part of me is really willing to describe her as awful, but that’s just my anger. I don’t like that part of me. Trista’s not a bad person at all. She’s just weird and she doesn’t want to date me. God damn it, Petunia’s right. I need therapy.
So, I’ve told the story of the sexy, scary lady living in a polycule here in the trailer park. I think she’s got a bigger heart than she lets on. I’ve talked about the stories surrounding the Schroeder Slaughterhouse. Now let’s talk about the hippy everyone thinks is a vampire.
She’s a taller woman, maybe five-seven or eight, and she’s skinny. Her typical wardrobe is… interesting. Try to imagine your typical new-age hippy/stoner girl, wearing colorful sarongs, crop-tops, beanies, baggy sweaters, T-shirts with colorful sayings on them, sandals, boots woven from some sort of exotic plant, beaded necklaces, bracelets, a few too many piercings and some intricate tattoos. Can you picture that kind of person? Well, take that and dip them in “goth” dye. Everything is black, and contrasts to her pale white complexion, her eyes are this unusual violet color, and then make the woman wearing all that seem kind of depressed about something. That’s the look Trista has going on. Like if Wednesday Addams was forced to dress up for Hippy Day.
I’ve heard people call her an emo vampire, but as a former emo myself, she doesn’t fill out all the criteria. She doesn’t typically wear any super tight pants or cake on the eyeshadow. I guess she’s just Trista. It might sound weird (and it is) but the whole thing suits her. Her style, tattoos, and complexion all create this image of skinny vampiric waif with a mysterious past and a freaky sarcastic attitude and I found the whole thing… kinda hot.
Trista keeps to herself. She’s made the most out of her little corner of the trailer park. Like I said, she decked out her unit with garden squares, and a Rabbit pen. No idea why she’s allowed to do that. A lot of these places don’t allow pets. I heard she was also trying to put in a beehive too, but her neighbors are fighting her on that one. Our park is a bit too condensed for bees. She has a permit to grow hemp, but of course it’s not for recreational use. She treats it and uses it to weave things like handbags, clothes, and other stuff. There’s a consignment store in town that sells all kinds of things Trista has crafted herself. So she’s handy and self sufficient too. She paints, she carves wood, she weaves, she crochets, she sews, and who knows what else. She’s so good at her little crafts that apparently she’s able to support herself just selling them and working part time at the Moonlight Inn outside of town.
She’s also relatively friendly. I almost feel bad calling her weird, but here’s the thing, I’ve seen some REALLY weird shit. People jokingly call her a vampire, and she seems to embrace that, but part of me seriously wonders. The big clue is, like I mentioned, she’s completely nocturnal. She’s always asleep during the day, and every blind and curtain is drawn tight. The one time she came out during the day, she had on this full body suit with a helmet with UV glass and everything. Even then, she only showed up to give Petunia a hug, before leaving again.
That was the first time I saw Trista, come to think of it. I was kind of intrigued. It was kind of hard not to be when someone shows up to a community cookout in a freaking astronaut suit. I approached Petunia after she left.
“Who the heck was that?” I wondered.
“MASON! I’m so glad you could make it! You’ve been here about three months now! How’d that job interview go?”
“Oh. It went well. I might be doing janitorial work soon.”
“Night shift?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure.”
“If it’s the night shift, you’ll definitely meet the person who just left. That’s Trista. She’s the girl with the rabbits in the far corner. Poor girl. She’s got a really bad skin condition. Can’t let sunlight touch her.”
“Oh. Is she like… albino or something?”
“No, she’s got pigment. I don’t remember what the condition is called. I guess it started in high school or something. You’d have to ask her. And hey! If you work the night shift, you’ll probably get to chat with her!”
Petunia wasn’t wrong. I started working as a nighttime janitor for a number of local businesses. That was when I first started noticing the pale goth hippy. She rides around on a moped, with her dark hair and her sarong barely billowing behind her. I couldn’t see her face through the helmet, but she waved to me as she passed by.
The next time I saw her, she was jogging, but here’s where it gets weird. When I first stepped outside, all I saw was a blur. It actually startled me as I whipped toward it, but then there was this skinny tattooed pixie, somehow still looking like a stonehippy/vampire in jogging gear. I swear she was moving inhumanly fast when I first noticed her. That was when we introduced ourselves. She actually jogged over to say hello.
“Hey! You’re the new guy right?”
“Oh, uh, yeah. My name’s Mason!” I reached out to shake the pretty girl’s hand, like an awkward loser. She smirked and shook my hand. Her grip was weirdly strong, and a bit cold.
“I’m Trista. I’m the weirdo in the back with the rabbits.”
“Trista… oh, are you the one who has a thing with sunlight? I think Petunia mentioned you.”
“Yup! That’s me. Xerodoma pigmentosum. Sunlight hurts. I hate that it hurts.” She lamented.
“That’s gotta be rough,” I said sympathetically.
“You get used to it. You work at night?”
“Yeah. Works better for me.”
“I get that.”
And so on and so on. She’s pretty cool, with a bit of hilarious snark in there. And she secretly procured recreational weed she was willing to share. I kept working the night shift just hoping for another chance to talk to her and possibly buy a joint. Eventually she invited me over to share a joint. The inside of her place was actually pretty sparse and spartan compared to the outside. Though she was a fan of hanging beads. Most of the main room was taken up by her various crafting projects and supplies. Hemp weaves, some paintings, and even a wood carving of what I think was a rabbit, but it wasn’t anywhere near complete.
I followed her to her kitchen where she reached into the very back of her pantry and pulled out a shoebox. Inside was her stash, but there was something else which I found very strange. It was a pack of syringes and a thing I assume is to sterilize syringes. I know what you’re thinking, and that was my first thought too. It’s a poor neighborhood, the woman already smokes weed illegally, it’s not that big a shock that maybe she was involved in other drugs too. I decided not to ask at the time. We shared our joint, and we laughed, a lot. She made fun of me for being a lightweight, while I got completely hypnotized staring at the patterns of a shawl she had woven.
Months went by and we got closer, but I couldn’t forget those syringes. After a while I got worried. I’ve seen what heroine does to people. So the next time I went over to smoke and eat (vegan) pizza with her, I asked.
“Trista? Are you using anything other than weed?”
“Drugs?”
“Yeah.”
“No. Why?”
“You can tell me if you are.”
“Mason, sweetheart, I’m a stoner. I don’t fuck around with anything else and I never have.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Okay. Can I ask what that set of syringes are for?”
“Oh. In my stash box? Those are… part of my condition. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh. Is it like… embarrassing?”
“Yeah. So don’t ask. Can we just watch a movie?”
So I don't ask anymore. But I still have no idea what she does with those syringes. Based on what I read about that Xerodoma Pigmentosum thing she says she has, I have no clue what she would need to inject herself with.
Another time she asked me to check on her rabbits for her during the day, as her usual “sitter” had something come up. All I had to do was chop up the lettuce and carrots she left out. As I was enjoying the adorable fluffy faces, one of Trista’s neighbors, a woman named Bridget, poked her head outside her door.
“Hey. Do you know what Trista injects those rabbits with?”
“I… what?”
“I’ve seen her use syringes on those rabbits. She said she was just giving them medicine, but I swear I see her inject them every week.”
“I… I wouldn't know. She just asked me to feed them.”
“I love Trista, but that always seemed so weird. She has to know vaccines are a hoax!” I tuned the woman out after that one. My mind was on that set of syringes. Why would she be using them on rabbits? These things were her pets.
I was starting to crush on her by then. But I couldn’t help feeling weirded out by that. I was actually going to confront her, but the next time I came to visit, she was literally inside the Rabbit hutch, on her back, squealing with delight as her rabbit friends nuzzled and played with her.
“Bonnibelle! That tickles! Marcy! No chewing. Finn? Watch where you’re sticking that foot! Jake? Where are you? EEEEE Lumpy! Not the neck!”
It was as silly and adorable as it sounds. She was forced to whip herself upright when two of her little friends tried to burrow under her dress. She finally stood up with a laugh, cradling a rabbit in her arms and cooing at it.
There was just no way in hell this woman was doing anything that would hurt these animals. Bridget is a paranoid antivax weirdo anyway. If Trista was using syringes on the rabbits, I was convinced it was only for their benefit.
So life went on. I got more and more reclusive over the years. Petunia, Trista, and my next door neighbor Fred were the only things keeping me remotely connected to the outside. And so we get to now. So let’s see. What are the stories about the weird vampire woman?
Well, there’s the fact that she jogs at night, solo, in a poor neighborhood. Petunia keeps the shitty people contained and behaving for the most part, but I still wouldn’t exactly call it safe, especially for a young skinny woman. But she does it without a care in the world.
There’s one strange event that some people like to connect to this. I never knew this guy, but from what I hear he was a total weirdo who leered at anyone even remotely female. And this is despite the fact he was married. His name was Josh.
I remember him a bit. He’s the guy that Petunia chased away from one of her barbecues. Supposedly he was heard saying inappropriate things to the groups of ten year old girls that were playing in the bounce house Petunia rented. Telling them how pretty they were. Trying to coax them to take off their jackets. Police reports were filed but ultimately nothing could be proven. The guy's wife, Carole, always defends him for some reason.
But anyway, I remember hanging out with Trista one night a little over a year ago. She hadn’t gone jogging like she normally did. I asked her what was up with that.
“That weirdo, Josh has started catcalling when I pass his place. It weirds me out.”
“There aren’t other people who do that at night? I’m still shocked you jog alone.”
“Not like this. I can flip off a wolf whistler. But this guy… he keeps trying to get me to stop and talk to him, and when I don’t? He shouts about my ass. I’m gonna have to talk to Petunia about that shithead, if anybody can reign him in, it’s her.”
I’m gonna guess she never got a chance. Two days later, the whole town was awoken by sirens. I was getting ready for my shift when I heard them. I walked down the road a bit to see if I could figure out what was going on. The cops were heading toward the other side of the park, so I couldn’t see much. But I did notice Trista, in her jogging gear, skulking in the shadows. I wondered if she was in trouble. But before I could call out to her, she sprinted straight to Petunia's house and banged on the door. Petunia welcomed her inside, and that was all I saw. I still wasn’t sure what was going on, so I just shrugged and headed to work, figuring I’d text Trista later.
I didn’t learn till later that Josh was found dead. He was lying prone, face down, partly hidden by bushes at the edge of the park. His neck was cut open. He’d bled out rapidly. He had a knife in his hand, and officially it’s believed he fell on it and accidentally killed himself. There was a cocktail of drugs in his system so most people accept that explanation. But others swear they saw Trista out for her jog around the same time Josh would have been bleeding to death. She got questioned, and she swore she didn’t see anything. Without evidence, there was nothing else that could be proven.
Trista’s a friend. I know that guy was being creepy to her. So I’m happy to take her word for what happened, even if my seeing her going to Petunia’s pokes a bit of a hole in that. I can’t be sure it was Trista though. So I’m not saying a word. But if a certain creep attacked a certain lady who is rumored to be a vampire, it’s not that surprising to me that he ended up dead after bleeding to death. I’m not all that broken up about it.
I’m not the one spreading that story. Josh’s wife was the one who started the rumor. So now some people are even more convinced that the weird nocturnal hippy chick is secretly a vampire.
She’s no killer. No matter what they say. She would only have defended herself.
So that’s all the stories I’ve heard that have any credibility to them. There’s more people who swear she and Petunia perform weird rituals, and people who saw her moving “inhumanly fast” and such.
But now I have to share what I found in the yearbooks Trista gave me. I wasn’t really expecting much. I checked her senior yearbook out first. She looks about the same. Pale, goth, hippy, and sort of sad. She kind of looks even sadder in these photos if I’m being honest, but that’s high school for you. She graduated in the top half of her class, no sports or extracurriculars. I’m left wondering how she managed to go to school at the time of sun was so bad for her. I’ll have to ask her about that. So nothing really new there.
It was the yearbook from her junior year where things got really interesting. I was in shock when I found her. Trista is somehow impossible to miss, but unrecognizable all at once. She’s full of color! She wore more typical tie dye hippy attire. Bright vibrant pinks, reds, blues, greens, and yellows, in every photo, and holy shit was she busy. Captain of the soccer team, first chair flutist, president of the “green living” club and the “vegan alliance,” top ten in her class, it was all incredible. I think the main reason I didn’t recognize her was her skin. It was tan, as though she were out in the sun a lot. Furthermore there were photos of her playing sports and standing outside in bright sunlight.
It was like her disease wasn’t there, which confused me. She told me it was something called Xeroderma Pigmentosa. But that’s a genetic condition. She would have had that from birth.
I sent her a text, wondering about this.
- Hey! Just went through your yearbooks. What happened? You had color? Did you discover Linkin Park?
- My disease happened. Right at the end of Jr. year. That’s why I wasn’t there for the final class photo.
- But your disease is genetic… isn’t it?
- I guess it was dormant in me.
- So it just… happened?
- Pretty much.
- I’m sorry.
- I got over it. Mostly. It was hard. My parents were both hardcore vegan naturalists and we lived in a place that was all natural light and such, so I had to live in a shed for a bit while they built a space for me. But in my family? We kinda lean into whatever life throws at us. It took months of depression to come to terms with it. All of a sudden I couldn’t be out in the sun, and I had new dietary needs that absolutely required non-vegan sources. So I leaned into it. I was a vampire now. I can dig dark colors and “vampire style.” I could make it my own by avoiding leather. And I’d be as vegan as I possibly could.
- You’re kind of awesome.
- Damn straight. So I learned to love the night too and now, here I am.
I gained new respect for her after that. Frankly I feel kinda shitty about making fun of her for being a vampire. There might not be anything paranormally weird about her after all.
She sent me one more text telling me I should talk to a guy named Frankie. She’d gone to school with him. He’s a decent enough guy. Works in the Bicounty mall in town.
I had to wait a day or two for another of Petunia’s get togethers to talk to him.
“Hey!” I said awkwardly as I tried to figure out how to strike up conversation with someone I haven’t really spoken to in a long time. “Frankie, right?”
“Oh. Yeah. Been a while. How are you Mason? You okay after that whole thing at Red Nights?”
“I’m trying to be. Look, I’ll cut to the chase. You went to school with Trista Ramone, right?”
“Ol’ Boho Ramone? Yeah. We were sort of friendly. But I was a jerk to vegans back then. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been hanging out with her. She’s being all mysterious.” He chuckled at that. “She said I should talk to you to learn more about her… weirdness? Everyone thinks she’s a vampire now.”
“She’s totally a vampire. I have no idea what else to call her?”
“Why do you say that?”
“What did she tell you about school?”
“Nothing. She just showed me two yearbooks. Between Junior and Senior year she went from colorful club president, to lonely vampire, because of her disease.”
“Nah man. I don’t want to talk bad about her. But she was kind of a bitch, junior year. She wasn’t just a colorful vegan. She was one of those “holier than thou” types who scoffed and talked down to anyone who dared to eat meat. Her “hippy” thing meant she never hung out with the popular girls but still, she acted like she owned the place at times. I was friends with this weird guy named Steven Jones. He was just kind of a weirdo. Skulking around in the background, you know? He HATED Trista. For a while I totally understood. I thought she was kinda stuck up. But this guy was like… irrationally enraged by that girl’s existence. I guess he tried to ask her out when he was a freshman and she politely declined. But he took that shit personally.”
“Huh. So like… why’s that matter?”
“Because Steven kept saying to anyone who gave him a second look, that he was gonna ‘ruin’ her. Never elaborated. But then the last month of school rolls around, Trista gets assaulted by an unknown assailant and a week later she’s got this new disease. Meanwhile, Steven spent a week strutting around the school looking smug, and saying ‘she got what she deserved.’ Then he disappears too. Teachers said he moved away.”
“She was assaulted?”
“Yeah. Someone in a face wrap tackled her while she was at one of her protests at the meat factory. The dude freaking BIT her.”
“Jesus.”
“Yeah. I was there. I came to the protest. I’ll admit I was trying to hit on Trista or one of the other girls there. But yeah. Dude dressed in all gray with a face wrap just charged in and went right for Trista. Knocked her down, bit her like a freaking zombie, then ran away before anyone could stop him. Didn’t even take his face wrap off. It was freaky, man.”
“What the actual fuck.”
“That’s what we all said. Trista needed a stitch. But while she was at the hospital, I guess she started getting more symptoms. She was out for the rest of the year. From then on, she was like she is now. Total vampire.”
“Was Steven a vampire?”
“I dunno. Probably. Little dickhead is what he is. Must have been him that attacked Trista, but nobody could prove it. Bite mark didn’t match or something. So why are you asking? You hang out with her at night right? You asking her out or something?”
“Oh. No. Just a friend.”
That was all I really learned from Frankie. It’s quite a story, and it’s full of unknowns that Trista refuses to explain. So I guess I’ll let readers be the judge. Is she a “real” vampire? Or just a weirdo? All I know is, she’s totally standing behind me right now and now I’m dead. Bleh.
I did come back to life to talk to Trista once I finished writing this. She enjoyed it. I may as well include that interaction.
I went to her place on my night off. She read my take on her and what the neighbors thought and she grinned. “Ha! I’m a total monster!” She chuckled. “So. What do YOU think, Mason? Am I a vampire?” She cocked an eye and playfully gnashes her teeth at me, making a pleasant little click.
I sighed. “No idea. You’re Trista. And… you’re my friend. I’m sorry if I made things awkward.”
She looked surprised by that. “Aw. Thanks Mason. You’re my friend too. It’s okay. I’m flattered.”
“You don’t have to explain.”
“So we’re cool?”
“Absolutely not. We’re both weird shut ins.” She laughed. It was good to hear her laugh. It made me happy.
“Yeah but I got the ‘mysterious vampire’ thing going.”
“You have dirt in your hair from rolling around with bunnies. And you’re a vegan.”
“Bite me.”
“Says the vampire.”
“You know, if I were a vampire, I could have bitten you when we both went to the slaughterhouses a few weeks ago.”
“That just makes me stupid.”
“You’re not stupid, Mason. You’re not a loser either.”
“So. You know of any other good spooky town stories that I can do next?
“Oh, sure. You ever heard the tale of Salome? She was a witch who would mash up the seeds of a Sinapis Alba plant to make a diabolical potion she’d dump on herself. They called her the ‘Witch of the Sands.’”
I’m embarrassed to admit it took me four days to realize Trista was just fucking with me. I only figured it out when I looked up Sinapis Alba and learned that mashing the seeds just makes mustard. “Salomi the sand-witch.” Well played, vampire hippy…
Sexy Neighbor
Haunted Slaughterhouse

Hi,
I'm a first time buyer. Me and my wife are planning to live in a Skoolie (short bus or long bus) or a high roof extended van for 6 months of the year (in the summer). We can both work fully remote.
We would prefer to buy something that is ready built and make customisations as we go. We both have very little DIY/power tool experience so we would like to see how we get on making changes before committing to building something from scratch.
Our budget is 25-30k USD. We are not looking for "Instagram luxury". Just something that is comfortable, light and airy.
Main requirements:

• Bathroom:
  • Shower with hot water
  • Toilet that flushes (preferably, might have to settle for compost one)
• Power:
  • Enough battery capacity to charge two laptops
  • USB charging ports
• Workspace and Dining:
  • Convertible or fixed desk/dinette
• Sleeping:
  • Double bed
  • Storage space under bed
• Kitchen:
  • Propane or electric stove
  • Sink with hot and cold water
• Light and Ventilation:
  • Windows for natural light
  • Ceiling or wall-mounted fans
• Water System:
  • Freshwater tank (minimum 20 gallons)
  • Greywater tank for drainage

We enjoy hiking in mountains so the vehicle has to be capable of driving up and down steep inclines. This has somewhat put me off buying a long bus with a lot of weight as I'm not sure if it would be suitable for these types of roads in the heat. I can only drive auto transmission. I'm a confident driver, however I have no experience driving larger vehicles. So a short bus or a van seems more realistic. I'm 6ft and my partner is 5.4ft.
Shortlist so far (within budget):
1992 International/Thomas bus - fully converted with 36,938 miles. Six cylinder International diesel/ Build looks amazing and it has so much space. Main concern is the weight and driving it on steep inclines. 31.5’ bumper to bumper 236” wheelbase 8’ wide 10’10” tall.
1991 Blue Bird bus - gorgeous bus. Looks pretty unique so might have re-sale value. Converted into a store so it has a nice open layout and furniture. Would leave me with little room in budget to add living requirements. Other concern is the 248k miles.
2002 Ford e450 skoolie - 7.3L powerstroke diesel. 185k miles on it. Fully converted to a high standard. Only problem is that it's designed for someone who is 5.9ft. So I won't be buying this one but I'm looking for other e450s as I've heard the 7.3L powerstroke diesel engine is reliable and the interior has enough space for what we want.
Alternatives: Dodge Sprinter 3500 (2008), Ford Transit 350 (2017), Ram ProMaster 3500 (2017-18)
Buses are more expensive to maintain and are less fuel efficient. The main benefit vs. a van is the space. If I can realistically drive on mountains roads then I'm all for getting a bus.
Any recommendations or feedback is much appreciated!

FIRST CHAPTER
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
This product is a fanfic of the Sexy Space Babes/Between Worlds product of u/Bluefishcake and one I highly suggest you read. It was created with permission, but give the OG works some love.
Imgr gallery of Comissioned and Fan Artworks
I'm Back Bitches! Again!
//////////
Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero knelt before a semi-sparking control panel and sighed. She, and a large band of her fellow Engineers with Marine support, had boarded the pirate frigate with the singular goal of ensuring that the pirates didn’t scuttle their floating hulk and doom the slaves aboard to a, if they were lucky, a swift death in space.
The problem, of course, came with the pirate’s maintenance schedules and decisions to forgo certain… safety measures when it came to repair.
Like the panel before her. Usually a perfectly functional control system for the reverse-magnetic bulkhead doors that ensured void seals in power outages, some pirate at some point in their dumb, dumb life decided to fix the panel blowing a fuse… by ripping the fuse out and replacing it with a high density power cable. Which meant the entire thing was one massive shock hazard and actively sparking as the reactors deep in the ship flickered and surged due to damage.
Che’keero swore as an arc of electricity flashed towards her face after a tool that was not supposed to be magnetized, cheap dick WaDepth requisitions, caught a magnetic field, fusing the entire system shut and turning the formerly barely functional control system into nothing but pretty, decorative wiring and cheap solder. She punched the now utterly unfunctional control box and toggled on her radio. “Three-Two to Three-Lead, this door’s fried. You’ll need to bring in the cutters if we want to get to the rest of the ship. Might as well also bring in an inflatable airlock, I’m not liking how some of the metal strain sensors are flashing at me.”
A semi-synthetic voice replied back to Che’keero, “Three-Lead copies. I’ll be over there shortly with the stuff. Double check those sensors, I’m not getting the same readings, so let’s make sure something isn’t blocking errors from reaching me.”
“Copy that Three-Lead, Three-Two ou-” Something tapped against the back of her helmet and Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero mentally swore.
“Now, now, lassie, how about you sit right there and don’t move.” A nasally, unfamiliar voice called out to her while tapping what a camera she set up to watch her back revealed to be a laser pistol to Che’keero’s helmet. “I think that you’re going to be our new best friend and way off this dead end ship.”
Che’keero paused, letting the situation settle in her mind, “Wait, what? Are… are you taking me hostage?”
“Yes!” The pirate replied.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you taking me hostage? This won’t work, none of the shuttles are jump capable and if you try anything, you’ll just end up jumped by marines. They specifically train to deal with pirates taking their engineers hostage. If you want to survive, you should just surrender and take the penal colony when it’s offered.” Che’keero mentioned, shrugging and continuing her inspection of the door.
The pirate seemed baffled at the sheer nonchalance of this response, the pistol slowly falling to merely point at her upper back instead of her head, “You… you really aren’t taking this seriously. I’m a pirate! I’ve killed people! I’ve killed boys, and you’re just sitting there like this doesn’t mean anything!”
“I mean… I wouldn’t say that.” Che’keero replied.
“THEN WHAT DO YOU MEAN!” The pirate screamed, the pistol moving away from Che’keero’s body by a fraction of an inch during an angry gesture.
It was at that point, a ceramic alloyed, carbon steel blade punched clean through the back of the pirate’s suit, slicing through their central nervous system and striking with enough force to shatter the faceplate of said pirate’s helmet on the way out. Muscles twitching, the laser pistol fired off randomly, missing Che’keero and slagging a chunk of bulkhead.
“I’m just buying time,” Che’keero replied cheekily.
“You really need to remember to check your cameras,” The semi-synthetic voice of Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns commented as the ex-pirate fell to the ground and blue blood dripped from the long blade sprouting from her right arm and a toolbox hanging from her left hand. “This isn’t the first time you have been flanked, and this one wasn’t during training.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Che’keero replied a bit testily.
“I’m sorry…” Ventures Forth prodded.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“Much better. Right, now what do we see in this- yeah you were right on it being fried.” Ventures Forth gently shoved the Junior Systems Engineer aside and took her place at the control panel. “Do a sweep of the strain systems. I don’t want this section of the ship breaking apart. Feel free to call up our hull patches. We’ve got plenty to share and this might have to be a lifeboat.”
“Aye, ma’am aye,” Che’keero replied with a crisp salute before rushing off to her duty.
Deeper inside the ship, Ventures Forth could hear laser fire, clashing of metal on metal, and cries for help.
The pirate ship was doomed, it was shattered and broken, but it was not destroyed. Not yet. \
And if she had her way, Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns would keep it that way.
//////////
Roshal stood still as her steward continued to clean the dark blue and rapidly congealing blood off her armored form. “Comms,” She called out, “Do we have any contact with the shuttle we sent to the station?”
“Negative, ma’am.” The comm officer replied. She wasn’t the same one that was present when Roshal left to fend off the boarders. At the unspoken question, the woman continued “Communication’s Mate Second Class Lev’tal, ma’am. My superior got a concussion when the pirate ship rocked our ship during boarding. Strap snapped, prior damage. I took over.”
Roshal nodded approvingly, “Good initiative. Send a message to the station, see if we can’t rai-”
“Ma’am! Contact!” One of her sensor techs called out, “Belay that, two contacts. First contact, nav point 782 spinward, possible bogey, cruiser weight. Unknown movements. Second contact, nav point 102 coreward, aerospace assets inbound. Small flight. Hard to determine numbers due to damage. No less than two, no more than five.”
“Focus on getting a hard contact on that possible cruiser. Weapons, what is the status of our anti-aerospace.” Roshal demanded, holding her sword arm out for the steward to scrub at a particularly clotted chunk of blood splattered over her wrist.
The weapons officer shook her head, “If we’re lucky, then we’ve got 20% coverage on half our sides. If we’re very lucky, I might be able to bump that number up to 35%. Not going to quote doctrine, but that’s not nearly enough to fend off a flight of Aerospace assets on a strike run, and that’s assuming they don’t hit us on an unprotected flank.”
Roshal nodded once more, “Sound general quarters and get weapons and tactical back online. Tell the damage control parties to not be distracted and focus on critical systems first. Engine room, report. Can you give me maneuvering thrust?”
The nearby ship phone chimed in with a staticy hiss, “Negative, ma’am. The shot we made with the spinal mount tripped breakers up and down the reactor room. This isn’t an engine problem, we need to make sure our reactor doesn’t blow up when we siphon power. Before you ask, emergency power is still flowing and none of their circuits tripped, but that means we’re down to life support, basic systems, and dockyard thrusters. It will take at least 20 to get the reactor in a safe state. If you want 10, send the chaplain down so we have someone praying for good luck. The fact most of our structural engineers are doing an EVA boarding to ensure the pirate ship next to us doesn’t go critical and render the entire exercise moot isn’t helping matters at all.” The engine room replied Roshal bit down a bit of annoyance at the snark, but engineers were always a finicky sort with authority. They were the first to remind uptight officers that while the Captain’s word may be iron law, it was their work that truly moved the ship.
“Confirmed, engine room.” Roshal instead replied. “Chaplains will be arriving shortly. Do what you can and inform me when you’re three minutes out from full power.”
The engine room didn’t even bother replying, just sending over the affirmative light as they got to work. Roshal approved of that. Sometimes, you just had to insult someone in order to get it working right.
“Captain, we have confirmation on contact. He’s an Alliance Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser on intercept course. Energy readings are spiking… they’re charging their guns, ma’am!”
“Issue a hostile challenge and give me a firing solution with any gun still functional.”
“No response, ma’am. Hostile Karcharidon is increasing speed. Hard contact in 15 minutes.”
Roshal snarled, emotion breaking through her mask. “Of course, the pirates had one more vessel. Helm, fire our maneuvering thrusters, use the pirate hulk as cover. Weapons, get whoever’s left of our Interceptor flight to engage the enemy. Comms, get me in contact with the merchant fleet, tell them to evacuate. We’ll provide cover.”
“Aye ma’am.” The Communications Mate Second Class said with a shiver in her voice. “Sending-”
“Update on Aerospace assets!” Her sensor tech called out.
“Deliver!” Roshal demanded, cutting off the comms officer with a slice of her hand.
“Weapons fire. Definitely less than four contacts. Seems to be two grou- negative, only two contacts remaining- weaponsfire- one contac- IFF received, oh goddesses, IT’S RUNOFF THREE! FRIENDLY AEROSPACE INBOUND!”
//////////
Milk gripped her crash harness hard as Cookie slammed the Interceptor’s fusion torch clean past its safe thrust marker and into the red as g forces crushed her chest. “Last target down.” She reported after Cookie’s final laser burst hit something critical inside the final Aerospace fighter’s frame. “That’s 20 for 20. All enemy bogeys down. All standard munitions are in the black. Static drive is 48%, dump core ejected. All we’ve got left is our ASM and front laser.”
Cookie flashed back an affirmative signal.
“We going for that cruiser?”
Another affirmative.
“Well, I’m braced and ready on the release. Ready.”
“Ready.” Cookie spoke, his voice horse.
It’s funny what people think when their lives are on the line. Because charging towards a fresh enemy Heavy Cruiser, nothing but a single anti-shipping missile worth a damn, no allied support but the faint glimmer in IFF screens of their fellow flight doing the same… all Aoibhinn McDermott could think of was a poem she had read at least a decade ago or more at the Naval Academy.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
//////////
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns could do nothing but furiously swear as the basic sensor system her engineering team had restored on the thoroughly ventilated secondary command bridge of the pirate hulk revealed an enemy Heavy Cruiser bearing down upon their homeship.
“Weapons are trashed. We cored their reactor, anyway.” One of the tangential engineers reported, “Other teams are calling in. Things are worse where they are. We’ve found the slaves, though, luckily it was one of the few airtight bays. Also, have some more captives, but that really doesn’t matter right now.”
“No shit.” Ventures Forth replied, “Can we do anything?”
The engineer looked back to her, visor depolarizing so the Gearschilde can look into the black and yellow eyes of her Shil coworker.
“Pray.” The woman replied simply.
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns did just that.
//////////
Low chanting filled the engine bay as a small group of priests stood around the engine praying to whichever god that would listen to allow them one more shot. One more fight.
Around them, black handed engineers scurried, ripping out blown fuses and replacing them with soldered in high strength wire. A final measure of desperation. Sparks flew as engineers swore and chaplains prayed, power still remaining in circuits needing to be bled out before bypasses could be installed, turning every bit of solder and every ripped out fuse into a deadly gamble.
Already, someone was lying on the ground, no longer twitching.
They didn’t have time to check on their fallen comrade, the work was too important.
A clock ticked down. Four minutes elapsed.
//////////
Lieutenant Commander Cenywyn swore as she watched Runoff 2 die.
Their single Interceptor had mistimed a maneuver and had been caught dead in the middle of an Anti-Aerospace array, shredded in an instant. The only consolation she could take was that, seeing as the first shot went clean through the cockpit, they didn’t even notice they died.
“Runoff 4, stay in formation.” She ordered over the radio, “We’ll lead you in for the run.”
“Yes ma’am.” The hesitant voice of Junior Flight Lieutenant Griogill replied. She swallowed, “We’re- we’re ready when you are.”
“No fear, Lieutenant,” Cenywyn called back to the child she was leading to her death. “We’re pilots in the Imperial Patrol. We do our duty. No fear.”
A clock ticked down. Six minutes elapsed.
//////////
“Talk to me!” The last remaining senior engineer in the reactor bay called out to anyone who was able to reply.
Someone, she didn’t even bother looking to see who, called back “We’ve bypassed 60% of the fuses. Should be able to give ourselves a burst of combat power. No more than 10 minutes of it before the entire system overheats and we either die, or the reactor shuts off.”
“Any chance we can get more than 10 minutes?”
“Not before that Heavy Cruiser delivers us straight to the stars.”
“Fuck it, good enough.” She slammed her fist on the ship phone’s dialing button resting near the console the engineer had just ripped the last safety override out of. “Captain. We’ve got your power. You give us the word, and we’ll give you ten minutes.”
//////////
Roshal breathed in, breathed out, and nodded. 10 minutes of combat power before the entire ship shut down into uselessness. She’d done more with less. She couldn’t remember when, but she had. Luckily, this was a Patrol Carrier instead of a standard ship, so it was more than capable of combat maneuvers with nothing but RCS thrusters. That should give her some time.
Movement, movement was going to be the key.
“Comms, tell the engineering crews on the hulk that they are ordered to figure out anything that could draw the attention of the Heavy Cruiser,” She began, “Systems, break our mooring lines. We’re going to have to split from the hulk. Helm, prepare for maneuvers. RCS only. We are going to have to do this carefully. Engineroom, prepare for power activation, but hold until my command.”
This needs to be perfect, Roshal thought, A single mistimed action ruins it all.
A clock ticked down. Ten minutes elapsed. The Karcharidon had entered maximum weapon’s range.
//////////
He of Slender Tail shivered where he stood. The secondary command bridge was silent as Roshal began giving orders to fight. This was… this was insane.
They were in a ruined ship with nothing but a merchant fleet beginning to flee and a three thirds dead pirate hulk on their side against a fresh Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser.
They couldn’t win.
This was suicide.
They would die here.
\ So why didn’t He of Slender Tail feel afraid?
He stood at his post, a secondary bridge console where he would relay orders to other departments, freeing up the other Watchkeeper to collate those orders, there was nothing he could do to help win this impossible battle, and yet…
And yet he felt heat blossoming inside his chest with every single order delivered.
“Mooring teamsss, you are to cut your linesss immediately.” He relayed to a crew of Shil scurrying around the ruined bulkheads, “Damage control, prepare for electrical firesss and arcsss.” He commanded, switching between teams instantly.
He didn’t feel fear. He could see his Watchkeeper shiver every time the sensors reported the enemy contact was still closing, but he didn’t feel the same.
What he felt… was indignation.
How dare this pirate scum threaten his vessel, his crew. How dare they ambush this valiant ship after they had fought so hard to win. How dare they.
He let his fangs fold out as he spat the next order, “Anti-Aerossspace teamsss, prepare your batteriesss for grouped fire. Gunnery calculationsss are on their way.”
How dare they stand up to him.
A clock ticked down. 12 minutes elapsed. Weapons fire.
//////////
Roshal swayed slightly as she could feel the ship beneath her feet move. Movement is life in naval warfare, movement is death. “Right RCS fire, bring us clear of the hulk. Bow thrusters, up twenty.”
“Aye, ma’am, aye, right standard and bow up twenty.” The Helmswoman replied.
“Confirmed. Next maneuver, give us rear thrust-”
“Torpedo!” The sensor operator called out in a shrill voice, “Two marks on intercept course! Range, twelve K and closing fast!”
“Decorum!” Roshal snapped at the panicking sensor technician. “Comms, order Runoff flight to divert and intercept those torpedoes. Rear RCS to full, give us momentum.”
Roshal turned away from the bridge as affirmations were shouted, and the ship began to move, “Engineering, prepare to activate combat power on my mark and prepare for hard maneuvers. Mark in five.”
//////////
Griogill swallowed bile and tried not to feel too thankful that the enemy vessel had fired torpedoes at their home ship. Being diverted from an attack run had a much higher chance of survival than striking through an AA bubble.
“Runoff 4 engaging far torpedo. Moving in for intercept. Bre’kas, give me lock.”
Griogill’s backseater muttered something, and a target lock appeared on the far torpedo as Runoff 1, their previous Drill Sergeants, dashed by in a hard burn and blazed away at their own target.
“Right. We can do this. We can do this. No fear.” The rookie muttered as the sight of her friends in Runoff 3 being turned to vapor echoed in her mind. “I can do this.”
The target locked. She fired. The torpedo detonated.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in four.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser loomed closer as the comparatively tiny Patrol Carrier spat its defiance in the form of two Interceptors dancing between the stars.
As a pair of torpedoes detonated, four more were launched, the anti-shipping weapons built for this specific purpose. Destroying disabled vessels.
And so the last two remaining Interceptors on CAP dove into the fray, risking themselves against an ever approaching AA bubble in order to save their ship.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in three.”
//////////
All Cookie could do was stare and push his meager aerospace fighter further on its nuclear thrusters as shimmering dots of torpedoes lanced out from the Heavy Cruiser attacking his new home.
He pushed his hand forward and felt the throttle once more push back against him, the lever pushed all the way past safe thrust and into the further setting on his console.
The Interceptor was fast. It didn’t feel fast enough.
And so he spoke the words he spoke once before, back when he’d had to listen to his backseater’s screams of pain and the rush of wind after shrapnel pierced his fuselage, and the hospital was so, so far away.
Father, I pray that you will not hide your face from me. Whenever I pray, Lord please hear me and answer me speedily in Jesus' name. God, I pray that you will grant me speed through your help.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in two.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser shifted, engine flaring and it began to close the range. A single disabled ship on emergency RCS thrusters and a pair of Aerospace fighters was nothing it would have to deal with.
It fired a third spread of torpedoes.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
They took the bait. Roshal thought with a vicious grin.
“Mark in one.” She paused, “Execute.”
In an instant, power flowed through the ship, emergency lights flickered off as the burning red boarding lights returned their fiery glow. The entire ship shook as the main thruster came back online, and capacitors began to charge for maneuvers.
“Hard burn, full thrusters, right, on my mark.” Roshal watched as the Heavy Cruiser began to react to her movements, the enemy ship was alive, you needed to roll to broadsides to begin bombardment, come on come on…
Roshal watched as a torpedo flickered out of existence, Runoff 4 gaining another kill.
Come on, dammit, you don’t get put in charge of a Heavy Cruiser without- THERE!
The Heavy Cruiser flinched, turning her bow away from the no longer stricken vessel, preparing for broadside.
The Captain’s grin showed more teeth than smile. “Execute! Full right thrust!”
“Full right thrust! Aye ma’am aye!” Her helmswoman called out as maneuvering thrusters dead cold roared to life and physically threw the vessel to the side, causing everyone not strapped in on the bridge to rock as a barrage of fire flew past their former location, manual targeting systems in play since the automatic systems would still be getting warmed up.
“Full thrust forward, prepare to divert all power to secondary weapons. Weapons, give me a firing solution.” Roshal commanded, hand raised and pointed at the enemy’s display as if she were commanding from a tall ship.
A chant of “Aye ma’am aye” flowed out across the bridge as the weaponsmistress was silent before calling out. “Port side is up to 45% secondary fires and 32% point defense. That’ll be our best bet.”
Roshal nodded. “Make it so. Target their main weapons. Helm, get us that facing.”
“Ma’am. We’re getting a call from Runoff 3. They are entering the AO and are asking for a target.”
Roshal smiled, “Weapons, shift target. Aim for the anti-aerospace systems. Let’s give Runoff 3 the opening they need.”
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Cookie, we’ve got a targeting path.” Milk called forward. “Putting it up on your HUD.”
“One second… I’ve got it. Moving to comply. Did the Captain give us a plan?” her front seater replied, causing her stomach to do funny things as the Aerospace Fighter maneuvered while under high thrust.
“Something like that. She asked for a munitions report and specifically about our anti-shipping weapon.”
Cookie paused.
“Ah.” He finally said.
“Yeah.” She replied.
“Well, let’s hope they’re able to open us up to a window of opportunity. Or this will be a short charge.”
“Not our place to question why.”
“Just our place to do and die.”
Time to target… three minutes.
Into the valley of Death, rode the six hundred.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
Two vessels, three Aerospace fighters, one chance.
Six minutes of power remained. All actors took their places on the stage.
One hundred kilometers, close enough to check the weld quality of hull seams, the two ships danced across from each other. Maneuvering.
Five minutes of power remained.
The Karcharidon Heavy Cruiser rolled itself trying to keep the vulnerable top deck away from the Patrol Carrier’s presumably still working main gun as Roshal’s vessel jumped to the side. Thrusters roared.
Four minutes of power remained.
Runoff 1 and 4 shot towards their formerly separated comrade, forming up behind them in a wedge. The trio climbed towards the sun as their captain continued to chase and harass the Karcharidon.
Three minutes of power remained.
Roshal spoke. The lances of her vessel fired. Laser blasts carved across the hull of the enemy ship as it rolled.
The rolling ceased. A helmswoman swore as a full broadside caught the Patrol Carrier in the flank. The port hangar pod was ruined, armor shattered and all inside exposed to hard vacuum. Those who could scream died the fastest. The Interceptors had their opening.
Two minutes of power remained.
Silent wings swept through vacuum as three Interceptors began their dive, their formerly speedy arrowhead shape giving way to an inverted t as their wings swept out for stability, the ASF dove and dove and dove.
Five Kilometers away.
The range was too wide. They had one shot. It had to be perfect.
One minute of power remained.
The Into Harm’s Way spat its defiance into the world, limited power drained to give her pilots a seconds more of time.
30 seconds of power remained.
Three Kilometers.
Hard Lock! Milk shouted from the back seat of Runoff 3. Cookie was silent. The range was still too wide.
15 seconds of power remained.
Two Kilometers.
The Karcharidon seemingly began to roll before the Patrol Carrier once more fired, its last remaining weapons spouting their defiance against the world. Deep in engineering, systems began to blow, wires that replaced fuses sparked power and delicate circuit boards shorted out into useless scrap.
The lights went out.
No power remained.
Roshal, in her head, began to count down as lances of light began to sweep across her ship. Damage control did what they could, but the beams began to cut like an overly enthusiastic shipbreaker.
Five.
One Kilometer.
Four.
Cookie’s thumb depressed the firing stud as the Interceptor screamed at him.
Three.
The ASF launched its deadly payload.
Two.
Three Interceptors pulled back hard on their sticks to avoid colliding with the deck.
One.
The thruster of the anti-shipping missile roared as it rocketed the point blank aerospace distance to target.
Impact.
The armor piercing tip of the missile punched into the upper deck plating of the Heavy Cruiser, classified alloys allowing it to pierce into the armored plating just enough to allow the shaped charge to open up a hole as momentum kept the weapon moving.
Within the frame of a single second, the warhead of the missile had entered the ship and, before the alarms even had time to sound, detonated.
A new sun appeared in the void for a split second as a plasma-fusion warhead detonated inside the Karcharidon heavy cruiser’s hull.
//////////
Roshal allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief inside her head as the emergency power lights flickered overhead and the gravity ever so slightly lightened. What was left of their sensor arrays showed the enemy vessel powering down. “Engineering. Good work, your 10 minutes were just what she needed.” She called out, picking up the ship phone.
There was no answer from engineering.
She signed externally before pointing at one of the marines guarding the bridge, “Find a crewmate in a void suit. I have need of runners.” The marine clasped a fist to her chest before leaving to execute her captain’s commands. “Comms, do we have any contact with the engineering teams on the pirate hulk?”
The Comms officer held up a hand, Roshal waited, “No, ma’am. We aren’t getting- wait. We’ve got visual on flashing lights from the hull. Apparently, something shorted, so they’re having to rebuild broadcast arrays. They can receive just fine, though.”
“Good, once we can maneuver, bring us broadside of them. What’s the status of the merchant fleet?”
Navigation spoke up now, “Still heading for the Jump Point. Should we send the recall order?”
“Not yet, we are still unsure if the area is safe. If we have any sensors remaining, begin sca-”
The mentioned sensor technician interrupted Captain Roshal, “Ma’am, new contact, signature unknown. Just jumped in from outside the starlane!”
“Give me details. Course, range, and speed?” She demanded.
“Signal confused, can’t get a lock!” Navigation called out, “Can’t tell if confusion’s from them or us.”
Not another one… Roshal sighed, “All forces prepa-”
“Ma’am, we’re being hailed.” Communications called out.
“On squawk.”
“This is Captain Al’yosha Cal’rada of Her Imperial Majesty’s Ship Spear of the Knyaginya, responding to Merchant vessel distress calls. Imperial Patrol Carrier, are you in need of assistance at this time?”
Roshal recognized the voice. A junior officer from her days in the Navy and a fellow Sevastutavan. The memory of the fresh faced girl when she’d joined her as an Ensign straight of the Naval Academy flashed before her eyes. “Captain Cal’rada. Your timing is impeccable as always.”
“Admiral?” Roshal could hear the shock in her old protege’s voice.
“That’s Captain, now, Al’yosha. I require your aid in ensuring the disabled vessel still glowing from an ASM strike remains disabled along with Search and Rescue teams for our sister Carrier.
“Whatever you want, you’ll have it, Admiral_… Helm! All ahead flank and plot course to intercept. Launch gunships and prepare to deploy Bluejackets. We’ll test our _Orcas’ teeth today!”
The line cut out a moment later than it should have, and Roshal nodded in approval.
“Captain, I still don’t have a read on new contact. What is it?” Sensors asked.
“A Drep’na inspired vision, come to life.” Roshal watched, feeling an odd sort of parental pride as Al’yosha’s experimental warship began closing the distance towards the Karcharidon at breakneck speeds. “A swift sailing vessel and ten carriage guns…” Roshal murmured the line from an old Vaasconian poem from the ancient Age of Sail. She had heard Cal’rada had succeeded in petitioning the Navy to build her dream-ship, burning every favor and passing out favors to any and everyone to see the program through. Now, there she was, standing on the bridge bearing down on a ship twice her size, but if the rumors were true, only half her guns.
“Ma’am, contact is still not resolving, but IFF confirms Imperial Navy designation. An Akula Class Attack Transport. I’ve… I’ve never even heard of this class.”
“Perhaps we shall hear of them more in the future. Fortune favors the active.”
“Contact is disgorging multiple signals, moving at speeds consistent with aerospace assets.”
“That is our signal we may disengage. Comms, inform the merchant fleet that the area is secure and to begin refueling procedures. Helm, get us alongside the pirate hulk, we have people to recover. Marine, get me a runner to the MP’s, we shall need the port hangar prepared for an old tradition the Navy has regarding pirate prisoners…” Roshal commanded. The fight was over, it was time to begin the cleanup.
//////////
So… that took a while. Sorry about that.
Turns out when a combination of writer’s block, decision paralysis and LIFE hits you over the head, it becomes a touch difficult to get your shit together long enough to write something down.
On the plus side, we are out of the “unplanned bits” and right back into the parts I have brainstormed, so I won’t be staring at a screen trying to think how to make things connect as much anymore. On the other hand, that means we are now entering the epilogue of book 1 of Top Lasgun.
Don’t worry, the story isn’t ending, I’ve got “three” books plotted out in my head, so we’ll see how that shakes out, but for the most part, this is where I start wrapping up plot threads, laying down threads for what comes next, and all that other good stuff.
So yeah, next chapter is going to involve everyone wrapping up what happened here, some fun little Military Justice, and potentially a bunch of plot. Also, I’m planning on starting a “rewrite”/edited version of this to go up on AO3, so keep an eye out for that. Early installment weirdness is a bitch and I’m not proud of what the older stuff looked like.
Well, I hope you have a wonderful morning, afternoon or evening whenever you read this and I will see you next chapter.
[NEXT CHAPTER]

Authors note: A shorter one today, the pacing was hard to land properly but it just seemed like a good spot to stop. I will post a new one tomorrow as well, so hopefully this can be enough for today while I get a regular schedule for releases down.
https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/l3Wp2cZtxb (First/Previous, will edit tonight to make it clean, this is being posted on mobile)
"Hey Zombie, I've got a treat for you. I was looking at getting more data about our mystery object and I figured out something. Can you take a break from your coursework and chill by the observation screens for a bit?" Carla knew that the courses I was taking (in astronomy, mostly, because out here it just made sense) could be put aside easily. If she was asking me, that usually meant that what she had wasn't important, but that I'd probably like it.
"Sure, pixie. I'll just grab a snack and head over."
My actual living space was not that big, being no bigger than a really small apartment. Being in very low 'gravity' meant that I didn't need to have a lot of space, and everything could be within easy reach. I still liked to have different 'areas' for different parts of life, because I could get into the right headspace easier that way. It still didn't take me more than 3 steps to move from the 'kitchen' (containing a small radioven, a storage access cabinet and a sink) to the 'entertainment/observation' area (which was a comfy chair in front of a large screen) and settle in. "So Carla, show me what you have."
"Ok then! So, I tried to get a better image of our 'mystery' object from radar, but all I was getting back was a noisy ping, so I looked for other ways to get a good image. Turns out that the easiest way to do that was to look for something behind it." Carla formed herself a hologram avatar, then put a rock floating around it. "When you have a light source behind an object, you can see the shape of the object easier. Better than bouncing a signal off it! It's lit up for you." She blanked the hologram off. "Now, get comfy, because the show is about to start."
I slouched down into the chair, propped my feet up, and curled up around the bowl. The screen lit up with a beautiful image of a nebula, awash in blue and pink. "Wait, that's the Orion nebula! Is our rock going to make a transit in front of the Orion nebula?" I asked Carla with wonder. "That's amazing!"
"Ha! You mean I am amazing. Yeah, it was going to be close but it wasn't going to be in front of it, but I wanted to get a better idea of what we were coming into, so I adjusted our course slightly." A small, dim hologram version of her popped up on my armrest. She looked up at me sheepishly and said "I wanna sit with you to watch, ok?"
"Hey, it's your show. You know I don't need your avatar here to know you're with me, but if you want to be here, I'm not going to stop you." I curled over her, letting her avatar 'lean' on my arm. "You are the one person I can always depend on, no matter what. So, I will always be someone you can lean on. Figuratively or quasi-literally."
"Awe, you're such a softy! Well, don't go getting all mushy on me, zombie. Only one of us can be soft, and I like that role." Carla looked up at me. "But shush! It's about to make transit. Watch!"
The screen was full of the faint colours of the nebula, and I knew Carla was tweaking them a bit for my sake. The true colour images were wonderful, but not quite as easy to see without the extra colours from the UV and X-Ray data on top... "Here it comes... What the hell?!?" I jumped up, scattering popcorn across the room. "Is... Is that a tree?!?"
https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/l3Wp2cZtxb (First/Previous, will edit tonight to make it clean, this is being posted on mobile.)

Warning : this is probably the longest post I've ever written. It's awful. If you're expecting something short, run for your safety. Otherwise, take your time and have fun.
So Kaiser and Ness have always been pretty interesting characters since their introduction, but with the most recent chapters and especially ever since the Ness flashback, things have been intensifying and there's a lot going on around these two, especially with potential developments that might happen during the PxG match. Definitely some of my favorite characters in the story thematically.
This will be a huge post analyzing, dissecting and aiming to understand the psyches of both Ness and Kaiser, by following their stories individually, as well as how they intertwine together, how their pattern of relationship is very important to the story as a whole, as well as trying to review a lot of information in hindsight that might make a lot more sense now that we virtually have their entire stories.

Part I : Ness, the Wizard

So it all starts with Alexis Ness, a German kid born into a very stereotypical scientist family of reddit atheists, as well as the following sentence : "(my parents) taught me that it's possible to explain everything that happens on earth".
https://preview.redd.it/467quusc7s0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8c94fce3eb7d93edfad74f154bcb62b3f0cc072d
This first sentence already sets a very important tone with Ness' character. He is dreamy, he's a child full of wonder with a bit of an obsession for finding magic in things, born into a family that dismisses the existence of unexplainable concepts as a whole and lambasts him for believing in them at all, even as a child. Ness is an irrational being, born into an extremely rational environment, and that fact alone alienates him from his passion, and drives him to keep going until he finds something or someone that will understand him.
Ness has a passion for the unexplainable, not the scientific unexplainable, but more the "incredible" unexplainable, things that seem too fantastic to be believed at first, and yet are still true. He also assimilates his sadness with the lack of understanding from his family among the things that he deems to be unexplainable, whether by his family or himself. Ness has a passion for magic, cannot explain why, and that's part of why he believes in magic so much. His passion is self defined.
And that passion for seeking magic in things, is also what drives him to soccer. The joy that people feel, the roaring fans, the celebrations that come from goals, Ness feels as though soccer is what will allow him to truly bring magic into this world. Which is why I theorize, that with Ness' drive for playing soccer being to bring magic on the field, he might be a self-type ego that seeks to bring magic, the same way Barou seeks the feeling of being the king of the field, or Bachira to become one with the ball (this is a very common theme with self type egos, I might make a post about this one of these days). This is a very important point if we want to understand where Ness' current development in the PxG match could be going.
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Ness then takes matters into his own hands and trains relentlessly to pass the Bastard Munchen tryouts, the best club in Germany, so he can have a shot at turning his dream into reality. Ness plays quite well and even shows skills that should allow him to be better than the current BM selection, but he runs into a massive problem ; his individual skills do allow him to keep up, but his plays are ineffective. His magic doesn't work on the world, and the biggest reason why is that no one on the field can keep up with his thinking. Ness lacks the partner that will help make his vision come true.
https://preview.redd.it/h3t5pj628s0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=20fa753b3d1e362981725295f453e7df8c592712
And that's when a certain someone makes their appearance.

Part II : Kaiser, the Blue Rose

It all starts with Michael Kaiser, a different German child with a very different upbringing, but whose destiny would end up crossing paths with that of Ness.
Kaiser grew up in the ashes of a destroyed family. His dad was a theatre director, his mom was an actress, who ended up leaving his dad soon after his birth. His father, unable to bear the weight of both an unwanted child and a failed love life, ended up sinking into alcoholism, gambling addiction and domestic violence.
His father having wasted his fortune completely and being unwilling to work, Kaiser was forced to learn how to steal very early in his life, but his disgusting father's self loathing, resentment and regret towards Michael's mother still ended up reaching him through his father's constant abuse. The treatment he got from his father was the only definition of love Kaiser has ever had, and he ended up internalizing this notion, as well as the feeling that he was not wanted in this world.
https://preview.redd.it/pbjmwago8s0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=d8e88e9839891a7c7ac9e26abd27403fde3c1331
Kaiser grew up, and started saving up money from selling the more valuable items that he would steal. For his twelfth birthday, he decided to buy something for himself that would actually allow him to feel alive and closer to his far away objective of leaving his father one day. And that is how he stumbled upon football.
Unlike Ness however, who developed a passion for football simply because he saw magic in it, Kaiser developed an unhealthy attachment to football that would mimic his relationship to his father. It didn't matter how much he abused the ball, the ball wouldn't respond or protest, it'd just stay by his side silently. Kaiser saw in the ball the same form of attachment that his father showed him, he saw himself in the ball, an unwanted piece of trash that would silently take the abuse that was dished out to him. Because that was the only behavior that his father ever showed to him, Kaiser ended up assimilating abuse and violence to love. That is how Kaiser became an abuser himself, which is a very important facet of his character : cycles repeat themselves, and abusers create potential future abusers.
https://preview.redd.it/1nw0aoxs8s0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=d0fb7ff24ec0a70cd1c141a6084d231931d1c1b0
Where Kaiser's story really begins though is when he is framed for a crime he didn't commit and the police enter their home for a search. Kaiser gets hit by his dad, the police find the money he was keeping from his father, and he's about to lose everything that would allow him to leave this life. Kaiser, at that moment, accepts the abuse again, and decides against his own heart that he'd simply take whatever sentence he gets and start saving up money again once he's out. He instinctively changes his mind when his dad decides to poke a few holes into his soccer ball though.
https://preview.redd.it/419kda1z8s0d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=fd23734280fee0a5e45b3b2f432dd3a4bc1a4437
Though Kaiser has an awful definition of what love or attachment really is, the love that he developed for football was still as pure as he could muster. And instinctively, as he sees his father about to destroy the only thing he's ever managed to feel attachment towards, Kaiser rises against the odds and fights as hard as he can. As the narrator says it himself, this is when Kaiser's identity was truly born. This is another very important element that we'll have to keep for later.
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Kaiser then goes on to get scouted by a certain PIFA executive named Ray Dark, who heard of the fact that he managed to take out multiple police officers with just a soccer ball. Kaiser is encouraged by Ray Dark to pass the BM tryouts, and is already determined to get as far away as possible from his former life, and this is where Kaiser's ego starts to badly mutate from its purest form, all because of the consequences of his father's abusive behavior : Kaiser is incapable of accepting any form of kindness and is very incline to violence.
Kaiser, from the second he enters the facility and starts training with the rest of the potential recruits, manages to make enemies through his extremely antagonistic behavior. He consistently picks fights, which obviously leads to situations where he's systematically in the wrong, and to people refusing to play with him in the moments that matter the most. This is where the Kaiser Impact is born ; Kaiser decides to create a weapon that won't just help him, but make sure he asserts full and total dominance over others. But he doesn't stop there.
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Kaiser starts studying elements of psychology, and his goal is strictly to find out how to manipulate someone and make sure that they would serve him during matches. He needed a lackey, that would serve him under all circumstances, and the best way to find that lackey was to find someone that was close to breaking under pressure and despair.
And this is where the BM tryouts start.

Part III : Perspectives

This is where the duo meets for the first time, and their perspectives on the situation are very different from one another, but very similar in one aspect : they provide each other with what they need.
https://preview.redd.it/vyrcjzv8as0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=5d0c94fb7754c4ad6ea8c6cd5eeb352149c4e994
Ness starts out the BM tryout match very hopeful, but realizes that his individual abilities are his only functional tool and that he can't manage to spark magic with the teammates that he currently has. Ness is in a situation of despair, where he is realizing that he might not make it, and that his family was right to treat him the way they did.
Kaiser in the meantime, is in the exact opposite situation. He is alone, certainly, but also not worried : all he is doing is looking for someone with good enough skills, and in a precarious situation whose heart he can safely erode and tame. Ness needs someone to show him that magic does exist ; Kaiser needs a lackey that he can use to reach his goals. Ness needs a friend, Kaiser needs a test subject. Their relationship, is by definition profoundly unequal, and for that reason, Kaiser is also the only one of the two to be aware of that fact.
https://preview.redd.it/v9ezbkfjas0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4b0613b95305a64ebc6041d1c2b8a73052a6473a
The rest of the match is pretty obvious : Ness finds a good partner to make his imagination come to fruition, Kaiser finds a dog to feed him passes, they get a hat trick together and are selected for the BM team. The important point though, is that Ness didn't actually find despair in that match : he was on the brink of realizing that he couldn't bring magic alone, but the second he was about to either give up or awaken, Kaiser came to him and became his provider for the magic he was seeking. That is the best way to make Ness' ego, his very being, dependent on Kaiser's existence.
This panel shows this best : Ness' play would've been suboptimal for anyone else, his magic would not have been sufficient for a different player. Kaiser's individual ability however, is so overwhelming that he effortlessly brings Ness the magic he seeks. Ness' magic wouldn't have worked if it wasn't for Kaiser.
Ness has never known what it feels like to create magic alone, and therefore he associates magic to Kaiser's presence. If Kaiser himself fails, that implies a personal failure on Ness' part since it means his magic didn't function. That's an extremely important element to understand for the codependency element of these two characters, and that's part of the reason why Ness has constantly been extremely defensive of every single one of Kaiser's failures so far in the story : the same way Kaiser's dream slowly became his own, his failures feel just as much his as they are Kaiser's.
https://preview.redd.it/0pl31b2abs0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=1137ca6530c1ec0ae89b1a7f0a3be49cf24f1ba3
Kaiser then goes on to become a very vicious player that specifically tries to scar his opponents as much as possible. The impossibility that Kaiser strives for, has become something he wants to incarnate for his opponents, an impossible behemoth to slay, the same way his dad was to him. Kaiser acknowledges this, however he associates the feeling of losing to such impossibility to weakness. To Kaiser, the fact that he let his father mistreat him for that long seems to be proof that he used to be a weak person, and that the true way to fight is to become just as evil and incarnate that feeling of impossibility to other people, as he says it to Ness : "Believing in the impossible is a curse, the instant people believe in the impossible is when they decide to give up. It's a survival instinct to guard against heartbreak, that's the way of weaklings, they kill themselves through this curse. Weaklings who dilute the purity of their egos to live longer are what I hate most in this world".
Kaiser has rationalized the abuse that he has gone through by assimilating his behavior to weakness, instead of recognizing this was the behavior of a child trying desperately to survive against impossible odds. The fact that he sees his past behavior as such and that he decided that he should become an abuser himself to get power back over his life, is already proof that his father's abuse won over his ego, and he doesn't know it himself. This is why his ego is fragile and diluted, and that's how he lost his way.
https://preview.redd.it/gnr2pmijbs0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=7e9c07a3f25650ab84e6cd8b3bc90d301a7d313b

Part IV : The reality of impossibility

This is where the NEL comes in. From what we know of Kaiser's objectives with the NEL, he has come to crush the local japanese ace, to give himself a publicity boost that would either prove to the world that he isn't inferior to Noel Noa, or to get himself a contract that would allow him to get out of his current club, both so he could compete with Noa in a less direct way, and therefore not have to face the impossible task that is destroying the system that has been built around him.
Both his intention of trying to destroy Isagi by showing him how impossible it is to beat him, and his intention to avoid beating Noa directly by instead trying to publicize himself as being a striker of equal mettle, show how his ego has been twisted from what it originally was : Kaiser has become addicted to the feeling of incarnating impossibility to other players and crushing them, and he has become very avoidant of any challenges that could seem impossible to him, the same way his father's abuse seemed impossible to overcome. He has created himself a predatory mentality unfit for a competitor, and he did it all as a survival mechanism to fight against impossible odds.
The problem really starts however, when his plan backfires, and it turns out the japanese ace specifically thrives on impossible challenges and does not stop improving. Isagi Yoichi, by the time of the PxG match, has become the incarnation of the impossible odds that Kaiser usually wants to avoid, but this time he is conflicted since Isagi is also the exact type of player that Kaiser wants to crush : he is forced to face his own fear, and the more the odds are against him, the more impossibility will catch up to Kaiser. Which is exactly what might lead to Ness' awakening.
https://preview.redd.it/cl0fcuo5cs0d1.jpg?width=960&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=2eb5a41479308384a1dc7cdb9f4be2a40891ea55
Since Ness attributes his magic to Kaiser's success, seeing Kaiser fail (and maybe even resent him for it), is most likely what will bring Ness to the pit of despair that he got to escape from back in the BM tryouts. Ness will have to face his fear of not being able to bring magic to the world alone. And with what's been foreshadowed, I believe Ness' awakening will come with some sort of cooperation with Isagi, which in turn will make Kaiser realize that he is back to facing the impossible behemoth that he faced not so long ago. This is what will make him revert to his purest ego. But what is his purest ego exactly ?

Final part : Conclusions, and Kaiser's true ego

We finally get to the part where I stop holding everything back and I tell what's on my mind.

1. I'll start with something very important : duos in Blue Lock are always doomed unless they become more than the sum of their parts.

Kaiser and Ness' duo made me realize it, especially with their very obvious parallels to Reo and Nagi, but duos often start out with one of the players (and sometimes both players) attributing a part of their ego to their partner. That right there, is exactly how egos are stifled.
In the case of Kaiser, though his intention was to manipulate Ness, he ended up creating an association in Ness' mind where though Ness sees his purpose in life to bring magic through football, he attributes his ability to bring magic to Kaiser, which means that in Ness' mind, he is incapable of doing it alone. I don't believe that's the case, but for Ness to prove it to himself, he has to try doing it first. The PxG match is the perfect opportunity for this, but that's not all.
https://preview.redd.it/p2zv1za0es0d1.jpg?width=1124&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=dad6ddd89aca9f05adb18cc06825f6337f7b3702
Sae and Rin are also a very important example of this, since Sae knew from the start that having Rin associate him to his ego and use him as a reason to play football was a death sentence for both of them. I believe that Sae truly does want to win the Champion's league with his brother, but has let go of that dream and has tried to force Rin to do it as well to make sure both of them would reach their potential before hitting the wall that is the world level.
Reo has always attributed his dream of winning the world cup to the fact that he has Nagi by his side, and cannot really imagine achieving this dream without him. However, if Reo truly wants to evolve, I'm sure a lot of you are already anticipating this, but he has to let go of Nagi and evolve alone, which he most likely will do during the Manshine-Barcha match. Nagi himself doesn't have an objective, and has always improved as a player with the intention of helping Reo achieve his dream, which means that part of his ego is simply helping another player achieve his. Unless the both of them seperate at least temporarily, then Reo will never gain the confidence to achieve his dream alone, Nagi will never gain the ego to have his own dream and play football for the sake of his own passion, and neither of them will be able to cooperate on their common vision of winning together. And the way I know all of this ?
Is because Isagi and Bachira have already showed us the path of how a good duo functions. Bachira almost never awakened his true ego all because his loneliness made him see Isagi as essential to his well being, it forced him to look for players that would be able to keep up with his best football, and when he found them, he already thought he had won. Bachira realized that the only way he could keep playing with the players he admires and wants to rival, is by believing in his way of playing football instead of putting his belief in someone else. This is how duos survive : by having both players becoming better and fulfilled individually, and constantly pushing each other to individually become better before they rely on each other for victory.
https://preview.redd.it/bcjasudces0d1.jpg?width=1200&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=b6339a69e35ab6868f134742dbd1b56cd1db4d27

1. To get back to Kaiser and Ness, what that means is that Ness' evolution has to come at the cost of his dependence on Kaiser, and Kaiser's evolution has to come at the cost of the introspection he has to do to understand where his true nature comes from : this specific moment.

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My belief is that Kaiser's ego to incarnate the impossible isn't actually wrong, it's just taken from the wrong perspective. What Kaiser was since the very start, isn't a mindless perpatrator of violence that does it out of pleasure for crushing others : What Kaiser is, is a survivor.
\"I'll leave here someday.\"
No matter how tough the situation, no matter how much his father beat him, Kaiser never stopped believing or dreaming that he would one day free himself from his situation and rise against adversity. It might've been a small flame at first, but when his ego truly awakened was when he actually fought back for the first time. Kaiser isn't an impossible being because he is an unbeatable, violent monster, he is an impossible being because he rises against impossible odds no matter what.
\"The boy dreamed about going on a journey someday.\"
He is unfathomably resilient, and that is something that was very specifically cultivated from his experience of victimhood : Kaiser couldn't have become this kind of person if he was simply an abuser the same way his father was (which is currently what is stifling his ego), the only way he can be this impossible being is by going through what he did and surviving.
And in fact, that's also something that been shown in the manga already. After all, the only moment so far where Kaiser has showed us what could be his greatest performance, was when he had to rely on a play Isagi made to get a goal opportunity, and managed to beat 4 defenders (one of them being the best U20), culminating in a goal that's impossible to replicate even for the greatest players. Kaiser might be a self type ego that seeks impossible situations to reach flow.
https://preview.redd.it/rcpi8xb3ds0d1.jpg?width=1920&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=8b64e5c2db2df699852631c44c4f308fb3efc417
A player's personality is often reflected through their playstyle : that's the case with Kaiser, with his KI symbolizing his impossible dominance, and his MV symbolizing his manipulative way of playing with people ; which is why I don't believe it's a coincidence that the one time Kaiser has truly made a play no one else could replicate was when all odds were against him. And yet ironically, this is also the goal that Kaiser hates the most, because he still hates his younger self for not having fought back until the last moment. What he sees as weakness, is what is actually his greatest strength.
Anyways if you've read this far, thank you very much and congratulations, and if you have any, please tell me your thoughts in the comments.

As far back as I can remember, I had always been passionate about the great outdoors. My love for the wilderness began when I joined the scouts, exploring the diverse landscapes of Southern California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah. I was never a huge fan of the dry, barren landscapes, but camping provided a much-needed escape from the monotony of Orange County suburbia.
The first time I visited the Pacific Northwest, I was enchanted. The scenery was breathtaking—majestic mountains, lush fields, and meandering rivers. It was clear that anyone who praised the desert's beauty had never laid eyes on the Cascades. Seeing grass and wildflowers growing without irrigation was practically a revelation.
When I was old enough, I moved to Washington state, immersing myself in nature every weekend. My adventures took me hiking through dense forests, camping by serene lakes, and occasionally taking mushrooms under peaceful waterfalls.
I joined several online forums dedicated to outdoor enthusiasts. One community that particularly fascinated me was the Northwest Tomb Raiders. This group of history buffs and thrill-seekers was dedicated to uncovering artifacts, whether Native American relics or treasures hidden in modern ruins. Many members were collectors, fencing their finds to museums and archaeologists, which made it a rather profitable side gig, should you be lucky enough.
In the fall of 2009, an intriguing post appeared on the forum. A user named Lokk claimed to have discovered a cache of artifacts with Scandinavian origins. He couldn't carry everything back due to the treacherous terrain and his age, so he shared the coordinates, hoping someone else could retrieve the items. I scrolled down to see a few posts of people planning to loot it in the Spring, when the paths have reopened. One user, Patagooner, planned on going as early as possible.
Excited by the prospect, I gathered my two friends, Carl and Noah, for the expedition. They weren't as enthusiastic about camping as I was, but after I told them how much a single arrowhead goes for on the black market, they were on board. It was the start of winter now, which had its advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, the rangers would have a harder time spotting us. On the downside, the harsh conditions posed a serious challenge for two inexperienced hikers.
I must’ve blown about four grand at REI on gear for them, justifying it with the knowledge of how much more I would make with two extra packs. That is of course assuming there really were as many artifacts as Lokk had said, and Patagooner hadn’t beaten me there.
The journey began like any other. We met in the pre-dawn darkness and went over our supplies, ensuring we had everything we needed. By mid-morning, we were on our way, my pickup truck winding up the mountain paths. The roads of Olympic National Park were the epitome of the raw, untamed beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
They snake through ancient forests, where towering Douglas firs and Western hemlocks create a verdant canopy overhead. Mist clings to the trees, giving the landscape an ethereal quality. Occasionally, the forest would open up to reveal breathtaking vistas of snow-capped peaks and deep, shadowy valleys.
As we climbed higher, the landscape grew increasingly desolate. The dense forest thinned out, replaced by rugged terrain and jagged rock formations. The air grew colder, and the first flurries of snow began to fall, dusting the ground in a thin, white layer. The road became narrower and more treacherous, winding precariously along the edge of steep cliffs.
Finally, a road closure blockade signaled the end of our journey in the truck. We unloaded three dirt bikes—one mine, two rentals—and continued up the trail. The bikes roared to life, carrying us several more miles into the wilderness. The trail twisted and turned, cutting through dense underbrush and over fallen logs. The snow began to fall more heavily, blanketing the forest floor and muffling the sound of our engines. The world around us grew quieter, more isolated.
Eventually, the snow became too deep to traverse by bike. We dismounted and prepared to continue on foot. The silence of the forest was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind. I checked my modern GPS, its screen displaying the coordinates and a relief map of our destination.
The cold air bit into our cheeks as we trudged through the snow-laden forest. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional call of distant wildlife. The GPS indicated we were close to our destination, but the dense underbrush and uneven terrain made progress slow.
Suddenly, Carl's excited whisper cut through the stillness. "Hey, look at that!"
He pointed to a small, furry creature ambling through the trees. It took a moment to realize what it was—a bear cub, innocently exploring its surroundings.
My heart sank. "Carl, get back," I hissed, my voice low but urgent. "Where there's a cub, there's a..."
Before I could finish, a massive shape exploded from the trees. The mother bear, easily three times the size of the cub, charged at Carl with a ferocity. She was a blur of dark fur and powerful muscles, her roar echoing through the forest.
"Run!" I yelled, but it was too late. The bear was upon Carl, swiping at him with her massive paws. He screamed as he fell to the ground, the bear towering over him. Desperation and adrenaline surged through me. I grabbed the nearest heavy branch and swung it at the bear, hoping to distract her.
Noah joined in, shouting and waving his arms. We had to be careful; one wrong move and she would turn on us. The bear snarled, turning her attention away from Carl for just a moment. It was enough for him to scramble backwards, clutching his bleeding arm.
"We have to get him out of here," I shouted to Noah, who nodded, fear etched on his face. The bear, still enraged, seemed torn between attacking us and protecting her cub.
Using the brief respite, we hauled Carl to his feet. His face was white, and he was clearly in shock. Blood soaked his sleeve, dripping onto the snow. "There's a ranger station about two miles from here," I said, my voice shaking. "We need to get him there. Now."
We half-carried, half-dragged Carl through the forest, every shadow and sound heightening our paranoia.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the small, wooden structure of the ranger station came into view. We had been avoiding the rangers to keep our expedition secret, but now it was our only hope.
Pounding on the door, I prayed for a quick response. The door creaked open, and a weathered face appeared. "What happened?" the ranger demanded, taking in the sight of Carl's bloodied form.
"Bear attack," I gasped. "We need help."
The ranger's expression shifted from suspicion to urgency. "Get him inside. We've got a first aid kit and a radio."
As we eased Carl onto a makeshift bed, the ranger inspected his wounds. "You're lucky," he said after a moment. "The cuts are deep, but they missed any major arteries. He'll need stitches, but we can handle that here. No need for an airlift."
The ranger's face darkened as he turned to me. "What the hell are you boys doing out here?”
I hesitated, "We... we were just exploring."
The ranger's eyes narrowed, his anger palpable. "Exploring? In a restricted area? In the middle of winter? Are you out of your minds?"
He worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning and stitching Carl's wounds. Carl winced but stayed silent, his eyes closed in pain.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out here?" the ranger continued, his voice rising. "The storm, the wildlife... This area is off-limits for a reason! You should have known better." he said, pushing a finger into my chest.
"We'll stay here for the night," he continued, "The storm's getting worse, and it's too dangerous to move him now. We'll reassess in the morning. And count yourself lucky I don't arrest your asses."
Night fell quickly, the storm outside growing more ferocious with each passing minute. The howling wind battered the small ranger station, and the walls creaked under the pressure. We huddled in the main room, the tension thick in the air.
The ranger looked at us sternly. "I need to check the perimeter and make sure everything is secure. There are things out there you don’t want to encounter, especially in this storm."
"Things? What do you mean?" Noah asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The ranger's expression hardened. "Just stay put. No matter what you see or hear, do not leave this cabin. Understood?"
We nodded, the seriousness in his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll stay put," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
The ranger grabbed his coat and shotgun. "I'll be back in an hour. Do not leave this cabin." With that, he opened the door and stepped into the raging storm, disappearing into the darkness.
As soon as the door closed, I turned to Noah. "We need to go. Now."
Noah's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? He said to stay put."
"If we wait until morning, we'll be escorted out of here and lose our chance. This might be our only opportunity to find those artifacts."
Noah hesitated with uncertainty "But... what about Carl?"
"He'll be fine here. The ranger can take care of him. We have to do this now."
Reluctantly, Noah nodded. "Alright. Let's take what we can and go."
We quickly looted extra gear from the cabin. I checked the GPS one last time before we slipped out into the storm, the cold wind battering us.
The snow fell heavily, obscuring our vision as we slogged through the forest. The ranger was nowhere in sight as we made our way towards the our destination, each step filled with trepidatious excitement.
The storm began to die down as we approached the coordinates. We stepped into a clearing where the undisturbed snow lay like a pristine white blanket. In the center stood an ancient, weathered stone altar, encircled by intricate wooden carvings, delicate metalwork, and beautifully crafted statues. The sight was breathtaking, a treasure trove, a veritable museum of paganism.
Noah and I exchanged glances, our eyes wide with amazement. "Do you see this?" I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement.
"We're going to be rich," Noah replied, his voice trembling with awe. "These must be worth a fortune!"
We approached cautiously, as if the vision before us might disappear. The craftsmanship was stunning. I reached out to touch a carved wooden idol, marveling at the detail. "This is incredible," I said, my voice barely audible.
We began to load our packs with as many artifacts as we could carry, each one more exquisite than the last. It was beyond our wildest dreams. We were so engrossed in our task that we didn't notice the small figure watching us from the ridge.
It wasn't until I turned to leave that I saw her. A young girl, maybe eight years old, stood there, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. She was dressed in simple, rustic clothing, her blonde straight hair blowing gently in the wind. For a moment, we just stared at each other.
"Noah," I whispered urgently, nudging him. "Look."
He turned, his eyes following my gaze. "What the...?" he muttered, his voice trailing off.
The girl took a tentative step forward, her eyes fixed on the items in our hands. There was no fear in her gaze, only a quiet intensity that made my skin crawl.
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She tilted her head slightly. "My name is Sigyn."
"What are you doing out here, Sigyn?" Noah asked, his voice shaky.
"I live here,"
"You live here?" I echoed, incredulous. "Is there anyone else around?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Where?" Noah demanded, looking around nervously.
"Everywhere," she said with a giggle.
The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, bothered me deeply. Noah and I exchanged a look, both of us trying to figure out what to do next.
"We can't take her back to the ranger," Noah started, "We'll lose everything."
I nodded, my mind racing. "Sigyn," I said slowly, "we need to know who else is here. Can you help us?"
She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes, then said, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Noah asked.
"For what's going to happen to you," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness.
"You need to tell us what's going on," Noah said, grabbing her arm roughly. "Why are you out here alone?"
She looked up at him, unperturbed. "I am not alone," she said softly.
Before we could press her further, a loud, guttural mooing sound echoed through the clearing. We turned towards the direction the girl had come from, and there, emerging from the shadows, was the silhouette of an elk. As it approached, my stomach dropped. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of life and decay. Its skull was fully exposed, the eye sockets dark and empty. Large patches of its ribs were visible, the flesh around them rotted away.
The elk's movements were slow and deliberate, its head swaying as if in a trance. It walked directly towards us, its hollow eyes fixed on Sigyn. The closer it got, the more the stench of death filled the air—a nauseating mix of decay and earth. I fought the urge to retch.
Sigyn stood up, her expression calm. The monster sniffed her gently, its nostrils flaring. Without a word, she climbed onto its back, mounting it like a horse. It was a surreal and horrifying scene ripped straight from a nightmare.
As she settled onto the elk, she looked back at us, "A thief in the night shall reap what he sows," she said, her voice carrying an otherworldly echo. "Beware the price of stolen dreams."
With that, the beast turned and began to walk away, Sigyn riding it into the shadows of the forest. We stood there, frozen in place. The realization that we were in far over our heads began to sink in. This started to feel like a trap.
We need to get out of here," My voice trembling. "Now."
We turned to leave, our packs heavy with the pilfered goods. But as we took our first steps, the forest around us seemed to come alive. Shadows moved among the trees, and whispers floated on the wind. I quickened my pace, glancing nervously over my shoulder.
"Did you hear that?" Noah asked sharply,
"Just keep moving," I commanded.
A figure emerged from the shadows, blocking our path. It was a man, tall and gaunt, his eyes burning with an intense light. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice cold and menacing.
"We're leaving," I stammered. "We didn't mean any harm."
The man smirked, and with a swift motion, he raised his hand. More figures appeared, closing in on us from all sides. We were surrounded.
"Run!" I shouted, shoving Noah forward.
We sprinted through the forest, branches whipping at our faces and legs. The figures pursued us, their footsteps silent and relentless.
Noah stumbled and fell, his pack spilling open. Statues scattered across the ground, glinting in the moonlight. "Help!" he cried, scrambling to gather the items.
"Leave them!" I shouted, pulling him to his feet. "We have to keep moving!"
But it was too late, their hands seizing us. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grips were too strong. They forced us to the ground, binding our hands with rough, coarse ropes.
"Please," I begged, "Don't hurt us."
The man who had first appeared stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "A thief in the night," he mocked.
They dragged us through the forest, the trees closing in around us like a cage. We were at their mercy.
In the distance, I could see the elk standing at the edge of the clearing, Sigyn still astride its back. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But then they turned away, disappearing into the shadows once more.
We were dragged into the heart of the forest, our struggles futile against the unyielding grip of our captors. As we broke through the treeline, a massive bonfire came into view, its flames licking the night sky. Shadows danced around the clearing, cast by the flickering light. A woman stood at the forefront, her presence commanding.
Her eyes were milk white, devoid of pupils, and her long, flowing white hair cascaded down her back. She was completely naked, her skin pale and marked with intricate symbols. Atop her head, she wore an elk skull, its antlers extending like eerie, skeletal fingers. She beat a drum emblazoned with more of the same cryptic symbols, each thud resonating deep within my chest.
Around the fire, about two dozen people stood, all drinking from crude, horned cups. Their faces were solemn, eyes fixed on the woman as she led them in a haunting chant. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of reverence and intoxication.
We were forced to our knees before the woman, who paused her drumming to look down at us. Her gaze was haunting, as if she could see into the very depths of our souls.
"Who are you?" Noah demanded, his voice trembling.
The woman ignored him, raising her arms to the sky. The chanting grew louder, the rhythm of the drum faster and more frenzied. The air around us seemed to vibrate with energy, the flames of the bonfire growing higher and more intense.
I glanced at Noah, fear mirrored in his eyes. The woman began to speak, her voice low and melodic, but filled with power, in a language I couldn't understand. Suddenly, she stopped, lowering her arms. The chanting ceased, and an silence fell over the clearing. She looked directly at me, her white eyes unblinking.
En tjuv i natten skördar vad han sår, akta dig för drömmar som du stjäl och får.
Hans skratt bevakar lundens gömda stig, där skuggor sveper över skogens liv.
För varje stulet andetag och svek, måste en tjuv möta sitt smärtsamma ödelek.
Tricksterns vilja, vår ande här, så i hans nåd, våra liv bär.
I was terrified and confused. She started again, softer, in a way I could understand.
A thief in the night shall reap what he sows, beware the price of stolen dreams.
His laughter guards our hidden groves, where shadows cloak the forest's seams.
For every stolen breath and lie, a thief must meet his painful end.
The tricksters will, our spirits tie, so in his grace, our lives suspend.
The crowd surged forward, grabbing Noah first. He screamed, his terror echoing through the trees as they pulled him towards a makeshift altar beside the bonfire. The woman chanted louder, her voice rising in a hypnotic rhythm as they began their gruesome work.
They stripped him of his shirt and bound his arms to a wooden frame. I tried to move, to help him, but the grip on my shoulders tightened, pinning me to the ground.
The woman approached Noah, holding a knife with a blade that gleamed in the firelight. She started to slice into his back, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Noah's screams pierced the night as she methodically carved the shape of wings into his flesh.
Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the ground beneath him. The crowd's chant grew louder, almost drowning out his cries. I watched in horror as the woman reached into the incisions, breaking the ribs and pulling them outward, creating a parody of wings.
Noah's agony was unbearable to witness. His screams turned to whimpers, his body convulsing in pain. The woman didn't stop until the work was complete, his lungs exposed and hanging grotesquely from his back.
They lifted Noah's broken body and placed him over the fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making me gag. His life ebbed away as the flames consumed him, the once vibrant light in his eyes fading to nothing.
The woman turned to me, her expression devoid of mercy. "You will meet the same fate," she said, "He demands it."
The smell of burning flesh and the sight of his broken body over the fire was seared into my mind. Despair settled over me as I closed my eyes.
A deafening blast shattered the night. My eyes flew open to see the shaman stumbling backward, a gaping wound in her chest. She collapsed to the ground, her white eyes staring lifelessly into the void.
The villagers turned in shock as another shot rang out, this time hitting one of the men holding me. I twisted free from their grasp and saw the park ranger standing at the edge of the clearing, a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He fired again, the sound echoing through the forest, before one of them tackled him to the ground.
"Run!" he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. "Get the hell out of here!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I sprinted into the darkness, the chaos of the clearing fading behind me. Branches whipped at my face, and the snow underfoot made every step a struggle. I could hear the sounds of fighting and gunshots, but I forced myself to keep moving.
The cold air burned in my lungs, but adrenaline pushed me forward. I didn't stop until I reached the station, my legs threatening to give out from under me. I burst through the door and slammed it behind me.
Inside, Carl lay where we had left him, his face pale and twisted in pain. I stumbled to the radio, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the controls.
"Mayday, mayday!" I yelled into the microphone. "This is an emergency! We need help! Please, someone, come quickly!"
Static filled the room, punctuated by my ragged breaths. I repeated the call, my voice growing more frantic with each passing second. Finally, a voice crackled through the speaker. "This is Ranger Station Bravo. What's your location? Over."
I could barely form the words. "Olympic National Park! The ranger station near mount Christie! We're under attack! Please, send help!"
"Copy that. Help is on the way. Stay put and stay safe. Over."
I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Carl moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open. "What… What happened? Where's Noah?”
Tears streamed down my face and I found myself choked up. “He’s gone, man. Help is coming.”
The minutes stretched into an eternity as we waited. The wind howled around the station, and every creak and groan of the structure set my nerves on edge. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that the forest itself was closing in on us.
The radio crackled again, this time with a different voice. "Helicopter en route, ETA fifteen minutes. Prepare for extraction."
I glanced at Carl, his eyes filled with confusion. "Hang on. We're getting out of here."
As the minutes ticked by, I couldn't help but think about the ranger. He had saved my life, but he hadn't made it back. My mind conjured up images of what might have happened to him, the cultists overwhelming him in the darkness. A sense of guilt gnawed at me, knowing he had sacrificed himself for us.
The sound of rotors cut through the night, growing louder as the helicopter approached. I ran to the window and saw its searchlight piercing the treetops, scanning for the station.
I helped Carl to his feet, supporting his weight as we made our way to the hatch. The helicopter hovered above, lowering a rescue basket. The wind from the rotors whipped the snow into a frenzy, but I didn't care. Salvation was finally here.
We secured Carl in the basket first, and I watched as he was hoisted up, disappearing into the safety of the helicopter. My turn was next. I realized that I was now alone and exposed. Fear coursing through me as I scanned around the edge of the forest, expecting to be grabbed and taken seconds before my rescue. But the moment never came. As I gripped the rope, I took one last look at the forest below. The flames of the bonfire still flickered in the distance.
I was lifted into the air, the ground falling away beneath me. The helicopter's crew pulled me inside, and I collapsed onto the floor still holding onto my pack, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. The doors closed, and the helicopter banked away, leaving the horrors of the park behind.
Weeks had passed since the harrowing events, but the memories clung to me like the bitter cold. I had returned to civilization, seeking solace in the familiar chaos of the city. I found a wealthy collector through a network of contacts. The artifacts fetched a price tenfold the cost of gear. The money was substantial, but as I held the cash, it felt like a hollow victory.
Noah's absence weighed heavily on me. His disappearance was chalked up as a missing persons case, and despite my best efforts to explain what had happened, no one believed me. The authorities conducted a search of the area, but they found no trace of the cult, the artifacts, or the clearing. It was as if the forest had swallowed up all the evidence.
I returned to the site where we had parked the truck. The dirt bikes were gone, stolen by opportunistic thieves, but the truck remained. I drove back in silence, the road winding through the dense forest. For a moment, I thought I saw the girl watching me from atop a ridge until I realized it was just paranoia. I stepped on the gas a little harder.
Back home, I checked the Tomb Raiders forum again. The post that had led us into the forest was gone, deleted without a trace. I messaged the mods, but apparently, they don’t keep records to maintain confidentiality. I wrote about our experience, detailing every terrifying moment, but the responses were skeptical at best. Most dismissed it as a work of fiction or a desperate cry for attention.
Time passed, and I tried to return to a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the wilderness called to me stronger than ever. It was my sanctuary, the only place where I could find peace amidst the turmoil. I spent more and more time outdoors than ever before, but now it always felt like I was just running from something.
Determined to prove what had happened, I returned to the forest with a camera and recording equipment. This time, I documented every step, capturing footage of the trees, the snow, and the eerie silence that hung in the air. I retraced our path, hoping to find the clearing again. But each night, as I reviewed the footage, something strange would happen. The files would be corrupted or entire segments missing.
I pressed on. I found the site where Noah had fallen, the ground still bearing faint traces of what had happened. I set up the camera and began to speak, recounting the events in detail. As I spoke, a cold wind swept through the clearing, and the camera's screen flickered. I finished my account and turned to check the recording, only to find the file corrupted once again, the footage replaced by static and a faint, mocking laughter.
I returned home, defeated and exhausted. My attempts to share what I had experienced were met with disbelief and ridicule. The files I managed to save were corrupted beyond recognition. It was as if the forest itself was conspiring against me.
Almost exactly one year later, as I browsed the forums, a new post caught my eye. It was cryptic, eerily similar to the one that had led us into the nightmare. It spoke of another trove of artifacts, hidden deep within the wilderness, waiting to be claimed.
The post was signed with a new name: Skygge. Different handle, same style. Another trap. They had taken so much from me, left scars that would never heal. I opened my drawer, my fingers brushing over the cold metal of my weapons. This was the moment I had been waiting for. This time, I'll be ready.
The forest’s secrets won't remain hidden forever.

I wrote this for a writing prompt in writingprompts, but not many people will see it because the prompt is a little old. I just wanted to share. Wrote during breaks at work so forgive me if it’s a little rough around the edges.
The prompt was, “Watching the man or woman of your dreams fall in love with someone else.”
feedback appreciated
::Caitlyn::
I watched her through her kitchen window.
She stood by the sink—wine glass in her hand, gently swirling it as she looked at her phone. God, she was pretty tonight. The yellow kitchen light cast a glow upon her skin, and I swear she was the brightest thing in the room—more so even than the bulb itself. Fishnet lace snaked up her legs, red as summer wine, and her bathrobe parted just enough at the top to tease—just enough to draw your attention to it so that she could playfully scold you for looking.
It’s what she did.
I knew what she was waiting for, though. This was the first night he hadn’t shown up in over a week.
I didn’t get it. That guy—the guy who tracks muddy boots through the house, the guy that smokes cigarettes in the laundry room even when she specifically tells him not to, the guy who hasn’t touched a single dirty dish in as long as he’d been there—a dirty anything for that matter, and he’s the one she swoons for? Fucking bastard. That’s all he was. A dirty fucking bastard that didn’t deserve a woman even half as nice as my Caitlyn.
No, she didn’t get it—really, she didn’t and it made me feel kind of sorry for her. God, I mean if she only knew the things I’d do for her—the things that we have in common. We would be so happy together.
I like to read just like she does, the same genres and everything. I even picked up the book she started last week, and it’s already one of my favorites. She likes to jog; I like to jog; she likes binging shows; I like binging shows. Both of us have a horrible sweet tooth as well. I can never help but smile at the thought of that.
Now, it’s three hours past eight, which was the time that he was supposed to arrive. She’d moved to the couch and was lying on her back, letting one leg dangle to the floor. Blue light from the TV illuminated her features in the dark of the room, and it wasn’t difficult to tell that she was upset. God, I hate to see her cry.
Occasionally, she would glance over. She would peer out the window with that sad face and look in my direction. At first, I thought she was trying to see over me, to look over the hedge and into the trees behind her drive. After a few of her glances, though, I wasn’t sure anymore. I was almost convinced that she noticed me and was looking directly at me.
Maybe she needed me. Perhaps this was her way of saying, “Come get me, Richard.” And what if it was? What if this was my chance, and I missed it because I thought about it too hard? Maybe she knew I’d been out here, watching all along, for all this time. If that was the case, then she surely knew that I wouldn’t be able to resist those watery eyes.
It was time—time to be the man she needed—to finally confess my love for her, then hold her tight in my arms as she did the same.
I straightened myself—no more hiding. No more lurking in the shadows while she filled the void in her heart with all of these other worthless men. It was time she had a real man, a man who cared.
I walked to the door. For a second, I wondered if she’d left it unlocked for me. She’d done that before and pretended she was asleep whenever I made my way inside. She always did like to tease like that. I almost just opened it and walked straight in, but on second thought, I figured it might’ve been a little jarring. I decided to knock instead.
My throat felt as tight as a fist. Why was I so nervous? She loved me; I knew she did, but still, I was nervous. Sweat beaded down the side of my face like condensation. I wiped it away with my sleeve and took a deep breath. This was it. In a few moments, I’d finally have my Caitlyn. I’d finally hold her in my arms like I’d always dreamed.
I brought my fist to the door, and my stomach tightened into a knot.
Just as I was about to do it, I heard gravel crunch in the distance.
Quickly, I darted back into the safety of the shadows. I could see two bright headlights through the trees as they bounced down the dirt road.
It was him—the old Chevy Silverado with the silver toolbox in the back.
Of course, it had to be him.
He’d messed up this time, though; there was no way she’d forgive him now, not after tonight. With a smirk, I watched, wondering what kind of pitiful attempt he’d make to try and win her back this time, knowing that whatever it was wouldn’t be enough. Then he stepped out of his truck.
He was covered in black grease from head to foot and wore a mechanic uniform. He held something small in his arms, something with a bright red bow tied around its neck. It was hard to tell, but it looked like a little black lab from where I stood. Trustingly, it pressed its head against his chest and darted its eyes around the new scenery.
He walked up the porch steps. He was going to knock, but before he could, Caitlyn flung the door inward and glared at him. As much as I hated how she felt, that twisted expression of anger she shot him gave me more joy than I could’ve imagined. That joy was only fleeting, though. The man flashed a smile as he looked down at his arms, rubbing the puppy’s head. It melted the expression right off of her face.
“Oh my God!” She squealed, happily shuffling her feet as she held her arms out.
I was appalled. A puppy? A little dog and all of his sins are erased?
The two of them seemed so giddy together. They laughed and hugged and spoke in high voices to the puppy while they rubbed its head. The whole scene made me sick to my stomach if you really want to know the truth.
I don’t know how he did it—how he managed to weasel his way back into her heart and occupy the space that was so rightfully mine—truly, I didn’t. Who knows, maybe it was all an act. Perhaps it was her way of telling me, “you should’ve knocked.” And now, this was my punishment.
Maybe I should’ve. Maybe then I could’ve been the one to answer that door. A puppy wouldn’t soften my eyes, not like hers. I failed her, I know, but I will not fail her again. That is the last night he will ever come knocking on her door. I’m certain of it.

Chapter 1: the event
It was the fall of my intern year as I bean my off service trauma rotation. This month was ubiquitously notorious for being the most labor intrusive and least productive rotaion of our emergency medicine program. Knowing this I entered with the intention of simply surviving the month.
Another intern and I let’s call them A for sake of ambiguity, we’re the first emergency medicine residents to roste on the trauma services that year. A shaky start would be an understatement. In the words of chance the raper “like my grama with the Parkinson’s playing operation.” Would better describe it. Medically we did well. We were very competent and completed our work daily, but communication and coordination was non existent. Our Cheifs had informed us that Tuesday was our day of and the Trauma cheif residents had minimum communication with us, or our Cheifs as it seams when A and I did not report on Tuesday they sternly made their dissatisfaction known.
I have struggled with insomnia sense the age of 10. Had 2 sleep studies by this point in my life and been prescribed nearly every sleeping aid on the market. The 80-94 hr work weeks of our trauma rotaion only worsened my insomnia. My lack of sleep likely contributed to a less than prime adaptive immune system and 2 days out of my trauma rotaion I contracted strep like symptoms with associated nausea, requiring me to call for a sick day the next day. No the first day that I felt too ill to work. I was not fully aware of the reporting process. I reported to my Chiefs, but I did not believe I could come to work tomorrow with amble time and notice, however I was somewhat delayed in letting their Cheifs know, because the surgical chiefs rotated every few days and I did not know who my was going to be the next day. The second day which I had to call out sick I was able to locate the cheif for the next day and reprot according to our university’s protocol, which requires that if a resident feels they are not fit for work they must not come in and the university must have staff coverage without any fear or implementation of punitive actions.
I had finally survived to the last week of my trauma rotaion and I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. What I could not see was the pile of stress, shitty diet, lack of mental well ness and sleep deprivation which I was pushing down to reach the light. By this time I had seen a psychiatrist regularly for sleep medication. I had mentioned to him that I had been experiencing more stressed lately and feel that I might be depressed. he reassured me that it was likely only due to my circumstances, given the difficulty of the trauma rotation and wish to reassess once the rotation was over. Looking back I had to fill the habit of drinking more than I usually do. My only on nights before I have days off became 1-2 beers every other night. All of this repressed unhealthy shit finally pushed bad on September 23rd. That night I was at work even later than usual, I stayed up later than usual and couldn’t seem to fall asleep. With the stress of only having minimal sleep and knowing I only had 2 more days of trauma left, I took an extra dose of my sleeping medication.
I opened my eyes to the fighting sight of sun beaming in my window and I instantly knew I was late. (Sense I hadn’t seen the sun in a month) . Due to my need for scrupulous sleep hygiene I have been sleeping with my phone of and away for me. I rushed to grab it and watched as the little Apple logo seamed to glow on the screen for an eternity. Then in conjunction with its fading I saw 3 missed calls from my director, a text from college A and 2 missed calls from the surgical director. Still, I was able to calm myself, knowing that resident A had been late to this rotation by a few hours 2 other days and nothing came of it. I called my director back and he asked me to report to his office where I was greeted by my director, my coordinator and another emergency medicine facility.
With the only explanation of: “we just want you to get better”, I was handed a letter, to my relief it did not entail my termination, but a declaration of administrative leave and a requirement to undergo an evaluation at a well known university in Florida.
Lake any other savvy millennial, I did my research. By research I mean numerous google searches and screeches thru the depts of redit. To my dismay I discovered that in order for a residency program to fire you, they must first initiate an administrative suspension. I would soon find out however, being terminated would have been a delightful outcome compared to what ensued.
I spend the next few weeks in the wallos of regret and depression. I indulged in higher qualities of alchohol then I ever have before. I all but ceased communing with peers, and abruptly stoped any physical activity I had once enjoyed. Frightened as I was I was ensured, it will be ok “we just want you to get better”
Chapter 2 The evaluation : guilty until proven innocent I did exactly as instructed and scheduled an evaluation, I supposed that this was either a mental evaluation to assess if I’m fit for work with plans of termination or it actually was an evaluation to better treat my insomnia. To this day I regret my ignorance, and wish I had researched the process more. The Hindi / sand-skrt idea of Hamsa 🪬 is that in order to do any good you must have full knowledge or else good intentions can result in harm. I truely believe my director had good intentions, however but him and I did not have full knowledge of the nature of this evaluation.
Looking back see how easily I could have avoided my troubles by asserting legal aid at this point or even by researching this evaluation process more in depth. If one searches impaired practitioner program which I now know this evaluator works for, the search entire will populate 5 or 6 layferms along side their home website and there is a valid reason for this.
If one every finds themself in this process I employ you to bring a DSM to your evaluation or at least be familiar with the most common use disorders in the DSM-5, because your evaluation will turn into a dance of questions where the evaluator attempts to trap you in a round about way to stating something that may qualify for one of the diagnosis. I have provided an image from the DSM-5 below outlining AUD, which the evaluator concluded that I had the most severe from:
Image
Example***** Here are 10 examples of how he fraudulently assessed me taken directly from his assessment note.

1. Evaluator: Have you ever stoped drinking in the last year.

Me: yes I stoped every week day, I was only drinking on the weekends, until two weeks ago.
-Evaluator uses stoping and starting every week to qualify for 2 or more unsuccessful attempts to stop in the last year “There is a persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to cut down or control alcohol use.”

1. Evaluator Have you ever had withdrawal symptoms

Me no
Evaluator Well Have you ever had a hangover? You know that’s a from of acute withdrawal
Me: yes in college, I had a few but that was years ago and I’m pretty sure the pathophysiology is different.
Evaluator uses this to count for withdrawal symptoms even tho is was more than a year ago

1. Evaluator: Have you even taken your sleeping medication on a day or night which you drank? Me: Yes, I took my prescriptions are prescribed but I never drank close to bed

Evaluator: qualified this as dangerous behavior with alcohol (where the DSM gives examples such as unprotected sex and drunk driving). The sleeping medication I was on is not a benzodiazepine therefore it is not deadly with alcohol. I personally have seen many patients in the ED who have taken their entire bottle of the medication and drank copious amounts, we just monitor them over night and rehydrate them

1. Evaluator Has anyone told you you drink to much or been worried about you Me: No I drink much less than my friends

Evaluator what about your girlfriend? Me: well she actually doesn’t drink at all she doesn’t like it. She often buys me beer for The Weeknd’s tho. One time we went to a movie and she got a little irritated because I waited for beer then complained about them not having any craft beer. So she said, “you couldn’t have just said no” and drank something else. However, she apologized after and said it’s worth waiting if it’s my only day off.
Evaluator said this qualifies for continued drinking despite causing significant relation consequences, ie divorce.

1. Evaluator : you have sleep issues I hear, and your chart says you’ve had depression in the past, don’t you know that alcohol can effect your sleep and mood Me: yes that’s why I never drink within 3 hours of sleep.

Evaluator but you knew this and still drank
Evaluator: qualifies for drinking despite unwanted physical or psychological effects (this should be recurring to effects the alcohol is causing, I have had insomnia sense the age of 10 long before I took my first sip)
7 evaluator you were late for work and told my you had a drink the day before
Me: Yes but I was late because I didn’t sleep and took double my sleeping meds, I will never do that again
Qualifies for 2 significant work or school issues in the past year ( a therapist and other psychologist ensured me that being late on or a few days doesn’t count they typically are getting fired or failing) ( moreover, this would assume I was late do to drinking it’s self and also assume if happened more than once)

1. • Alcohol is often taken in larger amounts or over a longer period than was intended

He never once asked anything related to this question yet said I qualified in his final report 9. A great deal of time is spent in activities necessary to obtain alcohol, use alcohol, or recover from its effects. The evaluators logic here was sense I was late for work and I had 2 beers the day before I must be taking long to recover from it (this is assuming I missed due to alcohol)

1. Tolerance drinking more to require the same effect: this he checked as true in his final note however it was never even discussed in our evaluation. I did mention to him that I’ve been drinking more than I had earlier in the year frequency wise, but they said nothing to do with quantity or needing more.
   
2. Wanting to drink so bad you can not think of anything else: this is the only qualification of SAUD my evaluator said I did not have.
   

Moreover, without legal help I was not aware that I could obtain a second evaluation or even oppose going to get evaluated at all, but that wouldn’t have mattered seeing I still thought this was for my health and wellbeing as seen when I was asked why do you think you are here to today, to which I replayed “so that I can be evaluated to see what is needed to get back to work”.
To maks the ordeal more infuriating the evaluator continues to ingratiate himself and lie through the process telling you, “it will be fine as long as you are 100% honest”, “anything you say in here is between you and me” or “you slipped up once with your meds, I know your residnecy program they will probably just want a few more out patient tests”
Two weeks later I received a phone call right before I left for an out of state vacation to visit my nice for her birthday. During the call I was informed that I would be required to complete a partial hospitalization program (PHP) lasting “6-10 weeks” which would coast from 15-50 grand not including doctor visits or housing which is billed separately. I suppressed this inconvenience, enjoyed my vocation and reported when I returned, knowing that I must complete this soon so I may return to work with due to the fact that my payed time off would soon be diminished. At this time I had not yet heard of the organization PRN.
Chapter 3 Guilty till proven innocent: The diagnosis
Shell shocked I arrived to a in patient psychiatric unit and was rapidly cleared to progress to treatment without detoxification. During my 90 day of forced rehabilitation I met a few other individuals who were unjustly and fraudulently forced into treatment. I began to look up to one of these such members of the men’s community, who I will refer to as patient X for ambiguity sake.
Unlike me patient X did have alcohol use disorder. He spent many clinic days drinking to avoid alcoholic withdraws. The curious component of his story is that he admitted his depravity, saught help and through his own journey became sober. The bodies at be, namely his local physician, Health monitoring program, rejected his personal path to sobriety and forced him to undergo 90 days of in patient treatment before he could practice medicine again. When he checked in to rehab he had been sober for over a year.
Ask for Stories of people from online
As for me I spend many sleepless nights pondering how consuming a legal substance in a moderate amount could throw me into significant legal financial issues. My labs my toxicology, my story and my collateral from colleagues from colleagues all indicated light to moderate alcohol use but my evaluators word stood as the word of God.
More frightening was the director of this rehabs acknowledgment of this. The director who happens to also coincidentally be the evaluator, stated to me as well as to staff on multiple occasions: “ I suggest inpatient treatment for everyone who is reported”. “This is safer for me not to miss anyone who could harm patients, and I figure there must be a reason someone reported them.”
I am still elucidating the reason why I was determined guilty and proven innocent, however I can say from my 90 day stent that the majority of the patients at this rehab needed to be there. This program is saving lives of both providers and patients, however it is destroying the lives of those wrongfully accused.
Chapter 4 your lisense rehab or jail : Upon arivil I was sent to a detox hospital underwent a medical examination and was “one of the lucky ones” who required no detoxification and could report directly to PHP. Like everyone else, I spent 90 days in a PHP, being as 6-10 weeks is simply a lie they tell patients to decrease the change of resisting the treatment. When discussing the topic one therapist sated “if we told patients 90 days they would never come.” She then attempted to justify the treatment by outlining the story of a patient she had called who “didn’t make it to treatment” and killed themselves”. It is my belief that it is not the lack of PHP which impelled such professionals to take their life, but them realizing that they now will be obliged to undergo 90 days of PHP, 5 years of PRN monitoring with a loss of autonomy and hundreds of thousands of dollars taken from them that induced their hopelessness. For even if these professionals were truly mentally unstable in their addictions, in every case it was only following a phone call where they were informed they must undergo treatment that they took their life’s. By this time I still haven’t the slightest clue what PRN was.
Despite the security these programs provide for many my 6 main issues with them can be summarized in : 1. Kick backs: evaluators are directors of treatment clinics 2. The reported are guilty till proven innocent 3. The price, the overflow of money these places drag in from both patients and state universities is appalling, they charge separately for every visit and test 4. Although they make the claim that they are individualized, they are anything but. Every patient gets the same stay and treatment from the doctor drunk on the job and the one who was late to a shift 5. They force voluntary treatment. remember that friendly evaluator who promised he had your best interest at heart, so you opened up and told him everything about your substance use/ developmental / family history, well if you don’t stay for 90 days he will be “normally obliged” to tip the board of medical off to you.

1. The programs have overstepped their intended jurisdiction. -these programs work well if they function how they were intended at their inception. Cite original purpose. Originally these programs were designed to protect physicians and civilians from impaired practitioners; being healthcare workers who were impaired at work. Over the years, these organizations have extended their authority to encompass individuals with substance use disorders When not at work and also those who are in training to become healthcare professionals. Take for example myself compared to a physician who is impaired at work. A doctor who arrived for duty under the influence would surely benifit from the extensive testing, therapy and accountability enforced via these programs. In accordance the 20,000$ per year cost is appropriate when only making up roughly 7% of their yearly salary vs nearly half of a residents. In my case with my loss of income from employment, coast of treatment and monitoring, this year I will be required to pay 20,000$ to work. Yes, I will be losing money to work. Even if did indeed have a substance use disorder this level of monitoring wouldn’t not be considered appropriate.

Dispite all of the miscomings of this System My time spend in PHP was indeed helpful, as I believe it would be for anyone. Time for exercise, a reprieve from work and weekly counseling. A sample structure of my day to day schedule is provided below for insight:
Structure The general structure of these rehabitation centers is as follows: 1. One week of orientation phase, where you are not allowed in electronics or contact with the outside world world. Therefore, if you’re going, bring some things you would like to read or study. 2. In phase 2, you can use your phone however you cannot leave campus. You must stay in the dorm on campus. These shitty 1 room run down apartments with two other roommates will cost you about $1000 a week, they are required for at least four weeks and they are billed separately, no insurance will help you out here. 3. In phase 3 you can commute to campus if you beg your therapist and live very close. Whether you’re on campus or living off-campus, you are allowed to leave up to four hours per day. If you commute, you’ll be required to take a sober link decide you must Breath, alcohol test into every 6 hours. Like everything else in this program you must pay for this separately, a few hundred dollars a week. You advanced to other phases by completing assignments, however, assignments are limited by required built-in time, intrusive, scheduling, and reviewing. Therefore, if you do everything as rapidly as possible phase 1 will take one week phase 2 will take three weeks.
Every day schedule:
7:30: wake up, report to the front desk to inform them that you haven’t ran away yet and take and prescribed medications. They keep all your medications and require that you report to take them; for me this was antidepressants in an attempt to dispel the depression I contracted from being forced into treatment and whatever off label medication they were attempting to treat my ADHD with, since control medications were forbidden.
8 am: community group assessments This consisted of other patients presenting their assignments amongst the large group, on the weekends this was often an hour later and 12 study regularly took the place of assignment presentation.
10 am: process group. This was a two hour group therapy session with 6 to 12 other professionals in a therapist and training or occasionally a licensed mental health therapist.
1 pm: recreation This was generally about an hour of some sober themed craft or activity. Once a week this time slot was used for yoga.
2 pm: this was another time slot used for patients to present assignments as well as for individual therapy sessions. Each patient had one individual therapy session lasting 30 minutes per week.
3pm: This was time allotted to work on assignments or go to the gym on your sex specific scheduled gym day.
5pm: this time was used for guest speakers or another 12 step study group.
6 pm : this was generally an off-campus 12 step group
10 pm: report to the front desk and let them know you still haven’t ran away and take and Medication which are prescribed to take at night, then return to your cot bed in your room with 1-2 other roommates.
I found the community to be one of the most beneficial aspects of the PHP program. I was in a cohort of chill ass professionals of the same occupation who were always there to help each other.
Assignments The curriculum of the PHP consisted of assignment based on every step of the 12th step program. Generally, a patient would be required to complete an assignment on their own, review it with other patients, then faculty and finally present the assignment in front of the whole treatment group. You’re only given one assignment at a time and there are multiple steps to each which all requires scheduling this ensures that no matter how determined a patient is a full 90 days of treatment is required to complete all the assignments.
AA structure -the obsolete nature of AA has been verified in numbers studies, but I will refrain from divulging here and lend that endeavor to Dr. Lance Dodes very thorough discussion on the subject,in “the sober truth “
In all sincerity, if I truely did have a severe use disorder this experience could have been life saving. I only wish I could have used my 50 grand for someone who has spent their life time In addictive without reprieve. My first conversation when I was given my phone back was how I wish my father could be able to attend this PHP.
Chapter 5 reporting and PRN Self reporting What they ask you What you should tell them
There’s a third-party agency called professional resource network. Every state has their own. This agency works as a liaison between you and whatever credentialing service your occupation requires. Essentially they ensure your monitoring after treatment. Stake governments and licensing boards trust them, mainly because they monitor with the highest level of intrusiveness. This alleviates much work for state governments and licensing boards because once an individual is being monitored by a professional resource network, then they are deemed appropriate for duty and no further investigation/litigation needs to occur, as long as the monitored individual completely complies.
Because I was never impaired at work I was never reported to this agency. The general workflow of things someone would report you to professional resource network, then the resource network would contact you, and then you would be required to report for an evaluation at a treatment center, which would inevitably result in a suggestion I’ve treatment at that given treatment center. In my case I was sent to the treatment center without PRN being involved. Thus, two weeks into treatment. I was notified by my therapist that I needed to call PRN and self report. I attempted to resistance given that I did not have a problem and was not individually seeking help. I asked what happened if I didn’t self report. I was told that in order to stay in the treatment program I had to report to PRN. This meant either I report to PRN or I get kicked out of the treatment program and lose my job.
When you report to PRN they will ask you why you are in treatment. They will then list off every substance imaginable, asking you if you have ever tried the substance and when your last use was. Ultimately, they will obtain your discharge information from your treatment center, so it is in your best interest to report only what was found in your biochemical testing. If it wasn’t in your hair, I would argue that you don’t have a use disorder regarding that substance and it’s not relevant. I don’t believe it’s important for them to know that you smoked weed when you were 12.
Chapter 6 The contract:
Before being discharged from a treatment facility, a professional resource network will have you sign a contract. A little known fact which I was oblivious to is that contracts can be negotiated. Though this isn’t it possible, it is highly improbable that you can negotiate your contract since PRN has a power to delay your clearance to return to work.
Contractor almost never personalized, and I have not heard of a contract which is not a five-year agreement. You will sign releases of information so that PRN has access to all of your information which was gathered at the treatment facility. You must have a therapist, psychiatrist, primary care, doctor, and a addiction, medicine psychiatrist. You assign releases of information for all of them. You will be required To commit to: 1. three mutual aid meetings a week which you must log. I log smart recovery meetings. 2. Weekly therapy sessions with an approved mental health therapist from their list 3. Monthly doctors appointments with an addiction medicine psychiatrist 4. Yearly appointments with a primary care physician 5. Monthly appointments with a psychiatrist 6. Daily check-ins on a random drug testing app ( you will agree to weekly urine tests, a peth test 4 times a year, a hair test twice a year and a little caveat that says anything else they deem, clinically reasonable) 7. Quarterly update reports which you are required to obtain from a workplace monitor, therapist, addiction, medicine, psychiatrist, primary care physician and any other doctor you are seeing. 8. You must upload all of your prescriptions into a mobile application every single time you get them refilled and are not allowed to take them until they are approved. 9. Attendance of a PRN group via zoom. This is a local group you are assigned along with other monitored practitioners. There is a fee of roughly 130$ a month to attend this required group. For me all of these requirements coast around 20,000 a year. If you ever have a positive test even if it is the result of contamination from rubbing alcohol or unintentional ingestion of alcohol/ allergy medication your contract will rest to 5 years from the time of positive test. Once your five year contract is completed, you must ask to be released from monitoring. At that point they will search for any reason to keep you under monitoring. This could be dilute urines, daily check ins or a week where you did not attend mutual aid meetings. Every certification and license which you apply for will likely ask you if you were under a monitoring program/ have been treated for substance use. You must give an explanation and check yes. As far as licensing programs are concerned, if you were under the monitoring of PRN, you are safe, however they group practitioners who have had behavioral issues with practitioners who were diverting drugs from work. Therefore, keep in mind that you will be labeled as a sever addict.
7 Back to work and only work. During treatment your only goal is to return to work, however when you return your experience will be drastically distinct from what you remember. For me, I was now working in isolation. Missing six months of my training meant that no other Resident was on the same rotation as me. My coworkers at all formed friend groups. When I returned I was greeted with much concern for my well being. No one would speak to be about my absence, however everyone knew there is only one reason a resident would leave for 6 months then return. My Accdeemic meetings were consisting of attending telling me “I have a target on my back now” and “ I have to preform even better than others” in the light of my time missed. If this wasn’t alienating enough, the majority of Resident events, sponsored by recruiters and my university revolved around alcohol to which I had to give some excuse to why I can not partake with others. I’m fortunate that I do not have an addiction, because these stressful conditions along with the daunting amount of dead and requirements imposed by PRN are enough to make any addict relapse. While I was at treatment, I was in the dative with Samyr stories a physicians whose addictions got the best of them. Physicians who did not make it to treatment, often taking their own life. These stories were presented as a warning. Your addictions will kill you without our treatment was the message. When, in reality I did not hear one story in which the addiction killed physician. Every physician who didn’t make it to treatment took their life after being told they must report to a treatment facility. Perhaps they knew what this entailed and it was not their addiction or getting caught which caused them to end their lives, but the unmanageable and often unreasonable burden that treatment would put on their lives.
9 How to escape So your fucked your in PRN and should be or you should and now your recovered and want to terminated your contract.

1. You ask to be released early done at 1/2 time ( good luck)
2. You have “good reason” (no one has ever been let out of contract because of this reason, the verbiage is far too vague)
3. You serve all your time and they let you out(maybe, as discussed earlier, they would do everything they can to keep you in your contract as long as your practicing)
4. You can’t practice medicine anymore

10 Layer up butter cup : I cannot emphasize the extent to which legal help is required in this process. You much seek it and seek it early. Lawyers can provide many avenues to you early in the process. Once you have committed to treatment, gone for evaluation or are in a PRN contract , this is very little that you or legal help can do. Spend a few thousand dollars when you are accused and save the 20-30,000 later.
After you have been evaluated if you disagree as I did, then this is the process you must undergo. 1. Hire a occupation, defense, lawyer 2. Prove you don’t have an addiction, this is done by having an alternative evaluator with similar credentials state that either you don’t have an addiction or that PRN’s level of monitoring is not medically appropriate ( this will need to be a multi day neuropsychological evaluation, which will cost about $5000). 3. Your lawyer must draft in writing that the medical level of monitoring is not required such as another medical professional and send this to PRN 4. PRN will tattle on you to the board of medicine. 5. The board of medicine will conduct an investigation. 6. At the end or when they believe they have enough reasonable evidence to the board of medicine will suspend your license or claim, you must comply with the PRN contract to practice. 7. At this time your lawyer will defend you in the state court against the board. This is costly but much less than the coast of a 5 year PRN contract 8. If you win you will likely suggest an alternative level of care such as gonna get therapy every week. If you lose, than you wasted a fuck ton of money and are still bound by your PRN contract.
Overall this entire process has coast me Over all coast:
My finances for this year only including PRN and rent are as follows:
120-200$ every week for testing 480-800/ month
65 every week for therapy 195/month
125 every month for PRN group
About 50-69 every month for 2 doctor apts
So at least 745$/month at the lowest
Treatment at the recovery center coast 20,000 for me out of pocket and
I wasn’t payed for 6 months with no FMLA because I am a first year. At the 1 year mark I will have made 26,000 this year after taxes And payed About 29,000 on PRN alone
Rent is 1,000 so that’s 12,000 a year
Just in rent and PRN alone I will be at 26,000- 41,600 -15,600.
I will be in debt by at least 18,000 at the 1 year mark
Coast of treatment center 20,000 (with insurance) For each year of PRN roughly 20,000 Add that to 6 months of attending salary which was delayed due to my treatment time: at least 150,000 Layer coasts along with other evaluations 25,000 Missing 6 months of residency pay 30,000 Coast of 1 year in monitoring: 245,000 Coast of 5 years 325,000
If my case progress to a trail I will require an extra 20,000 in court coasts
Chapter 11 My secondary eval: Dr sushi After I arrived at my treatment center I challenge my evaluation multiple times. Each and every time I was discharged and often accused of alternate mental health/ substance abuse issues to discourage my advances. I was never given the opportunity to undergo alternative assessment, however PRN guidelines state that you can obtain a second option within 7 days of your first. This is a mute point, however, because you will not receive the results of your evaluation until over a week after it is conducted and the second evaluation must be conducted by another PRN hired evaluator of their choosing. During my stay in rehab I contacted PRN multiple times to attempt another evaluation/ legal help. They warned against both stating they were a “waste of money” and “pointless”.
After completing my treatment with the guidance of many addiction, experienced physicians, mental health counselors and psychiatrists recommendations I sought in a secondary evaluation. I chose a highly qualified professional with over 30 years of experience to conduct an extensive neuo psycho social evaluation of me. One that I was sure would be more extensive than the evaluation I received at treatment and more importantly an unbiased evaluation.
The results from my evaluation not only showed that I did not have a substance abuse problem warranting PRN level monitoring, but also that PRN was falling to allow adequate treatment of other conditions such as my ADHD. My evaluation showed my ADHD was not only untreated by PRNs attempt at using non controlled medication, but also in the top 3% most severe presentations of ADHD. My evaluator went on to explain my results by questioning why my treatment center even mandated I undergo neuro cognitive evaluation. The only neurodiverse findings were my IQ, my dyslexia and my ADHD. However, a neuo cognitive examination can be billed separately by treatment centers, therefore they always recommend one.
Chapter 12 Amongst its greed, intrusive nature and faulty accusations, professional recourse network function highly proficiently at the task they were designed to; protective physicians and patients from physicians who are impaired at work. In this domain they save lives, offer second changes and protect the public. When they act beyond their intended jurisdiction by imposing unnecessary monetary demands on practitionersin training, accuse practitioners without proof or act on behavior exemplified outside of a work setting they unjustly and inappropriately attack the week and innocent.
Proposed reform: As a trainee my universities malpractice insurance covers me for mistakes made at work. If a learner mistakenly harms a patient, then the university stands on their behalf. If the learner does something wrong under a teachers direct guidance, then the teacher is at fault. This makes sense logically as well as pragmatically. The state entrusts large amounts of money to hospital systems and universities to train resident physicians. A portion of this money is allocated to malpractice insurance. This should extend to accused impairment.
Suppose a training university was required to cover rehabilitation and monitoring of a resident of whom they claim is impaired. Alternatively they have the option of firing the trainee. This would reduce the number of innocent trainees being accused of impairment, make the process of rehabilitation more fair and provide a better use for tax payer derived dollars, which hospital systems are given to train residents. The truly impaired could still seek help, less false accusations would be made and with the employers having the ability to fire at the moment of impairment, there would be less chance of impairment at work.

My name is Helen, my friend is Hetty and we are both in our 50s. I have a daughter who lives abroad and Hetty has a son who works abroad and a daughter Shona, who is married and lives locally, and who is having a baby very soon. I don’t socialise with Shona, in fact, I very rarely see her, we send birthday cards, and buy each other small gifts. I have always found Shona to be difficult, she is fickle, and always seems to be at odds with someone in her circle of friends. Hetty and her husband, recently bought a new house and invited me and my husband Fran to her housewarming/ barbecue. When Shona arrived at the party with her husband, she said hello to the other guests but barely looked at me and my husband. I was a bit taken aback, but I know she can be difficult, so I ignored it. My husband and I only had a couple of drinks as we were going out early the next day. We stayed mostly in the house, Hetty and her husband mingled and Shona and her husband stayed mostly in the garden. My husband went up stairs to use the bathroom when the incident happened, I was at the sink in the kitchen rinsing some glasses, Hetty and Shona were outside the in the garden when Hetty said to her daughter “ you must ask Helen to your barbecue next week, Fran is working away, you have asked the others, so you can’t leave her out” Shona responded, “I will not be inviting her to my house” I couldn’t believe what I had just heard, before I heard what Hetty’s response was, my mobile started ringing so I had to move away from the window. When my husband came down the stairs, I told him what I had heard, but told him not to say anything. I made my excuses to Hetty, we said goodbye to the other guests, waved to Shona, and made our way home. I have gone over what Shona said, many times and I don’t know why she would say such a thing. As I said before, she can be difficult, but that was beyond rude. I have spoken to Hetty once since that night last week. She knows that something isn’t right, but I don’t know whether she knows, that I heard what was said. How can I carry on as normal with this friendship, after this? If I broach the subject, Hetty will defend her daughter as she has done in the past, even though she knows she has been at fault, and then it will turn into an argument. What do I do now?

(continuation of part 1)

III. Searching for Aerith Beyond FFVII

There were absolutely no answers in Remake or OG (at this point in my research, Rebirth wasn’t released yet), no matter how much I looked; nothing at all hinted at how Cloud could’ve obtained the memories of OG that emerge in Remake as MOTFs. I knew I had to look elsewhere to search for more clues, so I decided to check every piece of media ever released by SE with a mention of Cloud or Aerith in it, digging for hints in the compilation and beyond.
And boy, did I find them.
III. a) Core Worlds and Suspension Worlds
There are a couple of general FF rules that we need to establish before going forward.
It’s important to note that there are multiple realms in which the FF stories take place, each with a different name, history and society. This ensures that all FF stories occur separately, never intercepting or interacting— though they do have creatures like moogles and chocobos in common, as well as concepts like airships, gil, magic and some form of crystal. For simplicity, I will refer to these separate worlds in which the numbered FF games (FFI, FFII, FFIII, etc) occur as “core worlds”.
Characters from different core worlds may appear together in non-numbered FF games, the events of which have no impact on the core world at all: it seems that sometime after a FF character has reached the end of their core world’s plot-line, they may somehow be summoned to far-removed realms where they will face new adventures. I call these far-removed realms “suspension worlds”. One example of a FF game that takes place in a suspension world is Dissidia Final Fantasy, wherein characters from multiple core worlds unite to accomplish a mission as a team.
III. b) Final Fantasy Tactics
First on our list of non-compilation SE games to explore is 1997’s Final Fantasy Tactics (FFT), a game whose plot takes place in the suspension world of Ivalice. Let’s plot out the relevant events, and then analyze!
III. b) i. Fact-Finding
The main character of FFT, Ramza, encounters a brunette flower peddler with Aerith’s iconic, gravity-defying bangs:
\"Aeris\" in FFT's Ivalice
If you choose to buy a flower from her, she express her relief: apparently, business isn’t going well because no one is interested in flowers. The girl wistfully dreams aloud:

“When is my knight in shining armor going to take me away from here...?”

Later, Ramza and his companions encounter a mysterious machine that can summon people from across universes. The machine is activated, and a rather rude young man with spiky blonde hair appears. Cloud claims he used to be in SOLDIER, and says the last thing he remembers is “getting stuck in the current”. He looks to be disoriented and lost, and suffers from piercing headaches. Mere moments after being summoned to Ivalice, Cloud rambles:

“What’s this? My fingers are tingling… My eyes… they’re burning… Stop… stop it [Se]phiroth…”

He dashes out of the room, but not without announcing:

“I must go… must go to that place…”

Outside, Cloud encounters the brunette flower girl Ramza met earlier. She offers Cloud a flower, but he only stares at her wordlessly:

“Flower girl: Buy a flower? Only 1 gil.
Cloud: …
Flower girl: Something wrong? Do I resemble someone?”
Cloud: No… it’s nothing.”

As soon as Cloud leaves, a gang of ruffians surround the flower girl and start harassing her, demanding payment that’s apparently overdue. One of them finally calls her by her name: “Aeris”. He grabs her, insinuating that he might sexually assault her in lieu of payment. Aeris is not strong enough to push him away. That’s when Cloud returns:

“Cloud: Get your hand off her!
Thug: What did you say!?
Cloud: Didn't you hear me? Get your dirty hand off her!
[…]
Cloud, to Aeris: Go… now.”

Aeris heeds Cloud’s advice, fleeing the scene before a fight between Cloud and the thug can break out. After Cloud scares the ruffians off with the help of Ramza and his companions, he speaks once more:

“I lost… something very important… Ever since, I’ve been lost […]. What should I do? What about this pain [?] Must go… to the Promised Land.”

III. b) ii. Fact Analysis
There’s a lot to unpack here, all of which you probably clocked in your head upon reading, but let’s put it down in writing.
While FFT Cloud’s memory is far from perfect, the Aeris he encounters in Ivalice doesn’t recognize him at all. FFVII Ultimania Omega addresses this question without answering it:

“[The flower seller’s] name is Aeris, and she has the same appearance and tone of voice as the Aeris of FFVII. However, when she comes across Cloud, she does not recognize him. Could she really be the same Aerith who appears in FFVII but with memory loss, or is she a completely different character?” (“#4 Proof of Omega”, “FFVII in Other Games”, “Final Fantasy Tactics”, page 560).

Regardless of her unknown identity and inability to recognize Cloud, FFT Aeris’ fantasy of a “knight in shining armor” is quite reminiscent of the flower girl/bodyguard dynamic we’ve come to know and love. Cloud’s armor doesn’t shine, but in my opinion, if you’re looking for the dystopian, corporatocratic equivalent of a knight, you can’t get much closer than a supposed-former-SOLDIER-turned-bodyguard. Additionally, despite his rude and cold attitude toward Ramza’s gang, the urgency with which Cloud swoops in to save the flower girl from the ruffians betrays a softer, warmer side to him: the flower girl/bodyguard dynamic strikes again!
FFT Cloud’s dialogue borrows two lines from the speech OG Cloud makes as Aerith lies dead in his arms (disk 1, chapter 28): “My fingers are tingling. My mouth is dry. My eyes are burning!” and “What are we supposed to do? What about my pain?” You might’ve noticed that this glimpse of grief Cloud experiences in FFT bears a resemblance to the fourth MOTF 4 experienced by Remake Cloud (see section “II. a)”). Could it be that FFT Cloud and Remake Cloud have something in common?
Shortly after being summoned to Ivalice, FFT Cloud declares that he must go to “that place”, a mysterious line that is later elucidated when he tells Ramza that he must go to the Promised Land and find the “very important” thing he’s lost. The Promised Land is the Cetra culture’s afterlife, meaning FFT Cloud is looking for someone who’s died, someone “very important” to him. OG suggests this is none other than Aerith:

“Cait Sith, reading Cloud’s fortune: You will find [what] you pursue. However, you will lose the most precious thing” (disk 1, chapter 16, English translation by Kotaku’s “Let’s Mosey: A Slow Translation of Final Fantasy Seven: Part Eight” by Tim Rogers, 9:42-9:52).

&

“Cloud, after seeing Aerith’s hand reach for him through the Lifestream: … I think I'm beginning to understand.
Tifa: What?
Cloud: An answer from the Planet… the Promised Land... I think I can meet her... there” (disk 3, chapter 3).

Finally, let’s try to understand where on the OG timeline Cloud was summoned to this suspension world from and what he remembers. His comment about getting stuck in a current has to be about the Lifestream; apparently, on top of its atemporal nature, it can act as a conduit to other worlds. One only enters the Lifestream if they’ve somehow fallen into the core of the planet or once they’ve passed away and returned to the planet. Both scenarios merit consideration.
On the one hand, it’s possible that Cloud was summoned to Ivalice after he and Tifa fall into the core of the planet: this point in the FFVII OG timeline occurs after Aerith’s death and shortly before Cloud finds out he was never SOLDIER, which matches the gaps in FFT Cloud’s memory quite well. However, this scenario does not account for the vagueness with which FFT Cloud remembers Aerith and her death. Most importantly, Cloud’s realization that he can find Aerith in the Promised Land occurs much later in the game (FFVII OG, disk 3, chapter 3) than when he falls into the Lifestream with Tifa (FFVII OG, disk 2, chapter 8).
On the other hand, FFT Cloud’s vague yet persistent memories of Aerith suggest that he’s been summoned to Ivalice after his eventual death post-OG, but also that he’s lost quite a large portion of his memories. His incomplete memory loss is likely the result of Cloud’s individuality’s erosion by the Lifestream after death, which we discussed in section “II. a) ii.”. We can therefore surmise that by the time he is summoned to Ivalice from the Lifestream, Cloud has been dead for long enough that the Lifestream eroded a large portion of the memories of his lifetime. This post-death scenario is likelier than the first. The memory of Cloud’s realization that he was never SOLDIER must be gone, which explains why he claims otherwise upon being summoned to Ivalice. Contrastingly, vestiges of Cloud’s OG memories of Aerith cling to his soul, even after others have been wiped clean. Could this be a consequence of their soulmate bond? Could the strength of Cloud’s love and grief for Aerith have made his memories of her stronger and more difficult for the Lifestream to erode? Could it be both?
One thing is clear: Aerith is of fundamental importance to Cloud, even when he can’t quite remember her. In fact, the only other character he remembers and/or mentions in FFT is Sephiroth. It does make sense that the memories of those who have marked one’s soul forevermore would be the most difficult for the Lifestream to erode.
III. c) Dissidia Final Fantasy
The next stop on our travels through suspension worlds is 2008’s Dissidia Final Fantasy! Now strap in, because here’s where things get really serious.
III. c) i. Fact Finding
In the suspension world of Dissidia Final Fantasy (DFF), the goddess of harmony Cosmos and the god of discord Chaos are engaged in a never-ending cycle of conflict. Both deities need warriors to fight on their behalf, so they recruit core world characters into their respective teams by summoning them to DFF. Some of these summoned characters are FFIV’s Cecil, FFVI’s Terra, FFVII’s Sephiroth, FFX’s Tidus, and of course, FFVII’s Cloud. The warriors find themselves in the suspension world of DFF with no memories of their core worlds’ plotlines. However, as the DFF adventure progresses, they are able to recover pieces of their memories here and there. It isn’t clear how much they come to remember. Ultimately, the warriors hope to return home to their core worlds by fighting in this war and seeing to its end.
Cloud is summoned to DFF as a warrior on the side of Chaos, who seeks to destroy all existence. Sephiroth is also on Chaos’ side, meaning the two are teammates despite being enemies in their core world of FFVII. It just so happens that Tifa is a summoned warrior in DFF too, though she’s fighting on Cosmos’ side. Intrigued by her vague familiarity, Sephiroth hypothesizes that killing Tifa will bring back his memories of OG’s plot line: before long, the masamune wielder finds Tifa alone and corners her into a one-on-one fight. Thankfully, Cloud swoops in and saves her before Sephiroth can do any harm. Tifa is thankful for Cloud’s help, though confused that Cloud would elect to assist her and turn against a fellow warrior of Chaos; she doesn’t remember what Sephiroth and Cloud mean to each other in OG. In fact, Tifa doesn’t even remember Cloud’s name or that they share a core world, though Cloud feels somewhat familiar to her. For his part, Cloud at least remembers that Tifa is someone he cares about from his core world. As Tifa thanks Cloud for saving her from Sephiroth, something she says elicits an odd reaction from the warrior of Chaos:

“Tifa: The way you showed up and fought that guy off. It was a pretty cool thing to watch. You were like a hero, charging in to save the girl.
Cloud gasps at her words. She doesn’t notice” (Dissidia 012: Treachery of the Gods, report 5: “Unexpected Fulfillment 2”).

On another note, Cloud knows he will have to fight Tifa once the Cosmos-Chaos conflict comes to a head, as they are on opposing teams. He thinks to himself:

“Once [her] memories return, [she]’ll lose the will to fight just like I have. So... Before that can happen, I have to act...” (Dissidia 012: Treachery of the Gods, report 5: “Unexpected Fulfillment 2”).

In order to end the cycle of the conflict and to avoid fighting Tifa, Cloud decides to try and defeat Chaos himself. Predictably, Cloud is no match for the deity. As he dies, Cloud pleads the following to the goddess Cosmos:

“Cosmos, goddess of harmony. If you can hear me, listen to my plea. I beg you. Save her. Save my friend… Tifa.”

Cosmos hears him and responds immediately:

“Cosmos: An end to this conflict, and a life spared? This is your heart's desire? If your will remains unchanged, I shall bring you here when the battle draws to a close. Cloud. My chosen" (Dissidia 0.13: Treachery of the Gods, report 7: “Unexpected Fulfillment 3”).

Cloud’s wish is granted by Cosmos: the first phase of the conflict ends without Tifa getting hurt, and she is sent away from the suspension world of DFF before the second phase begins. Cloud is saved from death, and Cosmos enlists him into her team of warriors for phase two: this time, Cloud is fighting on the good side.
Now we enter phase two of the war. Cosmos tells her team of ten core world warriors that in order to save the world from Chaos’ destruction, they must collect what she describes as crystals containing the power to persist through darkness. I call these the “DFF crystals”. There are ten DFF crystals in total: one for every warrior in Cosmos’ group to find. To obtain their crystal, each hero must overcome a trial that will confront them with whatever personal struggle they faced in their core world; if they prove themselves worthy, their DFF crystal will appear to them. On one hand, some warriors’ DFF crystals simply take the form of the crystals found in their core world. For example, Onion Knight’s DFF crystal looks to be nothing more than one of FFIII’s elemental crystals, which hold little to no personal significance to him. On the other hand, some warriors’ DFF crystals symbolize something more personal to their respective warriors. For instance, Cecil’s DFF crystal looks to be one of FFIV’s dark crystals, which specifically represent the dichotomy of light and darkness he struggles with in his core world’s plot line. Cosmos describes the quest for the DFF crystals as follows:

“Cosmos: The crystals embody the strength to face despair. With ten gathered, there is hope yet to save the world. The path to your crystal will be perilous... and different for each and every one of you. But you must believe in and follow your own path. Even if you know not where that path leads" (Dissidia 013: Light to All, prologue: “A Final Hope”).

From this exposition, simply keep in mind that: Cloud must find his crystal by overcoming a personal trial, and his crystal may have the appearance of an object in OG that’s important to him.
Once the team is debriefed on their mission, Cloud remains reticent to fight; he doesn’t much like the mysterious nature of this conflict. Not knowing exactly what they’re all fighting for is clearly bothersome to the swordsman, and the idea of thoughtlessly engaging in battles leaves a bad taste in his mouth. Fellow warrior Firion understands that without a reason to fight, Cloud’s heart just isn’t in it. He imparts upon Cloud that he must have a dream he’s fighting to protect, something he wants to see come true, to motivate him to stop Chaos from destroying all existence. Unfortunately, Cloud doesn’t have a dream to preserve, or can’t find one for himself:

“Cloud: I've looked, but I'm still empty-handed. And without a dream, what do you suppose I should do? […] Maybe what I'm looking for... isn't here” (Dissidia 0.13: Light to All, chapter 1: “Beyond Doubt”, “Gateway of Good and Evil”).

Another fellow warrior, Cecil, expresses worry for Cloud, whose response evokes the main theme of FFVII OG:

“Cecil: Everyone's worried, Cloud. But... Do you shoulder a larger concern?
Cloud: Concern... Maybe a sense of loss" (Dissidia 0.13: Light to All, chapter 1: “Beyond Doubt”, “Beyond the Continent”).

Whatever Cloud is looking for “isn’t [there]”, and he feels “a sense of loss”: Cloud’s motivating dream has been lost to him. This is later reasserted in a conversation with Terra, another warrior of Cosmos:

“Terra: And you, Cloud... What's your dream?
Cloud: I've lost mine" (Dissidia 0.13: Light to All, chapter 3: “The Chosen Battle”, “Gateway of True Intent”).

Later, Cloud encounters and fights Sephiroth, who is still a part of Chaos’ team. Sephiroth is defeated, but not before he’s taunted Cloud with his habitual puppet talk. However, Cloud remains strong and refutes Sephiroth’s manipulation, asserting that only he can determine his own path. This must’ve been Cloud’s personal trial, because his crystal appears at that very moment: it is a small, light green orb that looks like materia from his core world. Having pocketed his crystal, Cloud decides he must find his own reason to fight. Interestingly, his search is depicted as intertwined with Fate:

“Cloud: Even if I have my doubts... I have to find my own answer […] Until then, I'll keep fighting.
Narration: The warrior has vowed to keep fighting— and keep fighting he will […]. Etched in destiny, his quest for answers continues on” (Dissidia 0.13: Light to All, chapter 1: “Beyond Doubt”, “Gulg Gateway”).

Later, the nemeses meet again in a segment called “Recurring Tragedy”. Their interactions here are particularly interesting. Sephiroth speaks of making Cloud suffer through despair and pain as though referencing their history together:

"Sephiroth: This disease called hope is eating you alive. The world of suffering was born out of such half-baked ideals.
Cloud: If that's the case, I have to endure the suffering. There's no moving on if I run from it.
Sephiroth: If that is what you wish for, you shall drown in the pain. I'll lead you to true despair. [My] shadow is burned into your heart. We'll meet again, Cloud. I'll keep coming back— as long as you are who you are."
Sephiroth disappears. Cloud looks out into the distance before the scene ends.
“Cloud: No thanks. The one I really want to meet is…” (Dissidia 013: Light to All, epilogue: “Conclusion of a Cycle”, “Recurring Tragedy”).

This final line suggests Cloud has finally found a reason to fight: he wants to meet someone unspecified.
Finally, after the war has ended, we arrive at the final cutscene of DFF. I will let you read the full script, with notes added by me in bold behind the spoiler censors. Please do not read my notes if you do not wish to encounter spoilers for FFI, FFII, FFIII, FFIV, FFV, FFVI, FFVIII, FFIX or FFX:

“[The] heroes are all standing together in a grassy field with a forest behind them. Birds are chirping, the sun is shining brightly, and the wind is blowing gently. The heroes look around them in awe. They're all holding their crystals.
WoL: The battle has come to an end...
Tidus notices that his crystal has begun to emanate a blue glow.>! His crystal is a movie sphere from his core world of FFX: a capsule containing sounds and images that people record for later viewing. Tidus’ crystal likely represents the specific movie sphere recorded by his love interest Yuna, which revealed that she’d loved him from the beginning.!<
Tidus: Gotta go, huh...
The blue glow transfers to him as well. He turns to look at the others
[…] Tidus grins at the others, then turns and runs toward a nearby lake. He leaps into it in a manner reminiscent of [the events] of FFX. He vanishes as he descends toward the lake.
Zidane: We're not vanishing. We're returning—
Zidane is sitting on a tree limb as he says this. His crystal begins to glow gold, as does he. His crystal is shaped like a highly important ‘progenitor of all life’ crystal from his core world of FFIX.
Zidane: — to where we're supposed to be.
Zidane spins around the tree limb with the use of his tail and launches toward the sun. He's lost to view.
A white feather then drifts down from that direction and Squall catches it. The feather is reminiscent of his love Rinoa Heartilly, whose character symbol is a white feather. In fact, Squall’s crystal looks like a mix of his revolver gunblade from FFVIII and Rinoa’s feather motif. [Squall glows blue.]
Squall: Perhaps we can go on a mission together again.
Squall vanishes.
Cloud is then visible, standing in [a] flower field. The flowers are white and yellow. Cloud has his crystal, a light green materia from his core world of FFVII, in hand.
Cloud: [(Chuckles shortly, like a scoff)] Not interested.
Cloud walks off into the flower field, gaining a green glow. He vanishes.
A snowflake then falls into Terra's right hand as her crystal begins to glow pink. The flames drawn on her crystal represent her power, which is connected to the element of fire: her character arc in FFVI.
Terra: I think I've learned how to keep going. Thank you— and take care.
Terra glows pink and then vanishes. Bartz throws a stick. He's glowing pink as well.
Bartz: When you're having the most fun, that's when time always flies. His crystal is the Adamantite from his core world of FFV.
Bartz vanishes.
Cecil: It's mine to pass on—
A moon appears behind Cecil and goes through its phases as he begins to glow blue. His crystal has shadowed and illuminated parts, representing the duality of his character, which is central to his personal arc in his core world of FFIV. It also represents his brother Golbez, who has chosen the darkness. Cecil considers his familial bond with Golbez his guiding light and hopes to be with him someday.
Cecil: — this strength I've gained from everyone.
Cecil vanishes.
Onion Knight hugs his crystal and looks up toward the sky. His crystal is shaped like those found in his core world of FFIII**.**
Onion Knight: Everyone... thank you!
Onion Knight briefly glows blue and then vanishes.
There are wild roses at Firion's feet. He and WoL are looking toward the sky. WoL suddenly begins walking away while Firion looks down and sees the roses.
Firion: This isn't the end. Another dream is waiting to begin.
His crystal is the color of the wild roses that were at the center of his dream and of his motivation to fight Chaos. The roses are also the emblem of the Rebel Army he was a part of in his core world of FFII. His crystal is shaped like Pandaemonium, the final dungeon of his core world story. Firion gains a violet glow and then vanishes.
WoL is walking through the field and then comes to a stop. He's looking at something.
WoL: May the light forever shine upon us.”

As you can see, everyone’s crystal is very important to the story of their core world, and in the cases of at least Tidus, Squall, Terra and Cecil, the crystals represent something very personal. What about Cloud and his crystal, then? What about the dream he lost and the person he wants to meet? Let’s begin analyzing to answer these questions.
III. c) ii. Fact Analysis
Firstly, it’s clear to me that the Cloud that appears in DFF is a post-OG Cloud, given how many plot points from OG he interacts with. I’m reticent to say whether or not this post-OG Cloud is dead like in FFT, as he recovers many of his memories of OG during DFF and there is no evidence of him having passed away and joined the Lifestream.
The second thing I’d like to point out is Cloud’s strange reaction when Tifa compares him to a hero who swoops in and saves the girl from the bad guy. Cloud gasps, indicating that her words mean something to him; the trope Tifa references must therefore be included somewhere in the FFVII OG plot-line. Some of you are surely ahead of me by now, having realized that only the tragic antithesis of this trope appears in OG: Cloud is unable to save Aerith from Sephiroth (disk 1, chapter 28). Whether or not DFF Cloud remembers Aerith herself at this point, it’s clear he recalls the pain and guilt of losing Aerith to Sephiroth.
Next, let’s address Cloud’s lost dream: to meet an unspecified person. It seems Cloud is aware at this point that in OG, he was eternally separated from the person he dreams of meeting. So, who was he separated from in his core world? Who can he never meet again, even if his team of warriors defeats Chaos and Cloud returns to the realm of FFVII? There are a few options —his mother, his father, Zack, Jessie, Biggs, Wedge, and any other person he knew who died—, but the sheer narrative weight that Aerith’s untimely death carries makes it clear who he truly wants to meet. This is corroborated by Cloud’s “I think I can meet her… there” line in OG (disk 3 chapter 3), by FFT Cloud’s search for Aerith during his appearance in Ivalice, and by Cloud’s strange reaction to Tifa’s comparing him to a hero who swoops in and saves the girl from the bad guy. All the available evidence suggests that Cloud’s dream is indeed to reunite with Aerith, and that this dream is “lost” to him because she was killed by Sephiroth (disk 1, chapter 28). This would also explain the title of the DFF segment “Recurring Tragedy”, since as we all know, the ultimate tragedy of FFVII OG is Aerith’s death. Considering Sephiroth was the one to take Aerith away from Cloud, Sephiroth’s threats of drowning him in despair in “Recurring Tragedy” only solidify this interpretation of Cloud’s lost dream.
Finally, we arrive at the ending cutscene. Cosmos’ warriors return to where they belong to try and accomplish whatever dream they held as motivation during the Cosmos-Chaos conflict, each carrying their DFF crystal. Cloud is shown standing in a field of white and yellow flowers and walking deeper into it with a light green materia in hand. Why was a white and yellow flower field chosen to represent DFF Cloud’s dream? The answer is obvious. White and yellow flowers symbolize Aerith: she sold Cloud a yellow blossom upon first meeting him in OG (disk 1, chapter 1), and her yellow and white flowerbed cushioned Cloud’s fall when the two reunited in the Sector 5 church (disk 1, chapter 4). What’s more, we have the iconic credits video of the original cut of Advent Children to refer to, wherein Cloud is seen driving near flower fields. Aerith stands there (3:20), seemingly waiting for him. Here’s what Nomura had to say about this credits scene:

"[...] we filmed the video for the ending credits in Hawaii. There are fields of flowers on both sides of the road, and the colors —yellow and white— are the same as the flowers in Aerith's church […]. With Aerith, 'flowers' have been her image throughout the series” (FFVII Reunion Files, “Countdown to Reunion”, “Stories from CG Production”, page 87).

Even in the Advent Children Complete cut of the film, where Aerith is not shown standing in the field, the flowers and their symbolism of Aerith remain. That being so, it’s more than fair to say that the white and yellow flowers in DFF’s ending cutscene serve as yet another confirmation that Cloud’s dream is to be with Aerith.
With all of this established, we can address the nature of Cloud’s DFF crystal. As we established, every core world has its own version of a crystal, each possessing a distinct appearance, function and meaning. Materia are the crystals of FFVII, so one could be satisfied by the proposition that Cloud’s DFF crystal is simply meant to represent a random materia. However, I think Cloud’s crystal is specifically the White Materia, as it represents Aerith’s sacrifice, her importance to the plot and what she died fighting for. If any one object symbolizes her death, it’s the White Materia; it’s even given closeups during the event (2:33-3:02). Besides, unlike any other materia in FFVII, the White Materia is known to glow a light green when Holy has been activated:

“Bugenhagen: If [the prayer] reaches the planet, the White Materia will begin to glow a pale green” (FFVII OG, disk 2, chapter 15).

Here are pictures of the White Materia in OG and Advent Children, and two pictures of Cloud's DFF crystal (in order) so you can compare for yourself:
https://preview.redd.it/0qtumfeyfq0d1.jpg?width=386&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=3995f010738c83fca0c5842a0564d0a9ad206dfd
https://preview.redd.it/0kj525tzfq0d1.jpg?width=1144&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=575573ef1d2c937635cf569d4a376886a24b384c
Cloud's DFF Crystal
Cloud’s DFF crystal
So far, in both suspension world games we’ve examined (FFT and DFF), Cloud is searching for Aerith. As a final note on DFF, it may interest you to know that codirector of the Remake trilogy Toriyama was actually a writer for DFF: he may have carried some themes from DFF to Remake…
III. d) Detour: The Final Fantasy 30th Anniversary Farewell Exposition
Before we hop onto the next suspension world, let’s return to ours for a quick detour: the 2018 Final Fantasy 30th Anniversary Expo. Themed with farewells and tragedy, this expo showcased the heartbreaking goodbyes featured in different FF games. Artwork, clips, quotes and images aplenty here! As the highly anticipated Remake was going to be coming out approximately a year and a half later, the FFVII section of the expo featured a few sneak peek Remake designs. This means the expo was at least partly curated with the Remake trilogy in mind; there could be interesting material in the FFVII section of the expo related to Remake. Let’s dive in!
Unsurprisingly, the focus of the FFVII section is Cloud and Aerith, since she is the loved one he lost in OG. Zack is also given a mention, however Aerith was the glaringly central star of the show. To showcase how important Aerith’s farewell in particular was to the expo, the FFVII portion was introduced by a photo of Cloud lowering Aerith into her watery grave and a video of her tragic death:
Final Fantasy 30th Anniversary Farewell Exposition, FFVII Introduction
The description under the video screen reads:

“She was gone in the blink of an eye. But the pain never went away.
Aerith awoke the ultimate magic to protect the planet and the people she loved. Yet her life came to a sudden end at the hands of Sephiroth, a man bent on seeing the world destroyed. Even the usually stoic Cloud couldn’t hide his grief at the unexpected death of an irreplaceable companion. ‘My fingers are tingling. My mouth is dry. My eyes are burning.’ True words, revealing Cloud’s deep sorrow” (Final Fantasy 30th Anniversary Exposition).

Conveniently enough for us, the expo’s tagline is “Who is the person you want to meet again?” Given that Aerith holds the spotlight in the FFVII section of the expo, it’s clear who SE is telling us Cloud wants to reunite with. Recall Cloud’s unfinished line in DFF: “The one I really want to meet is..." (Dissidia 013: Light to All, epilogue: “Conclusion of a Cycle”, “Recurring Tragedy”). We theorized that he must be referring to Aerith, and now, we are certain.
The expo also had pamphlet descriptions of the farewells depicted. Here is the general summary of FFVII‘s farewell story according to that pamphlet:

“The story follows the lead character Cloud, but it is the heroine, Aerith, who opens Cloud’s eyes and helps bring him closer to understanding the mystery that is his past. Through her, we draw closer to the truth of the story.
This scene, in which the heroine Aerith is lost, is easily the most shocking and tragic in the story. No one expected to say goodbye to such a major character in the middle of the story. Rumors of a secret way to revive Aerith spread, and it was clear players were having a hard time saying goodbye to her too. Even now, twenty years later, it still feels like a shocking turn of events” (Final Fantasy 30th Anniversary Exposition Pamphlet, page 36).

It’s interesting that SE would mention the rumors of Aerith’s revival circulated by players back in 1997, especially as fans were awaiting Remake’s release…
In light of everything we’ve analyzed so far, it can be said that between FFT (1997) and this farewell expo (2018), SE has consistently demonstrated that reuniting with Aerith is post-OG Cloud’s goal. That’s a period of over two decades— two decades of wishing, seeking, longing in real-world time for this character. This is a huge long-term commitment for SE to make, and you can bet the devs don’t take it lightly. Again and again, once the events of the OG game have ended, Cloud is shown to desire a reunion with Aerith. This ever-present and ever-insistent theme will become very important to us later in this analysis.
(continued in part 3)

TW Self Harm, TW Abuse.
There is a lot to unpack here.
I'm in my low mid 30s. I'm adopted since birth, and I've lived my whole life with my family so far. I have clinical depression and chronic anxiety, to the point of extreme intrusive thoughts and That kind of ideation.
My parents both come from horrible families themselves. Going into the military was a blessed relief for each of them from what I know of their pasts. They met each other, got married, and eventually adopted my siblings and then me.
Mom is a fixer. And regardless of everything that happens, I love her. She has always had my back, always been in my corner, always bent over backwards or fought for me. When I was younger, we used to struggle a bit here and there in regards to some moments, but once we realized how badly the entire family had been ignorant in regards to mental health, and started trying to be willing to talk about our different perspectives while being civil, our connection has never been stronger. Or at least I'd like to say that, and I'd like to keep it that way.
The man who I will keep calling Dad, for lack of a better term... is not the worst man in the world. He paid for things growing up. He's present for a decent amount. We had some bonds over video games and dragon ball and godzilla. There was love there. And Mom has made it clear that love is still there, at least from her point of view. She says he's gotten better, and the problems aren't as frequent, true.
But for me, the negatives have started eclipsing the positives in my memory. Particularly as my problems started manifesting while I struggled with life, and my opinions stopped being so simple. Particularly politically, where they come from a different time, and I couldn't be more opposed to them.
With Mom, we can still talk and honor each other's right to have differences.
With Dad, because of his past and mind, he doesn't do well with opinions that don't match his own. Even when he's being civil, he'll give politician type answers to yes or no questions while never addressing the point. It makes him insufferable to talk to. And he hates being challenged. He gets shouty. He gets angry. He gets threatening.
I'm 6'2, 260lbs of mix between fat and muscle, with 2 permanent injuries and struggling with fitness. He's taller than me, a veteran, a former prison guard, and can still weight lift like double his weight in his old age.
When we've had disagreements, he gets terrifying. Looming over me while yelling with his deep voice; that's his go-to, but sometimes there's violence. Folk needing to wrestle him off me. Him punching me in the face. Chasing me down a hill while I was in crutches and on the phone. Busting down my barricaded door and screaming at me, then holding my dog (18 long years, RIP) by her neck when she (a rescue in and of herself) got between me and him and started barking at him.
The last time Mom and I talked, she mentioned that I shouldn't still be holding these against him, both that it's not good for me and because the relationships would never mend, particularly that I'm not blameless in regards to family drama. But I've never hit anyone. I've never threatened to kill anyone, regardless of the invasive voices. I've never said "I"M GONNA SQUEEZE THE LIFE OUT OF YOU" while pressing my elbow into someone's neck, over a literal quarter.
I sincerely could be being too sensitive about this. It could be me not remembering enough of the good, and still being too bothered by the bad. Mom mentioned me hurting folk as well, so it's not like my emotional outbursts are that much better than his, even if I'm actively trying to deal with mine with antidepressants and trying to acknowledge and understand my behavior, and trying to avoid touchy subjects in general to help keep the peace.
This where I ask AITAH.
Mother's day 2024; I come downstairs, read Mom a poem I came up with, and small talk is made. Eventually Mom jokes to me and my sister (who I also find troubling to talk with because she can be bitchy at times, though never to the point of intimidation and violence) that we should have married for money, not love, so that we'd have an easy life. I reply that I could never do so, particularly because I'm too ugly to do so, and the conversation shifts to recent therapy and my mental health, to which I say I have to battle with my lack of confidence every day.
To which Dad says "[my] problems are [my] choice". To which I start getting heated in the moment, and tell him "No, you're wrong." We both repeat, louder. He assumes his 'rearing Grizzly' stance, yelling "I'M NOT GOING TO ARGUE WITH YOU!", and after Mom tries to use Mother's day to coo him down, makes another scathing comment from the kitchen that I could hear.
I go upstairs, and when Mom follows me, I try to talk about other things. But she's determined to ask me if I hate him. I keep trying to dodge, and beg her not to push me into answering, to which she just confirms the unspoken and walks off.
Fully triggered, I try to leave before I make things worse, but when Dad tries to ask me not to go, I tell him to Fuck Off before just driving. Apparently while I was gone, he punched and broke a door in his rage that he still can't connect to me. And when Mom went to buy a new door, their truck hit a pole. And then when I come back, and she tries to talk to me, I scream at her. (I couldn't handle being told "Oh, it's okay. I don't deserve a mother's day because I didn't birth any of you.") Best. Mother's. Day. Ever.
While I was gone, the family called me almost 30 times. I wanted to leave, to destress, to get this venom in my arms to settle, to not lash out. I ended up calling multiple emergency phone numbers to try to vent. And I tried to go to the arcade to vent. Invasive thoughts about stabbing a family member? Terrible. Thoughts of shooting zombies for a few hours? Much better. But I couldn't at all relax and distract myself as Mom and sister wouldn't stop calling me.
Next day, Mom and I try to talk again. With her wanting me to find forgiveness and peace, even as I both despise him for these lows, and myself for this guilt I feel about the family dynamics. And we fail to reach a resolution, with her depression and my own only making each other worse. Thinking I wouldn't be allowed to leave the house to cooldown, I go upstairs, max out my music, and scream. A bit of floor slamming, but largely screaming as much as I can, to try force out the venom I can feel inside me. Understandably, Mom came up to stop the noise. Unfortunately, that noise was the only think surpressing my worst thoughts, and the feel of venom in my arms. Fortunately, Mom came back quick enough that my first (and hopefully only) scars are largely scratches that will fade. If anything, her pulling the work knife out of my hand knicked those fingers even worse. And understandably, even as her former Marine tried to force more conversation that day, I just remember feeling defeated inside. I contact as much of my support group as I can muster, take a sick day, and go to sleep.
Next morning, my therapist calls me, and we talk. And I share all of my feelings. All of this. Unfortunately, the appointment was later in the morning than normal, family were up and about in the living room, and I didn't realize they were basically all just listening. And they heard. Every. Word. Everything of this. Apparently I reduced Dad to tears, let alone offending everyone else.
For the second time in multiple days, I thought I was going to get kicked out. Mom did offer me my own place, but being trapped with my mixed feelings would make that a complete waste of money and effort. I'm basically just not on speaking terms with the family, and I feel like a Pariah.
To the point where after crying about it for an hour at work, I eventually sucked it up, called Mom, asked Dad to be on speaker, and suggested family counseling, at an attempt at an olive branch.
But isolated in my room away from everyone else (to the point of not even showering, eating, and largely not even touching my computer), and then at my next day of work, I've had time to think. Think about how these lows still keep happening. About how the schism between me and the family has always been growing politically. How previous therapists, emergency numbers, friends, coworkers, and the domestic abuse hotline, all say it's a cycle of (unintentional) abuse. How as is, I wouldn't take back like 90% of what I expressed because it feels true. How he also used to blow up on other people as well. How his senelessness can lead him to yelling at a 2nd Rescue Dog that barks too much. Or sending pictures of Tarantulas to a cousin with extreme mental illness (think drugs in the womb type mental troubles) as just casual texting.
But I also still feel guilty. Even with personality, interest, and political opinions differing, they do still try to care. I've been with them all my life. And it makes me feel horrible when they help by trying to cook or clean or anything, when the interpersonal relationships are so low.
And as much as I reflect on the lows being so unbearably low with him, I can't pretend they've been not as frequent, nor that I grew up 1000x better than how they did. My problems are first world as all hell, and plenty would kill to be as privileged as I am. This can not be understated. I don't think it justifies his behavior, but to say that it makes sense is at least fair.
And I want to stay connected, at least to Mom. And even if my sister and I don't have a really personal feeling relationship, I like being the cool uncle to one of my nephews. Teaching him about video games and sonic and dragon ball has been great. I don't want to let that go.
And as bad as his worsts have been... others don't even have their families. And others still have been hurt even worse by family, or outright thrown out by now, and similar...
So yeah; I know that's a lot to unpack, but I'm so mixed up inside I honestly don't know. AITAH for overreacting to a potentially acceptable level of family drama/not letting go of my lingering grudges and feelings in regards to my father? Or have I noticed a slowing, but still present, cycle of abuse?

Tier List: https://imgur.com/a/8uZCpGy
Oh boy, is this one gonna be a can of worms. Let's dive in headfirst!
"I'll school you in this battle of the baddest Bruce, with your He-Man haircut and your Daisy Dukes." It's an unremarkable line, but the rhythm here is pretty kickass, and I love the choregraphy of Jenner doing stretches in time with the beat, it's a really satisfying visual. "I hear you're good at running, you're just like the Flash. Especially in the 100-meter ditch-your-wife dash." Decent attack. They never fail to use someone getting divorced as material for a diss, do they? Banner looming over his beakers and microscope is a nice visual, and "You turned one gold medal to a lifetime of green; the most overrated athlete anyone's ever seen" is a competent enough attack. "You need to carry fatherhood across that finish line; kept up with the Kardashians but left some kids behind" is, again, a decent enough diss. A lot of material about Jenner's family here; I guess that's to be expected. There's still one or two much more obvious lines of attack to make, but I suppose Banner is just saving his best stuff for the end, right? He certainly wasn't saving it for the end of this verse, in which he just references the fact that he transforms when he gets pissed off without fashioning it into much of an attack or boast. The use of strings in the music here is a really nice touch, although I'd say the green screen effect with Bruce standing in front of those neurons or whatever ain't looking so hot.
Actually, the green screen effects for this battle broadly aren't the best. That stadium Jenner's standing in is looking pretty low-res. "I think you're in your element when you're behaving badly; honestly you're kind of boron when you're happy." It's a corny pun, but the sentiment is true enough. "I'll lap and pass your ass ten different ways. Decathlon athlete blast through you like some gamma rays." This is filler; it's fine, rhythm sounds pretty good, but it's just taking up space. "The truth is there's no truce between the Bruces, you're a drifter being useless, I'm a winner, no excuses!" That's a lot of playing on the same rhyme in a short period of time, and I dig that: truth/truce/Bruces/useless/excuses, hell yeah. I guess some of those aren't proper rhymes so much as, what's the word... assonance, maybe? It's good writing, is the point. The visuals panning in and out of this home gym is a nice touch too, and a nice parallel to Banner's sequence with his lab. "Beatiful women all up on my jock, I got a home gym, check me on the cereal box, Doc!" The rhythm Jenner's spitting here rules, this beat is low-key one of the better ones they've done. It's also a nice boast, and that Wheaties visual is pretty great. "You big green freak, don't try to flex; if it wasn't for your cousin, you'd never have sex!" Okay, this line goes super hard and I think it's one of the most underrated ones in ERB history. AND it's got one of the funniest visuals in the way Jenner pops in on that roller shouting "OHH!" while Banner suffers. That bit lives rent-free in my head. "You're so strong when you get mad, too bad you can't go back to protect your mom from your dad!" Holy fucking SHIT, this goes hard! The flow here kicks all kinds of ass, and we've got a 3x rhyme combo going on with mad/bad/dad; I LOVE odd numbers of rhymes! It's also just an extremely savage low blow. Another line that doesn't get enough credit. Jenner is kicking Banner's ass so far.
One questionable and inadvisable transformation sequence later, The Hulk comes in to spit a few bars. But only a few. "That painted face don't give you class; just one more thing Bruce do for cash!" Interesting argument. "Best thing you make? Kylie ass! She eighteen? Hulk SMASH!!" I do think this is a pretty funny way to reduce Jenner's legacy to Kardashian bullshit, and the Hulk SMASH joke always gets a strong reaction out of people.
Fully transitioned Caitlin Jenner comes in with "That's my teenage daughter, man, I have to forbid this; I'll put a javelin through your jolly green discus." Decent lines. Good way for Caitlin Jenner to brag about her athletic achievements while also throwing a Jolly Green Giant jab in. "Kylie not the kinda girl I'm gonna let you smash on; you'll get the medal without the decathlon!" I like the medeal/metal wordplay here, although Caitlin Jenner dual-wielding pistols and firing them at the Hulk feels extremely out of left field.
"Hulk is Hulk! No identify as man! Me thinks Cait might understand!" Pretty funny line, and Caitlin's reaction is also amusing. "No gender issue; this Jenner issue! Just you being you is enough to diss you!" So that's it, then? They're really not going to bring that one thing up, eh? I feel like that closing line would land a lot better if they did.
"Look I understand that you hate yourself; but you don't need to blame yourself." Oh, huh. That's different. Let's see where this therapy session goes. "You're a tiger, stop trying to tame yourself; you gotta be big enough to contain yourself." Well... I like that she's mixing things up by rhyming with the penultimate word instead of the last word, that's always something. They're clearly going for an angle of Caitlin relating to Bruce and trying to teach him to come to terms with his identity, which is kind of cute, I guess. "Be green, it ain't none of my business!" That line's pretty funny, as is the tea-sipping visual. "But if you think you're looking good in those torn-ass clothes; you're lying, which means you need a new wardrobe!" That's a reference to The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe, which has absolutely nothing to do with this matchup. Feels out of place because of it. And it's not a very strong diss besides, feels like padding. Doubly strange to end her verse on it. "The visions of those shorts kinda scarred me; what'd you just rage at a Barney themed party?" Oh, there's more? Alright. This burn is really lame. Barney jokes? Come aaaaaaaahhhhhn, what are we doing here? That line should have definitely been left on the cutting room floor. "That's probably not something you seen as a child; not one day did you see your daddy smile!" Okay. She already established that Hulk's father was abusive in her first verse, and while it was a powerful blow there, here it feels much more toothless. "Hulk not strong enough to deal with denial! Laying you down easy; that's kitchen tile!" The first line is pretty amusing with how Caitlin imitates The Hulk's speech, but that second line... why? Pretty weaksauce way to finish her performance off, but whatever. Also not a fan of these visuals with the diamonds, feels like they wanted to add some visual flair but couldn't think of a good way to do it so they settled on Caitlin popping out of diamonds which is just odd. "Examine this under your microscope; you've got no neck, but you still fucking choked!" Oh. This verse is still going? Okay. Well, it's a good line. "After battling me, you're gonna always be pissed! So the Hulk will stay forever, neither Bruce will exist!" You know, that's actually a pretty strong closer, but I can't help but feel like it's undercut by just how long that verse was dragging on.
Okay, so. I feel it should be pointed out that there's a lot of people who were always going to hate this battle for making the decision not to attack Caitlin for being trans. Furthermore, the overwhelming sentiment has been that Banner won this; it bears keeping in mind that there's a lot of transphobes out there who were going to say the Hulk won no matter what happened simply because Caitlin is trans. So to that end, I think that a fair amount of the hate this battle gets, and the hate that Caitlin's performance gets, is bullshit. But there are still some big criticisms that need to be made.
So let's be honest: they threw the match for Caitlin. Or at least attempted to. You might still think the Hulk managed to win, but with that insanely long final verse it's pretty clear they tried to make Caitlin the 'canon' winner, as with Thomas Jefferson vs. Frederick Douglass. They did this presumably because it was pride month, and they wanted to say Trans Rights with a trans rapper that gets a positive portrayal. I can get behind that sentiment, but the execution is questionable to say the least.
Like... I'm not trans, but there's some shitty stuff going on here that's easy to see. For one, the cardinal rule that everybody knows is that you're not supposed to misgendedeadname a trans person, and the title of this battle is Bruce Banner vs. Bruce Jenner. So from the get-go, before the video even starts playing, we're getting some mixed signals here. Are we to take from this that they made the tactical decision to go ahead and deadname Caitlin for the sake of the matchup making intuitive sense(what with it obviously being a play on their similar names), and then try and do a hard pivot and make Caitlin win the battle to avoid criticism for that decision? Feels like maybe they could have just not gone with this matchup instead. The whole transformation element also seems dubious, but I could see someone reasonably landing either way on whether that's actually an issue or just silly fun, so I won't go into that.
Another issue to consider: Caitlin Jenner kind of sucks. Most people do not like her. Most TRANS people don't even like her. For one, despite the fact that she's trans, she is a Republican who has made anti-gay marriage comments in the past. The bizarre shittiness of a trans person being like that is a pretty ripe source of material for disses, yet this battle does not bring it up at all. And more notably than that, Caitlin Jenner was famously involved with a manslaughter case, where she was accused of getting someone killed due to negligent driving. It was ultimately determined that there wasn't enough evidence for manslaughter and so she wasn't found guilty(though it's widely believed that this decision was bullshit and she did commit manslaughter), but it's an extremely well-known and controversial factoid and it's insane they didn't have Banner bring up as a diss. If you're going to have a rapper make the case of "Just you being you is enough to diss you", seems like being a trans Republican and quite possibly committing vehicular manslaughter are the two strongest and most obvious points to go with. And yet... nothing. If your goal to make a battle that gives trans people positive representation, then Caitlin Jenner is a pretty poor choice. If you don't want your trans rapper to look like a bad person, then maybe instead of ignoring either elephant in the room, you could just go with some other trans rapper in some other matchup. I get that there aren't a lot of choices for a trans rep with name recognition or ample material to work with, but... the Wachowski sisters are right there. And they've done more to warrant getting in an ERB than Caitlin Jenner anyhow.
Another thing is... why is it a moral imperative that Caitlin win this battle? Sure she's trans, and it's cool to want to give trans people positive representation, but you didn't need to give her an absurdly long verse at the end to do that. You could just give her good writing, refrain from shitting on her just for being trans, and sure, let her have the final word. Then, yes, show the pride flag at the end to say Trans Rights. That's all you had to do. With something like Jefferson v. Douglass the scale-tipping made sense, because it was a slave-owner vs. a slave. Yeah, it's kind of hard for the slave-owner to win that match, and it makes sense to use it as a vehicle to take a firm stand against slavery. But it's not like this battle is Trans Person vs. Transphobe; Bruce Banner isn't some horrible person that must be morally condemned(there's a much stronger case for Caitlin herself), so... why have it play out like this? I think that ironically, by trying to hand the match to Caitlin they wound up getting more hate thrown towards the performance and more people voting against her in polls than there otherwise would have been if they'd just cut out all that excessive padding and given her a solid closing verse. As-is the verse isn't good, the overall quality is dragged down by just how much fluff there is.
In the end, my read on the situation is this: for whatever reason, they really liked the idea of this matchup and wanted to go through with it. They knew that going through with it would necessitate making it Bruce Banner vs. Bruce Jenner at the start, so they bit the bullet on the deadnaming and the conceit for the matchup and did everything they could to mitigate the potential backlash for that, going as soft on Caitlin as possible and giving her a verse that was ridiculously lengthy. People always say "but it's the Hulk, it makes sense he wouldn't say much!" and sure, I can buy that as an excuse as to why Caitlin's verse would be longER than his, but that still doesn't account for why it's as insanely long as it is. In any case... this paragraph is just speculation, I can't know their actual motivations, but I think this is likely what happened.
Anyway... despite all, this battle gets way too much hate. I think Jenner's first verse is really good, and the Hulk is also quite solid for as few lines as he gets. Bruce Banner is a little mediocre and Caitlin's last verse ends up just being a pain in the ass to sit through(could've been good if they cut all the fat and left in the handful of good lines) that's best skipped past on repeat listens. But still... there's some stuff here that is thoroughly enjoyable. I don't think this battle quite manages to be good, but it's got enough going for it that I think it manages to avoid being outright bad. I'm putting this in the top of C tier, because I genuinely think it's more enjoyable than all of the battles that are below it.
It's understandable to say that The Hulk beat Jenner's second verse, but I think her first verse was pretty fire and the highlight of the battle. I say she edges out a win, but a case could be made either way.
Let me end things off by saying this: I once watched this battle with an extremely transphobic relative, and he was pissed off by that "no gender issue, this Jenner issue" line. So even if this battle was a regrettable mistake, at least they did something right.

Memory Transcript Subject: Carlos Jose Rodriguez, Mechanical Engineer, Florida Man
Date [Standardized Human Time]: December 29th, 2136
When Yalga passed out on the couch I sent a message to the family group chat making sure everyone knew of the situation.
I needed to get Yalga into the hospital, but I didn’t want to do it myself. Pyon also needed a sitter, so I was waiting for mom to come back so Salisek and I could focus on Yalga.
Me: Yalga burned herself on the heat pad. We’re taking her to the ER. Mom, could you come home to take care of Pyon.
Mom: WHAT DO YOU MEAN BURNED HERSELF?! We’re coming home!
Tarvik: On our way. We’ll help you take her.
I didn’t want to bother them, but I couldn’t complain. I needed help. While I waited for them to arrive I poured a cool glass of water for Yalga so she could hydrate herself when she gets up. I gently nudged her awake, which made her groan in discomfort as her eyes opened.
“Dad? What’s going on?” She asked weakly. Her voice was a little rough.
“I’m gonna take you to the doctor,” I answered bluntly. “I am aware, you don’t love doctors but these people can help you much better than me. I’ll be with you as much as I can, holding your hand. Can you be brave for me?”
My daughter nodded yes, so I got up and went upstairs to grab something we’re definitely gonna need. I also made sure Salisek got the news. She probably saw through the chat, but I needed to be sure.
I peeked into our room, or at least the room the girls were staying in together. “Honey?” I called the mother of my children. Salisek was cradling Pyon, trying to calm him down. Pyon was holding his teddy tight enough to cause some visible rips and tears. I need to ask mom to fix that later. “How is he?”
Pyon buried his face in Saliseks chest fur, and made some small whining sounds. “He’s scared. We heard Yalga scream and didn’t know what was going on. He soiled himself when he heard Yalga and has been crying for a while now. He only just stopped. He can sense I’m worried too.”
“You changed him right?”
“Yeah, although I didn’t think now was a good time for potty training. What are you getting?”
Salisek followed me to my mom’s room and watched me search around the closet. “Almost a decade ago, my dad was hit by a car. Something about the sensors being screwed up. He’s obviously fine now, but the car didn’t stop just in time so he broke a leg. Thank God that’s all he got. Anyway, he bought a wheelchair and kept it- Aha!”
I freed the simple contraption buried under a mountain of clothes dad considered put away and carried it downstairs.
“We’re gonna need this. It’s gonna be way easier to move Yalga.”
Salisek continued to cradle Pyon, rocking him back and forth, as she talked to me, “What do you need me to do?”
“Stay with Pyon.”
“No.”
“We’re not arguing about this. I need you to stay-”
“Pardon me, could you repeat that!? Have you forgotten that despite that fact we aren’t married yet we both signed as the legal guardians of both Pyon AND Yalga. Or did you want to call your barber for help?”
Hearing Salisek use her angry voice when talking about anything other than Exterminator and Federation bigotry felt like a punch in the gut.I tried to defuse the situation. That worked about as well as it did when dad tried it.
“Hun, that’s not what I mea-”
“MY-” Salisek paused when she remembered she was still carrying Pyon who was looking at her as if she yelled at him. “Oh, I’m so sorry pup just…” She shifted Pyon's position so he could bury his face into her fur to distract her. She softened her voice, but made it stern as steel. “My daughter is in an incredible amount of pain. She is scared, she is tired. I will be there. Pyon will come with, so he can see his sister being taken care of. I. Will. Be. There. For. My. Daughter. Am I clear?”
I help up my hands in defeat. “Okay. We’ll leave as soon as the family gets here.”
Saliseks voice and posture softened. “Okay. Again this time. What can I do?”
Seeing how serious she was, I realized doing this on my own was a stupid idea from the start. “Pack some snacks. I’m not getting overcharged for crappy hospital junk. And while you’re in the kitchen please grab more water for Yalga. I gotta make sure the bandaging is on well and she’s okay.”
“Okay.”
Salisek walked to the kitchen, still carrying Pyon. At times like these, I know I made the right decision marrying her.
“I love you sweetheart!” I called out.
“I love you too hun!” She called back.
I pulled the wheelchair out so Yalga could get in it. I could try and carry her, but unfortunately with her size and weight it would be better to transport her like this. Even if it’s a short distance.
“Daddy,” Yalga called.
“Yeah.”
“Are you and Mommy mad at each other?” She asked innocently. “Did I do something wrong? I heard Mom say my name.”
I knelt down to give my daughter an assuring kiss on her head. “No kiddo. We had a disagreement like all adults. It’s solved now. We still love each other.”
Despite her monotone voice, it couldn’t hide the tears building in her eyes. “Okay.”
I ignored it for the moment because she was probably gonna cry more in a moment. I opened the chair as much as it could go and gave the seat a nice solid pat.
“We’re gonna put you here, then we’re going to the Emergency Room.”
“Do I have to get up?”
“Yeah. You do. Grab my hand. We’ll go slow.”
Yalga held my hand and grasped it tight. I need to remember that she has a very strong grip. To keep her even I used my other hand to push her up from the other side so she didn’t have to do the work.
I’m so glad I go to the gym.
We slowly worked together to lift her up so she could sit straight.
“Ow, ow!”
“I know it hurts. Take your time.”
Once we got her up we had to get her into the chair. I thought about the best way to put her tail. Through the hole in the back? Would it just drag to the ground? Wait!
I went to the side of the couch where there was a thin blanket for me and Salisek when we slept here. If I can tie the blanket on the handles it can keep her tail up without squishing it. I just need to get her on first.
“Okay Princess. Let’s get up. Can you stand?”
“Y-Yeah. Um, Dad?”
Yalga awkwardly clutched her tail. “I need to use the bathroom.”
My eyes darted from the bathroom to the couch and back. “No better time to test the wheelchair.”
[Memory Transcript Time Skip: 40 Minutes]
Even though it was getting late the traffic was still a lot. Once Salisek was ready we both called our parents and they both said that traffic was heavy. With it being the last Saturday of the year, Florida residents and tourists alike were enjoying their day.
We decided to just meet at the ER. The blanket trick for Yalga’s tail worked well and it didn’t hurt too much for her to walk once she got up. However, sitting down hurt her a lot unless it was in the wheelchair. Her tail probably played a factor since it didn’t have a place to sit except on the side when dealing with regular chairs.
Once we got to the hospital I was pleasantly surprised that it wasn’t that packed. Because of increased tourism and parties things can get crowded this time of year. Thankfully that wasn’t the case today. I didn’t want my daughter waiting more than she had too.
When I opened the side door, Yalga was already half up just so she could get into a chair with room for her tail. I helped carry her down and rolled her through the hospital's parking lot.
Salisek was having a difficult time carrying Pyon. He was pretty nervous. “Mawmy, I don wan to gow en.”
I didn’t understand why Pyon was scared but Mawmy was able to calm him down. “It’s okay pup. This place is filled with very nice and smart people who can help your big sister.”
My daughter didn’t say much, instead she looked around the large hospital and took in all the architecture and bright lights at the front. The front and lobby areas were clean and comfortable which helped a little to ease the tensions of anyone going in with something they believe is serious.
I rolled Yalga straight to the front desk and we were greeted by the medical receptionist. “Hello, how may I help you?”
I smiled politely and spoke calmly, “Hello, I’m Carlos Rodriguez and this is my daughter Yalga. She was using a heating pad and unfortunately suffered some burns. I was able to patch her up a little, but the gels and methods we have are for humans so I want to make sure she can heal properly. I would also like a professional to look at other areas of concern dealing with her limbs and back.”
“Any pain, shortness of breath, chest pain, profuse bleeding?”
“Her back usually causes her pain and the burning made it worse.”
She gestured to my fiance and son, “Are those two with you?”
“The tall Venlil woman is Salisek, my fiance, and she’s holding our son Pyon. They came for emotional support and to assist with anything Yalga may need.”
“We’ll get you someone right away. Please wait in the lobby.”
“Thank you.”
I knew they probably wouldn’t rush us in since even though Yalga is in pain, there’s no direct threat to her life. The most they’d do is probably a tetanus shot. I suppose I’ll have to worry if Yalga reacts to needles. I’ll try to calm her down because I could tell Yalga was still tense. I rolled her to a seating area with a TV playing Tom and Jerry.
Peak Fiction
With all the stress Yalga was going through, there’s nothing like cartoon violence to ease the mood. What would also ease the mood is having the family visit which according to a message they just sent, they were already here just finding parking.
Soon everyone entered the hospital and after a quick chat with the receptionist, along with me flagging them down, they joined us in the lobby. Helen and Chalta ran to Yalga the quickest.
“Yalga, are you okay?!” Chalta asked. “We heard your back got hurt!”
Helen was about to tackle Yalga into a hug before I stopped her. “Helen, Yalga isn’t feeling well. Please be careful she’s in a lot of pain.” Helen was visibly worried but still gently gave Yalga a supportive hug.
“Get better soon please.”
Talice and Tarvik were surrounding Salisek, asking questions on how they could help.
“Mom, it’s fine, really.”
“No, it’s not fine. Your father and I are here to help so please be honest with us. We’ll help with anything you need. We’ll take Helen home soon but the moment you need anything we’ll be right there.”
“Why isn’t she seeing a doctor yet? What kind of place is this?!”
Mom went over to Salisek who was still holding Pyon. “I can take him sweetie, get some rest.”
Salisek cradled a stressed Pyon in her arms, “Do you wanna go with Grandma, little pup?”
“Gwandma.”
Salisek gently handed Pyon over to my mother who instantly knew how to calm him down. Salisek fell into the chair next to me. She was pretty exhausted and it was getting late. The stress of everything is what really made her worry. Seeing your child in pain isn’t fun. My father put a hand on each of our shoulders.
“Is everything alright?” he asked.
I looked over to my daughter who was trying to watch the cartoon with her sisters but still had a hard time focusing because of the pain, as evident by her trying to adjust herself. I gave her a tap on her shoulder and mouthed “how are you feeling?”. I could only hear a little whisper, but it was enough to understand she was saying “It still hurts.”
Dad could overhear what we were trying to say and knelt down next to Yalga. “What would you like to do when we leave?”
“I’m a little hungry. Can we go eat later?”
“Of course, anything you want.”
I was grateful for my dad, that we remembered to comfort Yalga in all this. I was so new to everything, not to mention the speed at which everything was happening.
…
Where’s the doctor!
“Carlos Rodriguez,” She called just as my patience was wearing thin. “We’re ready to see you now.”
“Thank you. One moment.”
I quickly talked with my parents and in-laws about who is going home and who is staying. My mom offered to take Pyon home and to tuck him in, Salisek agreed. Talice decided to go with and made sure to bring Chalta and Helen back since they knew they might get bored or cause trouble. Tarvik and Dad were conversing for a bit about who should stay before settling on Dad since he’s more familiar with the hospital.
Salisek gave Pyon a strong nose nuzzle, “I’ll see you later, okay Pyon? Mommy will be home soon. Be good to grandma, okay?”
“Owkay Mawmy.”
“I love you.”
“I wuv yu tu.”
Helen and Chalta gave Yalga a big, but gentle, hug.
“Get better soon.”
“We’ll play lots of games together when you get back.”
Everyone quickly said their goodbyes so it was just me, Yalga, Salisek, and Dad. We followed the nurse to a room and were asked to wait until the doctor arrived. Yalga was really on edge.
“Dad, are you gonna tell Odin about me?”
“It hasn’t crossed our minds. Do you want us to call him so you can talk for a bit?”
“No thank you, I don’t want him to worry.” My daughter fidgeted with her claws in shame. She didn’t want Odin to see her hurt. The moment she’s okay, I’m planning a date for her and Odin. With chaperones of course. “Are the doctors here nice?” Yalga asked nervously.
“Of course they are, Princess. Just answer honestly and they’ll help you get better.”
They’ll help you get better… I hope.
[Memory Transcript Time Skip: 60 Minutes]
“So the spray will help heal and clean the burn so it doesn’t get sick?” Yalga asked curiously.
“That’s right,” Dr. Brown stated. “Soon we’ll give you a small shot to help protect against tetanus. It’s a very dangerous condition that can happen when you get a cut or burn. But you’re being very brave, I’ll see if we can get you a treat later. That is, if your parents are okay with it.”
“gasp Can I daddy?! Pleeeeeeease, I’ve been soooo good.”
I smiled brightly, “Of course you can.”
Dr. Brown was a huge blessing. The guy had been working with kids for a while and was great with Yalga. He was really good at relaxing her and explaining to her what was going on. He was honest and genuine. Salisek really liked him too, and even asked some questions herself. I also remembered him during my reckless years. He recognized me too.
“You’re daddy was quite the troublemaker back in his day.”
“Really?”
“Yup, when he was small he proudly came to me with a broken wrist.”
“Why would he be proud of that?”
“He got it trying to impress his crush.”
Seven-year-old me told you that in confidence.
I awkwardly looked at Salisek, but all she could do was stare and slowly smile while turning to my dad for more information.
“Do you happen to know the full story, dad?” Salisek teased.
“Well daughter, Carlos had a small crush on this girl named Jessica in the second grade and he tried to impress her by jumping off the swing set. He succeeded and flung himself so far into the air that when he landed on his wrist he needed a cast for months.”
“H-Hey! You laugh but it worked. She sat next to me at lunch and gave me her lunchables, that’s like… the pinnacle of love in second grade.”
I earned a laugh from everyone in the room, which almost made me forget that it was at my expense.
“Um, what is a lunchable?” Dr. Triva asked. She was a Zurulian working with Dr. Brown, trying to work with and understand the Arxur biology. While she was important in treating Yalga’s burn with her experience with Harchen Exterminators she would be even more important in trying to understand her condition as a whole. Zurulians have the best medical understanding compared to… pretty much everyone.
“It’s a children’s meal kit for both vegan and non-vegan foods, it’s popular for kids in school lunches.” Dr. Brown took his eyes off his colleague and gave me a sly look. “But let’s be honest, there was never any real meat in those things.”
Yalga’s interests also peaked. “Were they tasty?”
“Back in my day they were the best part of school. They were also a status symbol. Having the best lunchables meant you were the coolest kid.”
“What was the best one, Daddy?”
“Pizza.”
Of course it was pizza. It’s always pizza.
Pizza is God’s gift to the world.
Dr. Triva grabbed the syringe for the shot while Dr. Brown prepped the area. The sight of the needle made Yalga nervous.
“D-Daddy, do we have to…”
“Hey Princess, look at this.”
Yalga took her gaze off the needle and onto my phone where I showed her my favorite distraction.
[Behold Distraction]
“What is that?” Yalga asked. “I like the sounds.”
The legend Zach Choi, his legacy continued by his descendants, loved making short videos of him just cooking. This one was one of the rare ones that didn’t feature meat. Yalga was fully entranced into the process that she didn’t even react to the needle or the bandaid.
“Good job my beautiful pup!” Salisek cheered.
“Yeah… in a minute, mom.”
Dr. Brown chuckled, “I think I should start using those for nervous patients, right Dr. Triva?”
“Yeah… in a minute, Dr. Brown.”
I took my phone away before everyone forgot why they were here and we were ready to proceed. The doctors wanted to really get a look at Yalga and her condition. On the promise of peanut butter cookies and meat lovers pizza Yalga bravely went through all the X-Ray’s, bloodwork, medical history, and any other examinations they needed.
It took a while and she was starting to get frustrated with all the tests, but she persisted, and soon it was over. They allowed us to stay the night to monitor the burn area in case complications arose. So we all stayed in the hospital room, enjoying our time together as if it was a little adventure.
“Mommy look, the bed moves!”
“Pup, please don’t break it.”
Yalga went crazy when she saw how many buttons the hospital bed had, and needless to say, she was enjoying it. She kept Dad occupied with all her questions both about the hospital and about anything else her mind could think of. She was happy to be done with the tests.
“Grandpa, do you think they’ll let me see my bone pictures later?”
“Sure, but they need someone who is trained to look at them first and show them to the doctors.”
“There’s someone who knows how to look at pictures of bones?”
“Yup, they can see things we can because they’re bone smart. Do you wanna be a doctor when you grow up?”
“I dunno. Maybe I can be a doctor for bones, a bone doctor!”
It was nice seeing her happy, but Salisek and I were still worried about what they would find. What would it take to heal Yalga? Could they do it? I think so, but how long will it take? I don’t care about the financial cost, I care about the physical and mental toll it would take on Yalga. But would we have a choice?
I looked to my fiance who was rapidly tapping her foot onto the ground, impatiently waiting for the doctor to come back in and give us the news on Yalga’s condition.
“It can’t be that bad right?” she whispered. “With aid from the Zurualians they must have a way to easily fix Yalga’s condition. So what’s taking them so long?”
“They’re probably just double checking some things. I’m sure it’s nothing.” I could tell she was still stressed, so I held her hand and kissed her cheek. “Our daughter will be fine.”
Salisek tried to keep herself from crying for Yalga’s sake, but had the doctors not finally arrived she might’ve broken.
“Carlos, Salisek? You’re the parents correct?” Dr. Trivia asked. “I’ll just need to see you both very quickly to discuss some things.”
Finally ready for some answers we quickly got up, kissed our baby goodbye for now, and followed the Zurulian to a small room with Dr. Brown.
“Mr. Rodriguez and Mrs., do you prefer to be called Salisek or are you fine with adopting Mrs. Rodriguez?” The doctor politely asked.
“I’m fine with either, but I would like to get used to Mrs. Rodriguez.” I could feel her hand strengthen her grip in mine.
“Wonderful,” Dr. Brown took out a small folder that showed some of Yalga’s X-Rays, notes, and documents. “First things first, your daughter's burns should heal very soon.”
“Courtesy of Zurulian medicine and Harchen Exterminator Accidents.”
“Yes, thank you Dr. Triva. But of course this is not the only information you wanted to know about. The condition of your daughter is concerning. Not only because of the condition of her injuries, but also her condition that allows her body to grow at an exaggerated rate.”
Dr. Triva put the X-Ray slides on a projector for us to see. Seeing Yalga’s bones and how badly they were broken made my stomach turn, and my heart sink. I could hear Salisek’s gasp from how shocked she was.
It looked like a child had rearranged the right side of her body like a poorly constructed jigsaw puzzle. What made things worse was that the other side of her body looked nearly untouched meaning we could see all the damage her sperm donor did. I know how it felt to have broken a few bones as a kid. Her life would’ve been torture for me. I have know idea how she could live like that.
Why didn’t I take her here the moment we got home? How long has she been suffering like this?
“As you can see the limbs that didn’t grow as much were the ones that were injured the most. Trauma can be a factor in how limbs develop,” Dr. Triva explained. “You can see here how the bones didn’t heal correctly. Upon questioning your daughter it’s no question her back holds the most problems, but looking at her arms and legs it’s possible they’re also providing an incredible amount of discomfort and pain.”
Salisek wrapped her tail around my leg nervously. “So, what does this mean?”
“It means,” Dr. Brown continued. “That before we even think about her back we should address what’s going on in the rest of her body. If you look at her pelvic bone you can see it isn’t straight due to her walking on uneven legs for lord knows how long. So we think it would be best to first start realigning the bones as well as doing the appropriate extensions. My only concern is that her accelerated growth may cause complications, so she’ll need to visit here frequently.”
My fiance’s grip tightened as she looked deeper into the X-Rays, “I see. How long will it take for her to recover?”
“Several months, due to the severity of it. We can do the arms and legs separately, but that would be up to you. There’s a possibility it could take longer. We just can’t be certain with her growth, but we’ll have experts working round the clock on her case.”
“I-I see. But you can help her right?”
“We will do all within our power to make sure your daughter is healthy and lives a pain free life.
“Thank you… could you give us a moment. We would like to let our daughter know about it before we make arrangements.”
“Of course. Please let us know when you’re ready.”
We politely walked out of the room and turned around the corner away from where Yalga was.
“Honey?” I asked. “Is everything okay?”
I almost fell over when she pulled me in for a hug. I could barely hear her through her bleats and cry’s. “Look at what that monster did to her.”
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