TW: drug addiction, crime
I think this situation would even give someone anxiety who doesn’t already suffer from severe anxiety but I can’t shake it. Apologies for the novel but it is worth the read.
Here’s what happened, buckle in: I was housesitting for my parents/watching my 4 yr old niece who they have custody of while they were out of the country last week. 2 of my brothers live there, I will call them S and M. S is an addict, M is in his early 20s and works for my dads company so he still lives at home. On Monday evening, my oldest brother who is also my nieces father (who is staying there because he needs a fixed address while awaiting jail sentencing for some things he did while living on the streets), had a hooker over at my parents house. His reasoning is that his sentencing was the next day and he wanted to “get some” before going away for 5+ years. Well he decided not to pay her for whatever fucking reason. Cue this girl freaking the fuck out, screaming in English and Spanish that S was going to die. I was in my parents bedroom on the other side of the house trying to get my niece to sleep and we heard it. My fiancée grabbed our two dogs and ran into the bedroom with us and locked the door. My brother M’s room is in the basement (we were all on the top floor) so he woke up from his sleep, and ran upstairs to see wtf all the yelling was about. At the same time as him running up the stairs, the hookers pimp kicked down my parents front door. M just happened to be in the wrong place and the wrong time. The pimp thought he was S, and proceeded to beat the shit out of my poor brother. All the while me and my fiancée were hiding in my parents bedroom. I didn’t know this was happening, and even though im a 5 foot 6 130 lb woman I would have at least tried to get him to stop. S on the other hand just stood there and let his younger brother get the shit kicked out of him by a pimp because of something he did. M’s fight or flight kicked in, and he had the wherewithal to dive between the pimps legs and out the front door, ran into the backyard, and called me back. I had been trying to call him over and over and over just to see if he knew wtf the yelling was about. Come to find out my poor brother could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket while getting beat up. Finally he answered and he was panting so hard and just said call the cops over and over and hung up. I didn’t know if he’d been stabbed or what. I ran to him outside and I called the police and 4 cruisers and an ambulance showed up. M is extremely shaken up but he’s okay, only because he rolled up in a ball and then got away. My niece was awake the entire time because my dogs were going NUTS but she luckily has no idea what happened. S is not remorseful, I don’t even think M got a sincere apology. The police wouldn’t take S because they had nothing to take him on. I went to his sentencing with him the following day (not for him, for my parents) and of course it got postponed for the 1000th time. Gotta love the justice system. My parents are home now and they didn’t kick S out. I just cannot shake the anxiety, I feel lost knowing that M and my niece still have to live with S. if I had the means, I would take them both out in a heartbeat. I guess I just needed to vent. I have therapy next week. But I haven’t been able to sleep more than a few hours since.
I wish this story was fake, but this is my fucked up family.

I F16 and my best friend F18 have been spending a lot of time together recently and the more i’ve been in her company i realized my feelings for her (Just to clear any misunderstandings Im turning 17 in July and she turned 18 in March) I realized how often i missed her company when she would leave and how i always wanna touch and be near her. Mind you we have a very hands on kind of friendship we aren’t explicit or anything js holdin hands, hugging, we even went to sleep together and cuddled recently we have been more intimate with our physical touch i have been caressing her thighs nd touchin her butt every once inna while i have asked her so everything ive done to this point was consensual and she has been reciprocating my energy and recently ive been wanting to kiss her ive never actually attempted but it has crossed my mind multiple times and im not sure what I should do because she’s also currently talkin to someone i consider a friend she confides in me about them so I know their situation at the moment is being questioned by her and she doesn’t know if she wants to continue talkin to him i havent gave my opinion on what she should do because i dont want to seem biased. Yes i’m aware of the fact we are both female i am openly bisexual and she is as well she also recently got out of a wlw relationship so im not sure if she even wants to be in a relationship with another female after her last. so should I tell her or just continue as is?

“It’s bird shit,” Bill began, squatting down closer to the strange milky glob in the middle of the old parking lot. The other kids in the circle didn’t seem so sure. “Or… I don’t know, candle wax, maybe?”
“Who’d bother dumping a melted candle in the middle of an abandoned lot, genius?” Mumbled Steve, particularly irritable as he was that day. Things weren’t good for him at home. They never were.
“Well, gee, asshole, I’m not quite sure. Where was your mom last night?” Bill’s quip failed to land, and he couldn’t help but feel like an idiot in front of the girls as Steve cocked his head, taking some offense despite the dumbness of the remark.
“What does that even mean?” Steve had begun to laugh, picking up on Bill’s embarrassment.
“It means ‘shut up’. That’s what it means…”
Bill had stood again reflexively with the regrettable insult but had stooped down to inspect the mysterious glob once more. It had started to pulse minutely, a vague shimmering incandescence rising from within.
“Ew, what’s it doing?” Said one of the girls who’d shown up to see why the pair of pre-teens had gathered there in the lot across the street from her house. Her friend was visibly trying not to gag.
“Spiv, quick, gimme your pen…” Bill reached a hand out to Steve, eyes never moving from the ground.
“No way, it’s not going in that... And I told you to stop calling me, ‘Spiv’, for fuck’s sake. It’s-”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Just hand it over, Steve. Please. I’ll buy you a new one if it means that goddamn much to you.”
Steve grimaced as he pulled the black Sharpie from his jacket pocket, eyeing it forlornly as if it somehow held some unsaid sentimental value to him. He tossed it over to Bill, who immediately began poking at the glob softly. It seemed to react to the prods, as if alive, and in pain; a slight heat detectable beyond the plastic instrument, creeping its way up his arm.
“Woah…” Bill was fascinated by it. Football fanatic that he was known as around school, Bill secretly harbored a natural scientific curiosity that he’d never dare tell the others about. He was just about to get back to his feet and run home for a Tupperware dish in order to take a sample when one of the girls vomited on the jagged, broken concrete.
“I think… I think we should go tell an adult…” She managed to croke after the last of it had escaped her. “I think we should-”
The glob shifted violently, awakened, as it started to crawl its slug-like mass towards the horrified girl’s vomit pooled in the cracks by her feet. She took off running, screaming, as did her friend. Steve also fled, leaving Bill there alone as he called after them.
“Wait!” He yelled, but they were already gone. “Shit…”
The glob had begun to feast on the vomit with long, pulling sucks. Bill had to think fast.
“Don’t you move, lil guy…” He broke into a sprint, running the distance home in record time as he frantically yanked various plastic and glass vessels from his kitchen cupboards, but by the time he returned to that spot there on the old vacant lot, the glob had disappeared. There was no trace of it to be seen anywhere. Bill sighed, letting the plastic container, gloves and the pair of tongs he had brought fall to the ground as he sat, legs in a basket, wondering what had just happened and if anybody besides his friends would ever believe him.
He cursed them for running away. They should have stayed to keep watch, but, in the pit of his gut, Bill knew that he couldn’t really blame them all that much. It was uncanny, after all. But Bill hadn’t been afraid. He was curious. Intensely so. Even now, all these years later, Bill still finds himself going back there whenever he comes to town to see his folks and those friends who have all but forgotten what they saw that day. He sits there, legs crossed as the sun sets over the distant hills, and he waits. He waits for the glob, hoping that, somehow, he might see it again; so that he can finally know for sure that it wasn’t all just some crazy dream.

A brand new chapter! And this time we get to meet a member of Davey's family. I hope it doesn't end up being to humiliating for anyone......
Visit my mother? At work? In a fever dream I barely remembered getting into the car with the Smith family. We made the short drive across town and pulled up outside “Hoots”. The neon sign flickered, which mimicked a crude depiction of female breasts. The place always made me feel uncomfortable. When we walked in, I suddenly thought otherwise. It wasn’t really as scummy as I remember I guess. Most of the 20-something waitresses had on quite short shorts still, and revealing tops, but nothing overly obscene. I looked over at the Smiths and they seemed to be taking it all in stride, giggling at everything. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. Mr. Smith seemed unphased as he talked to the gorgeous hostess. She seemed to beam at his good looks and confident smile. “Miriam’s section, please” he said. The hostess twirled her hair and looked up dreamily at him. “Right this way, sir.”
Mr. and Mrs. Smith sat on 1 side of the booth, as I sat in between Ashley and Liz. As the family got used to the the somewhat promiscuously dressed 20 year olds, Mrs. Smith finally pointed my mother out. “Oh, that’s her there! Right Davey!?"
We all looked over where she pointed. My mother stood holding a small stack of dirty plates. Her uniform was the same as the other girls, but different. In addition to being the only woman there over 30, her outfit was shorter somehow. Trashier. It only emphasized that she was aging out of her 40’s and no longer maintained her youth the same as the rest of the staff. The table of gruff men she was talking to seemed to laugh at her while also stealing little rubs and grabs of her upper thigh, hips and even swatted her protruding backside. She tried to keep the grabby hands at bay with a pleading smile plastered across her face.
She set the plates down in the kitchen in the back, then hurried back over and returned as the men were just leaving. They threw couple bucks down, but missed the table as the crumpled dollars fell to the floor. As she got down on her knees to retrieve the dollars off the sticky floor, I heard Liz snort/laugh again and muttered out “jesus…I guess it’s genetic, huh Davey?”. Mrs. Smith called over “Miriam! Hello dear! We’re ready for orders when you're done down there.”
My mother scurried over as she wiped her hands on her tiny apron. “Mrs. Smith! Such a pleasure to see you here! And you brought the whole family! It has been so long since the PTA meeting. Such a, well, such a pleasant surprise. You look amazing!”
“Why thank you Miriam. I’ll tell my botox lady you think so!” she responded with a laugh. "And look who we brought here…” she gestured over to me. I looked up briefly “Um, uh, h-hi mom”.
“David! I, um, I wasn’t expecting you.” It was as if she was suddenly aware of how exposed she was.
“Look at this, Hank!”, Mrs. Smith said grabbing her husband’s attention, “this is what I was talking about. How is a woman supposed to have any self respect traipsing around in this!” Mrs. Smith found her sense of justice again. “Look at her! At her age, showing this much! How embarrassing!”
My mother as if on cue, turned a deep shade of red. I thought about sticking up for her. But what could I ever say. Maybe if I waited patiently, Ashley would maybe speak up for me. I had picked up a habit of hiding behind Ashley and waiting for her opinion. She always seemed to know just what to say!
Mr. Smith leaned forward with a grin, but spoke with sympathy dripping from his voice. “Yes, it’s just terrible. The other girls seem to be more, well, dignified in their attire though…”
“Yes,” my mother meekly replied back, “well, the other girls fit into the size small and maybe a few medium. I have to wear the large size, and well, they're from before they updated the store policy and implemented less-revealing uniforms. I put in my request for a “large" in the new uniforms though! My manager says it’s on backorder!”
Mr. Smith smiled wide at her “Well that’s fantastic then. Honestly, those shorts still look a little tight, but I’m sure that’s not bad for business”.
"It’s just disgusting is what it is!” Mrs. Smith continued. Look here,” she reached up grabbing my mother’s uniform strap and tugging it making my mother’s chest rise and fall with a jiggle "No support at all. She looks like she belongs in some seedy brothel; not a restaurant. I get the joke is it’s supposed to be a little crude in humor, but just look at this!” She pulled the strap a few more times causing her chest to shake heavily as the table let out a brief laugh. I shifted my eyes to the ground. Mrs. Smith then blatantly grabbed the waistband of my mother's tight fitting bright spandex shorts. "Ugh, and these are so tight still. You really should request an 'Extra Large', dear. I don’t think these are meant for 45 year old women…”
I wanted so desperately for my mother to stand up for herself. But all that came out of her mouth was "Y-yes well, hopefully when the, uh, the new uniform comes in, I can-”
“Turn around Miriam” Mrs. Smith said stopping my mom in her tracks. “I want to see the back…”
There was a brief moment of hesitation in my mother. I thought this would be where she stood her ground. But then she momentarily locked eyes with Mrs. Smith, who just returned an expectant look.
“Y-yes Mrs. Smith” my mother half said in a question, half not wanting to disobey a customer. She slowly turned around, revealing her unnecessarily “on display” backside tucked into bright colored booty shorts.
“Ugh, these shorts! She looks like some truck station hooker, Hank! Can’t you speak to someone from your golf club about this!”
Just then a pretty, early 20’s, blonde marched over. I was relieved to see this angel come to put us out of our misery. Perhaps she might even talk to Mrs. Smith about touching staff like that!
“Miriam! I said I needed my last table bussed 5 min ago! Get your head out of your tits and stop bothering the customers. Just take their order and get out of the way!” she barely broke stride as she confidently passed. My mother quickly got very nervous and called back “Y-yes Miss Hawkins! R-Right away!”
The smiths all seemed to gleam at my mother as she now nervously fidgeted in place. “S-sorry about that. Miss Hawkins is my new manager. She um, she has a tendency to not allow me to keep my tips if I screw up too much on shift."
"Well I think it’s great you have such a strong leader here, Miriam” Mr. Smith responded. "You can learn a lot from her!”
“Oh I absolutely agree, dear!” Mrs. Smith joined in, “someone like you and our sweet davey here can really flourish under a strong leader. I’ve always said, ’no such thing as a stupid dog. They just need the right owner to train them’. Isn’t that right, Davey?”
I looked up from my shoes for the 1st time and stuttered out my agreeance. “Y-yes Ma’am, um, Mrs. Smith, Ma’am. A d-dog is nothing w-without a strong owner, M-Ma’am." I don’t know why, but I quickly looked back at Ashley to make sure I said the right thing. Her warm smile and approving head shake made my nerves ease slightly.
“Y-yes, well, can I get you anything?", my mother asked. “I really should go clean Miss Hawkins' table before she gets upset with me again."
“We won’t keep you Miriam. We actually stopped by to see if we can ask you if Davey here can join us for our beach trip.”
My mother was barely listening now. Apparently urgent to bus her manager’s old table before getting reprimanded again. While looking over her shoulder “W-what? You want David to…? Wh-where again? Oh, uh, Y-yes, that’s fine whatever you think is best, Mrs. Smith!”
“Oh perfect! We’ll make sure he stays plenty active! Lots to be done! Oh, and we’ll start with a round of sodas, Miriam. Oh, and the chips and guac!”
“Y-yes Mrs Smith. Right away!”
For whatever reason, I felt a pang of dejection and humiliation. My mother barely asked any follow-up questions. Instead she was nervous about being in trouble with “Miss Hawkins” again, who looked like she was barely out of high school herself, and already had my mother dressed like a joke and trembling at her commands. And the way Mr. and Mrs. Smith talked to my mother! Then I felt Ashley’s leg brush up against mine as she giggled along to whatever story Mr. Smith now told the table as the rest laughed along in amusement. In my humiliation, I suddenly felt grounded. I now get a romantic beach trip with Ashley!
The rest of the meal felt like an out of body experience. I was mostly ignored as the family enjoyed their meal. The Smith family ate their food, as I tried to laugh along as if I was in on their private jokes. I picked at my side salad, no dressing. I wanted a burger like Liz and her father had ordered, but Ashley doesn’t like when I eat any foods she thinks are too fatty or might make me too full. She says it makes me “less eager to please”.
Liz made several comments about how good her burger was. It made my stomach loudly grumble, which she smirked at. As we were walking out Mrs. Smith point out my mother by the side door. She was talking with “Miss Hawkins” again. She suggested I go say goodbye to my mother as the rest of the Smiths made their way outside. I didn’t want to interrupt my mother’s conversation and hoped to save us both some humiliation, but Ashley jumped at the chance, thinking it was a great idea. She grabbed my hand and confidently pulled me forward. I resisted ever so slightly at 1st before she gave a slight pull and I looked down as my eyes caught site of her firm buttucks rolling back and forth in her black yoga pants. My thoughts felt cloudy and suddenly my mind seemed to glaze over. It suddenly felt really, really good to follow her. As we walked up I heard the conversation between my mom and the probably 21 year old manager. Miss Hawkins stood with her arms crossed as stared down my mother, who stood before her with her eyes cast firmly on the ground as she nervously shifted her feet.
“Well, what did I tell you about cleaning my tables the SECOND they get up to leave?” Miss Hawkins asked aggressively.
“I-i’m sorry Miss Hawkins, I tried but I-“
“Do I look like I’m interested in your dumb excuses, Miriam. Let’s go. That’s another demerit. Hand it over…” Miss Hawkins said with her hand on her hip, and the other outstretched. She had a hard, expectant look on her face, daring my mother challenge her.
I watched my mother take the few dollars she clung to and slowly put them in the bratty blonde’s hand. I was glad my mom kept her eyes on the ground. It was probably best she didnt have to see the smirk that crept across her tormentor’s perfectly glossy lips.
“OH EM GEE, April!?” Ashley said as we walked up.
Miss Hawkins turned to us and after a breif second said “Ashley!? Holy shit. From high school volleyball? What are you a senior now? You look great hun!” It was odd seeing her bratty and entitled attitude immediately switch to bubbly smiles.
“Oh please, I look like a wreck compared to you. You work here?”
“Yea, I started during my freshman year of college to help pay the bills. I graduate next year though and then it’s bye bye Hoots! It’s not so bad here though. The tips are great.” “That’s awesome. And I see you took this one under your wing? Hi again, Miriam!”
My mother briefly took her eyes off the ground. “Oh, uh, h-hello Miss Smi-“
“You know this little charity case?” April said cutting my mother off.
Ashley giggled and replied she was actually my mother. That’s when April Hawkins looked in my direction for the 1st time. I could feel the heat from her eyes on me. I nervously looked down at the floor and shifted my feet. A trait I suppose I learned. Ashley and April were clearly in full control of this conversation.
“I see the resemblance. Well, everyone just loves our little charity case, don’t we, Miriam?
“Y-yes Miss Hawkins”. I hated seeing my mother refer to this 20 year old ‘Miss Hawkins’ with an honorific while she was just ‘Miriam'. Miss Hawkins was certainly pretty though, she exhumed confidence, and stood with perfect posture, forcing her chest out attractively in her snug white shirt. I liked the way her full lips glittered and shined. I cursed myself for feeling my underwear get tight when I looked at her.
“That’s right, she cleans out tables when the busboys take a break, she works any shifts the girls don’t want, and she’s the only girl that volunteers to split her tips with the other girls. So we get to split basically everything she makes. She can so generous, sometimes she just needs a little ‘push’” April winked at Ashley. "I guess it helps her feel like less of a burden around the young ‘pretty’ girls.”
“Oh well that sounds JUST like my Davey! So sweet and ready to just give, give, give!”
“I could totally tell he was the type. They are such givers these two! And you should feel lucky Davey, not everyone gets to find such a pretty ‘taker’, you know” Miss Hawkins said with a laugh.
“Oh you’re gonna make me blush, April!” Ashley laughed, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Plus if she’s anything like my Davey”, she said gesturing toward my mother, "I’m sure she works like, so super hard to please you!”
“Oh for sure! Old Miriam here is really a cash cow. The older crowd of guys love still being able to get a quick grab or feel as she serves them, and they don’t have to worry about any reporting or repercussions with her. Not that they’d try that bullshit with me or one of the other girls!”
Ashley smiled on “Don’t I know it, girl. You wouldn’t take that shit from anyone!”
“Got that right! But I’m not gonna report it for little old Miriam here, so the creepers and old perverts usually through a few extra dollars her way. Which ends up rightttt insideee my pockets, ain’t that right Miriam?” My mother nodded along as she gave up any attempt at looking from the floor.
“Well, this has been, like, SO fun!” Ashley gushed. “Just wanted Davey to say hi to mommy”
“Yea, we should party sometime. Okay, fun’s over Miriam. Grab the trash from the back and throw it in the dumpster.” My mother spoke with her head slightly raised, wringing her hands nervously “Oh, um, please Miss Hawkins maybe I could say goodbye to my son in priva-“
“Trash. Now!” Miss Haskins returned to her normal tone when speaking with my mother.
"Y-yess miss h-h-hawkins!” Just like that she scurried away without saying goodbye. I didn’t blame her at all though, and didn’t find myself feeling angry. I think in that moment, she genuinely forgot I was there. She was just trying to be good for her superior, that’s all!
Ashley waved goodbye as she started to walk off. “See ya, April! Davey, come!” I looked up from the floor to look at April Hawkins one last time and saw her eyeing me up and down like a piece of meat. Like she knew something I didn’t. I quickly turned and scurried to keep up with Ashley who was several steps ahead. When I caught up, Ashley spoke as if to no one in particular. “Isn’t April cool? And she’s such a boss. Always has been! And did you hear the way she spoke to Miriam!? ‘Trash. NOW’ hahaha, such a queen! I like, totally gotta try that. ‘Davey, Trash. Now!’ ” I squirmed as she giggled at her own joke. She confidently strutted off, and I followed behind.

Synopsis:
An engineer from earth blends science and magic to achieve greatness in another world where skills and levels reign supreme.
—
Ethan was just a plain old engineer, but everything changed when he was reborn into a world of skills, levels, and magic. With his advanced knowledge far ahead of the time period he finds himself in, this new reincarnated life will be much different than his last, especially because he can construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct runes—something no one else can do.
But with royal politics, looming tax collectors, a mountain of debt, dungeon incursions, cults, and hostile fantasy races mixing together into a cocktail of bullshit that threatens to bury his dreams; Ethan must bridge the gap between steel and sorcery to grow stronger. — What to Expect:
- Weak to very strong progression with a Sword & Magic MC that kicks a whole lotta ass. - Fast pacing. A balance of action galore, politics, kingdom building, and slow-burn runecrafting. - Fun, satisfying moments. An extra shot of happiness when reading. Hardcore wish fulfillment. Hyper competent MC. - MC will trigger an industrial revolution, abolish slavery, revolutionize magic, modernize agriculture, communication, commerce, textile production, education, transportation, sanitation, weapons manufacturing, leisure & entertainment, and medicine. - Dark truths of a medieval-esque society going under change.
Join my Discord Server to have chat, bother me, ask me questions, or just genuine fun really - https://discord.gg/d57v5upvcx
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Chapter 10

Ethan surveyed the men before him, schooling his expression. Cedric was one of his advisors, a lean man, taller than the average in Holden, and wiry, but with the unmistakable long and callused fingers of someone well skilled with a bow. It was odd to see such features, but Ethan wasn’t one to point it out or talk about it. A perpetual worried crease etched between his brows; he shuffled a stack of parchments.
Beside him, Roland stood with a hand on the pommel of his sword—a habit Ethan had grown accustomed to. Leaning back, Ethan opened his mouth.
“Alright, gentlemen. Let’s get through this.”
Cedric cleared his throat. “First, my lord, the harvest report.” He unfolded the top parchment. “The rains were late this year, my lord. We’re looking at a significant shortfall in barley and oats.”
Ethan frowned. “Roland,” he switched focus. “The scouting report on the bandits? Has Sir Thomas revealed something? What about the brigands?”
“Sir Thomas has been tight-lipped. The brigands have been bolder, my lord. Spotted them harassing farmsteads near Holden’s western border.
“Have we identified the culprits?”
“No, my Lord. But they seem organized, well-equipped. Too well-equipped, I might say.”
Ethan drummed his fingers on the desk. This wasn’t your typical ragtag group of cutthroats, that much was clear. “Some sort of a group, then.”
“Yes.”
“Mobilize a patrol. Set a few archers down range. Kill the bandits on sight, we can’t have them acting bolder.”
Roland nodded, his chin bobbing, face emotionless.
“Any other news? Have we received word from the neighboring barons regarding the proposed trade agreement?” Ethan asked.
“Yes, my lord. Sir Jack informed me that one of his ravens returned this morning; he says they spotted two men bearing the crest of the crown—”
“Tax collectors,” Ethan interrupted. “They should already be in Siez by now, then.”
Siez was a city two weeks’ ride from Holden.
“Well then, we must do something about the harvest,” Ethan murmured. He had some ideas, but all of them would require money.
“As for trade... Everyone has denied, like usual. Lord Ashton has been with Holden since Lord Baelgard’s death, but even he appears hesitant now. Cites concerns about the quality of our goods.”
“Hmm. Excuses.” Ethan sighed. “He doesn’t want to work with us anymore. He’s likely receiving pressure; I don’t blame him. I’ve offended quite a lot of nobles in my... teen years.”
Ethan cleared his throat. “We’ll send another sample,” Ethan decided, his voice firm. “Along with a personal letter outlining the benefits of trade with Holden, only this time, including soap; I’m sure he’ll latch onto the opportunity if he has some foresight.”
Ashton was playing politics, but they couldn’t afford to alienate their only potential trading partner.
The rest of the morning was spent in a similar vein—discussing minor squabbles amongst the populace, a few dead bodies that were reported, potential repairs needed on the crumbling town walls, and other matters regarding Holden.
***
Ethan entered the space sectioned off by iron grills inside the quarantined house in the outskirts of Holden. Covering his in a mask, he stepped over the grills, into the open hall with rows of beds lining both sides. He was here to take a look at the patients and if they were getting treated. They were. Undoubtedly. Some even showed signs of recovery. They stood up spotting him, then bowed.
“Lord Theodore! What an honor!” A woman said, then burst into tears holding onto her daughter’s hand. “Thank you for letting me live, Lord.” She sobbed as she buried her face on the sleeping child.
Ethan frowned, feeling uncomfortable. They hadn’t gone past their third stages of the disease. They weren’t even on their second one. That was why it’d been easier to treat them.
“Yes, my lord,” a man joined them, speaking. “You’re the only noble that’s spared us peasants a glance. Truly, thank you.”
Feeling even more uncomfortable, Ethan gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “I only hope you all get better.”
They smiled as he smiled back through the mask. Ethan quickly made his way out, then furrowed his brows as he met Miller outside. “Miller, why have you not pulled out those that have recovered? Letting them stay inside would only get them infected again or cause their condition to worsen.”
Miller’s face turned white. “My—my lord, but—but we cannot just remove them!” He took a deep breath. “If we let them go, they could infect others in Holden. If those infected catch wind of their neighbors recovering, wouldn’t they try to force their way into quarantine just to get healed and recover?” His eyes turned shifty, showing some sort of apprehension and panic.
Ethan glared. “Miller, you’re smart, are you not?” He narrowed his eyes. “Get them out of here, as soon as possible. I ordered everyone infected be brought in, logistics be damned! I’m paying it out of my pockets! You need not worry about those that might be infected. What do you even mean? We’re constantly on the lookout, if we found someone, they’d be here already.”
“Yes, about that, my lord,” Miller said nervously, looking away. “People fear. Many would rather stay quiet than let others know if they’re infected. Plus, it’s easier said than done. My men would get attacked. Anyone can get killed easily, they’re not Classed. or a large horde of desperate people might push forward in an instant.”
Ethan didn’t say anything. Gulping, Miller continued.
“And, my men are too few. There are not enough men to patrol and get the affected. Not to mention people would riot against it, fearing their loved ones are getting slaughtered for some ritual and that there’s no salvation. Especially given that a few dead bodies have been found recently,” Miller bowed, swallowed. “Forgive me for saying this, my lord, but people do not trust you.”
Miller slumped against his chair, staring at the ceiling. Ethan silently took his seat, thinking over what Miller had said. In the end, he could only sigh. “Get every infected here, do not worry about aurums.” It costed a lot of money—aurums—to get people treated. However, it wasn’t that much. Taking a moment to gather his thoughts, Ethan changed the subject. “Miller,” Ethan said. “How’re tests going?”
Miller frowned, a finger on his chin as he hummed thoughtfully. “We’ve encountered an issue; mostly with the later stage tainted. We’d expected it, too, however, we need some kind of a solution.”
“What issue?”
“Their skin is rotting; we cannot just have them use soap and hot water to keep clean. There needs to be something to address their wounds directly, first.” Miller sighed. “A [Healer], perhaps. But they’re expensive, my Lord. I am not sure if that is what you would want. Not to mention, another issue is that Sir Jack has yet to build something he calls nexus—he says you would know what that is. He’s currently using himself as said nexus, but says he would need to talk to you on that matter later to figure out some solution.”
“Is that so?” Ethan hummed, reclining back into his chair. Hiring a [Healer] would indeed be a pain. He was already paying Jack quite the sum each day, not to mention the [Beast Tamer] he’d had to hire to take care of Wynd. If he were to hire a [Healer] now, it would make a dent on his pockets that he wouldn’t be able to recover from. Not to mention, he needed to worry more about the financial situation now—the tax collectors would be arriving sooner or later, and the Merchants Guild would want their debt paid with interest. He couldn’t be stuck in a rut of indebtedness forever.
That said, soap would be excellent for the majority of the populace, the only time there would be an issue would be when someone’s already at the stage where their flesh starts to rot. If there were something, he had to consider it*... Are there alternatives?*
Unlikely.
Ethan took a breath, then leaned back into his chair, steepling his hands. What do I currently need?
Money. Money would solve a lot of his issues. Ethan hummed, stood up, then turned on his heel and walked out. Before getting out, however, he looked over his shoulder. “Tell Jack to keep working on updating the base spell. Make it more efficient, if possible. Leave the rest to me.”
I’ll figure something out...
He needed to—he wanted to.
Roland stood outside the carriage, and as he saw Ethan approaching, he turned to him. “My Lord.”
“Roland, let’s go,” Ethan said, grabbing the carriage’s handle, pulling the door open, and climbing inside. “We have work to do.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
Reclined against the cushioned seat of the carriage, Ethan hummed. The solution to getting more money was rather simple.
My masterpiece needs to hit the market. Ethan smiled.
***
Ethan settled into a routine; he’d wake up with the first rays of sunlight filtering through his window. He’d stretch, and feel the satisfying pops in his back before heading outside to find Wynd already waiting for him, tail wagging excitedly. They’d take a brisk run through the dewy field. Ethan would spend a good hour playing with Wynd. The [Beast Tamer] Grandma Millie had a natural connection with Wynd, and Ethan was learning to understand how to handle a wolf under her guidance. Ethan knew that Wynd wasn’t quite a normal magical beast, heck, he was sure that Wynd would sooner or later hit some kind of magical puberty that’ll sky rocket his intelligence and allow him to speak or whatever, but regardless of everything, learning how to handle him was a good move. He was, after all, quite like a pet right now.
Regardless, he’d practice the [Elemental Spells] he knew: fire and water.
One day, he finally leveled it up.
[Elemental Spells] — Lvl 9 -> Lvl 10!
Warning: Level cap for [Elemental Spells] reached; satisfy the conditions to upgrade [Elemental Spells].
Interesting. Ethan thought, rubbing his chin. However, given that there was no information, he was confused so as to how to satisfy said conditions. I will figure it out, he shrugged, for now, I need to learn the other elements first.
Aside from that particular day’s highlight, his routine would continue as usual. After a satisfying breakfast, it would be time to get down to business. He’d perfected the basic soap recipe, and now it was time to ramp up production. With the success in making the first batch of soap, and the thought of making money, quick, in his mind, he’d started working extra hard to get more soap made. He found himself busier than ever. He’d sit in there for hours and create rune motes after rune motes. One by one, they’d materialize on top of his palms, swirling tiny fireflies.
Just like usual, one particular day, he was creating rune motes.
Ten… twenty… thirty… his brow furrowed in concentration.
Forty… fifty… and then, sixty rune motes. [Basic Rune Creation] skill leveled up, too, and a satisfied grin spread across his face the two times it did level up.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 5 -> Lvl 6!
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 6 -> Lvl 7!
The number of motes he could create and the speed at which he did it had noticeably improved after each level. It drained his mana reserves daily. He’d often find himself with a dull ache behind his eyes, but he’d pushed on regardless, ignoring the beginnings of a headache and sometimes it’d blow into a full-blown migraine due to his stubbornness.
One such afternoon, as he slumped, massaging his temples, an idea struck him.
“Meditation,” he murmured. Perhaps focusing his mind inward, like calming a churning lake, could help manage his mana pool. It was usually like that in those novels he used to read back in middle school.
The first few days were frustrating. He sat cross-legged on a cushion, eyes closed, trying to clear his mind, but his thoughts kept flitting back to the ever-growing pile of soap base and the dwindling supply of rune motes (Jack hadn’t disappointed him, after all; the man was fast and his money’s worth, if not more. In fact, Ethan found it harder to keep up). Just as he was getting frustrated, a warmth bloomed within him, a gentle hum that resonated deep within something he could only describe as a core. He cracked open his eyes, a surprised gasp escaping his lips.
A notification appeared before him.
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Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
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“Uh oh,” Ray said just loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear. “Contacts moving across our eleven, ten meters out. No, don’t everyone look, or you’ll attract their attention.”
“What is it?” Kayla asked apprehensively. “Helvets?”
“Worse. Forest battalion. Those bitches got the same leave block, and they think they’re going to move in on our action. Freakin’ teddy bear lovers.”
Around the table, the other girls murmured their agreement that Forest battalion was indeed the home of sloppy Rangers with an unhealthy fascination for teddy bears. The Mountain Ranger battalion held it to be a matter of incontestable truth. Though Kayla had neither heard any logical explanation for, nor seen any evidence of the obsession, she nevertheless accepted the claim with the same conviction that the sun would rise, or that morning PT took place at six a.m.
The bar in downtown Zula was becoming more crowded as the night progressed, and while Kayla was happy to chat with the same people she spent every waking moment with, she was beginning to long for a little of the inebriated flirting she had been promised. They had all dressed in their finest, and she, after some discussion with Thandi, had settled on a dark maroon dress that everyone assured her was gorgeous.
Across the room, a group of cool-eyed young women had taken over a table, and were preparing to order drinks.
“I’m gonna go assault through the ambush,” Ray said, and pushed back from the table. She strode confidently over to the offenders and launched into a spirited debate with them.
Lyna beamed at Jess. “So, the rules are that any man, woman, or farm animal that you approach first is yours for the duration of the evening. Do not approach anyone who has already been approached by another Soror, because there will be substantial negative consequences.”
Jess’s apprehensive smile flattened. “What kind of—”
“Getting thrown out of a plane without a parachute is a common punishment for trying to steal another girl’s date, regardless of unit,” Lyna said. “No, I am not kidding.”
Kayla squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry it’s less painful the second time you do it.”
“Really?”
Kayla chuckled. “No, I’m kidding. I haven’t actually done it twice.”
“But anyway,” Lyna continued, “let us know if a girl is messing with you or your date. That’s a squad level response protocol, and it starts with spiking the drinks of those responsible. Also not a joke.” She smiled evilly, and tapped at her handbag.
“But what about…” Jess glanced around carefully, “civilians?”
“Weapons free,” Kayla said, then caught Thandi’s eye. “Metaphorically speaking. Don’t start a fight. Call for support as needed.”
“Pick someone you like,” Tian said, “then me and Kayla will set you up. I’ll be the ugly duckling, and Kayla can be queen bitch.”
Kayla smiled grimly. “I guess it’s my talent.”
“Okay then,” Jess said and began to discreetly examine the room.
Ray rejoined them, with a happy expression. “They will stand down until we’ve had our fun,” she explained.
“How did you sell that?” Lyna asked.
“I just explained we had the infamous Kayla Barnes with us.”
“Ray, for Christ’s sake!” Kayla groaned, then caught Thandi’s eye again. “Sorry.”
“I’m kidding,” Ray reassured her. “I said we’d been deployed for two months, and they were very understanding. Word about our goat rope has gotten around.”
Bibi sighed. “All we do is gossip. It’s so disheartening.”
***
Gaz eyed the occupants of the bar as he stepped inside. It had the smoky air typical of colonist dives, and the music was toned down enough that people could actually talk to each other. No doubt that was why his contact had chosen the place. Businessmen of all kinds converged on Caldera’s smaller towns to make deals free from the meddlesome and watchful eyes of the League’s Adjudicate enforcers. Then there would be the adventurers out to explore the final frontier, prospectors looking to exploit it, and good old-fashioned smugglers. It was a crowd of nobodies, and everybody respected that.
In a quiet corner, he spotted a man in a leather jacket with a racing league logo. His contact. Gaz bought himself a drink, then wandered over. When he sat down, the heavy set, portly man lit a cigarette and glanced nervously around the bar.
“Take it easy,” Gaz said. “You’re not in the League’s social network anymore. This is the wildlands.”
“I don’t think there are any more wildlands, fella,” the man said.
“What do I call you?”
“I’ll go with Kite for the time being.”
Gaz managed to restrain his laughter, but he couldn’t keep a smile from breaking out on his face. Kite glared at him.
“Like the racing team?” Gaz asked. “I guess you’re a fanboy?”
“I happen to think that a dozen galaxy championships merits respect,” Kite insisted.
“Sorry, you’re right. You can call me Gaz, by the way.”
“I know who you are. Everyone around here is talking about marines in town, up to no good. Do me a favor and keep things quiet, yeah? No point adding to your reputation.”
Gaz shrugged. “We try to be quiet, but it’s hard to control your reputation when you make so many enemies.”
“Maybe.” Kite paused and glared at him. “So…?”
Gaz nodded and reached into his jacket. He produced a small envelope and laid it on the table,
“Tier three ident,” he explained. “You can start a new life anywhere with that.”
Kite peeked inside, then snatched the thing away into a pocket. “Sounds good, because I will bloody well need it.”
A young woman laughed raucously across the bar. Both men glanced around and studied the party of friends for a moment.
“Cute, but harmless,” Gaz said. “So, let’s talk.”
He and Sanchez had spent the better part of a week watching the brothel on the outskirts of Rackeye, and confirmed the regular presence of a senior VennZech executive. But their security was strong, and there was no way to get a closer look. Gaz suggested they pay more attention to the shipyards, since they were infiltrated by cartels. Criminals meant greed, which meant someone would always be keen for extra cash, or a favor. And so, he asked around Zula and nearby towns, making it known that he had money and services to provide for information.
Active workers wouldn’t talk, but he had been hoping to find someone who had moved on, and maybe carried some guilt about his former life. That was how he had come across Kite.
“I worked in the port front office,” Kite explained, “managing the admin. I didn’t see or hear anything directly, you understand?”
“They wouldn’t be doing a good job if guys like you were getting suspicious,” Gaz said reassuringly.
He didn’t believe it. After four years of investigating human trafficking, he had never met anyone who would admit to seeing or hearing anything. Of course not—they had been paid a lot of money to be blind, deaf, and dumb. The guy made his skin crawl, but if Kite had information, Gaz had to hear him out.
“All I know,” Kite continued, “is that there was one part of the storage grounds which nobody was to go near, on the instructions of the manager. He said that VennZech were bringing through military shipments, and it was classified.”
“They make weapons. Sounds normal.”
“I know it was, because once in a while I was signing off with the Helvetic Army about some of those deliveries.”
Gaz shrugged. “Every starport in the world has a black zone. Doesn’t prove anything.”
“Except that the contract longshoremen would go in there.”
“These are connected guys?”
Kite shrugged. He obviously didn’t want to say. Talking about cartel business was a reliable way to end your days sooner than expected, especially if they were doing the dirty work of a mega-corporation.
Gaz decided to push a little further. “Were they local?”
“How should I know? I didn’t interact with them.”
“From Intaba?”
The split-second eye movement told Gaz what he needed to know, and he backed off.
“But military restriction means we can’t get anywhere near it,” he said disappointedly.
Kite nodded as he reached for his drink. “If you even try, I expect your bodies will end up in the river by the next morning.”
“I don’t think you’re being that helpful, Mr Kite.”
Kite chuckled. “Not for the game you want to play, no. But you said you wanted information. I got that in spades.”
Gaz brow furrowed. “But not on longshoreman? Do you have something on VennZech?”
“Sure, if you’re adding a sweetener on top of the ident.”
Gaz hesitated. How was this going to help him? The comings and goings of a major corporation would probably be useful to someone, but he had a specific focus. Three kids were still missing, and they weren’t likely to have been kept in a weapons shipment. Besides, Sanchez didn’t have a lot of money to spend.
On the other hand, they had no way into the shipyards, and maybe Kite’s information would lead to another vulnerability.
Gaz nodded. “20k into your ident’s account, then.”
“A couple of weeks ago,” Kite said, “they called in all hands to move a really big shipment. And it didn’t sit in the yard either. Went straight through. My old boss was begging me back for a one-time job. Huge bonus.”
“What kind of shipment?”
“No idea. But they wouldn’t let it sit in storage. Put every scheduled transfer on hold just for a dozen big containers off a freighter. My mate in traffic control told me there was no paperwork for the arrival either. VennZech just showed up one day making demands and throwing money around. An hour later, there was a vessel jumping into the system. Then, as soon as they were done, it jumped away.”
Gaz sighed. Probably nothing he could use. Though he might as well check one detail.
“I don’t suppose you were able to find out the port of origin?”
Kite sat back in his chair, and his smile twisted into a leery grin. “Intaba.”
Gaz felt his pulse quicken. There had to be a connection here. He pulled out his phone, and brought up a photo of the executive they had been tracking.
“The guy from VennZech calling the shots. This him?”
“Uh… Yup. Huh. Small world, isn’t it?”
Gaz dragged a few more minor details out of Kite before the man left. The whole story felt thin, but there had to be something to it. How it would help him track down his victims he had no idea, but he had often been surprised where seemingly unrelated threads could lead.
He went back to the bar, ordered another beer, and tried to think.
“Gawd,” drawled a female voice nearby. “Do you have to come in here stinking of the farms? Are colonists allergic to showers?”
Gaz looked round to see three of the young women he had seen earlier. The speaker, with a black ponytail and a dark red outfit, had challenged one of the men at the bar, while her friends watched, aghast. Probably a Helvet, looking to satisfy her adventurous side by visiting the rough side of the planet.
“Leave him alone Kayla,” another young woman complained. “You’re so mean sometimes.”
The ponytail wearer tilted her head away in disappointment, and Gaz knew immediately that she was putting on an act. Her accent seemed to be Calderan, and though she was doing a realistic impression of a stuck up Helvet, it wasn’t perfect. He watched as she waltzed back to her table with her drink, while her friends struck up a conversation with her victim.
She was setting her friend up, Gaz thought, and he didn’t bother to mask a smirk. They were an odd group at her table, all athletic, and carrying themselves with confidence. Most girls on a night out made a lot of noise, but though this group were drinking and having fun, their voices were muted. And occasionally, he noticed, one of them would sweep her eyes around the place, checking everything, but fixating on nothing. Scanning.
The girl with the ponytail glanced at him, and for a moment he was struck by her expression of determination. She might have been playing a role, but Gaz decided he would not want to give the game away and earn her wrath. He turned his eyes back to the bar.
“Hey, man,” a voice said over his shoulder, moments later.
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Prequel (Chapters 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie
First ¦ Previous ¦ Royal Road ¦ Patreon
“Uh oh,” Ray said just loud enough for the rest of the squad to hear. “Contacts moving across our eleven, ten meters out. No, don’t everyone look, or you’ll attract their attention.”
“What is it?” Kayla asked apprehensively. “Helvets?”
“Worse. Forest battalion. Those bitches got the same leave block, and they think they’re going to move in on our action. Freakin’ teddy bear lovers.”
Around the table, the other girls murmured their agreement that Forest battalion was indeed the home of sloppy Rangers with an unhealthy fascination for teddy bears. The Mountain Ranger battalion held it to be a matter of incontestable truth. Though Kayla had neither heard any logical explanation for, nor seen any evidence of the obsession, she nevertheless accepted the claim with the same conviction that the sun would rise, or that morning PT took place at six a.m.
The bar in downtown Zula was becoming more crowded as the night progressed, and while Kayla was happy to chat with the same people she spent every waking moment with, she was beginning to long for a little of the inebriated flirting she had been promised. They had all dressed in their finest, and she, after some discussion with Thandi, had settled on a dark maroon dress that everyone assured her was gorgeous.
Across the room, a group of cool-eyed young women had taken over a table, and were preparing to order drinks.
“I’m gonna go assault through the ambush,” Ray said, and pushed back from the table. She strode confidently over to the offenders and launched into a spirited debate with them.
Lyna beamed at Jess. “So, the rules are that any man, woman, or farm animal that you approach first is yours for the duration of the evening. Do not approach anyone who has already been approached by another Soror, because there will be substantial negative consequences.”
Jess’s apprehensive smile flattened. “What kind of—”
“Getting thrown out of a plane without a parachute is a common punishment for trying to steal another girl’s date, regardless of unit,” Lyna said. “No, I am not kidding.”
Kayla squeezed her arm. “Don’t worry it’s less painful the second time you do it.”
“Really?”
Kayla chuckled. “No, I’m kidding. I haven’t actually done it twice.”
“But anyway,” Lyna continued, “let us know if a girl is messing with you or your date. That’s a squad level response protocol, and it starts with spiking the drinks of those responsible. Also not a joke.” She smiled evilly, and tapped at her handbag.
“But what about…” Jess glanced around carefully, “civilians?”
“Weapons free,” Kayla said, then caught Thandi’s eye. “Metaphorically speaking. Don’t start a fight. Call for support as needed.”
“Pick someone you like,” Tian said, “then me and Kayla will set you up. I’ll be the ugly duckling, and Kayla can be queen bitch.”
Kayla smiled grimly. “I guess it’s my talent.”
“Okay then,” Jess said and began to discreetly examine the room.
Ray rejoined them, with a happy expression. “They will stand down until we’ve had our fun,” she explained.
“How did you sell that?” Lyna asked.
“I just explained we had the infamous Kayla Barnes with us.”
“Ray, for Christ’s sake!” Kayla groaned, then caught Thandi’s eye again. “Sorry.”
“I’m kidding,” Ray reassured her. “I said we’d been deployed for two months, and they were very understanding. Word about our goat rope has gotten around.”
Bibi sighed. “All we do is gossip. It’s so disheartening.”
***
Gaz eyed the occupants of the bar as he stepped inside. It had the smoky air typical of colonist dives, and the music was toned down enough that people could actually talk to each other. No doubt that was why his contact had chosen the place. Businessmen of all kinds converged on Caldera’s smaller towns to make deals free from the meddlesome and watchful eyes of the League’s Adjudicate enforcers. Then there would be the adventurers out to explore the final frontier, prospectors looking to exploit it, and good old-fashioned smugglers. It was a crowd of nobodies, and everybody respected that.
In a quiet corner, he spotted a man in a leather jacket with a racing league logo. His contact. Gaz bought himself a drink, then wandered over. When he sat down, the heavy set, portly man lit a cigarette and glanced nervously around the bar.
“Take it easy,” Gaz said. “You’re not in the League’s social network anymore. This is the wildlands.”
“I don’t think there are any more wildlands, fella,” the man said.
“What do I call you?”
“I’ll go with Kite for the time being.”
Gaz managed to restrain his laughter, but he couldn’t keep a smile from breaking out on his face. Kite glared at him.
“Like the racing team?” Gaz asked. “I guess you’re a fanboy?”
“I happen to think that a dozen galaxy championships merits respect,” Kite insisted.
“Sorry, you’re right. You can call me Gaz, by the way.”
“I know who you are. Everyone around here is talking about marines in town, up to no good. Do me a favor and keep things quiet, yeah? No point adding to your reputation.”
Gaz shrugged. “We try to be quiet, but it’s hard to control your reputation when you make so many enemies.”
“Maybe.” Kite paused and glared at him. “So…?”
Gaz nodded and reached into his jacket. He produced a small envelope and laid it on the table,
“Tier three ident,” he explained. “You can start a new life anywhere with that.”
Kite peeked inside, then snatched the thing away into a pocket. “Sounds good, because I will bloody well need it.”
A young woman laughed raucously across the bar. Both men glanced around and studied the party of friends for a moment.
“Cute, but harmless,” Gaz said. “So, let’s talk.”
He and Sanchez had spent the better part of a week watching the brothel on the outskirts of Rackeye, and confirmed the regular presence of a senior VennZech executive. But their security was strong, and there was no way to get a closer look. Gaz suggested they pay more attention to the shipyards, since they were infiltrated by cartels. Criminals meant greed, which meant someone would always be keen for extra cash, or a favor. And so, he asked around Zula and nearby towns, making it known that he had money and services to provide for information.
Active workers wouldn’t talk, but he had been hoping to find someone who had moved on, and maybe carried some guilt about his former life. That was how he had come across Kite.
“I worked in the port front office,” Kite explained, “managing the admin. I didn’t see or hear anything directly, you understand?”
“They wouldn’t be doing a good job if guys like you were getting suspicious,” Gaz said reassuringly.
He didn’t believe it. After four years of investigating human trafficking, he had never met anyone who would admit to seeing or hearing anything. Of course not—they had been paid a lot of money to be blind, deaf, and dumb. The guy made his skin crawl, but if Kite had information, Gaz had to hear him out.
“All I know,” Kite continued, “is that there was one part of the storage grounds which nobody was to go near, on the instructions of the manager. He said that VennZech were bringing through military shipments, and it was classified.”
“They make weapons. Sounds normal.”
“I know it was, because once in a while I was signing off with the Helvetic Army about some of those deliveries.”
Gaz shrugged. “Every starport in the world has a black zone. Doesn’t prove anything.”
“Except that the contract longshoremen would go in there.”
“These are connected guys?”
Kite shrugged. He obviously didn’t want to say. Talking about cartel business was a reliable way to end your days sooner than expected, especially if they were doing the dirty work of a mega-corporation.
Gaz decided to push a little further. “Were they local?”
“How should I know? I didn’t interact with them.”
“From Intaba?”
The split-second eye movement told Gaz what he needed to know, and he backed off.
“But military restriction means we can’t get anywhere near it,” he said disappointedly.
Kite nodded as he reached for his drink. “If you even try, I expect your bodies will end up in the river by the next morning.”
“I don’t think you’re being that helpful, Mr Kite.”
Kite chuckled. “Not for the game you want to play, no. But you said you wanted information. I got that in spades.”
Gaz brow furrowed. “But not on longshoreman? Do you have something on VennZech?”
“Sure, if you’re adding a sweetener on top of the ident.”
Gaz hesitated. How was this going to help him? The comings and goings of a major corporation would probably be useful to someone, but he had a specific focus. Three kids were still missing, and they weren’t likely to have been kept in a weapons shipment. Besides, Sanchez didn’t have a lot of money to spend.
On the other hand, they had no way into the shipyards, and maybe Kite’s information would lead to another vulnerability.
Gaz nodded. “20k into your ident’s account, then.”
“A couple of weeks ago,” Kite said, “they called in all hands to move a really big shipment. And it didn’t sit in the yard either. Went straight through. My old boss was begging me back for a one-time job. Huge bonus.”
“What kind of shipment?”
“No idea. But they wouldn’t let it sit in storage. Put every scheduled transfer on hold just for a dozen big containers off a freighter. My mate in traffic control told me there was no paperwork for the arrival either. VennZech just showed up one day making demands and throwing money around. An hour later, there was a vessel jumping into the system. Then, as soon as they were done, it jumped away.”
Gaz sighed. Probably nothing he could use. Though he might as well check one detail.
“I don’t suppose you were able to find out the port of origin?”
Kite sat back in his chair, and his smile twisted into a leery grin. “Intaba.”
Gaz felt his pulse quicken. There had to be a connection here. He pulled out his phone, and brought up a photo of the executive they had been tracking.
“The guy from VennZech calling the shots. This him?”
“Uh… Yup. Huh. Small world, isn’t it?”
Gaz dragged a few more minor details out of Kite before the man left. The whole story felt thin, but there had to be something to it. How it would help him track down his victims he had no idea, but he had often been surprised where seemingly unrelated threads could lead.
He went back to the bar, ordered another beer, and tried to think.
“Gawd,” drawled a female voice nearby. “Do you have to come in here stinking of the farms? Are colonists allergic to showers?”
Gaz looked round to see three of the young women he had seen earlier. The speaker, with a black ponytail and a dark red outfit, had challenged one of the men at the bar, while her friends watched, aghast. Probably a Helvet, looking to satisfy her adventurous side by visiting the rough side of the planet.
“Leave him alone Kayla,” another young woman complained. “You’re so mean sometimes.”
The ponytail wearer tilted her head away in disappointment, and Gaz knew immediately that she was putting on an act. Her accent seemed to be Calderan, and though she was doing a realistic impression of a stuck up Helvet, it wasn’t perfect. He watched as she waltzed back to her table with her drink, while her friends struck up a conversation with her victim.
She was setting her friend up, Gaz thought, and he didn’t bother to mask a smirk. They were an odd group at her table, all athletic, and carrying themselves with confidence. Most girls on a night out made a lot of noise, but though this group were drinking and having fun, their voices were muted. And occasionally, he noticed, one of them would sweep her eyes around the place, checking everything, but fixating on nothing. Scanning.
The girl with the ponytail glanced at him, and for a moment he was struck by her expression of determination. She might have been playing a role, but Gaz decided he would not want to give the game away and earn her wrath. He turned his eyes back to the bar.
“Hey, man,” a voice said over his shoulder, moments later.
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Prequel (Parts 1 to 16)
1. Rise of a Valkyrie

Just a bit of background, my friend (20F) and her family have been family friends with mine since I was 10. Her dad is married. When I was 16, I started noticing a slight shift in her dad's vibe towards me. This change has grown over the past few months, especially just before, and after I turned 18.
On the outside, he appears to everyone as extroverted, wise, and helpful. That is how I viewed at him until my friend told me something that left me completely weirded out(I'll get to it). Because of his demeanour, I don't know if I’m thinking too much into it, but I can’t help but feel that there’s something off. In the most humble way I am a beautiful girl it’s just what many people, including him have told me. I’m including this seemingly unnecessary info as I know sometimes people look at attractive individuals more frequently & can be kinder etc which could change your perspective on why he does what he does. Going back to my mention of him calling me pretty, I had been talking with a woman and he came into our conversation. She was saying how she saw me and thought “Wow who is this pretty girl” and he looked at me with this look in his eyes(which he always has when looking at me. Only way I can describe it is it’s as if he’s smiling but he’s not, just a glimmer in his eyes) and said “yeah, she’s very pretty” and continued to stare at me for a bit, I was 16. Now there’s nothing wrong with complimenting someone it’s just the energy he was giving off. Even back then before knowing what my friend told me (yes I promise I’m getting to it), I found his vibe weird.
Now I ALWAYSSS catch him looking at me. Once I swear I caught him looking at my crotch and when he noticed I was looking at him, he quickly looked away and I swear his face went red. Also when conversing with him sometimes he will look at my chest for a second but I feel like that could be normal? Anyway, he also centres a lot of his attention on me like he always randomly comes up to me at a function we go to and try to start up a conversation(which he doesn't do to anyone else consistently as he does with me) and if we happen to not talk that day, he’ll still throw in some sort of interaction. For example, he was talking with someone I walked by him and without a word he just held out his hand for me to shake, I guess, and he ended up just kinda holding my hand. What was the point of shaking my hand too it’s not like I’m meeting him for the first time… is there even a normal explanation to that? When we’re in a group he will always be looking at me, seriously even if he was talking to someone specific he’ll finish what he’s saying to them then looked over at me and if he’s talking to everyone in a group it’ll be as if he’s only talking to me cause he’s looking at me while talking. I don't see him doing any of this with others.
And the biggest red flag, which in my opinion, adds another level to everything, is that my friend 2 years ago started a convo with “you know how people who’ve been mlested can sometimes turn into the mlester when they’re older” then proceeded to say she’s worried her dad is that(he was mlested as a child) she told me that sometimes he slaps her butt as a ‘joke‘ and she’s told him to stop but he just says it’s a joke and doesn’t stop(I said now I was worried he’d do something to me but she said he’s never do it to me) she’s said she feels uncomfortable alone with him, that sometimes she worries that he’s one of those fake good people. There was other things he’s done that she wouldn’t tell me too which I’m really concerned about since it’s gotta be pretty bad for her to not tell me and believe he could possibly be a mlestor. His young kids have told me he has them watch ‘violent movies’ to "show them what the real world is like” which strikes me as slightly strange even more so since that had been his answer to them when they told him watching these movies scared them and gave them nightmares. I mean maybe that's just his parenting style but why force your VERY young kids(4-10) watch violence especially if they express it scares them and brings them nightmares?
This is NOT everything just bits that I think show a pretty good overview of his behaviour.
So yep, I don't know, am I delusional or is this actually concerning and I need to be careful?
If it is concerning, I'd appreciate any advice on what to do.

Bringing my evening stroll to an end due to a haze of early summer rain, I turned the corner into my street.
She was waiting for me, right outside my front yard. I thought it was a new neighbour dropping round to complain about something. Something about her tense stance made me realise that she was not good news.
Her eyes widened when she saw me. “You’re Adder_at_Night999?”
I frowned. “How do you know my reddit username?”
She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter- listen- I’m not here to hurt you-“
What? I looked around- my street set in a greater London borough that still had a quaint village feel was quiet in the early wet evening lull.
She was still talking “-I just want to know why. I just came to talk to you- Why do you always downvote my stories? Everyone loves my stories- everyone- you know that – you know that! but you always downvote them- you’re always the first downvote, sometimes the only one - I just had to know why-“ she was babbling at me in a strong accent I can only describe as “typical American”.
“please- let’s go to a coffee shop and talk- I came a long way to visit you, just to know why-, to understand- “ she reached out and gripped my sleeve.
I stood stock still. None of the few people I knew real life knew my reddit account, or my fondness for the scary stories that people post on Reddit. I stared at the middle-aged woman confronting me. She was wearing a glossy new-looking cream-colored mac and lipstick.
Her other hand moved in her pocket. In an instant, the fright that had been gathering since she said my Reddit username broke over me like a splash of cold water from a bucket. I ripped my hand loose, turned and ran to my front door, frantically scrabbling for my keys.
She followed me, reached out, opened the door that was unlocked, and somehow pushed me in. I am not a large strong woman, simply a retired Eng Lit teacher with a weakness for Reddit, and no match for this agitated American Redditor.
We both stood in the dark hallway, her back to the front door. Hands slippery from sweat, I tried to pull out my mobile.
She repeated “I only want to talk to you. Please. I know you have time- you spend all your time on Reddit!” her voice rose slightly, now audibly tinged with madness.
She must have heard it too. She gulped hard, and then said calmly “Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of tea? That’s what you British folk do, right? I travelled a long way to see you! Where’s those famous British manners?” she aimed for a jokey tone.
“Let me put the kettle on” I said mechanically.
Her hand moved in her pocket again. “Okay”.
I went to the kitchen, filled the kettle and turned it on. She stood in the doorway, watching me get out two mugs.
“I’m not here to hurt you” she repeated. I nodded, staring at the kettle. “It’s just, I had to find out who you were, why you downvote my stories. You don’t look anything like I imagined- I thought you were some neckbeard basement troll and you were downvoting me because most my stories are about women’s issues. But then I did some digging, and found out- you’re just an old woman, just a few years older than me- that kinda makes it worse - don’t you have any female solidarity? I just had to come and speak to you, see what the problem was-”
The kettle was still cold and silent.
“It doesn’t work like that, you know” I said cautiously, willing the kettle to boil.
“And you have this nice place”, she said, looking around appreciatively “Looks like a house right from Midsomer Murders!” The jokey tone again. The kettle began making very tiny noises.
“What’s your Reddit name?” I asked, hoping I sounded friendly.
“Oh come on hun, you must know me. I’m WitchSea1994!” She said it quite proudly.
I remembered her stories. It was beyond me how anyone could upvote her cliché jumble of gory fantasy. But there was no doubt she was very popular. I nodded. “I quite like your stories” I said. The noises from the kettle were becoming a tiny bit louder.
She frowned. “Then why do you always downvote them?” she snapped, and took a step towards me. "Always!"
I took a step back. The kettle was now boiling. “I don’t always downvote them” I muttered.
Her eyes sparked. “Every one! Every single one, you downvote. And you’re often the first. I monitor all my stories- I chart the upvotes and downvotes in excel- and you’re always dragging me down! I even know you make fake accounts just to downvote stories!!” she was howling now, and she lunged towards me.
I grabbed the kettle and splashed the boiling water right into her distorted face. She screamed in agony, and I was able to push past, run through the open door into the street, dialling 999. I have never felt so comforted by hearing the sirens and then seeing the blue flashing lights only moments later.
I haven’t been on Reddit since. But I know I need a new hobby, one that doesn't involve cyberspace and scary stories as much.

So far, My opinion on the book that it was okay, Have more things than volume 1, But not better than volume 2, Which had a strong build-up and The Norman Bates Hotel Auction is hard to beat .
So far, Am confused about some stuff :
1 : Is it Saichi or Sara ? First she said her name is Sara than she's called Saichi .
2 : Can someone tell me how the Takeda's Haunted Mansion happened ? I feel I can't connect the events ( Man I wish there was a closing argument ) .
3 : How did the sword go from the victims back to the armor's hand ? .
4 : These is related to Volume 2, But what was the pocket knife used for ? .
As for the characters, They were okay, Licorne and Gekka are the most interesting so far, The other 4 detectives, Not so much, But hey, We well see them in volume 4 and 5, So I should wait and see them more on action, I can't believe Licorne beaten 5 cases before they began in just one day, And he have the audacity to say " Man why did I solve them fast ? I wanted some fun :( " I am sure he is gonna love the Ultimate Locked Room case if he was gonna solve it .
And what was that ending, Why is there a corpse and some woman with a knife in Kirigiri's Mansion ? Why did Jin come to the rescue ? What is happening ? I was expecting from the name of the chapter that something like Suisei's Massacre is gonna happen again ( These dude can go fuck himself BTW, He is worse than Shirokuma in term of trust issues he gives ) But am more confused now .
No spoilers for the other volumes, But what am confused about is book 4 having 2 chapters only with around 250 page, But we'll see how it goes .

This has been bothering me for a long time, Im not sure what im doing wrong or what I have that makes girls not find me attractive or interested in me, ive been going to college for a while and in my classes I would talk to some girls without even trying to or even ask them out to hang because I would always think they would find it random or weird, especially this experience I had with a girl from my earth biology class that I took a year ago who I actually wanted to ask out but never had the nerve because I felt like she thought I was a weirdo due to this one time we were analyzing some rocks/minerals in a lab where there were stations/tables that had an array of rocks/minerals that some were covered in dust/dirt, and I remember I got up to go and pick a random specimen for me to take back to my table, but as I was looking through some of the rocks, the girl who I was interested in went over to the table I was since she was returning a type of rock that was covered in alot of dust, and as I was there I was just minding my own business picking and looking at some of the subjects, she had her hands dirty from the subject she had and instead of washing her hands or cleaning off the dust with her shirt, she started dusting off her hands on her butt in front of me, as she was looking at me. I was a bit uncomfortable and I was acting like if she wasnt there but by the corner of my eye she seemed like she was sort of giving me a dirty look even though I wasnt trying to eye her as she was dusting off her hands on her butt, and for that I just decided to not even try to ask her out to hang or study together since she actually was chill at first when we met, then this other time I was talking to another girl that was in my drafting class that I took in the same year, she was cute, and she was sitting next to me for the whole semester which I had been in my own world of focus on the assignments that were assigned in class involving the autocad program, which the girl had trouble at times understanding the commands which she would ask me to help her and I did, and as several times she asked for help, I had told her that if she wants I could help her after class with any of the commands or tools she would have trouble on if she wants, and she thanked me for the offer, but the next day she was struggling once again and I offered her help but she said she didnt need it even though she asked the person who was sitting behind across from her after she had said that. I dont know what i have that makes me unattractive or girls not interested, which has been a struggle for a long time.

My name is Rory Fars, and my little sister, Lily Fars, is the last family I had left.
A heavy sense of dread settled over me like a suffocating blanket as I sat in the worn leather seat of Lily's old jeep. The car, a relic of our happier days, seemed to groan under our shared sorrow. Beside me, Lily, my best friend, and confidante, absentmindedly twirled a strand of her long, dark hair, which swayed gently in rhythm with the haunting melodies from the oldies station on the radio. This car had seen us through countless joyful journeys when our family was whole. Almost three years had passed since that fateful Christmas trip in Texas when our parents were tragically killed in a horrific multi-car pileup. The memory of their loss was a constant ache, a wound that never fully healed.
My dad was from Amarillo, Texas, so my parents often took trips down there, visiting the places that held so many memories for him. During one of these trips, just before Christmas, a sudden blizzard struck while they were on the freeway. The snow fell in blinding sheets, making the world outside a disorienting white blur. As they tried to slowly pull to the side, their vision obscured by the relentless storm, they never saw the car barreling toward them at least forty miles an hour. The impact was devastating, an abrupt and brutal end to their journey and, in many ways, to our lives as we had known them.
My parents were always sticklers for safety, insisting on seatbelts every time we got in the car. So, of course, they had theirs on during that fateful trip. The initial impact wasn't what killed them, the coroner explained to me. Not even the first hit from behind, which was going at least fifty miles an hour, was fatal. I had to practically shake the information out of him—they were so resistant to tell me anything at first. By the time the third car hit, with an unknown speed, their survival was already in jeopardy. The coroner said that by the fifth car, they were likely dead. But it didn't end there. Another twenty-three vehicles slammed into the back of the pile, each collision further crushing their bodies, reducing them to a horrific, unrecognizable state. Each jarring impact pushed my parents deeper into a gruesome amalgamation of twisted metal and shattered lives.
I don't know why I felt compelled to demand those details at the time, but I deeply regret it now. I wish I had never asked. Almost every night, unless I drink myself into oblivion, I am haunted by nightmares of what they endured. I dream of driving up to save them, only to be caught in the same deadly barrage of cars, ending in a twisted metal tomb for all of us.
Lily is never in those dreams. Even in my most horrific imaginings, I can't envision her being hurt. Lily is my little sister, younger by eight years and three months. Whenever I mention our age difference, I see the judgment in people's eyes, but what can I say? Our parents never stopped loving each other. They had Lily late in life; she became our shared joy, our living reminder of the love that had bound our family together.
Lily wasn't my twin in the literal sense, but ever since she was born, it felt like we shared the inexplicable connection that twins often describe. As she grew up, our bond only deepened—we acted, sounded, and even looked remarkably alike. She became my rock, especially after our parents' tragic deaths. We leaned on each other, cried into each other's shoulders, and somehow found the strength to move forward. We eventually moved in together, finding solace in a two-bedroom apartment that became our sanctuary.
Lily seemed to handle our parents' deaths better than I did, or maybe she was just better at distracting herself with technology. Even before their passing, Lily was addicted to any kind of digital screen she could manipulate. Her ability to navigate the digital world was unmatched; she was the most intelligent person I had ever met. Her intelligence was a beacon of light in the darkness that had enveloped us, a testament to her resilience and brilliance.
After my parents' death, I embarked on a quest to find my spirituality by delving into paranormal investigations. I hoped these pursuits would bring me closer to my parents in the afterlife, spiritual realm, or whatever you want to call it. Instead, it created a chasm between me and any sense of spiritual existence. Each investigation seemed to push me further from the answers I sought, leaving me feeling more isolated and disconnected than ever.
I had hoped that by exploring these paranormal claims, I would discover a way to reach out to my parents and feel their presence again. Yet, as the years have passed, this endeavor has only deepened my loneliness and sense of loss. Despite knowing how detrimental it is to my mental health, I can't bring myself to stop. The hope that the subsequent investigation will be the one that proves the existence of an afterlife and that I'll find a way to contact my parents keeps me going. It's a desperate, unrelenting pursuit for a connection that remains heartbreakingly out of reach.
I should have accepted their death and moved on like any sane person would. Instead, I let my grief fester and dragged my sister and a stranger, Mark, through my obsessive quest for answers. My relentless pursuit of the paranormal didn't just alienate me; it consumed us all, leading to their untimely deaths. My name is Rory Fars, and I am here to confess my side of the story about the missing case of Lily Fars and Mark Lawrence.
This is the truth about how my desperate search for a connection with the afterlife led to a nightmare from which none of us could escape.
To start off, no, Lily was not a student of Mark's who fell in love with him and then got jealous of me hitting on him, leading her to kill him and herself. I know that sounds ridiculous, but given some wild theories circulating online, I need to address this one specifically since it seems to be the most popular.
First and foremost, Mark Lawrence was not, nor has he ever been, a professor at a university. Lily and I met Mark at the Local Museum in Redlin, a town nestled deep in the Appalachian Mountains. He was the curator of an exhibit showcasing the history of Raven's Nest, a forgotten mining town that neither Lily nor I had ever heard of. This is where our story begins, in a place steeped in history and mystery, far removed from the convoluted theories that now cloud the truth.
We were constantly searching for new ideas for our podcast about paranormal claims. Each of our twenty-five episodes so far had concluded with a rational explanation, so when Mark told us about the curse of Harper, I was immediately intrigued.
Mark was an older man, likely in his mid-sixties, with a full head of silver hair and a beard that stubbornly clung to its youthful color, only lightly dusted with grey. He had a presence that commanded attention, and his stories about the curse were delivered with an intensity that drew me in.
On the other hand, Lily was always more interested in the technical aspects of the paranormal. She had her own theories and was determined to debunk every claim we investigated. She wasn't easily swayed by Mark's tales about the curse of Harper, but she was willing to listen and give him a chance to prove himself. Her skeptical mind constantly checked my enthusiasm, and together, we hoped to uncover the truth behind yet another paranormal mystery.
"Hello ladies, care to hear about the mysterious town of Raven's Nest?" Mark asked with theatrical enthusiasm.
Lily and I exchanged a knowing glance, trying to stifle our amusement. Despite our attempts to remain composed, a smirk played at the corners of our lips.
"We're all ears," I replied, my tone laced with a hint of sarcasm.
He sighed, almost as if he was disappointed that we said yes. Taking a deep breath, he seemed to steel himself for the task ahead. "Well, you see," he began, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "in the early twentieth century, a man named Harper Franstein exploited many men and children in the coal mines. By the mid-1920s, he had established his own settlement in a secluded valley, which he dubbed 'The Raven's Nest.' It was never officially recognized as a town, but that's the only name we have to go off of."
I could see the beads of sweat forming on Mark's brow as he struggled to recall every detail. Despite his initial enthusiasm, he now appeared flustered, his confidence waning. Eventually, he resorted to consulting his damp and crumpled notes, a sign of his growing unease.
"Um, anyway, yeah, um," he stuttered, audibly gulping as his nerves got the better of him. Lily couldn't contain her laughter, emitting a snicker that earned us a glare from Mark.
"Hey, just relax," I interjected, trying to diffuse the tension. "We're not here to judge or intimidate you." With a gentle touch on his forearm and a chuckle, I attempted to reassure him, hoping to ease his obvious discomfort.
He paused, sharing a chuckle with me, while Lily struggled to suppress her laughter and eventually excused herself, leaving just Mark and me. Evidently, he felt more at ease with fewer listeners, so he pressed on with his narrative.
"Anyway," he resumed, "Harper held complete control over the town and the mine, and he made sure everyone was acutely aware of that fact. When the disappearances began, he tried to sweep them under the rug, attributing them to anything but his own negligence in mining practices."
"What do you mean by 'negligence in mining practices'?" I interjected, eager to delve deeper into his intriguing tale.
He looked up, clearly pleased by my question. "Yes, exactly," he affirmed. "Harper adhered to a mining technique outlined by Dwight Brunst in the mid to late nineteenth century. This method mandated only one entry and exit point into the mine."
"Wait, so they were forbidden from creating additional exits?" I pressed for clarification.
"Not explicitly," he explained. "The practice advocated for just one entry and exit as it was believed to minimize the risk of cave-ins, at least in theory. However, there were instances where miners, feeling uneasy about this restriction, took matters into their own hands and carved out what they called 'Emergency Exits' for themselves. After about half of the town started going missing, Harper couldn't take criticism about how he responded, but most people say he was losing money quickly and didn't want to live in a world where he was poor. He walked into the mine, never to be seen again, much like the cave's past victims. Visitors report seeing and hearing Harper, trying to get them to leave."
As I stood there, listening to Mark's enthralling narrative, I found myself captivated by the mysterious allure of Raven's Nest. Unable to contain my curiosity, I decided to pose a question.
"So, what does the town look like now?" I inquired, eager to learn more about the present state of this enigmatic place.
Mark's demeanor shifted slightly as he rifled through his notes, a subtle indication that he didn't have a straightforward answer to my query.
"You've never been there?" I asked, my tone softening with genuine curiosity.
He flinched as though my question had struck a nerve. "Shhhhhh... shut up," he demanded, his voice tinged with unease.
Suppressing a chuckle, I leaned in closer and whispered, "Okay, hear me out. My sister Lily and I are investigating paranormal phenomena. Your story about Raven's Nest sounds like the perfect addition to our podcast. What do you say we compensate you for your guidance? Let's say, three hundred bucks?"
He straightened up, contemplating my proposition for a few moments. Without uttering a word, he extended his hand, and I met it halfway with my own, sealing our agreement with a firm handshake.
Our journey to Raven's Nest was no easy feat. Situated a good twenty miles from town and nestled deep within a dense valley. After all of the tight turns, narrow dirt roads, and steep inclines, it took us a grueling two and a half hours to go twenty-something miles, but we finally reached the outskirts of the infamous settlement. As we stood at the edge of the "Nest," anticipation mingled with trepidation, setting the stage for the eerie exploration that lay ahead.
I glanced at my phone; the time read 11:56 pm, signaling the late hour. Sensing the exhaustion weighing heavily, I suggested we catch a few hours of rest in Lily's jeep. Mark, though visibly unsettled, remained silent from the back seat, his arms folded tightly across his chest as he slumped against the window like a sulking child.
Drifting asleep in the passenger seat, I soon found myself ensnared in a nightmare. In my dream, Mark was being dragged away into the darkness, his desperate attempts to claw his way back to safety only resulting in broken fingertips. Despite his struggles, he was powerless against the unseen force pulling him inexorably into the abyss. Suddenly, I was alone, engulfed in utter darkness, my heart pounding with fear as I ran blindly from an unseen terror that seemed to pursue me relentlessly, its malevolent presence palpable but unseen.
I jolted awake, gasping for breath, my heart racing as the remnants of dread lingered in the pit of my stomach. It was morning, and I was struggling to adjust my vision. Lily's frantic but comforting voice broke through the haze of my terror, grounding me in reality. With her comforting embrace, I gradually calmed my racing thoughts, drawing deep, steadying breaths.
As we sat there, enveloped in each other's embrace, Mark approached the driver's side window with an unexpected question, "Alright, what's for breakfast?" His nonchalant tone and casual demeanor were a stark contrast to the harrowing nightmare that had just consumed my thoughts, momentarily dispelling the lingering specter of fear that had haunted my dreams.
Lily and I both look up at him and back at each other as we burst out into laughter.
Amidst our shared laughter, Lily and I exchanged amused glances before turning our attention back to Mark.
"Ha...ha, yeah. No, but seriously, what's for breakfast? Eggs, bacon, toast, at least?" Mark pressed, hoping for a more substantial response.
His earnest inquiry fueled our laughter further, our giggles echoing through the quiet night air. Eventually, we regained our composure and stepped out of the jeep, stretching our limbs after the cramped confines of the vehicle.
Mark awkwardly moves to the side, still waiting for an honest answer. Lily tossed him a granola bar, eliciting a bemused chuckle from him. With a shared understanding, we set off on foot, embarking on the hike into the town.
The path ahead was clear: a single dirt road that wound its way from the abandoned coal mine into the heart of the small settlement. The road, now overgrown and muddy from years of disuse, bore the marks of neglect and isolation. Wary of the treacherous conditions, Lily opted to forgo the risk of getting stuck, steering clear of the decrepit road that likely hadn't seen a traveler in at least half a century.
We parked Lily's jeep at the entrance to both the mine and the town of Raven's Nest, opting to proceed on foot from there. Standing at the mountain's peak, gazing down at the desolate town below, I couldn't help but ponder the history beneath the dilapidated structures. I imagined how this valley must have once been a pristine landscape cherished by the indigenous people who roamed its lush terrain.
"Jesus, this place is more like a shit nest," Mark muttered in disgust, his disdain evident in his tone.
Lily shot me a knowing glance, silently communicating her skepticism toward Mark's assessment of the town.
Deciding to put Mark's knowledge to the test, I casually inquired, "So, what year was this area founded?"
Mark's reaction was almost defensive as if my question had caught him off guard. He hesitated momentarily before fumbling for his note cards in his pocket, a telltale sign that he wasn't as knowledgeable as he let on.
Before he could respond, I interjected with another question, "Mark, how long have you worked at the museum?"
As Mark froze, his gaze locking onto mine like a deer caught in headlights, I watched him closely, waiting for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. My narrowed eyes bore into his, silently urging him to be honest.
Finally, breaking the tense silence, Mark confessed, "Look, this is only my first week. I... I haven't had the greatest time lately, and I really need the extra money. I'm sorry I lied, but I'll help however I can."
I met his gaze unwaveringly, sensing the sincerity in his words. Clearly, he was a man in need of redemption, grappling with his own personal struggles.
"Alright, alright, don't cry too much," I teased lightly, trying to ease the tension. Gesturing towards Lily, who was busy preparing her wireless motion cameras in her backpack, I continued, "Lily and I already figured that was the case. Honestly, we're surprised you agreed to come along."
Mark remained frozen, but the tension seemed to melt away from his expression, replaced by a tentative smile. It was a moment of shared understanding, a silent acknowledgment that he was still welcomed into our expedition despite his initial deception.
"Alright, I have the cams and portable batteries to make sure the cameras and anything we have with power can last," Lily said, her voice brimming with determination.
We began our descent into the town, our hiking boots struggling against the thick, clinging mud produced by the constant light rain and years of disuse. Each step was a battle, the mud threatening to swallow our boots with every move.
After an eternity of trudging through the muck, we finally reached the town's only paved road—the main road. It had taken us only about fifteen minutes to hike down, but navigating the muddy slope had sapped our energy. We paused for a break, taking a few minutes to clean off our boots and catch our breath.
As we rested, I noticed Lily rummaging through her bag with a focused intensity. Curious, I asked, "What are you looking for?"
"I brought five motion-detecting cameras that I want to set up strategically throughout the town," she replied, pulling out one of the cameras. She walked over to the nearest building, a structure that served as a post office, police station, and fire station. She positioned the camera outside the building so it was pointed at the only road leading in and out of the town.
"We need to cover all potential points of interest," she explained, securing the camera in place. "This one will monitor any activity on the main road. We should place the other cameras around key locations like the mine entrance, the town square, and some more intact buildings."
I nodded, appreciating her thoroughness. "Good idea. We need to make sure we capture anything unusual."
Mark, having finally caught his breath, joined us. "Alright, let's get these cameras set up and see what we can find," he said, a hint of excitement in his voice.
"Look," Lily said, turning her tablet screen toward us. She waved her hand in front of the camera she had just placed. The tablet displayed five squares on the interface, each meant to show a feed from one of the cameras. Since Lily had only set up one camera so far, only the bottom right square showed any footage pointed at the road leading out of town. She stopped waving her hand, and the feed went to a blue screen.
"What happened? Did we lose connection?" Mark asked frantically, his eyes wide with concern.
Lily cackled, struggling to contain her amusement. Composing herself, she waved her hand in front of the camera again, and the bottom right square showed her hand waving once more. "It's motion-activated. It's the best way to save on battery life," she explained.
Mark seemed to relax, though he was still catching his breath after the brief panic.
I glanced at my watch, noting the time. "It's 8:30. We're behind schedule. If you want to place the rest of your cameras, we better move now," I said, walking down the street.
Lily immediately got up and followed me, with Mark struggling to keep pace behind us. We reached the market building, and Lily positioned her second camera on the side of the road, pointing up at the market.
It's not much longer before we make it to the Town Hall. I suggest Lily place a camera nearby. She nods and heads into a building across from the Town Hall labeled, "Slaughterhouse: LOCAL ANIMALS ONLY."
As Lily explores the building to find an adequate spot for the camera, I wait for Mark to catch up. While I wait, I can't help but imagine this town in its prime, picturing the streets filled with families who loved each other.
My thoughts are abruptly cut off by a sound echoing in the distance—a roar unlike any I've ever heard. It was a mix of a human screaming in pain, the roar of a lion, and, near the end, the howl of a wolf. The chilling sound sent shivers down my spine.
I jump to my feet and immediately call out, "Lily, you okay?"
There's no response from Lily, but I'm interrupted by Mark finally catching up, panting heavily.
"Holy... shit... did you... hear that?" Mark said frantically between breaths.
"Yeah, we have to find Lily," I say, bolting into the slaughterhouse. I glance back to see Mark bracing himself on the steps of the Town Hall, struggling to keep up.
As I enter the building, the stench of rotting flesh hits me like a wave, causing me to gag. The smell is too fresh to be decades old.
"Lily? Lily, where are you?" I yell, using my shirt to shield my nose from the overwhelming odor.
"Rory, I'm in here!" I hear Lily yell from a room two doors down. I pass the first door, peeking in to ensure I hadn't misheard, but I wish I hadn't looked.
Inside the first room, I catch a glimpse of what appears to be a pile of animal carcasses, their decayed bodies arranged in a grotesque display. The sight is horrifying, the flesh still disturbingly fresh. The bile rises in my throat, but I force myself to focus on finding Lily.
I rush to the room where her voice came from, pushing the door open. Lily is there, setting up the camera, seemingly oblivious to the horror in the adjacent room. Relief floods through me as I see she's safe.
"Lily, did you hear that roar?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
"Yeah, I heard it," she replies, her eyes wide with concern. "I was just finishing up here. Let's get back to Mark and figure out what that was." She had placed the camera in a window, pointing directly at the Town Hall.
We hurry back outside, where Mark still catches his breath as we meet between the buildings. "We need to stay together from now on," I say firmly, looking at both of them. "Whatever that noise was, it's not something we want to face alone."
"Let's check out the Town Hall!" Mark says excitedly as he slowly clambers through a broken window.
"Did he not just hear what I said?" I mutter under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief.
Lily gives me a shrug, her eyes reflecting a mix of amusement and exasperation. "Guess we're heading into the Town Hall then," she says, adjusting her backpack and walking towards the broken window.
I sigh and follow suit, hoisting myself up and carefully maneuvering through the jagged glass. Inside, the air is musty, filled with the scent of old paper and decaying wood. Dust motes float lazily in the beams of sunlight streaming through the cracked windows.
The main hall is vast and eerily silent, with rows of empty chairs facing a stage draped in tattered curtains. The walls are lined with faded portraits and yellowed maps of the town, remnants of a time when this place was alive and bustling.
Mark is already at the front, examining a large, decrepit desk. "Look at this," he says, his voice echoing in the empty space. "It's like stepping back in time."
I walk over, glancing at the old papers scattered across the desk. Most are mundane—meeting minutes, maintenance logs—but one catches my eye. It's a letter dated June 1925, addressed to Harper Franstein.
"Harper, the disappearances are becoming more frequent. The townsfolk are getting restless, and I fear they may take matters into their own hands if we don't act soon. We need to find out what's causing this before it's too late."
I read the letter aloud, and the room fell silent. "Sounds like things were getting pretty tense," Lily remarks, her voice subdued.
As I'm distracted by the time capsule in front of us, Mark sneaks off.
I'm not sure how long it was before she noticed, but I saw Lily looking around before saying, "Where the hell did Mark go?" breaking me out of my trance.
I look around, turning my head in all directions, and shrug at Lily. I hear shuffling in the second room down the hall, so I slowly walk toward it.
"Mark?" I call out.
Just then, a loud crash reverberates through the building, making it sound like the whole place was about to come down.
We run in and see Mark struggling to keep himself from falling into a giant hole that must've broken under his weight. Trying not to laugh, I glance at Lily. We help him up as he dramatically falls onto his back, wheezing as he catches his breath.
Lily and I can't contain our laughter anymore as we bust out laughing hard. Startled by our sudden outburst, Mark jumps in fear. He looks around, confused for a few seconds, before realizing that we are laughing at him.
"Jesus, thanks, I guess," he says, clearly thankful but annoyed by our reaction.
After we contained ourselves, we headed back outside, exiting through the window Mark entered through. He struggles to climb out, but after Lily gives him a hand, he is safely out of the Town Hall.
"Alright, Ror, where should we put the next camera?" Lily asks me.
I stop to think momentarily, trying to picture the town's layout. "I think the only place left is the neighborhood," I respond confidently. I always talk like that with Lily. Over the years, I've realized she is the only person I can have that much confidence around. With anyone else, I'm worried about saying something stupid or wrong or how they'll view me, but with my sister, everything is easy.
As I look at the replica map of the town in its heyday from the museum, I determine that the neighborhood is to the East. "Okay, looks like we head East past the Library. Let's go." I say, walking away.
It only takes about eight minutes to get to the long strip of road that housed the town's workers. According to the map, there were fifteen houses along this strip of road.
The houses stand eerily silent, their wooden frames weathered and decayed by time. We walk down the road, our footsteps crunching on the gravel and echoing in the stillness. The air feels heavier here like the past is watching us, waiting to reveal its secrets.
"Let's put the last cameras on that house at the end of the road," I suggest, pointing to a house that looks slightly less dilapidated than the others, "another one at the last house on the other side, and the last we can save for a spot you choose."
Lily nods and heads toward the first house, pulling another camera from her backpack. She sets it up on the porch, positioning it to capture the entire street, and does the same in the opposite house. As I stand with Mark breathing hard, still unable to catch his breath since we first got here, I can't shake the feeling that we're being watched. I glance around nervously but see nothing out of the ordinary.
"All set," Lily says, breaking my reverie, "Still no ideas for the last cam?" Lily asks me.
"Like I said, wherever you think it would be best. I feel like we have enough good spots and angles, so go wild with that one," I told her.
She smirked and kept walking next to me. Mark was still struggling behind, but after the town hall mishap, he was trying his best to keep up. I looked at my watch, and it read '12:30 pm'.
"Holy shit, it's already 12:30," I said in amazement, but no one else seemed fazed. It felt like we'd only been here thirty minutes, not almost four hours.
We walked back down the street. Lily and I had been discussing on the walk that she should put the last camera at the town's only stoplight in front of the Library.
As we made our way to it, I could have sworn I was seeing something moving fast past my vision in the corner of my eye. Every time I turned to look, it was gone. I chalked it up to being my imagination until Lily and Mark both experienced the same thing.
"What the fuck was that?" Mark asked as he ducked, bracing for something terrible to happen. Lily and I looked back at him and then at each other as we shrugged. It was after that that I started seeing things, too.
I confided in Lily about the unsettling visions and sounds, and she admitted she had experienced the same phenomena but had kept quiet, fearing Mark would dismiss her as paranoid.
"Well, it's probably just a cat or something," I said, attempting to downplay the situation, but neither seemed convinced.
We continued our trek, and I noticed that the more we walked, the more frequently I caught fleeting glimpses of movement in my peripheral vision. It was beginning to grate on my nerves.
Finally, we reached the light in front of the Library. As Lily mounted the camera, I felt a sense of satisfaction. We were making good progress, and it seemed like a suitable moment to start exploring the town more freely. We decided to split up and cover different sections of the town.
"Wait, we have to go alone? Why can't we stay together like you said?" Mark asked frantically, but Lily and I ignored him as we headed in separate directions. He continued to protest, but we paid him no mind. Eventually, I was either far enough away to not hear him anymore, or he had given up. Either way, I was happy to enjoy the eerie silence of the town.
As I wandered, the stillness of Raven's Nest enveloped me. With its decrepit buildings and overgrown streets, the town exuded an unsettling charm. It was as if I had stepped into a forgotten world, a place frozen in time with secrets waiting to be unearthed. The ambiance reminded me of an amusement park's haunted town section—artificially eerie yet irresistibly intriguing. Despite the creepiness, the mysterious vibe of the town kept me engaged and eager to explore its hidden corners.
I glanced at my watch again, only to find the time glaring back at me: 3:19 pm. It couldn't be right. There was no way it had been that long since I last checked. Panic seized me, and I called out for Lily, my voice tinged with urgency. She appeared beside me in a matter of minutes, her expression mirroring my concern.
"What's up, Ror? You okay?" she asked, her voice laced with worry.
"How long would you say it's been since you put the last camera down?" I inquired, my heart pounding in my chest.
Lily's brow furrowed as she struggled to come up with an answer. "Uh, I don't know, thirty minutes?" she hazarded a guess.
I held up my watch, displaying the time: 3:20 pm. Lily fell silent, her eyes widening in disbelief. She was never great with time, but missing almost three hours of our memory was unprecedented.
"There's no way. Your watch must be—" Lily began, her voice trailing off as she checked her own watch, only to freeze in shock when she found it displayed the same time as mine.
"Lil, something is going on," I stated, my voice tight and apprehensive. I glanced up at the sky, my stomach churning as I noticed the clouds darkening and rolling in from all sides of the valley.
The sky closed rapidly, ominous clouds obscuring the sun as thunder rumbled ominously against the mountains.
"Mark? Mark, where are—" I began to call out, but before I could finish, Mark emerged from behind a wall, appearing as if he'd been too frightened to venture far on his own.
"We have to get inside!" Mark exclaimed urgently, his voice tinged with fear.

As stated above, I'm currently running the Dragonheist campaign, so if you're currently playing it and haven't at least completed the Zhentarim's second sidequest, I would advise against reading the spoilers.
The stars of this particular tale are a pair of evil party members: The jester, Stitches, and the former Zhentarim thug, Kanno. Stitches is a College of Lore Bard with the Charlatan background, whose favorite con was impersonating others. Kanno is a Fighter, whom I had worked out with the player to be a former follower of Manshoon, who left after a betrayal by his former master. As a result, Kanno was quick to seize opportunities to make money, which he needed for his revenge.
The party has just experienced the beginning of the "Fireball" event, and conducted a fruitful investigation. Afterwards, they were questioned by Barnibus Blastwind and Saethe Cromley. Once the two had left, Stitches' player asked me whether their conversation with Barnibus had lasted for more than a minute. I answered in the affirmative, asked why, and then suddenly realized that he could now impersonate Barnibus. I didn't expect that to come into play so soon, though.
The party's first stop was to meet with Davil, to find out what he knew about the Zhentarim operatives that were killed at the scene of the blast. Since the men who died don't work for him, that lead was a dead-end. However, I took the opportunity to provide the party with the second Zhentarim sidequest, to deliver potions for Skeemo Weirdbottle. Since the party couldn't think of a next step for their investigation, in spite of all of the clues they had gathered, they decided to do the job to make some quick change.
It was here that Stitches began scheming. On the way to Skeemo's, he stopped at another apothecary, and was able to convince the man to tell him what a Potion of Mind Reading looks like. He also explained his plan to Kanno, operating under the assumption that it would be a large shipment, and that nobody would notice if a bottle or two were to "break" or "be confiscated by the Watch" when they made the delivery. Fortunately, they at least had the sense to realize that losing one bottle out of a delivery of four was not feasible. It was my mistake to think that this would be the end of the scheme.
Arriving at the Godcatcher with their cargo, they quickly spotted the intended recipient sitting in a hire-coach. After delivering the box, the woman inspected the goods, then quickly handed the party their reward and told the driver to get out of there. It was then that Stitches acted. Casting Message, he informed the driver, "Eyes are on you, take a roundabout route." While I had originally intended for the driver to take a circuitous route back anyways (I assumed that the woman was already taking precautions, given the nature of the sidequest), I had Stitches roll Persuasion. His result was good enough that I decided that the driver wouldn't tell his client about the missive, assuming that he was being reminded of his instructions by a compatriot of hers.
Meanwhile, Stitches hailed another hire-coach, and informed the party that he and Kanno would be "Following up on other leads", and that he hoped to "Earn a little bit of a bigger tip", or something to that effect. I didn't really want them to try to follow her, especially since what they were planning was obviously going to involve committing a crime of some kind, but I also wasn't going to just give them a hard "No", so I decided to make it difficult.
First, I rolled to see how many turns would pass before they could get a cab, and got a result of 3. Well, that's to be expected, it's a pretty well-travelled area, so cabs should be readily available there. I then had the driver balk at taking them without a set destination in mind, since fares are negotiated and paid before travel begins. Stitches, thinking fast, tells him to take them as far as 1 gold would go, and given the cost of a hire-coach, I had him reply that, "Sure, you've got me for an hour".
Since the module doesn't really contain rules for a vehicular chase, and I didn't want to waste time flipping through the DMG looking for something, I decided to modify the chase rules found on page 72. I had one of them roll a d20 for the outset, and Stitches rolled a natural 20, so they encountered no obstacles leaving the square. But they'd still have to actually find their quarry's vehicle, since it was currently going around the square a few times, and ducking up and down sidestreets. Oh, no problem, a 15 and a 22 on Perception quickly spotted the woman's cab, and a quick lie about their intent set their own driver to following her at a distance of about 100 feet.
I then began a few rounds of rolling d20s to determine how the chase would go. After both their cab and the one they were following rolled well enough to avoid mishap on two successive checks, I informed them that their quarry had finally stopped its erratic travel, and was now moving straight up The High Road, seemingly now on its way back, and called for one more round of checks. My hope was that they would follow her home, see that they were messing with a noble, and back off. Instead, I rolled a 2 for the NPC's coach, while they managed to avoid mishap once again. Since they had just been asking their cabbie about possibly finding a shortcut to head them off, I decided that they would see the hire-coach ahead of them stopping due to a fruit-cart in the middle of the road having a broken wheel. I informed them that the coach they were following was waiting for a break in the oncoming traffic so that it could go around.
Once again, they defied my expectations. Playing their previous lie to the hilt, they departed from their cab and approached the stopped vehicle, where the dice gods granted their blessing upon the absolute Indy Ploy they rolled out. First, the two ducked into an alleyway, where Stitches cast Disguise Self to make himself look like Barnibus Blastwind. Then, using his Performance to do a bit of voice mimicry, he approached the fruit cart vendor, slipped him a silver piece, and started making a big production about "Reckless drivers these days!", and the negligent driving that damaged the wheel on this poor fruit vendor's cart!
I called for Persuasion, and with a 19, the fruit cart vendor decided that he wasn't one to say no to free money, and started playing along, albeit very passively. A Performance result of 23 ensured that not only was Stitches able to do a spot-on impression of Barnibus' voice and mannerisms, but that he was starting to draw the crowd's attention as well, just as he had hoped. Stitches started demanding compensation from the hire-coach driver, who was incredulous that he was being blamed for this. The fact that Stitches was demanding two Platinum as compensation only made him more certain that this was some kind of shakedown, and he adamantly refused to pay for something that he had nothing to do with.
For the lady's part, I rolled absolutely abysmally. A natural 1 on her Insight check led her to also assume that this was some clumsy attempt at extortion, and she chimed in that even if her driver had damaged the cart, he would only have to pay damages to the owner, not the exorbitant fee that Stitches/Barnibus was demanding. She also demanded to know exactly who he was. Stitches obliged.
...And here, ignorance proved to be a strength as well. See, Stitches didn't actually know Barnibus' last name. Nor did he know that Barnibus was only a consultant, and not a member of the Watch. And so, he introduced himself as "Inspector Barney of the City Watch". And the woman, failing yet another check, didn't question the obvious lie. And besides, as a secret member of the city's criminal class, she's not exactly looking for a confrontation with the City Watch right now. And so, the two started talking in circles for a bit, both the lady's driver and the lady herself being a little confused by what exactly Stitches was looking for, since even his own demands were, by design, self-contradictory and bizarre. The only reason they didn't just leave was because the traffic on their side of the road was at a standstill due to the broken cart.
Meanwhile, while Stitches held their attention, Kanno emerged from the alley he was observing from and slipped around to the other side of the lady's hire-coach. After ascertaining from him exactly what he intended to do, I had him roll Stealth, but informed him that there was a fair-sized crowd gathered, and that while the hire coach would block people from seeing him on their side of the road, and the oncoming dray would block the view from the other sidewalk, he would still be visible to the people on board the dray, and that a bad Stealth roll would mean that he's spotted.
So, Kanno steals up to the hire-coach. His intent is to try to sneak up, open the coffer full of potions, and swipe one. He asks where it is, and I decided that it was about a 50/50 that she'd either be holding it in her lap or having it sit on the seat next to her. I rolled a secret d100, got a 4, and had him call high or low. Kanno called low, so to his great fortune, the box was sitting on the seat next to the woman, who was currently engaged in a heated conversation with Stitches over the poor fruit vendor's cart damages.
At this point, I also had the cart vendor realize that this wasn't going well, and have him start to meekly assert that "It's not such a big deal", and that "I don't think they were the ones who even hit me in the first place", to put a time limit on this exercise. On the other side of the wagon, Kanno rolled Stealth once again to try to steal a potion from the box, and Stitches, running brilliant interference, hit the woman with Cutting Words to reduce her Perception check. It ultimately proved unnecessary, as Kanno's Stealth check was good enough to beat the woman's Passive Perception, but I wanted to highlight the move anyways, as it was a great assist.
And so, Kanno slipped away with the bottle tucked into his pocket, giving Stitches a wink to indicate a job completed. Stitches, playing along with the vendor's second thoughts, stated that "Since the man himself has decided not to press charges, I'll drop the matter", and departed. And just for the sake of adding a little flair to the scene, I described to the two how, as they were leaving, they heard the sound of a member of the City Watch arriving to direct traffic around the broken cart while it was being removed from the road.
And so, the two got away with their dastardly scheme. The woman completely fell for Stitches' trickery, and since he played his role so well, she now believes that "Inspector Barney", purportedly of the City Watch, has tried to demand a bribe from her. She never saw Kanno, and nobody noticed him stealing the potion from her box, so all she knows is that the "inspector", and possibly the fruit vendor, coordinated a scam to rob her of her potions. Additionally, since we were playing on Roll20, and I accidentally did a couple of the woman's rolls in the open instead of as secret GM rolls,they now have the OOC knowledge that they managed to get one over on the infamous Black Viper.
It wasn't where I was expecting that short sidequest to go, but it was one of the funniest and most memorable roleplay experiences I've had in a long time, calling to mind the absurd stories of the old ad hoc roleplaying sessions we used to do using the Dragonstrike game rules. I think it's a good example of how your players can disrupt your game in a way that's fun for everyone at the table, turning a nothing task into a fun story. They knew what they were risking, it was entirely in character for both players to do it, and they profited from their daring. And really, while she might be annoyed and want to find out who did it, I feel like The Black Viper could at least appreciate a robbery smoothly committed, and draw inspiration from it. Besides, I can't wait to find out how these two discover that their stolen "Potion of Mind Reading" is actually a Potion of Poison *evil laugh*.

Content Warning: This story contains themes of mental health issues, suicide and physical violence.
Prosopagnosia v. Cotard's Syndrome
My new doctor - a bright and friendly guy named Sarbjit - took the time to explain his diagnosis to me. He told me my condition was mental, not physical, but it was hard to pay attention to everything he said because my left arm was numb and rotting from the inside out. I smiled and nodded and then when I got home I looked up Cotard’s Syndrome online. Here is what Wikipedia had to say on it.
“Cotard's syndrome, also known as ‘Cotard's delusion’ or ‘Walking Corpse Syndrome’, is a rare mental disorder in which the affected person holds the delusional belief that they are dead, do not exist, are putrefying, or have lost their blood or internal organs.”
I don’t know. Sounded extremely strange to me. I just knew my left arm was dying. Maybe my liver too. I used my right arm, the good one, to open my mail. Most of it was just the normal stuff but when I saw the letter from the Supreme Court of the State of New York I got a little worried. I was here legally - a citizen for almost ten years now - and I knew my rights but being summoned to testify at this criminal trial was a bit unnerving. I didn’t like it. I just try to do my best in this life and mind my own business and not cause problems for others.
When my trial appearance date arrived two months later I took the subway downtown and left my assistant, Stavvy, in charge of the office that day. I sat there on a hard wooden bench in the courtroom all morning listening to the testimony of other witnesses but I wasn’t called to the stand until sometime after we returned from lunch. Eventually, the lawyer for the defense called my name.
She mispronounced it of course - people here always mispronounce Albanian names - so I wasn’t surprised when she called me Mister Shka-Rell-Eee. My surname is Shkreli, after the place where my family comes from, and the proper pronunciation contains only two syllables - Shkrell-Eee. I was trying to hold my left arm in place when she asked her opening question.
Where was I at the time of the murder?
“Well, Miss Anderson” - I pronounced it Ahnd-REE-Sawn, drawing out the first and last syllables while placing too much emphasis on the middle one, intentionally - “I am not entirely certain. That was over a year ago and I travel all around this city on a daily basis for my job. I work in computer repair and IT support and I have customers in all five boroughs.” (This wasn’t exactly true. I wasn’t really willing to travel to Staten Island.) We had spoken four months earlier when she informed me of the questions she intended to ask at trial but I was fairly oblique then and I intended to remain so now. I had bigger problems. Could these people not see that my left arm was rotting away?
She looked at me with a furrowed brow and briskly walked back to the defense table, picked up a leather-bound notepad and opened it.
“Mister Shkreli, when you and I spoke on June 18th you confirmed that you were just leaving a client’s office, TRG Commercial Realty, located at 223 Broome Street here in lower Manhattan at approximately 3:30pm that day, shortly before the incident at issue took place less than one block away. Is that not correct?”
I turned up my native eastern European accent a bit and repositioned my left arm in my lap. I could barely feel it at that point. What was wrong with these people?
“If you say so. Like I said, that was over a year ago and it was just another workday for me.”
She stared at me for a beat or two longer than necessary and then flashed a quick look towards the jurors before continuing.
“Well yes, Mister Shkreli” - again it was Shka-Rell-Eee - “You did tell me that and I do have a recording of our conversation, which you consented to before we began, if the court would like this to be entered into evidence?”
She looked at the judge and the judge looked at me.
“Mister Shkreli,” - he too pronounced it Shka-Rell-Eee - ‘Are you refuting the testimony that Miss Anderson is referencing during your preliminary deposition or can we just move on at this point? If counsel for the defense claims to have this recording I am fairly certain this is true. Will it be necessary to enter this recording into evidence at this time or are you willing to acknowledge Miss Anderson’s claim?”
I repositioned my left arm in my lap and nodded.
“That’s fine, Your Honor. As I said, it was just another workday for me but if Miss Anderson says that is what we discussed I am sure she is probably right.”
The judge nodded back at me. “Very good. Let’s proceed then.”
Miss Anderson walked back to the defense table and dropped the leather-bound notepad before continuing with her final question for me, looking annoyed.
“Picking up where we left off, Mister Shkreli, can you please describe for the court what happened immediately after you left the offices of TRG Commercial Realty at 223 Broome Street on the date in question, October 22nd of last year?”
I didn’t like the way that she was trying to fence me in but I wasn't particularly concerned. I had bigger problems.
“Well, like I said, I don’t really remember that day. There was nothing memorable about it. It was just another day.”
She stared at me for a few seconds then flashed a quick look at the jury box with her eyebrows raised before returning her attention to the judge. “No more questions, Your Honor.”
I was dismissed from the stand but asked to remain in the courtroom as she called her next witness; a small, frail woman from Queens about my same age named Maureen Stewart. She had an odd, twitchy nature about her. I wanted to get home. I wanted to relax.
“Miss Stewart, can you please tell the court where you were on October 22nd of last year at approximately 3:30 in the afternoon?”
The witness looked down for a moment and then glanced towards the judge before removing the slightly confused look from her face and responding in a semi-automated tone.
“Yes, Miss Anderson. At that time, I was just leaving my day shift at the FedEx Office Store (she pronounced it ‘Staw’ in her thick New York accent) on Broome Street and I was walking towards the station for the Six Train to begin my ride back home.”
The attorney for the defense took a momentary pause and then asked her next question.
“And can you please tell us what happened then?”
The witness looked down again and then looked back at the judge, then the jury and, finally, at me. I didn’t like the way she looked at me.
“Yes, as I was leaving my workplace I crossed the street and I remember walking past the entrance to a narrow alleyway where I heard a commotion taking place. It made me stop and look for a second or two but I didn’t want to get involved so I just kept on walking towards the subway and I didn’t think too much about the whole thing until the Homicide detectives contacted me a few days later after they pulled the security camera videos. I came down to the police station the day after that and gave my statement. That was just over a year ago.”
Miss Anderson took a moment to stare at me. I didn’t like that either. I adjusted my left arm in my lap. It was completely numb.
“Thank you, Miss Stewart. Can you please be a bit more specific about what you saw occurring in that alleyway?”
Again, the witness looked down at the floor and then her eyes shot all around the courtroom before she responded.
“Well,” she said, before taking a brief pause. “At first I thought it was just a little scuffle but when I saw the shorter man in the black jacket punch the tall man in the belly a few times I saw some blood starting to spread on the side of his white button-down shirt and I saw what looked like a small knife or something in the shorter man’s hand. The tall thin man looked like he was starting to fall. I remember looking around for a police officer but I certainly wasn’t gonna do anything about it by myself. I mean, what could I do? When I didn’t see no one who could help I just kept on walking towards the subway. I guess I should have done more but I was scared and I just wanted to get back to Forest Hills to pick up my daughter from daycare before five o’clock.”
I glanced at the defendant seated at the table on the left. He looked both hopeful and nervous at the same time, but in a subtle way, like he didn’t want to appear to be either. He kept his head down and never once glanced towards the jury box. Miss Anderson asked her final question.
“Thank you, Miss Stewart. And do you see the man in the black jacket who stabbed the victim, Mister Baronston, on that day last October here in the courtroom now?”
Again the witness looked down at the floor between her feet for a moment and then looked back up, right at me. I felt my blood stop flowing through my veins, or at least through my left arm and the top of my right leg, when she raised up her hand and pointed her index finger at me.
“It was that man, there,” she said.
Miss Anderson nodded and paused for a moment, satisfied, letting it sink in for the jury members. I was stunned. The stylish defense attorney in the toney, expensive clothing began walking back in my direction and she too pointed an accusatory finger.
“If it pleases the court, let the record show that Miss Stewart has identified Mister Jack Shkreli as the attacker who she witnessed in the-”
Just then the witness on the stand, Miss Stewart, pointed her finger at the judge without really looking at him and suddenly blurted out, “Or him. It might have been him too. I’m not 100% sure...”
Miss Anderson paused, clearly nonplussed, and just stared at her witness. The judge also looked baffled for a second or two and then leaned over and whispered something to his court assistant and the two of them shared a quiet smirk.
Then the witness pointed at one of the jurors, a man in the front row about my size.
“Or him. It could have been him. I’m just not sure...” Then she went silent, as did the rest of the courtroom for a few moments. The State’s Attorney, a heavy-set bald man, broke the silence pretty quickly as he rose to his feet.
“Your Honor, the State would like to move to dismiss this witness along with all previous testimony.” He paused briefly and took a deep breath, choosing his next words.
“While we appreciate Miss Stewart’s willingness to appear at trial today, I think it’s clear that her recollection of events is…uncertain at best.” He glared at the defense table for a moment, then added “I’d just like to remind the court that Mister Shkreli” - and God bless him, he pronounced my two-syllable surname correctly - “is not on trial here and if this witness cannot distinguish the man she saw that day from yourself or a random member of our jury panel I don’t think we can accept this testimony or any further testimony from this witness.”
He hung his head respectfully, with the tiniest little smile on his face. He already knew he had won this argument and the judge quickly agreed, telling the jury to disregard what they just heard. Miss Stewart was dismissed from the stand and the defense had no other witnesses left to call. Less than two hours later the jury returned a guilty verdict against the defendant on all counts and the courtroom was cleared. The sentencing hearing would take place at a later date and I was not required to be there. My right leg was starting to feel numb by then but I still managed to get back to the office in time for Stavvy to head home at the end of his shift to make dinner for his kids. His wife was killed in a car accident two years earlier. He was a hard worker and I really liked him.
That night, back at my apartment, I did some research online and learned about a rare mental disorder known as Prosopagnosia. Here is what Wikipedia had to say.
Prosopagnosia, also known as face blindness, is a cognitive disorder of face perception in which the ability to recognize familiar faces, including one's own face (self-recognition), is impaired, while other aspects of visual processing (e.g. object discrimination) and intellectual functioning remain intact.
It all sounded pretty strange to me but if the doctors say it’s real who am I to argue? Apparently it is well documented in the DSM-5. I don’t know if this is the reason why I was able to walk away from the courtroom without consequence at first but I think it is the most likely explanation. I only know that when I left my client’s offices at TRG Commercial Realty on that day just over a year ago and hailed a cab I was stunned and confused when Mister Baronston, a complete stranger with a hostile face, suddenly attacked me, claiming that it was his cab and not mine.
He was bigger than me, tall and thin but strong, and I would have just given up the cab and caught the next one but he was clearly already very angry about something. When he backed me towards the alley, shoving me and then punching me around my head and neck, my backpack tumbled open and I saw my wallet and phone and some other items come crashing out onto the pavement. It was just a stupid and unnecessary altercation, the kind of thing that probably happens on the streets of this city every day, sadly. Too many people, not enough space. I did my best to fight back and protect myself but he was a good deal bigger than me.
Then I was getting punched some more and thrown against the alley wall as people passed by, disinterested, and I just instinctively reached into my jacket pocket and pulled out the pen knife that has been attached to my keychain for years. Before I really knew what was happening it was open and then my right hand was growing warm and red and slick with his blood. Then I was moving again, not looking back.
What an odd thing. I remember seeing Miss Stewart stopping there on the sidewalk to look from the mouth of the alley that day. Of all the passers-by, she was the only one who paused to look at us, at me, right as I desperately punctured Mister Baronston’s rib cage for the fifth or sixth time with my little penknife and he began to drop, but she averted her gaze after a few seconds and moved on and then I was rapidly heading in the opposite direction. This is a huge city and I never expected to see her face again. Fortunately, she was apparently never really able to see mine.
Anyway, I have more important problems to worry about at this time. Stavvy received a letter from the Manhattan DA’s office yesterday ordering him to appear at a grand jury hearing next month related to my involvement in Mister Baronston’s death. He showed it to me. More importantly, my left arm is just about gone now, my right leg is quickly starting to feel the same way and in just the last day or two I have begun feeling that strange tingling sensation in the tips of the fingers on my right hand. I know my liver is failing. It won’t be long now.
I scheduled a meeting with my lawyer in the morning to legally put the business and the rest of my assets in Stavvy’s name in my will. I have no family here anyway and almost no relatives who I remain close with back in Albania or Montenegro anymore. Stavvy is a good man and he has kids to feed and I have already lived a full life.
So yes, I will just leave it all to him and after that’s done I think I will get the old Ford minivan that we sometimes still use for the business and drive it out to the George Washington Bridge while I am still able. I know that when I stop it and get out and leave it there on the center-span I will screw up traffic badly and inconvenience a lot of people but I can’t worry about that. I have to do what I have to do. There’s no point in waiting for this to get worse. I can barely feel the fingers on my right hand and I don’t have much time left.
Maybe I should have told the truth at the trial. I don’t know. I think I was just too distracted by all of my health problems. I didn’t really have any choice at the time. I don’t have any choice now. I’m actually surprised that I lasted this long. I was certain that I would already be gone a few months ago but I feel I have done my best with this life.
As my people back in Albania say, Mos pyet si vdiq, por si rrojti!
“Do not ask how he died, but how he lived!”
THE END

twice in a day…
i work at an ice cream shop. next to kids, boomers are easily our biggest customers. most of the time its not an issue, but theres always a handful of moments. these two happened today…
boomer couple walks in
me: hello! how can i help you?
lady: can i get half scoop of vanilla and a half scoop of chocolate?
me: i apologize ma’am but we cannot do half scoops here, but-
cutting me off lady: yes, you do.
me: umm, no ma’am, but i could get you a kids double, which is about the same size as a single, and is only a couple cents more
lady: well could you just charge me for a single scoop then?
me: no ma’am, i cannot do that.
lady: well i get 2 half scoops all the time, you can do it too.
me: i apologize, but the closest thing is a kids double. ive never let anyone get a half scoop.
lady: well yeah, it wasnt from you
me: well thank you for bringing that to my attention, as a manager i will have to remind the team that we do not do that here.
i didn’t actually remind my co-workers lmao, i just wanted to make it seem like she just ruined it for herself. pretty much everyone who asks for 2 half scoops accepts the kids double scoop option, so i really don’t understand her deal.
in fact, if she was indeed telling the truth, whoever did that for her probably just gave her a kids double, and neglected to tell her, i just like making sure everyone knows what theyre getting before i charge them for it.
now, this next one is a bit hard for the context. we were fairly busy, someone was getting a cake, and i dont like making people getting cakes wait so i asked them to follow me to the register, but as i got there i saw there was someone waiting to pay, so i got to them first.
i knew their item had bananas in it, but i didnt know what exactly it was because i didnt take her order. so i asked:
me: was it just a banana split today?
her: yes, just the banana split
me: okay, your total is $9
her: walks away towards to throw trash away
i started to ring up the person getting the cake, but then she butts back in front
so, i say once again.
me: just the banana split, right?
her: yes
me: your total is $9
her: what? that doesnt sound right?
me: you were just getting the banana split, right???
her: no, im getting a single scoop with bananas and chocolate syrup.
WTF LIKE WHY NOT JUST SAY THAT? thats almost completely different than a banana split, i dont even understand why she said yes, just fucking annoying.

1. I’m 5’5 - Cmon, no guy can compete with me in this department, only a handful might actually compete and be shorter and do some serious damage.
   
2. I drive a 2019 Honda CRV- cmon be fr, how many guys do you know that can swim through traffic like me in a CRV. 😉
   
3. Through the many teenagers , I alone will have $300k in my bank account by age 25. (I have $0 rn , so cooked)
   
4. I possess both the reverse emo attraction technique (allowing me to attract emo girls while not being a ginger or emo myself) and the six eyes of rizz that allows me to see through more than just a latina’s butt but her personality.
   
5. Nah , I’d gap your boyfriend.
   

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Things have become complicated recently and that’s saying something considering what we’ve been through up until now. We needed to set out early to avoid Mrs. Sheaver and her goons. Before we did, we snuck over to Roscoe’s place. His apartment number was on his house key so it wasn’t hard to find. Upon stepping inside, we were greeted by the site of several hunting rifles resting by the couch.
“That checks out,” Van said.
I went to check Roscoe’s room while Drake went into the kitchen.
“He's got some leftover pizza. Wait, no never mind, it's gone bad.”
Over Roscoe's bed hung a painting of Donald Trump. This wasn't surprising. I went to his closet, opened it, and found several sleeping bags and camping packs there. I came back into the living room with them.
“Hey, I think we can use these,” I said, tossing one to Drake and another to Van.
The former caught it and the other fumbled, dropping it. He squatted to pick it up.
“Gus?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you seen the kitchen? Roscoe had a ton of bottled water for some reason.”
“Oh yeah, I think he mentioned one time that he heard water from the sink makes you gay. I can't lie. He was weird.”
“Yeah, so you want to grab some cases?”
“I can carry a few. Just keep an eye out for trouble.”
I stacked some and lifted them. We also found some metal thermos cups that Van held onto.
“I don't see anyone,” he said after stepping outside.
We followed him out, making our way to the Hummer. Drake had his gun in hand and was behind us constantly looking over his shoulder. We got to the Hummer and unlocked it. That's when a bullet whizzed past my temple and hit one of the tail lights.
“So you were holding out on us,” Mrs. Sheaver screamed from her kitchen window.
“Fuck, get inside now,” Drake yelled.
Yanking the doors open, we threw our stuff in before jumping inside ourselves. In the rearview, we could see the rest of our neighbors armed with bats and pipes chasing after us.
“Start the fucking car,” I urged, and then another hole formed in the back windshield.
Drake cranked the ignition and backed up. Then we were out of there like cows escaping a slaughterhouse. We didn't even slow down when we came to the gate. Drake crashed right through it as the screams of Mrs. Sheaver and the others became faint cries.
“Okay, so we're on track for the most part,” I said. “Do you think the convenience store is too close now? I don't want them coming after us.”
“Guys?” We heard Van interject.
We glanced in the rearview again to see several cars gaining on us. The one at the front was a van being driven by Mrs. Sheaver.
“Oh my God,” Drake said. “Gus, lock and load.”
“Already on it. Be mindful of the tires.”
I loaded a rifle and got ready. The sound of metal on metal echoed throughout the car as we were being fired at. Drake tried taking several turns to lose them, but they stayed on our tail. I took a deep breath, then aimed out of one of the windows and shot at one car's tires. I made my mark, resulting in it swerving and crashing into another vehicle.
Both spun out of control until it was only Mrs. Sheaver left.
“Hold still,” she yelled over the rushing wind. “My eyes aren't what they used to be.”
Unfortunately for her, there was a pothole in the road. It damaged her front tire, causing her to swerve and plow straight into a tree at full speed. We stopped just in time to see it come crashing down, breaking through her windshield.
“God damn,” Drake said.
“I mean, she might still be alright,” I commented.
The tree had gone through some wires. One of them fell on a branch, setting it ablaze.
“Well, at least it was quick.”
“Oh Christ, I'm burning,” Mrs. Sheaver shrieked.
We sat there in silence listening before her cries died down.
“Drake, what time is it?” I asked.
“About twelve till six.”
Today was going to be a long day. We got back on track with our plan and proceeded to the convenience store. We got out and surveyed the damage.
“This thing's tough,” I said.
“Does anyone want to talk about how messed up that all was?” Van asked.
“Yeah, it was pretty fucked,” Drake replied, “but what's done is done. Let's grab what we can and get out of here.”
We tried the door, finding it was unlocked. Inside, a far-from-pretty sight was waiting for us. Blood stains covered the wall behind the counter. Out of morbid curiosity, I peeked over it, seeing only a hand and a shoe with the foot still attached. A shudder ran through me.
“Hey, Gus, what do you see back there?” Van asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
We started surveying what would be best to bring with us.
“I think we should focus on protein,” I said.
“Like trail mix?” Drake replied. “It’s got fruit too.”
“I hate trail mix, too many raisins,” Van complained.
“What about these?” I asked, cocking a thumb to some protein bars.
Something else caught my eye.
“Hang on,” I said, bending over and picking something up. “We can’t be caught dead without this.”
I held up a pack of toilet paper.
“Good thinking,” Drake said, “Van, grab some, will you?”
Van stared down at it with a grimace.
“I bet it feels like sandpaper,” he grumbled but began gathering as many as he could anyway.
While he did, we filled our three bags with what we could. Then we took everything back to the Hummer and got back on the road.
“Hey, Drake?” I said as he was closing the trunk.
“What?”
“I’ve been thinking. If this works and we make it out of here, we’re not exactly going to be well off afterward. Do you think maybe we should see if a store happens to have some loose change lying around if you catch my drift?”
I gestured to the convenience store. About six minutes later, we were driving down the road.
“So there was about six hundred bucks in the register which makes two hundred for each of us,” I said, “and there’s more in the safe if we can get it open.
The safe was in the back next to Van.
“I can’t believe you guys stole this from the store.”
“It’s not like anyone’s using it,” Drake said. “Besides, the guy who ran the place was stingy as hell. One time, he tried to charge me double on something. I had to argue with him about it for two minutes straight so we aren’t beating ourselves up about this.”
“How do you think we should get it open?” I asked.
“I don’t know. We’ll figure something out.”.
We guessed that there were blockades set up at every exit out of town. We also assumed that there would be more people active where we tried to get out last time. Instead of going there, we went to the woods on the opposite side of town.
“Remember, there’s no turning back after this,” Drake said, “so only take the necessities. I still want to see about opening the safe, though.”
While he was talking, I was glancing among the trees. One of them seemed odd to me and swayed strangely in the wind. Then I realized with a chill that it was moving.
“Lanker,” I choked out.
Drake and Van turned in time to see it sprinting out of the woods. In a flash, it was to us. We got out of the way as it swiped at us with one of its clawed hands. Its nails dug into the Hummer’s back door, yanking it out. I was thinking maybe if we kept still and tried to keep from shitting ourselves, it would go away.
Drake, thankfully seemed to be on the same wavelength as me. Van, however, was not. He screamed, darting away. The lanker pursued him, giving us time to arm ourselves. As Van was circling back around, we raised our weapons, squeezing the triggers. As soon as it was focused on us, we knew to split up to divert its attention.
Drake managed to get some shots into it before he had to retreat. While the lanker went after him, I aimed at its legs. This appeared effective as it let out a cry of pain that sounded like when a microphone is held up to a speaker. The good news was it was no longer after Drake. The bad news was I was now its target.
“Drake, shoot it in the back of its knees,” I yelled, sprinting as fast as I could.
I slid under the Hummer and came out the other side. In spur-of-the-moment planning on my part, I opened the back door and slammed it shut. This succeeded in fooling the lanker as I snuck behind it, getting its weak spot point blank. Unfortunately, I misjudged the distance. The next thing I knew, it was swinging at me with an object in hand.
I managed to raise my gun to block it and if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be writing this. Wood splintered as it was broken in half. I observed the world doing several cartwheels as I was rolling along the ground before coming to a stop at the base of a tree.
“Gus,” Drake yelled.
The pain was so immense I couldn’t even get a breath out. The Lanker was about to rip into me until Drake distracted it.
“Guys,” Van cried out in alarm.
I tilted my head up, seeing a metric shit load of zombies racing towards us.
“Welp, we're fucked,” I thought.
In an unexpected turn of events, though, the lanker was now shrieking at them. It went after them, grabbing two by their heads, crushing them like watermelons under a hydraulic press. I took the opportunity to examine where I'd been struck. Touching my abdomen yielded pain. Thankfully, nothing seemed to be broken, just some bruising I would need to deal with later.
Guess I got lucky in that I was knocked away instead of grabbed. If the lanker was smarter, this would be a different story. The other zombies were crawling all over it, gnawing as they did. A crawler saw me in a vulnerable state and tried capitalizing on the opportunity. It pounced and my butt clenched. Then a bullet went through its head. Drake rushed over, helping me up.
“Thanks again, man.”
“No problem.”
“Let's run into the woods while they're occupied,” Van said.
“But our stuff is over there,” I told him. “We won't last long without it.”
We both looked at Drake.
“Let's see how this plays out a little longer,” he said.
For a while, it seemed that the lanker would be the victor. Then its knees buckled as they were chewed through. We watched on, mouths agape. In a move of desperation, it picked the safe back up, swinging it wildly. The zombies previously all over the lanker were now a red paste and it was crawling feebly on the ground.
“I got this,” Drake said.
He went over to it and shot at its legs, blowing them off. It tried swiping at him, but he'd already backed away. It attempted to stand on its stumps. When it lifted its head, Drake jammed the barrel of his gun down its throat, pulling the trigger. With a last twitch, it was no longer a threat.
“Are you sure it's dead?” Van asked.
“I blew out the back of its head. Of course, it's dead,” Drake replied, then threw a rock at the lanker to be sure.
“Yep, as a doornail.”
Drake came over and helped me up.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“I'll live.”
“Good, let's get our things.”
Van was already doing that.
“My God is this heavy,” he grunted as he pulled it onto his back.
“Get used to it,” Drake told him.
I glanced around in case we'd have to deal with any more unexpected threats and that's when I noticed the dented-to-shit safe lying on its side with the door open. It didn't take long to count the money inside. There was a little over eight thousand in cash that we divided among the three of us. Thus, our hike began at last. We walked for eight hours, encountering zombies along the way.
Most of the time it was simple to pick them off. The biggest problem came when some tried attacking us from above. I am so glad me and Drake's reflexes are on point. Something unusual we stumbled upon is that whatever has been zombifying people has spread to animals. Long story short, there was a zombie grizzly bear ripping into another bear and its cubs. We thought we would have to deal with this monstrosity.
Luckily, it didn't appear to find us appetizing. That said, it was emitting a deep growl after it noticed us so we got the message to steer clear of it. Eventually, Van told us his feet were aching and suggested we should rest.
“I guess we can stop for a bit,” I said. “Right, Drake?”
“Sure, I was getting hungry anyway.”
We sat down, setting up our packs to rest against. Me and Drake took out some trail mix while Van unwrapped a protein bar.
“Hey,” he said to us, “I got some of these if you want to add them to your water.”
He held up some flavoring packets.
“Hell yeah,” Drake replied, “Toss them here.”
“Actually, I was thinking I could take care of it for you while you guys set up camp since it's going to be dark in a couple of hours.”
“Good point. Gus, help me gather some firewood.”
We did so and threw them into a pile. Van came back up to us with our thermos cups.
“Drake, yours is blue raspberry and Gus, yours is green apple.”
We thanked him and enjoyed the rest of our meal. Halfway through my drink, I was feeling lightheaded.
“Hey, Drake, do I look alright?” I turned to him and noticed he too was in the same condition as me.
“I don't…” he replied with his voice trailing off.
We passed out. When we awoke it was dark and Drake was cussing up a storm.
“What happened?” I asked, shaking off my fatigue.
“That son of a bitch robbed us,” Drake replied. “Look.”
He showed me our wallets which were stripped of cash.
“And he left this.”
I was handed a crumpled piece of paper with this message crudely written on it.
“Sorry to do this. Years working for the mayor have taught me people can be bribed so that's what I'm doing. You won't find me again, but I wish you the best of luck.”
I clenched my fist around it.
“He robbed us.”
“Yeah, I just said that.”
“Well, what do we do now?”
“Get moving, I guess. Can't believe this. How do we get our shit stolen twice in two days?”
We wondered how Van would survive on his own. Then again, he did have a snack for avoiding trouble as he was able to before we bumped into him. After walking for some time, we saw an orange light in the distance.
“I think that's a campfire,” I exclaimed. “Do you think it might be Van?”
“If it is, I'm going to have some words for him,” Drake replied, patting his holstered handgun.
We stepped into the clearing to find a bunch of people standing around a bonfire. They were wearing hooded white robes and turned when they heard us.
“Oh shit, it's the fucking Klan. Drake, get behind me,” I urged, stepping in front of me.
One of them stepped forward, revealing the face of a grinning man.
“Worry not, friends. You have no reason to fear us.”
He explained that his name was Jeff and he founded their group, cult really, of survivors and they called themselves The Uplagued. Every one of them smiled from ear to ear and asked us if we wanted to stay.
“No disrespect, we'd love to, but we need to keep moving,” Drake told them.
“That's a shame,” Jeff responded. “We were about to pass around the calumet.”
For those who don't know, that's another word for the peace pipe used by the natives. Drake and I exchanged a look. Ten minutes later, we were sitting in a smoke circle. When Drake's turn came, he took a rip from it worthy of a dragon about to breathe fire. I got in a good one when my turn came.
Now, I'm high as the moon typing this on my phone. After what we've been through today, it's nice to have something to take the edge off. I'm not sure what we're going to do about our financial situation if we make it out. Hopefully, we come up with something. For now, the munchies are calling my name.