i need your advice, im playing on Interloper on my 14th day. Got my Bow, a Bedroll and Hacksaw already. Currently my base is the Trappers in ML. I have never been on summit before. Now im thinking to do a trip on summit and afterwards to get the technical backpack. Should I go first on summit or get the Backpack first? How difficult is the way from summit to Gold mine? Any reccomendation are welcome. Please dont roast me for missing knowledge. Played on Pilgrim like 10 hours and went straight to Interloper. After some tries I finally got my setup for long term surviving.

Hello. I'm looking for health insurance for me(40), my wife(39) and our 3yo kid.
What I don't need: life insurance. Me and my wife running several businesses. We are also into land banking business, and when/if something will happen to either one of us, technically the other side+kid won't be needing emergency funds.
Ok. So what we DO want, is an insurance which will save us from an unexpected hospital bill (let's say 500k/1M+) which will disrupt the business cash flow significantly.

Judging by this reddit, what we need is GHA Gold Lite, Gold Lite Plus or SILVER.

Ok, questions. 1. Why does many people on this reddit seems to purchase a combo of GHA Gold + HMO from MAXICARE (or similar)?
I'm do get the logic. GHA Gold, doesn't cover outpatients. I get it. But GHA Silver does. And GHA silver.is like 35k more expensive, then gold.

So....MAXICARE 250k coverage plan cost 40k/year. Soooo? What am I missing here, how does GHA Gold + HMO MAXICARE is better (seems like a common Philinvest reddit choice), then standalone AXA GHA Silver?

As for GHA (in general), I'm still a bit confused what does it cover in terms of accidents....
If you got into accident and need a surgery - then GHA supposed to cover it. I get it.
But if you get, bitten by a horse, fell from the bicycle, sawcut yourself during home improvement DIY project, fell from the stairs.... and have to visit hospital (without needing of a surgery, but with need of major treatment)...does such events got covered?

Asset tokenization refers to the process of representing ownership of real-world assets digitally through tokens on a blockchain or distributed ledger technology (DLT). This approach enables fractional ownership, liquidity, and easier transferability of traditionally illiquid assets like real estate, art, or commodities.
Here's how it typically works:

1. **Asset Identification:** The asset to be tokenized is identified. It could be real estate property, artwork, commodities like gold or oil, or even intellectual property rights.
   
2. **Legal Framework:** Legal agreements are established to define the rights and responsibilities of token holders, usually in the form of smart contracts.
   
3. **Tokenization:** The asset is then divided into digital tokens, each representing a fraction of ownership in the asset. These tokens are issued on a blockchain or DLT platform.
   
4. **Distribution:** The tokens are distributed to investors or buyers who purchase them. This process can happen through a public offering, private placement, or on a token exchange platform.
   
5. **Trading and Liquidity:** Once the tokens are issued, they can be traded on secondary markets, providing liquidity to investors who want to buy or sell their ownership stakes in the asset.
   
6. **Maintenance and Governance:** Ongoing maintenance of the asset, such as rental income distribution for real estate, may be managed through smart contracts. Governance mechanisms may also be implemented to allow token holders to vote on certain decisions regarding the asset.
   

Asset tokenization offers several benefits:

• **Fractional Ownership:** It allows investors to own fractions of high-value assets, enabling greater accessibility to investments that were previously out of reach for many.
  
• **Liquidity:** Tokenization can potentially enhance liquidity for traditionally illiquid assets by enabling them to be traded on secondary markets, reducing the time and cost associated with buying and selling.
  
• **Transparency:** Blockchain technology provides a transparent and immutable record of ownership and transactions, reducing fraud and increasing trust in the system.
  
• **Lower Barrier to Entry:** Tokenization can reduce administrative overhead and transaction costs associated with traditional asset trading and management.
  

However, there are also challenges and considerations with asset tokenization, including regulatory compliance, legal complexities, technical challenges, and the need for robust security measures to protect digital assets.
tokenize company

Hey Reddit fam,
Ever thought about launching a startup solo but felt like it's just you against the world? Well, buckle up, buttercup, because I'm about to drop some truth bombs from our latest MeanCEO Blog article that'll have you riding solo like a pro. 🎢
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Let me tell you a lvl 30 newbie story.
I have read here all about the special, unique, not to be missed Minerva sale. Got hyped up. Checked that I will be able to buy that SS underarmor+lining IF I level up the season board to get the 500 gold from the second page. Great excitement!
So I decide to look into how this whole season board works, learn about the daily/weekly events (so far didn't pay any attention to it, was just happy when something was completed by accident when exploring). Turns out that it can go quick from lvl 5 to 7, so I get that 500 gold in an hour. Yay! Minerva, here I come!
Now onto crafting. Underarmor? Done. 1/4 of my ballistic fiber supply, but I suppose it is worth it. Lining? Umm, hmm, what is that "Stable fluorescent flux" thing, which I have none? Quick google fu tells me that I am in a pickle.
But I have also read, that some players have that material in abundance and sell at manageable price. Server hopping and camp visiting, here I come! Aaand an hour later, no luck. With my limited time to play, it is not reasonable for me to do that.
Tldr: Is it possible to hook up here with someone willing to sell 4 Stable fluorescent flux and get into party in game, so that I can skip the frustrating camp hunting? Not sure if it is technically possible.
My ingame name is Ramsted. TY!

Chapter One
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Prev
-Rooftop of the White Flame Factory-
Grigory smiled nervously at his men as they lounged on the rooftop patio. As the sun sank lower, he was happy to see them relax after the day's tensions. He’d wanted to give them their imps when they first arrived, or after the demonstration, but they seemed a little too skittish. Their reactions were causing him to doubt his strategy. If his most loyal supporters were repelled by them, wider acceptance was going to be a non-trivial hurdle. He’d been working on an improved version of the imps for months, but making them less threatening, or light forbid, ‘cute’, seemed deeply at odds with his plans. He hoped time might be the missing ingredient. Once they get a bit more familiar with them, they’ll come around. The imps were really nothing for them to fear.
The demonologist sat alone, observing how his men were dealing with the news. He was deep in thought, adjusting his plans and ruminating on his concerns. Was he forcing them to do things they weren’t comfortable with? The basis of his entire plan was that the whole world was to benefit from the imps, so it had to start somewhere, or he might as well give up. They seemed to be taking it as well as he could have hoped.
Catching a wisp of savoury smells, he thought it was scarcely fair to relax while Stanisk was busy in the kitchen. He rose to see if he could lend a hand with dinner. During their overland trek to the capital months ago, it was clear that Stanisk was a superlative cook, but Grigory was a dexterous helper. Much of what he knew about surgical techniques had been picked up preparing meals.
Grigory arrived at the great hall that served as the eating area. In the centre of the chamber, two long tables stretched across the room, capable of seating fifty, though only four simple chairs he had crafted a few weeks ago were present. His men had yet to grasp the potential of the imps' labour; instead of proper seating, they had improvised with crates and timbers haphazardly arranged around the tables. Near one table, a jute sack of potatoes lay abandoned on the floor, possibly mistaken for a makeshift seat. Grigory hoped they'd be eating the potatoes, not sitting on them.
Separated from the hall by a low half-wall, the kitchen bustled with activity. Stanisk sat on the thick timber counter, a casual sentinel over dinner’s preparations, while Jourgun and Klive stood nearby, deep in conversation with their commander.
Stanisk’s five imps, in their fancy clothes, dashed around the kitchen. Under his expert guidance they were preparing a grand feast. One was peeling potatoes, another stirred a great bubbling pot, while two were doing dishes.
“Sir, did you know that Stanisk’s imps have names? And fancy clothes! Can I have one like his?” Klive blurted when he saw his employer. “Uh, as it pleases milord, of course.”
“Plus mine bow when they bring us beers! They don't do that fresh out of hell!” Stanisk's toothy smile implied he might have been bowed at by imps a half dozen times already.
Grigory tilted his head and blinked for a second.
Surely a bit of clothes can’t have that much of an impact on their acceptance?
“Oh, Of course! Certainly!” he paused again. “Feel free to ask Stanisk for tips on how he made his.” Observing the bustling activity, “It looks like dinner is well in hand?” The kitchen was huge, far larger than the one at Planed Pine Peak Inn. A half dozen dishes simmered or baked, their aromas — exotic spices, rich gravies, and roasted meats filled the expansive space.
Stanisk replied without glancing away from the imps handling the tasks. “Well in hand, boss. Take ‘er easy tonight!” The imps' movements were quick and fluid, their antics distractingly comical at times. Grigory watched, smiling, as one imp hugged a yam to its chest that likely weighed more than it did, and made its way along the countertop from the vegetable sack to the cutting board. Each step was an exaggerated sway, the creature was badly top-heavy and teetering.
With effort he pulled his focus back, “Capital! I’ve a matter to attend to! Smells great already!”
Grigory went into the factory proper to whip up enough chairs for everyone. Simple wooden ones for now, but with cushions. Cushions were quick enough to make and he had a few cart loads of wool and woollen fabrics. He watched his imps work, glad he could share them with his whole team now. Obviously it made everything a bit riskier, but it was worth it. One of his concerns was that he’d been overlooking opportunities and uses. He was bound by only being able to think his own thoughts, so he was excited to see what non-demonologists would think of.
They carved and joined the pine chairs with their normal speed and accuracy, but watching them sew was its own reward. The imps wielded needles like longswords in their tiny hands, the points moving too fast to see clearly. They stacked up the plain cushions in a neat pile at the end of their low workbench.
He also didn’t have any utensils, placemats, serving spoons nor trivets either, since this was their first proper meal here. He commanded the imps to make those as well, and carry them like a row of ants from the workshop to the dining hall. The demonologist walked around the table, surveying his work. With a minor gesture of flame he lit the lamps, and frowned at the beige-grey of undyed wool of the chair cushions.
He pulled the chairs out, and one at a time enchanted the cushions to bright, cheerful colours. He was going to make them all company purple, but thought better of it. Enchanting colours was a fun spell to cast, because the act of changing its colour also unravelled enchantment as it went. Much like building and knocking over houses of cards, the end effect was a mundane unenchanted object, but in whatever colour he’d chosen. Having done the spell countless times for entire days to prepare for the midsummer tourney, he didn’t even have to check his notes for any of the hues.
Satisfied with his work, though slightly frustrated that his first and last red cushions weren’t quite the same shade, he sat down. He pulled a notebook out of his satchel and started making notes on his ideas for some improvements, mostly for his own use, but some to the things he’d be soon selling. Lost in his own world, he had no idea how much time had passed when Ros and Taritha joined him at the table.
“Good evening, milord,” Ros said deferentially.
The young herbalist elbowed him, “Come on, he had one rule! He was writing!”
“Oh! Terribly sorry, sir!” Ros stammered.
“Not at all, I was basically doodling. How’s your evening going, is everything to your liking?” Grigory closed his notebook and put it away.
“Amazing milord, These rooms are huge! They're bigger than some of the houses I was looking at!” Taritha said.
“Of course! No one wants to live in dingy cells! Glad to hear! It’s easy to make a place bigger when you are building fresh. Let me know if you find anything that needs fixing, our builders are still in town working on the harbour fortress now, but I can have them send someone if there is anything amiss!”
“I don’t reckon neither of us knew palaces this nice existed anywhere, milord!” Ros said with a shrug. “We might not be the best eyes for finding faults!”
“Heh! This is just the rustic first stage! Don’t worry about its crudeness for now, we’ll get there over time!” the demonologist promised, patting his satchel where the notebook of ideas was. His confidence was both unshakeable and unnecessary.
“Not to question your plans, but there are a lot more rooms than people. Are we expecting company? Are we hiring?” Taritha asked. Her eyebrows twitched slightly, having just questioned his plan for the first time.
“Big plans indeed! So that empty stretch east of the main building? That’s also part of our land grant. In a while we’ll be building a barracks there for our troops, while senior officers will stay in the main factory. That’s also why Stanisk will be taking a much more active role with civil defence. It’s central to our plan to secure the town, and by extension our own safety.”
“Our troops? Like us?” Jourgun asked, having joined them at the long table.
“Maybe? Probably not? We’ll see. The plan is to extensively recruit as we can afford it, since the pirate raid was just the beginning. We have something of incredible value, in the form of me, the imps and the factory itself. Many violent people feel they should possess every valuable thing, so we must be vigilant. Not to worry though! That’s just us planning for the worst. In reality, nothing like that will likely happen. Just by being well defended we’ll scare off the greedy.”
“Ah, like why it's dangerous for a beggar to wear a silk robe!” Rikad added as he joined them, along with a few others. The smells from the kitchen were intoxicatingly rich now, as Stanisk and Klive used the imps to finish and plate the meal.
“Just so, a lord can only have what he can defend, and because the first phases of my plan require a certain level of material wealth, I’ll need extensive defences,” Grigory explained as diplomatically as he could.
“The Empire itself will fear our might, milord!” Ros said excitedly.
“Nah, it won’t. That’s a dangerous thought. The Imperial army’s smallest deployable force is a legion, near enough to five thousand men. Even if we hit every hiring and training target, we’se not going to be in the business of fightin’ wars. Just enough to make us a spiky nut. The sort not worth chompin’,’” Stanisk called over from the kitchen.
“Oh,” Ros said, shrinking back into his seat.
“That’s more than all the men in the whole town!” Taritha lamented.
“Yeah, that’s why lil fishing villages don’t win wars. A legion is five thousand infantry with warships, supplies, siege cohorts, and command companies. If’n it’s a real fight, then they might deploy all ten Imperial legions. Then start raising more if’n they’re losing. We ain’t never gonna try to fight that. No nation in the world has ever picked that fight and won.”
To counter the grim tone settling over his celebratory dinner, Grigory chimed in with a reassuring smile, “We’re loyal Hyruxian subjects, and the legions protect us. We pay taxes in full, we’re on the right side of all this. We just want a bit of security against more, uh, regional actors. Besides, a large well equipped force lends our diplomacy weight we wouldn’t otherwise have.”
Now that the table was filling up and his men looked satisfied with his answers, he raised his voice to the kitchen, “How’s it going in there?”
“Good! I bought a deer from one of the hunters this morning, and it turned out just right!” Stanisk replied, personally putting the finishing touches on his creation. Aethlina moved across the kitchen to watch Stanisk work, making Grigory do a double take. He hadn’t realised she was even in the building.
“Oh! Capital! Everyone in the entire company is here now! Even better!” Grigory said, motioning Aethlina to sit by him. He was glad he’d made the full number of chairs!
Stanisk and Klive brought out plates heaped with slices of braised venison, steamed tubers and sautéed onions. Tubs of butter, bowls of gravy, and finally a heaping basket of fresh buns followed. Stanisk took his seat and, smiling with pride, “What’re you helpless kittens lookin’ at? Never seen dinner ‘afore? Dig in!”
The feast was a perfect end to a troubling day, and even though the conversation died down as they ate, Grigory observed every single one of his hirelings intently, relieved to see not a single one seemed put off by a meal made by demons. Catching Stanisk’s eye, he made an empty cup gesture.
“Imps! Bring us all some drinks! Wine, beer and water!” Stanisk shouted to his imps. With speed and efficiency, the little demons filled clay cups and brought everyone three drinks, exactly as ordered.
“Ah, dammit, I meant—It’s fine. Drink what you want and I’ll just dump the rest!” The chief of security’s good humour faded for an instant before returning twice as bright.
“No, I love having three drinks! And the water and beer are cold! In the summer! The gods themselves envy me!” Rikad declared.
“Uh oh! It looks like Mage Thippily made imps, but the imps made the real monster!” Kedril retorted, gesturing at Rikad holding three cups between his hands, rotating them to drink out of each, while spilling beer all over his own arm.
Their high spirits encouraged Grigory. He’d worried they would be morose and frightened tonight, after making them to live in what could be described as a hive of demons. Joking about the imps was beyond his expectations, so he smiled without speaking, sipping his red wine. Not his cherished Malaentian Red, but a nice varietal from the mainland he’d recently imported a few cases of. Once the plates were empty, Stanisk had the imps clear the table and start washing up while everyone remained seated at the long pine table, bellies full to bursting.
“That was spectacular Stanisk! Thank you!” Grigory offered, and everyone else chimed in a breath later.
“Nothing like a lifetime of bland ration bars for months to really spark an interest in what good food ought to be! I’m glad ya’se liked it,” the big veteran said dismissively.
“How is everyone finding their new accommodations? I know I don’t have all the furniture done just yet, but is everyone good for tonight?” Grigory asked, ever the eager host.
The men nodded and looked at each other. Complaining was frowned upon and nothing here was remotely a hardship.
“Capital! Glad to hear it, and by all means bring it to my attention if your needs are unmet!” Grigory sat still and everyone kept looking at him.
Now’s as good a time as any. It’s not even a surprise, I think I mentioned it a few times already.
“Ahem! So! I’d like to present each of you with your own imps! Some ground rules though; there may be people that aren’t ready for this style of magic, so I ask that you don’t mention anything about them anywhere outside of the factory. Or even imply there are any magical creatures, just that things get made here?”
He waited until they all at least nodded.
“Alright! Here you go, I have one for everyone! The imps are identical, so don’t worry about which ones you get. Um. Good luck?” With a shrug he reached down beside his chair and from a leather case he pulled a series of carved wooden boxes, and passed them out to everyone sitting at the table.
***
With a muted clatter, Taritha watched as the small dark boxes were distributed. She wasn’t sure if there was one for her, being fairly new to the company. She wasn’t sure how she felt; owning demons seemed like a big step, but the ancient urge to possess something nice or powerful was one she wasn’t immune to. Her heart leapt as a heavy box slid in front of her.
With trepidation, she touched it with one finger; it appeared to be regular wood, perhaps stained oak. The box was small and rectangular, quite thin, and she held it easily in one hand. It was narrow enough to fit comfortably between her thumb and fingers, its weight noticeable but not oppressive. She had expected dread, palpable evil, or something, but it just felt a bit heavy. Turning it over, she saw no visible clasps or hinges. The outside was covered in the flawless ornate carvings she was starting to grow familiar with. This time, the carvings depicted joyful industrial scenes—strong men swinging square hammers, smoke stacks, and laden ships and carts. The central image on each side was gilded with gold leaf, making it strikingly dignified.
Ignoring the excitement and increasing movement around her, she felt as if she were in her own universe. She slowly pulled on the lid, finding it opened on tiny hidden hinges, revealing three ebony totems inside. They were the size and shape of a fairytale wand, resting on a bed of lush green velvet, held in place by a broad ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
Even without considering the priceless nature of the artefacts, she was impressed, almost distracted, by the quality of the presentation. He didn’t have to go to such lengths; she’d expected them to be simply handed to her.
She slid one of the totems out without undoing the bow. It was cool and heavy but otherwise seemed normal. She could see layers of impossibly fine carving, this time gilded with silver. She could sense the potent magic in the object, but it felt strange. She’d examined other enchanted items before, and their enchantments were all transcendently beautiful in a complex and technical way. This was so dense it felt like nothing. Or perhaps everything? She wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t at all like the other objects. Stilling herself and trying to puzzle out its secrets brought her no closer to any revelation. She shook her head and resolved to investigate further in private. She returned the totem to its place in the box and gently closed it.
Only now did she notice the table was thick with imps, more than twenty darting and leaping energetically. Her colleagues had summoned theirs and were already giving orders.
“You two, throw the third imp as high as you can!”
“Merp!”
“All of you, cross the table as fast as you can, but walk on your hands!”
“Merp!”
“Duel with these forks!”
“Merp! Merp!”
The men were laughing and pointing between shouting out fresh orders. All the commands were pointless and frivolous, making Taritha powerfully uncomfortable. These were forces of nature, extraplanar beings of unimaginable power, and they were being made to sprint into empty mugs to see how far the mug would fly!?
She shot a questioning look to the master demonologist to gauge his reaction. He was smiling and complimenting their creativity, so maybe she was overreacting? Still, she had no interest in wasting them on silly games. Emergencies only. Or at least serious concerns only. Not for dodging knotted linen napkins, that’s for sure!
With the burden of responsibility successfully dodged, she was free to watch everyone else’s fun. The cacophony of excitement was so infectious that she found herself giggling and pointing at them racing as makeshift horses, with an imp bent over holding the tiny waist of the imp in front of him, while a third one sat atop as a rider. They were so silly looking and energetic.
“You’re sure this doesn’t hurt or anger them?” Taritha asked.
“Oh my no, it’s not like that at all. They have minds, but lack awareness, or awareness of their own mind I guess? It’s fine! They are just made out of the same stuff as demons, but not actually demonic.” The mage stood up and stretched. “They are remarkably durable, it’s unlikely anything short of silvered steel will harm them. I, on the other hand, am at risk of being badly over-tired already! I trust you will be okay, left on your own! I’ll see you in the morning!”
“I’se properly tired too, but if you want, let's pop into the factory and I’ll show you how to get them to make their own clothes. It’s just tellin’ ‘em to do that, so you’se might not need too much hand holding!” Stanisk pushed himself away from the long table, and motioned for them to follow him.
They went into the cavernous factory, just across the hallway. What was an impressive and huge room in the daylight was now an infinite blackness, like a starless night. A few men had grabbed leviathan-oil lamps off the table, and they huddled in a small circle of warm, safe light. They gathered around a long low table, and Stanisk laid out a few bolts of fabric. The fine weaves were familiar to Taritha; they were the same as those used in the clothes she’d been getting from the company.
“It’s simple enough,” Stanisk said as he put a heavy leather bag of tools on the table. “Just say what you want, with as much or as little detail, and they’ll just make that.”
“Imps, make a suit of legion plate armour, imp-sized, out of shoe leather!” Rikad said with glee.
“Merp!” replied several at once, as they began cutting and forming the leather without hesitation. The imps even used grey wool for the under-mail parts, and tiny flares of hellfire to warp the leather into the right shapes. Soon, a tiny suit of black armour lay on the table, looking like what an imperial heavy infantryman would wear, but distorted to the proportions of the gawky imps.
“I dub thee, Imperial commander, Real Imp. Don thy armour!” Rikad ordered. “Do they remember their names?” he asked over his shoulder to Stanisk.
“Oh yeah, they’re proper sharp!” he confirmed.
“Create an imp-sized lord's robe with a sash of office! When it is done, you shall be known as D’Imp Lomat! I might need a minute to think of the last one though…” Rikad said to everyone watching his imps.
Reluctantly, Taritha opened the box and invoked her three imps. She looked at them closely; as far as she could tell, they were perfectly interchangeable with every other imp.
Looking over the fabrics, she chose a striking blue, a deep red, and a golden yellow. “Imps! Make imp-sized sundresses, mainly white with these colours as a main theme. and matching coloured sun hats,” she added hastily. Their heads were distractingly inhuman, so covering them might help. She watched them work, even interrupting a few times to ask for embroidered details and minor adjustments. Once they finished, she had them don their new outfits.
Oh! The hems seem scandalously short on their long lanky legs! Better than before, but not by a lot.
“Imps, please put on the hats that match the colour of your dress.”
“Merp.”
Much better! They look like ladies now!
“You are now Lady Bluebird, Lady Crossbill, and…” She paused at the last one, thinking of songbirds that were as bright yellow as the fabric. “Miss Goldfinch!”
She leaned back and admired her little ladies. They were far less threatening now, and their dull crimson skin really made the dresses look extra vibrant.
“Dang Taritha, how did you make yours so pretty? I want some pretty ones!” Jourgun commented as he looked over.
“Drool over your own demons! These are mine!” she said playfully. There was an undercurrent of possessiveness that she didn’t expect, but these ones were hers now. “Anyways, I’m going to bed too, you guys are too slow! Have fun, boys!” she said as she devoked her imps. The new clothes fell to the work surface.
“Oh yeah, they don’t take that with ‘em, wherever they go, so just keep it in a lil bag or whatever,” Stanisk said when he saw her distress. “They gotta get dressed every time you invoke it,” he shrugged.
So much to learn today!
With a brave smile, she replaced the totems in the box and gathered the dresses and hats. “Mind if I take…” she said as she slowly lifted a lamp from near Rikad.
“Oh yeah, all yours,” he said dismissively, fully engrossed in examining the tiny lordly robes of D’Imp Lomat.
She went back to the hall, up the wide even stairs to the third floor. She’d only spent a bit of time investigating it earlier, as she and Ros had been anxious about being late for dinner. She saw the heap of her worldly possessions against the wall where she’d left them. The only furniture here was the bed, but by the sounds of it, getting some tables, chairs, and wardrobes would be easy enough tomorrow. She placed the totem box and the tiny outfits on the floor beside the bed.
The bed itself was unlike any she’d ever heard of. Crafted with thick pine beams and topped with a mattress of imported cotton, it was probably wider than her entire hovel. A family of five could sleep on it and barely touch. She couldn’t imagine a more lordly bed. Its refined look and the luxurious softness were worlds apart from the coarse fabric and straw she was used to. Sometimes in the fall, she’d add freshly fallen leaves to her straw mattress for extra comfort, but that was a fleeting pleasure. This bed, however, promised constant comfort. She eyed the pile of heavy blankets at the foot of the bed. Recently, she had bought a single blanket from the market, thin and scratchy, but these were the mage’s blankets—thick, plush, and impossibly soft.
She shut the heavy door and took off her tall boots. The floor felt smooth under her bare feet. Even having a floor was a new luxury; she was accustomed to hard-packed dirt floors like most everyone else. This wasn’t just a floor; it was a delicate herringbone pattern of different kinds of wood, obviously done by the agile imps. It was cleaner, smoother, and more level than any table she’d eaten off before the mage came to town.
She stopped admiring the floor and stripped to her shift. She felt exposed being so undressed around so many men. She reasoned it out—the iron and oak door was stronger than a hide flap, and this would doubtlessly be the safest sleep of her life. Just a reaction, not a reality. She left the lamp on the floor and got in bed.
With a panic, she yelped as the whole bed flowed underneath her, as if she’d stepped on the tail of a sleeping cat. She tried to get up but her feet were already off the floor, and she couldn’t find a stable purchase with her hands. She froze up to think her way out of it, and the bed stopped moving almost as soon as she did.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
Was this an enchantment gone awry? Some bed demon?
Slowly, she log-rolled towards the edge of the bed, and the mattress under her also slowly moved, but not enough to stop her. Slow and steady, she might get free yet. Finally, she was close enough to put a foot down and stand. The bed flowed back to being perfectly flat.
She stood up, with a hand to her sternum, trying to catch her breath.
Think! What did the mage say about this today? It would magically adjust? Maybe that was all it was doing?
She leaned over and gently pushed down with a single fist. It was super pliable, then increasingly firm. But it felt unlike anything else—stacks of clothes or hides all felt different when they got pressed.
It must be magic. No time to be timid, and it would be humiliating to go to either the mage or the chief about this.
The only spell she could reliably cast was a gesture of Mana-Visualization. It caused the invisible lines of arcane energy to glow visibly, in bright colours that hinted at their use and purpose. She cast it to better examine her bed. It wasn’t enchanted as she expected; rather, hundreds and hundreds of things inside it were, and they linked and overlapped in ways she wouldn’t understand if she studied enchantments for a decade. She involuntarily took a step back from it, like finding a hundred warhorses inside a small cabinet.
She dismissed the gesture. With renewed determination, she slowly sat down on the bed. It shifted but only a bit. It was very soft and comfortable. Slowly, she turned and laid back, fighting her panic as the mattress kept shifting everywhere her body touched it, unnervingly lifelike. Fully laying down, she stopped and the mattress stopped. Even as her eyes were still wide with terror, she started to calm down. To test her theories, she rolled onto her side, and the mattress under her hip grew softer, and the part under her ribs grew firmer, until the pressure equalised. Rolling back, she felt it shift again, and once more the mattress's firmness changed all up and down her body, stopping once it was the same shape as her body’s pressure, resulting in sublime comfort.
Oh. This is incredible. I get it now!
She reached to the foot of the bed, pulled one of the soft blankets up to her chin, reached down to extinguish the lamp and drifted off into a better sleep than anyone in the history of her family ever had.
Prev

VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED. There is some gore, nothing to descriptive, but if you have a weak stomach maybe pass on this one.
ALSO: This is a first draft, will post the revised one later.
Adonis came from a backwater mining world that had maintained much of its mining equipment and a base level of industry during the age of strife. Adonis lived a relatively uneventful life on this planet, being the only child to two parents who had gone missing when he was twelve, he would enter the mines earlier than most, but only slightly as although technically mining jobs could only be conducted by those older than eighteen, however through necessity children as young as thirteen would entire the mines to help sustain their families. These younger workers would be given relatively safer jobs compared to the older workers, monitoring equipment and other surface operations as examples. Even still this labor was backbreaking, and would more often than not result in the early demise of many inhabitants of this planet.
On his first day in the mines, Adonis would be paired with a girl who was fifteen years old, slightly taller than him, who stood at 4’11” at the time. She had short, light brown hair, and a thin but muscular build. They were trained on how to monitor the Auto-miner machine, and who to contact if anything went wrong. They were then given some time to get acquainted with one another before beginning their work. The girl introduced herself first.
“Hello, my name is Roleru, I look forward to working with you”, she responded with more enthusiasm than a young teen forced into the mines should.
“Adonis, and likewise”, He responded a bit hesitant. He was not looking to make friends. He barely wanted to be working, let alone in a mine, he would work there no longer than he had to, then he would find better work elsewhere. Adonis was still confused about where his parents had gone, and why they had left him behind
After this they were led down into the mines, making small talk on the rusty service elevator, and it turns out she was an only child as well. They shared a lot in common, her father had died in a mining accident, and her mother was unable to work due to worsening illness. She was working to support both her mother and herself, She seemed relatively upbeat despite a life of tragedy. Maybe he could learn from her, and piece back together his recently shattered life. In this rusted mine elevator a friendship was born, and many days they would start their days talking to each other on this elevator. Their main job was to monitor a large mining machine, and if anything goes wrong to immediately hit the emergency shutdown. This machine was larger than any Adonis had seen, towering over him and with many large grinding wheels to slowly break down rocks into progressively smaller chunks, until they are eventually spit out onto a long conveyor belt. An observation catwalk overlooked this series of crushers, with simple metal railings, and a solid metal floor to prevent any dropped materials from potentially damaging the equipment. They were shown to the cabin, where a vast array of displays and buttons could be found, and one large red button in a plastic case with the panel behind it painted a surprisingly vibrant yellow considering the dirty state of everything, and above it set on a background of hazard stripes the word “Emergency Shut-Down” could be seen in distinct red lettering. The operator that led them here initiated the machine to start up, and their work began in this cramped cabin where Roleru and Adonis would become practically siblings, with Roleru practically becoming Adonis’ older sister.
About 3 years of this work would go by in the blink of an eye, Adonis now fifteen is the same age as Roleru was when she started working in the mines. Now that Roleru could officially work in the mines, she would be given more training on how to actually operate the machine she had monitored for so long. Adonis was so proud of his big sister they celebrated that night, getting some slightly higher quality rations to have a feast that night. Any decent quality food was a real commodity on (insert planet name here).
However, the happy times wouldn’t last, as a couple of months later Roleru’s mother would die due to her illness. Although she would return to a happier mood after properly grieving, she never seemed quite the same to Adonis. They would continue to work in the mines together as they always had, now with no technician to accompany them to start the equipment. Together they would continue to grow closer, practically inseparable at this point, Roleru found a lot of comfort in Adonis’ presence which was sorely needed when she was grieving.
During this entire time Adonis would look for his parents in his free time, following any leads he could find. He would discover at the same time of Roleru’s mother’s passing that his parents had also passed in a mining accident, operating the same machine he and Roleru were working with. This fact would linger in the back of his mind at work from then on, disturbed by the potential lethality of the machine he interacted with daily.
Another 3 years would pass, Adonis and Roleru would continue to grow together. Moving in together, as any family should, and for financial reasons. Adonis, now 18, had recently finished his training on mining machine operation and maintenance. Roleru, now 21, had prepared the same high quality rations they had when she was promoted for that night's dinner. However, tragedy would strike during the workday, as Roleru would slip on the catwalk of the machine while it was in operation, and fall into the crushing gears. Adonis would immediately hit the emergency stop. As the loud machine whirred down, there was still energy in the gears, they would slow to a stop in the silence, but in the silence there was a sickening wet ripping sound, followed by a desperate pained scream. Adonis would quickly call for help before going down to help Roleru, however the sight he saw in the maw of this great devourer was horrifying. The entrails of his sister decorated the grinding gears like some sick and twisted form of party streamers, and the blood oh god the blood. Adonis could hear pained groans and he quickly scrambled to find the rest of Roleru. He would find her shortly after he began searching.
“No. no no no no. Stay with me! Help is on the way, you’ll be okay”, Adonis pleaded with Roleru.
“Sorry cough cough I guess I was too careless” Roleru responded, blood rolling out of her mouth. Internal bleeding, or is it external in this case? Ah semantics don’t matter, thought Adonis. The light was already fading from her eyes, unsurprising for the amount of blood loss, and the gore.
“NO! Don’t leave me, don’t leave like they did.” Adonis pleaded with a raspy voice through choked sobs, unsure of when he started crying. “Please stay with me, you promised you would.” He held her close, trying to comfort her in any way he could while desperately trying to stop the bleeding before the medical team arrived.
“I’m so sorry, I wish I could stay with you longer.”, Roleru said calmly, though the tears rolling down her face betrayed her true emotions. “I’ll always be with you in spirit.”
With that final statement she died in his arms, he would clutch the gorey remains of his sister, screaming and crying until the medical team arrived. They had to peel him off of her remains, essentially dragging him out of the mine for the day, on his walk back to their shared home, he would see a strange looking official giving a speech he only overheard part of it and he was only vaguely paying attention.
“From this day forward you will pay a tithe to the Imperium of man”, the official stated. A new ruler? Happens all the time, nothing to worry about Thought Adonis, little did he know this announcement would soon turn his already tumultuous life upside down.
He entered the hab building, and saw the two ration packets set out on the table, along with a small rectangular box. Adonis opened it, his hands still caked in Roleru’s blood. Inside was a simple silver locket, containing a photo of the two of them 3 years ago, celebrating Roleru’s promotion. Clutching the locket Adonis would fall to his knees and cry. An hour later Adonis would fall asleep, exhausted after showering. He would wake up the next morning, finding the two ration packets still uneaten on the counter.
After eating some breakfast and heading out for work, Adonis would notice something attached to the door of their hab unit.
It reads: Draft notice, You have been drafted to serve the Emperor of mankind. Report to the imperial guard training facility in 2 hours (live updated).

2 hours? Emperor of man, how conceited can one be? Oh well, it doesn't sound like I have a choice. Adonis would change his course, notifying his overseer at work before locating the Imperial guard training center. Little more than a temporary tent, it would appear there are other recruits here as well. A group of nine others were also waiting, clearly also drafted. After a bit of small talk with the other recruits, a man in olive green flak armor, a string of numbers on a plate attached on his left breast clearly some form of ID, wearing a helmet of the same color with a gold skull on the forehead. Walked out of the tent and immediately commanded the attention of all the recruits present. The man spoke in a gravelly voice, “I am Sargent Gordel, And I will make all of your lives hell over the next six weeks. You will have exactly one minute to make calls to get your affairs in order, after that you belong to the Imperial army." With that he turned and walked back into the tent, the recruits panicked at first, then followed him after a short while. That was 6 months ago, and as Adonis sat in some god forsaken trench during a particularly brutal compliance, he had wished for the thirtieth time that day that this was all some horrible nightmare. Alas it was not, he had been stationed on the frontlines, fighting against some technologically advanced humans that used bladed drones to devastating effect. Adonis was not particularly skilled at warfare, his aim was middling, his hand to hand skills less than perfect, and he had no mind for command. However, his previous work had him communicating a lot. This skill in both verbal communication, and communication equipment landed him a job as a vox-caster in his squad, lead by Sargent Gordel. Adonis disliked Gordel, a man of hubris and little talent in leadership. However, due to his role in communications Adonis had to be in close to proximity to the man during all waking hours. Ever since he had received the special vox-caster helmet he kept it on, only taking it off to eat. Adonis felt safe enclosed in his helmet, the constant line of communication meaning he could prepare for any future curveballs that might turn his life upside down, so that what happened after that horrible day will never happen again. Adonis would never be caught off guard again, or so he thought. As this compliance continued, Adonis was hearing fewer fellow vox-casters every day, until nobody responded on short-range communications one day. Alone, Adonis and his squad were all that was left in the trench line. As a forward position high casualties were to be expected, but they hadn’t been reinforced in weeks. Adonis had been given a faulty long-range vox, so he often had to make trips down the trench to the nearest squad to communicate with high command. During his last trip Adonis had heard that surrender of the planet was currently being negotiated, but in the meantime to keep fighting, that was days ago. During his trips down these lines he would often pass segments where the guardsmen had either been butchered by the drones, or fled the battlefield. He was envious of those who fled, but he would feel responsible for the deaths of his comrades if he left them to die. Today Adonis would try to retrieve a long-range vox to talk with high command. Shells were still falling on enemy positions, so they weren't abandoned. An assault on the trenches happened last night, it took 30 minutes of walking for Adonis to reach the next position, all he found there was a puddle of gore, and if he hadn’t known humans were here before, there was no way to identify what organism this pile of entrails used to be now. It sickened him, but he kept moving, not lingering on the thoughts of his past. It would take hours to find a usable long-range vox. It would take more hours to return, but in the meantime he used the vox to get updated on the situation. 

“This is vox-master Adonis in the first trench, position 38. Looks like my squad might be the last one left. High-command please respond.” Adonis hailed, hoping to hear back soon.
It would take 30 minutes for a response, but it came nonetheless. “We read you Adonis, this is High-command vox-master Gunther. How the hell are you guys still alive, the last report we got from the forward trench was 4 days ago. Anyways, peace has been reached and will go into effect tomorrow at dawn, until then keep fighting and we’ll come get you.” The man responded in a shocked voice.
“Copy command, I had to scavenge a long-range vox from a dead squad, mine has been faulty since we landed here. Thanks for the update, I will let the rest know when I get back.” Adonis replied, relieved that he would soon get to leave this hellscape. In the meantime he slowly made his way back to his position.
After hours of slowly progressing through the byzantine trench system, and hearing the wet squelch of viscera beneath his boots more often than not he finally made it back to his position. To his surprise everyone was still alive. After explaining what he heard over the vox to Gordel, Gordel called the other 9 people in the trench.
“Our vox-master has explained to me that we need to hold out until morning. Then this compliance will be over. Do you think you pansies are up to the task?”, Gordel asked, clearly just trying to raise morale.
“YES SIR!”, the squad responded loudly. Hope was something that had been in short supply in the trenches for weeks. To hear there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel made them all ecstatic. However the next 12 hours would be hell.
The first three were spent by the 11 people discussing what they would do on leave, then as the sun set, the next three hours were spent nervously watching the enemy trench. As midnight approached, metallic skittering could be heard across no man’s land. The drones were being used to secure one last victory by some egotistical commander on the other side, to break one full trench line before peace had officially started. At first it was a few, not even making it to the trench as the Guardsmen gunned them down with ease, but as 6 a.m. crept closer, the assault intensified.
Eventually these drones were leaping into the trenches, the 11 people gunned them down, but more took their place, eventually people were being butchered right in front of Adonis, reminding him of his friend's fate. Adonis was sickened by the site of it but swallowed back the bile that had risen in his throat, Gordel was the last to die, ripped apart limb from limb right before Adonis, he gunned the three drones down but by the time he had Gordel was dead, Adonis may not have liked him, but to die like that, Gordel had his sympathies. As Adonis fought on he wondered when the sun would rise, how much longer would he have to fight these horrid engines, designed to kill in the cruelest way imaginable. Adonis did his duty and reported each casualty as they happened over long-range vox. The fighting never seemed to end, he had to pick up his comrades weapons multiple times as he kept running out of ammo.
After what seemed like an eternity the hues of violet and indigo that signified the sun was soon to rise appeared in the sky, and after only 30 more minutes of desperately trying to hold on to his life the drones in the trench suddenly stopped, climbed out and marched back to the other trench line. After this Adonis reported to high-command.
“This is vox-master Adonis, the fighting is over. 10 casualties, I’m all that's left.” Adonis reported grimmly. Exhaustion evident in his voice.
“This is High-command Vox-master Gunther. We hadn’t heard from you in a couple of hours so we thought you were dead. Frankly, the fact that you’re alive is a miracle.” Gunther responded incredulously.
“Is that so?” Adonis responded without any emotion, too exhausted to care.
“Well problem is we canceled evacuations to that trench. I’ll go talk to someone higher up. In the meantime sit tight.” Gunther responded.
Adonis would trudge out of the trench. Seeing a hill, not crater pocked and covered in grass with a large, flat rock on top. Adonis would make his way over to this hill, and sit atop the rock, feet pressed together as he took his vox-caster helmet off. His face covered in sweat, he can see how utterly covered in the blood of his comrades he is. Sickened by this fact and given his reprieve, he ejects what little remains in his stomach. Tears stream down his face as he questions how much longer he’ll be in this army, how many others will he see turned to paste, and why he decided to fight instead of joining his Roleru in the afterlife.
His mental breakdown is set to the backdrop of a beautiful sunset, he has calmed down by the time a gleaming purple transport pulls up to the trench line. A tall woman in purple armor steps out, white hair flowing down her shoulders, with piercing purple eyes. She scans for something before setting eyes on Adonis.
She calls out to him, “Vox-master, your transport awaits.” Adonis walks to the transport, not bothering to go back to the trench. After the imposing, yet elegant woman climbs into the transport after him, the doors close and it speeds off.

I've got it in my head that I want to experience some truly weird places. Worlds and settings that instinctively make you ask 'what', 'how', and 'why' when you first experience them. But, importantly, not complete nonsense worlds that don't follow an internal logic. I want things that are weird to us from an outside perspective, but normal to the game's inhabitants. More Abe's Oddyssey, less LSD Dream Simulator.
Some examples of what I'm looking for that I'm already aware of:

• Oddworld series: This is the gold standard of what I'm looking for right now. Weird alien planet with lots of weird aliens and a funny story to boot.
• Zeno Clash series: This is another hallmark of the kind of weird I'm looking for. Truly whacky characters and world setting, but it all flows within its own weird logic.
• The Eternal Cylinder: Made by the same folks as Zeno Clash, just more weird goodness.
• Armikrog: Could it be explained away as just silly clay cartoon logic? Yes. But it's still weird and a feast for the eyes, but most importantly it all works within its own world setting.
• Jazzpunk: This one is more absurdist than weird in my opinion, mostly because I can follow everything back to recognizable things and tropes. But it still fits the general vibe so I'll throw it on here as a 'maybe'.
• Kenshi: I'm putting it here so you don't have to. Does it technically fit the 'weird' bill? Kinda, sorta, maybe if you squint. But someone's gonna suggest it so it might as well be me.

Hit me with your best weird stuff please.

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Fletch gently pushed open the large and lavishly decorated bronze doors of the university administration building and ambled out into the portico. He set his cup of coffee down on the pedestal of a granite pillar and pulled his cigarette case from the breast pocket of his tan trench coat. The old chief inspector plucked a cigarette from the ornately engraved case with slender fingers and wondered why the Kael let him come at all.
Something felt very off with the whole thing. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned the story he got. Mike Anderson was certainly depressed, but as far as Fletch could tell, he had not displayed any suicidal behavior. And why now? Fletch thought. Things were on the upswing for the kid. His grades were excellent, his family situation was good, and he was out of the house more this term than the last. Fletch scratched his mustache. Why would the seals hide the autopsy and the gun? He brought the cigarette to his lips, snapped the filigreed case shut, and slipped it back into the breast pocket of his coat. Fletch flicked open his lighter and sighed as he lit his cigarette. Murder.
It was a hopeless case. These days, warrants were approved by the seals, and even if they weren't, he doubted that he could get one anyway. His suspicion of foul play was backed by nothing but his instinct.
Fletch watched students hustle and bustle through the plaza in front of him as he puffed away at his cigarette and pondered his theory.
But why kill him now? They could have done it in complete secrecy while he was a POW. And it couldn’t be to keep what happened in Philadelphia under wraps. His death brings more attention to it. And he wasn’t a rebel. So why? Fletch sipped at his coffee as he flicked ash from his cigarette. Vengeance? Did he kill some noble brat during the war?
Fletch scratched at his grey mustache and glanced at his watch. I’ll have to follow that thread. He tossed his half-smoked cigarette into a puddle as he briskly walked down the steps and through the university plaza.
The withered investigator was deep in thought when he entered the parking lot. What do I tell that Enrique chap? He unlocked his car and crawled in. I certainly can’t tell him that his mate’s been clipped with no evidence. Fletch turned the key, and the engine of his little Volvo sputtered to life. It’s no bleeding use. I’ll just tell the lad they weren’t interested in sharing and keep my suspicions to myself.
As he reached for the shifter, Fletch noticed a delightfully thick manilla envelope stuck in the gap between the center console and the passenger seat.
He pulled the envelope from the crack. Gingerly, he opened it and pulled out a small note. It read We’re even now, prick.
Fletch smiled and couldn’t help but mutter, “The game is afoot,” as he flicked through the stack of documents inside.
Isabella poked her head into the large office and saw Professor Dret’la with a ball of dark green yarn on her lap and bone darning needles beset with carvings in her hands.
Isabella was struck with confusion. What? She crochets!?
The professor looked up from her labor, spotted the confused girl outside her door, and called, “Come in.”
Isabella walked into the office and took a seat. She gestured to the yarn in the professor's hands. “What are you making?”
The professor smiled as motherly as one could with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. “It will be a hat for my son. He just received his commission as a junior biologist, so he has to rummage around in freezers to get samples for his whole research team.”
Isabella blinked. This was not characteristic at all for the quick-tempered professor with a penchant for launching chalk across lecture halls at the mildest provocation.
Isabella shook off her shocked expression and gave the tall professor a dimpled cheek smile. “That’s so sweet! I’m sure he’ll love it. One of the best gifts I’ve ever received was a thick wool sweater from my mamma during a training exercise off the coast of Norway.”
The professor, still smiling, sat up straight. “I hope that’s the kind of reception I get.”
The professor’s demeanor hardened as she stowed the yarn and needles in the desk drawer. “Now, let's get down to business.”
Isabella gulped.
“To start, congratulations. You’ve passed our testing and been selected for officer training.”
Isabella asked, “Who else was selected?”
“There are nine others: Robert Rhodes, Elena Pavel, Hal Jellico, Zheng Li, Brooke Halsey, Colow Aden, Magnus Tordenskjold, Bill Lee, and Kazuya Yamamoto.”
Isabella didn’t recognize all the names.
“Should you choose to accept, you will be taking a prep course taught by Colonel Ocidea and I starting next week and lasting all through the summer. If we deem you ready, you’ll ship out for basic training and then off to the Royal Military Academy, where you can earn your commission.” Dr. Dret’la leaned in close to Isabella. “Do you accept?”
Without hesitation, Isabella answered, “Yes.”
“Mike, come over here. You’re going to want to see this.” Calty voiced from her seat in the front of the cockpit.
Mike rolled off the couch and walked into the front of the cockpit as the captain shouted, “Decelerate!” Mike couldn’t help but grab onto the back of Calty’s seat as the FTL drive kicked into gear. The cockpit glass dimmed just before blindingly bright blue jets of fire from the front-facing engines came into view. A bright green circle flickered onto the glass surrounding a marble-sized dot darker than the rest of the now dim screen. The dots and circles expanded at an extreme pace until they took up most of the display. Another dot appeared—minuscule compared to the other—surrounded by a red circle. The growth of the shadowy dots and the circles around them slowed and then stopped entirely as the engines sputtered out.
The HUD faded out of view, and the tint of the glass slowly lightened, revealing a vast planet embraced by blue-green ice with a colossal foundry in its orbit. The planet, a gas giant called Drassus, was orbited by four rings. One was made of containers, and the other three were made up of loose ore gleaming in the nearby star's light. Exhaust chimneys spewing gas and fire sprouted from the otherwise spherical foundry, giving it a sea urchin-like profile, which, together with the weave of pipes bringing fuel from beneath the icy surface of the planet below, made the foundry resemble an old naval mine.
The captain strode up to the front of the cockpit. “One-third ahead and steer 14 degrees left. We’re unloading in bay three.”
Six mech suits and a tug exited a plasma-shielded hanger as the ship came to a halt. The mechs glided to the front of the ship and started dismounting the external cargo bay from the Broken Fin while the tug hitched onto the opposite end of the ten-kilometer-long rack of containers.
A little while later, the tug pulled away with the load of containers, and the comm system blared to life. “Broken Fin, you are cleared to leave. The UO corporation thanks you for your business.”
The captain replied, “Our pleasure. Broken fin out.” as the ship pulled out of the loading bay.
He turned to the navigation officer and said, “Lock in coordinates for jump to Kael Prime.”
The captain went to the central control board and pulled up traffic control. “Tower 1, this is the Broken Fin. We request a jump slot to Kael Prime from Drassus.”
“Broken Fin, request granted. Your departure slot is at 16:33.”
Mike glanced at the top right of the ship's HUD and looked at the time. 16:21.
Better get my stuff together…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ship shuddered ever so slightly despite the inertial dampeners as it exited FTL. Mike was lounging on the couch with his bag at his feet. He was ready to get off this tub.
Mike idly watched flames lick at the cockpit window as the ship descended into the atmosphere of Kael Prime. He looked at Dreki, who was sitting on the other couch. His muscles bulged through his clothes despite wearing a white sweater so large it could be mistaken for the sail of an average-sized boat. Mike asked, “Do you know anything about what’ll happen to me now?”
The big Kael shifted in his seat. “Technically, I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but what the hell.” Dreki pulled the collar of his sweater down, revealing an angry white number burnt into his iron-gray skin just below the collarbone. “First, you’ll get branded.” He released his shirt and pointed to a small scar on the side of his head. “Then you’ll get an AR implant.”
“Where will I be getting that?” Mike asked.
“The Imperial Science Academy. We’re going to be staying there for a few days. They’ll run a bunch of tests and get you fitted for equipment there. After that, I’ll drop you off at the spaceport, and you’ll be off to Tlaxcalssus for basic training. After that, I don’t know.”
“Thanks.”
The ship shook as it touched down on the landing pad. “Time to go.” Dreki shouldered his pack and walked out the door. Mike fiddled with the straps of his bag as he followed Dreki down the ramp and to the far side of the ship, away from the rest of the passengers. Mike's nose was immediately assaulted with the acrid smell of sulfur from where the fiery exhausts of engines had melted asphalt. The spaceport was swarming with vehicles and filled with the constant roar of ship engines and a symphony of smaller equipment. Power loaders and mechs loaded and unloaded heavy cargo, shuttles bustled to and fro with passengers, baggage carriers snaked through the crowded landing pads, and vehicles that looked like floating garage doors zipped through the air at ankle height, bringing pilots and crew to their ships. Mike couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, in the heartland of the enemy, walking through what was essentially a ten-acre parking lot.
Dreki plopped his bags on the ground and yawned as he stretched his arms over his head. “Our skiff will be here in a minute.”
Mike tuned out the beeps and whirrs of the tank-sized forklifts and mechs unloading the ship and gazed out beyond at the horizon. You’re not in Kansas anymore, bub. Mike thought as he studied the skyline of the imperial city basked in the glow of the early evening sun. Some of the buildings wouldn’t look all that out of place on Earth, but the skyline was assaulted with abominations that pissed on the laws of physics as Man understood them. Tusk-shaped skyscrapers defied gravity with their seemingly unsupported curves, and even more absurd were pyramids stacked atop another point-to-point like hourglasses. Any delusion of normalcy that Mike could come up with was shattered.
Dreki picked up his bag and pointed to a slab of black marble speeding towards them at ankle height. “Here’s our skiff.” A railing popped out of the center as the skiff came to a gliding halt. Dreki boarded the skiff and took hold of the rail, and Mike followed suit.
They sped through the spaceport and stopped outside what looked to Mike like a train station. Dreki shouldered his bag and stepped off the skiff. Mike stepped off and quickly fell in pace with Dreki. The big Kael led Mike into a grand station bustling with people. Most were Kael, but there was a smattering of other species. Some stared at Mike, others glanced, but most completely ignored him as he followed Dreki through the hall and onto a platform. Unfamiliar aliens clearly weren’t an uncommon sight here.
The walls of the station were covered with mosaics depicting Kael warriors from the distant past. Dreki noted the human's curiosity and said, “The founders of the clans.” He leveled a massive hand toward an opulent, towering mosaic of a Kael warrior wielding a bronze falx. The imposing figure's body was made of blue gemstones, the eyes rubies, one tusk silver, and the other gold. “That’s the founder of my clan, Drekalla Gold Tusk.”
Mike asked, “How’d he manage that?” As he followed Dreki into a mostly empty train car.
Dreki plopped down on a bench. “He was the war priest of Hroptaug the Conqueror during the unification wars. After the wars were won, Hroptaug granted us the Steam Hills.” Dreki pointed through the train window at the mosaic of another warrior whose body was made of milky white pearls. “That one,” He paused and spat on the floor, “Tiblan the Terror, challenged Drekalla to a duel for most of that land. Drekalla was cutting him to pieces, but the craven poisoned his blade. Just before Drekalla could deliver the final blow, the poison reached his heart, and Drekalla died. The only wound on his body was a cut across his forearm that barely drew blood.” Dreki rolled up his sleeve, showing a scar that reached from his elbow to the middle of his forearm. “Every K’alla is cut the same way to remind us of the blood feud.”
Mike inwardly sighed. Kael and their damned feuds… “How long ago was this.”
“Seven thousand four hundred and fifty-one years ago.”
Mike held back a snort. The absurdity of it all. The first human law codes came about to stop blood feuds, and out here, they have feuds that have lasted longer than Earth's recorded history.
“How’s that feud been going as of late?”
Dreki’s face sagged, “Not good.”
They both grew quiet. Mike shuffled uncomfortably.
Mike glanced at the route display and broke the silence, “What's with the middle city, inner city thing?”
Dreki relaxed slightly. “Oh, so the city used to be a fortification. The inner city is actually a volcanic island. The middle is built over the river, and the outer city was built on the banks.”
“I see.”
The doors closed, and the intercom sounded, “Next stop, the inner city.”
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Dale Robert’s wrinkled face was unreadable, and his highly decorated black and blue dress uniform immaculate as he led a horse through the street. He felt the eyes of thousands of onlookers on him, and he hated it. The pure black horse had a black leather saddle on its back. Two tall, glossy black boots were placed backward in silver stirrups, and the elaborate hilt of Mike’s basket-hilted broadsword jutted from the top of a black leather scabbard buckled to the saddle. Roberts followed the horse-drawn caisson bearing the flag-draped coffin of his old commanding officer. Not much farther now, he thought. The sounds of the cartwheels rolling and the horse’s tack jangling were wholly drowned out by boots stamping the ground in unison. Almost all of the 1800 survivors of the 801st regiment were there, resplendent in their dress uniforms, marching behind Mike one more time. The local police and fire departments joined them.
Roberts was unsure about it all. He felt that the poor kid's family would have preferred a smaller service back home in Colorado instead of this damn near royal procession. And Roberts was damn sure that the seals did not give their permission for this, no matter what the police chief said.
A reporter ducked through the police barricade and tried to ask the marching soldiers questions, but they remained stone-faced as the procession marched nearer to the gates of Philadelphia National Cemetery. Roberts handed the reigns of the riderless horse to another man in uniform and joined seven other members of Charlie platoon in pulling the casket from the cassion. They silently began their march to the grave, closely followed by General McCarthy, the man who was Joint Chief of Staff, and the color guard. Bagpipers began to blare, “Going Home.” Roberts heard the sound of gravpulse engines and looked up in dismay as a Kael gunship broke through the low clouds and descended to just barely above the cemetery. A loudspeaker blared, “Disperse at once.”

As with most things, the opinions expressed in this post are my own. Consider this as just one data point, and not as a guide to your career.
I've been working in the Data/AI space for 5 years now and I've seen hundreds of starry eyed people wanting to work in A.I. because they want to work with the latest and coolest cutting edge technology. But I want to share with you a few reasons why A.I. is not a good career choice.

1. A.I. positions could end up like the "data scientist" position. Looking at the history of the data scientist position, in 2010-2020, the hype around data science made it so that millions of people flocked to that position. Companies eventually realized that most them actually didn't need data science, and the impact of the position didn't always help them profit. The demand of the job has plummeted in recent years, leaving millions of aspiring data scientists unemployed or needing to pursue a different career.
2. A.I. positions will be less than .0001% of tech engineering jobs. In the next few decades, the demand for software and data engineering roles will be much more needed at most companies that A.I. roles. Only a small group companies will a be pursuing A.I. initiatives, while the majority of companies will still need software and data engineers. But because 90% of tech news is A.I. related, there will be a massive influx of people trying to enter the space.
3. The barriers to entry are huge. To pursue a career in A.I. and machine learning. A person's understanding of statistics and software engineering need to be extremely high. To get to that level of knowledge requires much more dedication and studying than most people imagine. Becoming a decent software engineer or data professional is already difficult for the average person.

Before you decide to pursue this as a career, it's important to consider some of the cons listed below. Perhaps consider taking a smaller step first and trying to land a job as a software engineer or data analyst. If you're already in a technical field, consider not putting all your eggs into one basket, and making sure you know enough skills to stay gainfully employed in the job market.
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