As always, thank you to u/SpacePaladin15 for the wonderful universe that is NoP! Thank you to u/cruisingNW for proof reading and helping me make this chapter as good as it can be, you're the man! Honestly LoM wouldn't have gone very far without him! If you haven't you should absolutely go read Foundations of Humanity! It's very good AND it just updated!
A big thanks to u/Saint-Andros for helping with proofreading! He writes Out of Our Elements which is a very good one! If you like a good fic in the wilderness and a pair of cute 'friends' ;) you'll love OOE!
Also thank you to u/brotanics! For this wonderful fanart of Taisa. And this one! She's so cute I'm gonna die
And thank you to u/Jimdandy117! For this adorable fanart of Chris and Renkel! Dear god help he's adorable I love him so much
Thank you u/SlimyRage, or AsciiSquid on Discord, for makin' Vengineer Taisa Gamin'. She's absolutely adorable, I love her lil' workers apron. She looks so excited to get to work!
Thank you u/Braquen! For this astounding Pixel Art of Taisa after a few range day dates with Chris! Her little hat and gunbelt are absolutely astounding!
Thank you u/VeryUnluckyDice! For this Artwork of Taisa and Chris as characters from One Piece! I've never seen or read it before but it's incredibly cute!
Thank you to u/creditmission for their wonderful work of several LoM fanfics!
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Memory Transcription Subject: Taisa, Venlil Starship Engineer, Crystal Star Shipping Co-Owner
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 16th, 2136
Stars… doom or not, that moon is beautiful.
Earth’s own spotlight still hung in the sky, creeping ever higher backlight more and more of the fleet waiting in anticipation. The moon’s pure white light scattered aimlessly across the mountains, shimmering like liquid silver on the surface of the river flowing through the valley far below us. Slinking dark forms of ships that slipped beyond her light made their presence known through the trailing wisps their ion thrusters jetted out behind them; painting the soil-black sky with twisting, swirling hues of blue amongst the shimmering stars.
A warm and weighty hand pulled me close as the cool night air of the mountains flowed through my wool, coaxing a contended purr to build and blossom in my chest as I pressed into Chris’ side, stretching up to nuzzle into his neck before leaning forward and snatching another ‘hummus’ covered carrot from the tray to pop it into my mouth. The delicious, savory smoothness of the hummus accompanied the sweet harshness of the carrot perfectly, sending a trill of pleasure through my chest before I continued my story.
“Anyhow, Quilleth and I, despite her continuous protests, get assigned to the same design herd for one of our final projects. We had an old Triconn Drive Systems TC-547 Jump drive and one of their ‘standard’ fusion cores to go with it, one of the worst pairs of speh-stacks ever built if you ask me, that we needed to rebuild and get working again, and she wanted no part of having to ‘deal’ with me for any extended period of time. Tavareth, my jump-drive maintenance and design professor, was adamant that,” I stopped, pulling in a breath and puffing out my chest, doing my best to mimic the old, gray trunked Mazic. “Ahem, ‘In a work environment you’ll have to work past your differences to make the herd stronger.’ and all kinds of other speh that amounted to ‘I need to fill out this herd the rest of the way and you two are who’s left.’”
“They both sound so pleasant.” Chris rumbled, a chuckle in his voice as he grinned, handing me another of his ‘cracker sandwiches’ before turning his eyes back to the stars high above.
“That’s a word for it.” I agreed, giving a jovial whistle past the crumbling cracker and deliciously smooth nut-spread. “But she dropped that tune real fast the second we came up to a real problem in the project trying to source a new, or at least rebuildable, primary magnetic accelerator. I called Parnel and had a brand new one, that was well past any spec we were expected to meet, in our workshop and installed within the paw. After that I checked the drive’s Tritium levels, rerouted every coolant line, field flow point and magnetic induction coil so they actually worked right, stars forbid those wool brains at Triconn ever design something right the first time, to get everything I could out of the new accelerator assembly.”
“Now why does that sound familiar?” Chris mused, a sly smile on his face as scooped a fistful of crunchy chips into his mouth.
“You can shush Captain ‘try his damnedest to burn out every subsystem he can find’, half the re-routing I have to do now is your fault!” I replied with an amused whistle, paffing the back of his head with my tail-tuft before continuing. “Now, after I’d… dove into the ove-”
“As you often do.” Chris cut in, a smile on his face as he prodded my side with a burbling laugh in his voice.
“Shush!” I bleated in return, the warmth of a spreading bloom driving the sneaking cold of the mountain air from my wool. “As I was saying, after I dove into the drive, Quilleth and our other partners, mostly Quilleth, had taken it on themselves to handle the core’s overhaul and refueling. Leave it to most herds to take the easy route and not learn something if they can get away with it, you can damn well bet they made sure to document that I was the one who worked on the drive and that the, far easier, core was all them. The work on the drive took a while by myself but I still managed to get everything done and put together before we had to spin it up for the test-paw.”
“How do you test a drive and a core if it's not on a ship? Feels like a fast way to make a problem for yourself.” Chris asked, his eyes focused on me, interest plain on his face as his hand wrapped around my side to pull me close.
“Well the drives physically can’t engage if they’re in a sufficient gravity well, and VP is well beyond that threshold, so we just spin them up, take readings to ‘prove’ that they’d work in a real application. I argued we should have had a few shuttles with remote diagnostics and control systems, like we used during your flight training, to do the tests to show they actually did work since correct readings in a gravity well and correct readings in applied use can be different and you wouldn’t know until you were in orbit and getting ready to jump. Tavareth said he’d have ‘loved to give us the chance but the university didn’t have the funds to allocate’ or some other excuse the faculty always used to avoid doing things the right way.” I replied, waving my paws in frustration at the amount of projects that were only given a curled tail of thought before being dumped on us to complete, real world applications or not.
“Sounds a lot like Trepassy’s parent company, unless it was a ‘mission critical component’ as they put it, then they didn’t much care to fix it if it didn’t keep her stuck in port. Always made the excuse that the repairs weren’t in the budget while posting ten plus percent margins. Didn’t matter how much me and the cap’ called and bitched them out for busted Air-con or the rec-room being entirely bare they always said the same damned thing. Bunch of assholes.”
My tail set to wagging at the idea of Chris and his captain shouting into a phone at some other Human half the world away about something that felt all too familiar. “Anyways, we get everything set up on the testing field outside of Dayside, get the systems mounted into their cooling and fuel channels before we start spooling the core up and putting power to the drive. Before too long Tavareth announces that everything looks stable and we can begin putting load onto the system, everything climbs their scales well. The warp field levels off with the expected fluctuations of a drive being operated way too far into a gravity well to maintain any real stability and the core temperature looks good. Everything’s holding steady, Tavareth looks pleased, the rest of my project-herd is congratulating each other on a project completed.”
“Then the core temp starts climbing, blooming well beyond any ‘acceptable’ overheating limiter Quilleth, Uderek or Ofent could have seen fit to set. I looked over and found all three of them watching the core start to melt down in disbelief as Tavereth slams down every single E-stop he can find on the command console. Suddenly everything stops, the room goes quiet as the distant, now glowing white core is dumped straight into an abort tank to expend its… energy somewhere a bit safer. ”
“Tavereth whipped around faster than I’d ever seen that big old Mazic move and oh stars was he furious!” I bleated, tossing my paws in the air at the memory of him studying each of us in turn before launching into an angry tirade. “That core was as bright as the stars themselves but it had nothing on the bloom positively glowing beneath Quilleth’s coat! He laid into all of us for a solid five minutes, calling out everything that could have gone wrong under Sollaglick’s light and I didn’t say a thing until she tried to blame me for forgetting to install the limiters!”
I saw the corner of Chris’ mouth curl in a tight smile, he knew what was coming but it still felt so good to be able to revel in it with my own herd, pack or whatever we should have been called. “Then I threw her own write up right back at her! Pointed out every note that explicitly called out that I only worked on the drive and that the core was all them, more specifically that SHE was supposed to have installed the limiters almost a herd before according to their schedule!”
“Uderek, Ofent and I all got a stern warning about why you should always check your herd-mates’ work and I got a gruff ‘good work’ for the drive before Tavereth positively berated Quilleth for the next quarter claw! Those two were good to me for the tail end of the semester, I’d hoped they’d try to keep in touch after we went our separate ways but… well they really didn’t.” I sighed with a shrug, the sun falling from my field at the memory of the last time I’d seen the chipper Gojid and our Tilfish friend.
“Well, hopefully things are going good for them, sometimes folks get busy… maybe they figure they don’t wanna bother you! ‘Specially now that you got your own ship and whatnot!” Chris comforted, his hands tracing wonderfully comforting circles through my wool.
Could always try to get in contact again if we make it through this.
>Agreed.< “Maybe I should, would be nice to have even more paws onto look at any of the problems Darno and I can’t… Stars above what is that?!”
My breath hitched in my throat as I looked to the stars, watching as the fleets high above began to exchange zipping tails of blue and green. A horrid, deadly light show filled the void high above earth, ships on both sides taking and serving hits with the fervor only people fighting for their lives, and the lives of everyone they’d ever known, could truly muster. The blazing trails of plasma slammed into the distant motes, scattering their vibrant colors in globs across the tapestry of the stars before some of them were joined by the flash of critical reactors and munition blowouts.
But amongst it all that wasn’t even the most of it.
For a brief moment I had thought the U.N. had decided to throw their entire moon at the fleet, another break-tail juke to smash as much of the fleet as they could; but the vectors were all wrong. They weren’t propelling here, they were taking off from her. The light of the moon was ablaze, obscured with towering pillars of smoke and fire, cacophonous trails of burnt oxygen and hydrogen traced a stampede directly to the extermination fleet. No, what they had actually chosen to do was far worse.
They’d stowed what looked like a never ending salvo of gargantuan missiles waiting for the exact moment to drop everything they had on the extermination fleet. A thought crossed my mind, a display from some stars-forsaken exhibit in the capital’s museum called ‘true evil’, its content was positively laughable now, about how many atomics humanity had made before they’d ’annihilated’ themselves. I think the curator had harvested the numbers a shear or two short. The sky lit up like a battery of strobes, the constant cracking light of splitting atoms nearly turning night to day as they spread like a blight through the assaulting fleet.
I couldn’t help but pull my lips back in a smile as my tail thumped rapidly against the stone beneath me. That mote of hope in my chest grew, watching the burning hulks full of people who wanted nothing more than to destroy everything about this world I’d come to love break apart, venting atmosphere as they sat, hanging in the void. Some tried to turn tail and limp away, some slipped into Earth’s gravity, their battered hull sections turning to voracious fireballs as they plummeted toward the hard, unforgiving dirt below.
Should’ve stayed home.
The thunk and twang of Chris’ instrument slipping from its case harvested my attention, my eyes sliding from the battle high above to the glowing white instrument resting in his hands. His own eyes turned to the sky, hovering for a moment as he plucked a few discordant notes from the instrument before looking back down and over to me, meeting my gaze.
“‘Suppose now’s as good a time as any.” He shrugged, giving me a small smile as I nodded, wrapping my tail around his wrist before gently nuzzling into his neck and turning my eyes back to the battle.
The sharp, plucky, barking twang of the banjo called out across the mountain tops, echoing back to us like a distant friend as Chris’ voice filled the air, joining the banjo in its reprise. The slow, wavering song danced between us just as the violence for the stars above, weaving amongs the whispering chorus of the trees and the chattering, throaty backing of evening insects.
“But I want to be where all the stupid shit I say Sounds so romantic and true.
Cause I'd rot in hell with you,
If you'd just ask me to.
I love the shitty things we do together,
Live with me in this sin forever.”
Memories flooded my mind with the words and hanging notes that echoed across the valley before us. The panic of our first solo flight as Chris pushed Shamrock for everything she’d had to give us, trying desperately to keep her in one piece as he blew past every limiter to get Maeve to the hospital as fast as we could. Concern roiling in my chest as I helped him to the truck after he’d dove into the river after, soaked to the bone, shivering and frozen but still so proud. The frustration of the two of us hard at work on Polani the paw after we’d gotten her, tail, and elbow, deep in carbon, grease and oil as we cursed everything under the stars. The fear of the cradle as the thunder of shells slamming into Polani’s hull filled her halls, the horror as one stalked me within my home…
“Cause home is the last place that I'd stand to be with anyone but you.
I'd rot in hell with you, If you'd just ask me to.
I love the shitty things we do together, Live with me in this sin forever.
Hell and you, I know you want it too.
I hope you take the shot, see this chance.
Feel the fire, and let me have this dance with you.”
I pressed into his side with a contented sigh, listening to the last echoing twangs of the Banjo and his voice as they called back across the great expanse before us. A long, cool breath filled my lungs before I leaned up to give his cheek a small, loving lick as a purr rolled through my chest. “I love everything we do together too, Love. Almost as much as I love just having you in my life at all.”
His mouth split into that broad, goofy grin as his hand pulled me just a little closer, his heavy voice rolling through me, just as comforting as always. “I love you too, Darlin’.”
“So…” I whistled, my tail twitching back and forth with amusement as I spoke into his neck. “About that dan-”
The words faltered in my mouth as a building light caught my eye, harvesting my attention skyward.
There, seemingly hanging in the sky, a pair of ships were tangled, no speared together. Both of them were burning fuel as munitions explosions wracked their hulls and trailing plumes of wispy atmosphere vented from their hulls as they plummeted to earth together, locked in their own deadly dance. The fires of re-entry blazed across both of their hulls as parts, pods and melted trails of slag broke away from both of them. The rammer’s guns opened up, sending round after round out after the escape pods that had bailed from the other ship, turning scores of them into little more than puffs of smoke that never had a chance.
As the pair grew closer I could finally make out what they were, or at least who the aggressor was. A Federation light cruiser was speared dead in her midship by the unmistakable, sleek curves of a Venlil Destroyer ending in a hextet of thrusters that still belched plumes of burning hydrogen fuel into the sky as she drove her opponent towards the certain death of the mountains below them with everything they had. The screaming roar of the ship reached my ears, their cacophonous echos casting across the mountain range like the angered, belligerent wails of someone defending everything they held dear.
That ship doesn’t have U.N. markings… Stars above that ship… those are Venlil.
“Damn…”
“Stars above…”
Chris and I watched what amounted to a grand, defiant headbutt as it traced its path down from the stars above. The pair of dancing ships continued their descent, pirouetting to the mountains below them like experienced partners just as their arms and thrusters screamed at each other like enemies with a centuries old grudge to settle.
“Shit… they’re comin’ down on Salt Pond.” Chris whispered, his eyes tracking the pair as they plummeted.
Mountains rose into sight beneath them, the distant mountain’s peak reaching into the sky like it was anticipating, just hoping for the chance to dash the interloper across its face.
“H-How far is that?”
“‘Bout twenty miles as the crow flies. ‘Least no one lives on that one I think, ‘sides maybe the rangers.”
The fleets far above them were still locked in a furious fight, the monstrous flanks of the federation ships pushed on, crashing through the defenders like a harvester through wool-grass. Ships of both sides fell from their formations, ablaze like the stars around them, only growing brighter before flaring into catastrophic explosions that cast them into incalculable pieces that fell to the ground below like a meteor shower.
“Think they’ll manage?” I whispered, a sprout of fear and doubt managing to push past the stone of hope I’d done my best to embed in my heart.
“I hope so, Darlin’. I ho-“
The cacophonous screech and cavernous boom of metal crashing into stone, trees and dirt filled the air, drowning his voice out and sending birds scattering from the trees around us as the ground beneath us shuddered from the impact.
Then everything went whi-
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ERROR: REMAINDER OF LOADED TRANSCRIPT CORRUPTED.
ERROR CODE: 47846-MD-EF-RI. MEMORY DAMAGED BY ENVIRONMENTAL FACTORS: RADIOLOGICAL INFLUENCE.
SOLUTION: ATTEMPT RECOVERY? Y/N
Y
ATTEMPTING…
ATTEMPTING…
ATTEMPT FAILED.
SOLUTION: LOAD NEXT TRANSCRIPT IN QUEUE FOR ‘THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE BLACKSBURG BURNER AND THE SKALGAN SHOWSTOPPER’? Y/N
Y
SOLUTION ACCEPTED. LOADING NEXT TRANSCRIPT.
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I keep on reading posts on here about people who get migraines that last days, weeks, or even longer. Surely that would never happen to me, someone whose migraines last 10-12 hours at best! 🤦
Welp, the time has finally come. I started feeling like garbage on Wednesday night and it's now Friday morning and guess who still feels like garbage! This migraine sufferer!
A typical migraine for me ALWAYS starts with a stiff neck. In the past I've had pain around my left eye and even the tip of my left ear, but now I have pressure on my nose instead, in addition to the neck pain. I try moving my neck around and rotate between heat and ice since my body temperature gets all out of whack with a migraine. Then comes the nausea which has me running to the bathroom to expel clear fluids. I have light and sound sensitivity which isn't being helped when I accidentally flick on my bathroom light and start gagging. After doing this a couple of times over the course of a few hours it dawned on me that my PCP prescribed me 50 mg sumatriptan for bad migraines, which this one definitely is. I take one dose for the first time ever and go to lay down. I do a quick Google for symptoms to look out for because I don't remember a thing my PCP told me. I know I can't take a second pill for at least another two hours and Dr. Google says the pill should take about 20-30 minutes to kick in. Great! Four hours later I feel no difference so I take another pill. Two hours later, I'm asleep. All other symptoms minus the neck pain and stiffness are gone, which I thought was just from sleeping, so I think I'm back to normal. I decide to take it easy for the rest of the day and order some food because I don't feel like cooking and watch the new season of Bridgerton. Bam lightheadedness! Bam jaw pain (which is another migraine trigger)! I lay down for a couple of hours and both of those go away. It's just my neck pain and stiffness remaining. I don't know if this is a rebound from the sumatriptan or if this is just a continuation of this real shitty migraine.
I'm going to reach out to my PCP soon. I've been dragging my feet on that this morning just in case the neck pain goes away. But knowing my luck, if I send my PCP a message my pain will magically go away. I don't have a migraine specialist or a neurologist because my PCP hasn't referred me to anyone and I'm not sure if I can see one without a referral.
Rant/vent over. Also, don't ask me a thing about the new Bridgerton season because I don't remember anything.

I slept with my boss’ young daughter
2 years ago, when I was working for my old boss, I used to go round his house to help out his family. I was only 18 at the time and looked quite young so people thought that I was a bit younger than I was. This meant that I got quite close to his kids. At the time I wasn’t too sure of their ages but I knew they were around there. When I wasn’t working for their dad, me and the kids used to play, this included football and little games just to pass the time. I found that if we ever played anything rough the eldest daughter would always hold be for too long or touch me in private places. This did feel quite strange at first but I always put it down to her just getting involved and having fun. Eventually it got to the point where if we were sat together she would cuddle up to me. One time she lay on my chest just above where my cock was. At first I thought it was a bit strange that this girl was coming on to me so strongly but I must admit as it got more and more I started to really like what she did and seeing her everyday made my heart bounce. After this happened for a while, one rainy day me and her were alone in the house together, essentially cuddling. I moved my hand on to her breast so she pressured her ass on to my bulge. I started to kiss the back of her neck, which she liked, and played with her tits while she rubbed my cock. During this we slowly stripped each other off so we ended up lying there with my cock between her legs. I flipped her over and pulled her on top of me. She asked me to put it in her but to go slowly. I slowly entered her wet vagina, it was the tightest I’ve ever had. I held onto her waist moving her up and down, feeling every orgasm and every time she liked it. We stayed in that position for 5 mins before she said she was going to cum and came in and started to kiss me. I picked up the pace while she moaned my name in my ear. We came at the same time and lay there intertwined my cock still in her for 2 hours. I really feel for her that day and we started date. I only recently found out her age and it really interested me more. Am I a bad person?

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Anglestan
Augustus 5, 1923
Facility 9, Mancheston
Colonel Jacobs
His hands flew through the folders General Jorgenson and Colonel Thatcher had. There were dozens of them, stacked upon each other all filed in alphabetical order. It had only been a few days since he had woken up from his coma and visited his home— now his mother’s grave. He clenched his fists at the thought. The grief and rage threatened to bubble and spill over once again. He took a deep breath and dragged out the exhale, almost to the point where he had emptied out his lungs.
He was the only one with clearance, and so he couldn’t disclose any of what he learned with his team. They would simply have to trust him and his judgment. Which he was sure they would do. His hands went over one of the folders skimming through it. There were multiple secret projects, but the ones with the most notes were Project S.T.A.R, Project L.U.N.A.R.I, Project R.E.V.I.V.E, Project D.A.W.N, and Project T.E.M.P.L.A.R.
The colonel decided to start with the most notes and papers. Project D.A.W.N.
He skimmed through the notes, reading through some of the details and highlighted words. Project D.A.W.N, the espionage project Thatcher had started placed two spies in Verlin who were to report directly to a Crescent general named Sienna Moretti who was apparently on humanity’s side.
So I was right. There was an espionage element. With the recent attacks and Thatcher’s death, however, it’s safe to assume that it had somehow failed. Either they got found out or they betrayed us. Both seem very likely, but if they were found out, it would be possible that they had died.
He read through all of it before setting the folder down. There were no new notes recently. He sighed and assumed that Project DAWN was a failure. Whether or not the agents were still alive and well, it was too risky to check if they had been compromised. It was better to assume that they had been and cut all contact. The only way to find out now was to go there himself and check. I can’t contact them again. There’s no telling if it would still be Moretti or the agents who would see my messages. It’s a big risk, and judging by the state of things, best to assume it failed.
He picked up another folder. This one had the label ‘under development’ on the folder. Project Templar. He opened the folder and was instantly met with a blueprint and drawings of a massive bipedal machine. It looked humanoid with strange proportions and was supposed to be standing at an impressive 30 meters, or 100 feet. The Titanic Engine Mech for Personal Land Assault and Reconnaissance.
It was apparently a joint project with the Church of Sol, utilizing new and advanced technologies he hadn’t heard of. A 203mm Gatling cannon on one arm, while the other had three different weapons. A massive firestarter that utilized a new type of fuel mixture that could theoretically spew flames a kilometer away using a high-pressure nozzle. The fuel was ignited using an electrical spark. The second weapon was a high-powered light weapon that fired a single powerful beam of focused light that was even further amplified by layers of focusing lenses that could increase its output several times. Its third weapon was… a dust domina?
Mark read through the specifications of the so-called ‘sand cannon’ weapon. It was a massive cannon that accelerated tiny particles several times. Each particle was to be electrically charged, and it would travel at immense speeds. Near impossible speeds. The resulting impact of a microscopic particle at such speeds would be enough to form a small crater and punch through armor like it was nothing. This weapon would fire multiple at the same time, which could literally eat away at anything on the opposing end.
In terms of secondary weapons, the titan had two missile launch chambers in front of its shoulder each containing about 40 missiles, and two massive howitzer cannons on top of it. Both are 800mm in caliber. It had massive stumpy legs that served as bunkers for a small platoon on each leg. Each leg had machine dominas and 155mm cannons. Its chassis held two nuclear reactors inside providing for its power and weaponry. Its armor was the thickest and most ridiculous he’d ever read. Two meters of heavy steel armor.
How far are we in terms of technology? This thing looks like it came out of an H.G. Wells sci-fi novel. He thought, shaking his head. It was over the top, but there was no denying its combat capabilities. If it was already under-developed then it must be the first prototype. This has already been approved. Guess I better see it for myself later and check how it's coming along. Construction apparently started just a few months before the invasion.
Next was project L.U.N.A.R.I. It was a project involving Six. “Huh,” he said, continuing to read on.
The Light Undone: Nocturnal’s Adaptive Resistance Initiative. As he read further, his eyes widened. The reason why Six was so special wasn’t just because of her immunity to all strigoi weaknesses, but because of her impressive ability to turn any true born strigoi like her. She could transfer her strain like any other strigoi and transform them into a version of hers. It however only seemed to work for naturally born strigoi. The new species of ‘half-breeds’ were called ‘Blessed Children’ as Thatcher had coined in the folder.
The plan was to turn all willing true-born hemolite strigoi into these blessed children. Able to withstand the sun. Immune to silver. Free from the dependency on blood. They could remove all the weaknesses of the strigoi and after the war— make it possible to integrate them into society as normal citizens living on the surface. The project folder also made mentions of a city-wide draft in Dante and highlighted the possibility of turning all Dantenite true born strigoi into these blessed children and renaming them as ‘Lunari’. A mix of the dark and the light. The light of Sol reflected in the children of the night.
“Thatcher, what the fuck have you been up to…” Mark whispered to himself.
While it was true that it could help in the war effort by utilizing Six and the dantenite population, it would also invite some unforeseen problems and consequences. Would humanity be okay with the Lunari? Would the world even be ready for them? Strigoi who were immune to the sun. They wouldn’t be impossible to kill, but they would be immensely more powerful if we were to take away their inherent weaknesses. This is a gamble. Its gain would only be seen during the war period, but its unintended effects on society could be catastrophic.
He frowned, setting the folder down. It was obviously Thatcher’s main plan; seeing as all her moves could be traced to the path of the eventual completion of this project. It seemed dangerous in the long run, but the duskwalkers and dantenites had been monumental in the war effort. Maybe it was the time the world started to accept them more. Isolation and segregation was definitely not the way to disperse fears and foster understanding.
If Thatcher thinks this is the next step forward… then I’ll put my faith in her plans.
Next up was Project S.T.A.R, or the Superior Tech and Adaptive Resistance. An upgrade to the current hemolite weapons and gear by using new researched studies. The Starfire Pattern Domina. The SFD-23 This thing features a new loading system and magazine, ditching the rotating cylinder most domina used, or the rotating helix magazine design of the current hemolite standard BM-16 domina.
The new domina had its magazine like a box… a strange design but it was certainly easier to handle than the bulky cylinders the helical mags used. In terms of ergonomics, it was smoother and fit more. Its placement however was on top of the domina, just above the barrel. Most of the weapon were to be made of lightweight polymers and the barrel itself were to be crafted out of reinforced aluminium. In addition to that, it had a 10-inch bayonet attached to it.
There were other new things as well, such as the composition of the bullet. Looking at the conceptual cross-section designs, Mark read through its description and how it would function. A .308 cased telescoped bullet covered in a silver jacket with break-away petals surrounding the main body. Inside the jacket was a penetrator core that was to be made of depleted uranium. It had a small amount of incendiary compound and… powdered white phosphorus behind an explosive compound. The thin silver jacket would deform and trigger the explosive compound inside the body. It would blow up causing massive internal damage and release the incendiary materials into the body with the flecks of powdered white phosphorus. The penetrator core could still potentially keep going and hit a second target, or punch through heavily armored targets.
Part of the new Project S.T.A.R was overhauling the armor and gear of not just the Hemolites but the Hunters as well. Starfire Mk 1. Carapace Armor. Carapace? It looked like plates of steel covered in a rubberized coat. It was supposed to be slipped on over the original hemolite body armor. It added a spring-loaded wrist blade to the gauntlet, a thicker coat made of resistant materials, and added extra padding for the knees, shoulders, and elbows.
However, the hemolites weren’t the only ones mentioned in the folder. It was to serve the Hunters as well. “Hunters…” Mark said. “August’s group is part of this initiative too.” He flipped through some of the pages. There were blueprints and drawings of an armored suit. A mechanized suit even smaller and more compact than the jotunn units. The Mark 1 STR battlesuit. It was supposed to hug the wearer’s frame and increase their overall power. It was supposed to be built of titanium alloy and a heavy steel frame with composite armor. It had a cooling system, life support systems that could recycle bodily fluids, and an exoskeleton frame that could increase the wearer’s strength and speed.
However, the real eye-opener was Thatcher’s notes. She had been ranting about the new human evolution, and how the Hunters were the first of the ‘Solari’. She wanted to enhance human genetics and push past the peak of human ability to reach greater heights. Implants and restructuring of the anatomy to make it more efficient. Using the blood of the goddess herself. She must have lost it. These are the ramblings of a lunatic. At least… if she didn’t mention the goddess. Why was the goddess important here?
The writings ended with the words: “See Project R.E.V.I.V.E, for more details.”
Mark eyed the final folder. His hands shook as he reached out to take it. Flipping it open, his hands nearly dropped it in shock. The goddess Helena was alive. There were pictures of her naked form floating in a giant tube of fluid. There were more of Thatcher’s ramblings and excited rants about the possibilities of such a discovery. Resurrection, Enhancement, and Veneration: Implementation of Visionary Evolution.
The goddess is alive?! According to the file, she’s currently under the Cathedral of New Lundun. Not only that, but the file also detailed the extraterrestrial tech that lay beneath the cathedral. So the goddess is real and she’s— not really a goddess, but rather, a vampyr who created herself a human body to stand in the sun, and decided that it wants to be on humanity’s side… what the fuck.
Mark’s frown and confusion only increased as he read on. Thatcher’s notes seemed to nearly descend into madness as she had written about creating ‘the first hundred’, alluding to the 100 members of the Hunters division. Her plan was to revive the goddess, and with her help and expertise in genetics— use her DNA to transform the Hunters into demi-humans. Super soldiers. Literal children of the goddess Helena. They would then don the STR battlesuits, the first of the superhuman warriors to defend humanity. Solari.
Their lightning-speed advancement into technology was heralded by studying the alien tech, which deepened the understanding of physics and engineering. Nuclear technologies, chemical warfare, new material sciences, the mechs, and walkers, it was spearheaded by trying to reverse-engineer technology centuries ahead of our own… for the past hundred years. It wasn’t completely stolen, however. More or less borrowed ideas that had been made into our own with our own designs and implements. Still, the speed at which the Church and the military had deciphered such advancements all by themselves was… impressive to say the least.
Still, the fact that the goddess was alive, and could be brought back was big news. Checking the file for details, he found that the previous general, Jorgenson, had already approved this project. It was their next step as soon as they returned from New Amsterdam; which never happened.
If Helena was alive, then she could end this war swiftly, or at the very least help greatly like she once did during the War of Darkness. Having the goddess back would throw a massive wrench in the Crescent’s plans. It would certainly be something they wouldn’t expect. Not even I expected this, since many sources say that the goddess had already ascended to watch over humanity, while conspiracy theorists claim she had died in battle and that the Church was worshiping a corpse. This could be the trick up our sleeves that no one would even consider.
The colonel quickly got up from his seat and gathered the main files he had read. He placed them in a bag and rushed outside of his office in Facility 9. He went over to a nearby room and flicked the lights on. “We need to go,” he said. In an instant seven hemolite soldiers got up from whatever they were doing and instantly stood in line.
“Sir! Whatever you need of us, sir,” the group said in unison.
They were Hemo-1. His former squad members. He had taken up Louis' suggestion that they be his personal security detail. It was a shame that he had basically placed the best hemolite team out of commission, but after all he had been through he convinced himself that he could be just a little selfish. He didn’t want to lose any more friends. Not on his watch. Not while he was in an office, and they were out fighting.
“We’re going to New Lundun. Better pack up, it’s going to be a long night.”
“Mark,” Olivia said.
Jacobs turned to her direction and gave her a nod.
“Colonel, sir, may I ask where in New Lundun?”
“Liv, you don’t need to do that with me. Please. I give all of you special permission,” the colonel groaned. “It’s so weird. I mean, ‘captain’ was bad enough, but now you’re acting like I’m an authority figure.”
“You… are, though,” Emma shrugged.
“I’m your friend, and Liv I’m literally your partner. Unless you have some kind of weird fetish, save it for later.”
Olivia grinned, shaking her head. “Duly noted!” she chirped.
“That’s better,” Mark chuckled. “Now come on, we have a cathedral to visit.”
“Uhh, I’m not sure if you noticed, but we’re kinda… strigoi?!” Louis groaned. “I’d burn the moment I step in that place! Plus, it’s coated in silver! Anything I even touch will give me burns!”
“Oh come on, Lou. You have fucking gloves on. As long as you’re not a clumsy dumbass you’ll be fine… oh wait.’
“Uh huh, just sayin’ what I think, boss.”
The group headed out and Mark said something on his radio. He then sat on the ground, making his joints pop. The rest of the squad shrugged and followed his example, sitting down on the grass and waiting for… nothing. Charles and Zach looked at each other in confusion. “Uh, sir?” they asked. “Aren’t we supposed to be heading out and traveling right now?”
“Oh yeah, we’re just waiting.”
“Foooor…?”
The colonel gave them a smirk as a loud noise began to make itself known. A hummingbird transport appeared out of the distance and stopped right above them, slowly descending into the grass. “Being colonel has its perks,” Mark said with a smile. He stood up and hopped inside the hummingbird as soon as it landed. “Come on now! We’ve got work to do! Last one aboard buys everyone food later!”
Emma zipped in before Mark could even finish his sentence, followed by Olivia, Phineas, Charles, Zach, and then Louis, who sadly took too long to process what the colonel said, and lagged behind.
“Aw, man! Fuck this shit.”
“Rules are rules, Lou. Prepare your wallet later.” Mark grinned.
With a smile, the colonel pulled Olivia to his side, who blushed for a moment before shaking her head. “Take us up! New Lundun Cathedral! How long would it take?” he asked the pilot.
“About an hour and a half!” The pilot replied. “Less if you want to get there as soon as possible!”
“Take your time! The night’s still young.”
The hummingbird started to lift up, taking them into the air. The group settled down in their seats and watched outside the open. Mark opened up a bag inside the hummingbird and took out some ear muffs built for a strigoi. Extremely loud noises were damaging for a strigoi’s enhanced hearing, so the military started implementing ear muffs for them after complaints from early deployments of the hemolite squads.
The trip didn’t take too long. In only an hour and twenty minutes they had arrived at the safe zone of New Lundun, heading straight for the cathedral. The night mass had just ended and people were leaving the cathedral. “Looks like we made it in perfect time!” Mark smiled. They hovered for a few minutes in the air before eventually landing down right in front of the statue of Helena.
As soon as they landed, the colonel and his group left the hummingbird. Mark instructed the pilot to wait for them. He went straight for the cathedral with his group following behind. He entered inside, clearing his throat. “Hello?”
“Well this is surely unexpected,” an old man said, walking up to greet them.
“Great Grandfather Aurelius. It’s uh, an honor.”
“Please. The honor is mine… I see you’re the new colonel. Yes, I’ve heard the news,” he said. “Would you mind telling me your name, young man? As well as your companions, if they feel so. I usually don’t allow duskwalkers here but, I have nothing against them. I’ll make an exception for your group.”
“Thank you, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “I am Colonel Mark Jacobs. These are my friends and security detail. Olivia, Zach, Phineas, Charles, Emma, and Louis.”
“I see, and what brings you here?”
“Since Thatcher’s demise, I was given access to her research and project folders upon taking up the title. I’ve learned about what’s under your cathedral,” Mark cleared his throat. “Would it be alright if we could see it? I’d like to check it for myself. Of course, under your permission and guidance, Great Grandfather.”
The church head looked from Mark to his companions. He pulled a slight frown and hummed. “Do these companions of yours have the clearance? Surely, we wish to keep our secrets hidden,” he said. Mark nodded.
“They do not have clearance to know what is in Thatcher’s folders and her findings,” the colonel nodded. “However, I give them permission to accompany me, and should they discover things for themselves, then you have my word and my trust that I can keep them from spilling state secrets.”
The Great Grandfather gave a short pause before ultimately relenting. “Very well,” he let out a sigh. “Follow me.”
Aurelius walked behind the altar and pulled the same lever, which opened the same staircase leading underground, where Jorgenson and Thatcher had once gone. “Over here, colonel,” he said. “I do not know you completely yet, but this is a big deal of trust I am giving you. Perhaps you would be the one to do things that Thatcher could not have.”
Mark nodded, he and his group followed the Great Grandfather down the staircase. It led down to a massive underground facility, with numerous priests, researchers, and scientists. Libraries, records, instruments, and artifacts of old. It was a treasure trove of learning.
“So,” Aurelius cleared his throat. “What would you like to know about?”
“This isn’t all of it,” Mark said. “Thatcher mentioned a living, breathing, Helena.”
His group behind him let out a soft gasp, but they tried their best to hide their surprise.
“Hm,” the Great Grandfather nodded. “Perceptive young man aren’t you? Very well.”
They were then led into another room, behind a set of heavy blast doors. If the whole group were trying to hide their surprise then, now they could barely contain it. Even the colonel stared awestruck at the things he had seen. Despite the near-magical objects around them, the true shock was the massive starship at the end of the hallway. “It’s impressive isn’t it?” Aurelius said. “All of the goddess’ artifacts and items at our disposal, to use and learn from, to integrate into our own. This is why Anglestan is the most powerful nation in the UHT in terms of development. When it comes to industry, however, that would go to the UNA. But we share our secrets with them. All our advancements are handed to them first before any other nation.”
“This is all amazing, Great Grandfather,” Mark replied. “But this is not what I’m here for.”
“No, it’s not.” Aurelius nodded.
He led them to another room, one that was sterilized and sported advanced machinery. Things that Mark had never even seen. There were screens with luminous green texts that appeared in front of it. Large panels with numerous keys, levers, and dials. Graphs of all sorts and beeping monitors. In the center, was the very thing he had come all this way to confirm. A large cylinder filled with liquid, sporting tubes and pipes connecting to its base. Inside was a woman of large proportion. Four arms, two legs, and six wings. In her bare chest was a symbol of the sun that seemed to glow dimly.
“There she is, there’s you goddess.”
Neither Mark nor his group spoke a word. He walked up to it, eyeing the woman inside. It really is her. Down to the last details. Golden hair, six limbs, six folded wings, and she looks massive. Probably as big as her statue just outside the cathedral. This is it. The very goddess in the history books, the one spoken about in legends and the one worshiped in the Churches of Sol.
“Can we free her?” he said.
The Great Grandfather nearly choked on his spit upon hearing those words. “Free her?! That could kill her! We don’t even understand this technology, let alone control it!” he said pointing at the panels. “The machines you see here are the best and most advanced we have based on what we can reverse engineer, but even then, the consequences of tampering with its functions may be disastrous!”
“I understand, Great Grandfather,” Mark said. “But we are in a dire situation, and the goddess may be our hope of turning this around. Whatever secrets of her tech that you don’t understand, wouldn’t she be able to teach us directly? What good is she floating around in Sol knows what?”
“That is her miraculous healing fluid. She had already built this contraption centuries ago in case anything were to happen to her, that her body’s natural healing could not sustain,” Aurelius said. “During the War of Darkness, Helena was struck with a weapon so deadly, her very cells began to tear away. The Reaper. Dealt to her by Absolem the progenitor. Her flesh was peeling from her body, and she began to decay whilst she still breathed. She entered this contraption and gave strict instructions to the Great Grandfather at the time, not to interrupt the healing process. The machine that monitored her, however, began to fail over time.”
“So this… these screens and panels…”
“Is only what functions we can understand. We took it upon ourselves to rebuild and study it the best we could. What we have right now is only a cheap imitation of a technology we do not fully comprehend,” he said. “It took us decades to even figure out the fundamentals and create a working prototype of this machine. By some miracle, the goddess’ healing process had remained even while we replaced components of technology ahead of ours.”
“But you know how to free her, don’t you?”
“I… yes.”
“Great Grandfather Aurelius,” Mark began. “We can end this war. Imagine what we could do with the goddess fighting on our side. We could advance even further, we could finally end the bloodshed, and we can show humanity that there is still hope. Imagine how people all over the world would feel seeing as their goddess has returned.”
“I wish I had your enthusiasm,” Aurelius said. “But it is simply too risky. The Church’s duty is to protect Helena and her legacy. We keep her alive, literally and figuratively. She nearly died the last time she was involved in a war. Would you risk losing the goddess?”
“Would you risk humanity losing?”
The Great Grandfather fell silent, looking back at Helena floating inside the tube, then to the panels that controlled it. He frowned and let out a long sigh. “The goddess said that we should not interrupt it. That it would end as soon as it was finished. Maybe we should trust her words.”
Mark shook his head. “I don’t spot a single blemish on the goddess. Not a single scratch,” he argued. “You said it yourself that the machine had begun to fail and you replaced components. How would you know that the thing that’s supposed to wake her up was not tampered with? Think about it. What you may think is a useless piece may be integral to the whole machine. Or maybe your replacements were not up to the task. Just because nothing’s happened doesn’t mean its functions have remained whole.”
“Young man, we simply cannot gamble with the goddess’ life here.”
“Have you no faith? Great Grandfather?”
Aurelius stepped back in shock. Mark’s companions looked at each other, clearly surprised as well. “Mark… I don’t think we should keep arguing with—” Olivia tried to say.
“No,” the colonel said firmly, cutting her off. “Great Grandfather Aurelius, do you think that Helena will not be able to pull through if we wake her? How long has it been? A century? How much longer will we wait? She may be immortal but humans aren’t.”
“I'm sorry, but the chances of failure are too high. The probability of her—”
“I don’t care about the probability! Would you rather put your faith in a statistic?!” Mark raised his voice. “I lost my mother to this war! My friends! My job! My eye, and almost my life! I’ve put mine on the line out there! You don’t know what it’s like out there! Was my mother’s death just a probability too? Was she just a statistic to you?! That as long as the numbers are good, no matter how many are lost, we are ‘winning’?!”
“Mark—!”
“No, Liv! He needs to know what’s really going on out there!” he spat. “Great Grandfather, with all due respect, but you don’t have a damn clue what it’s like to be in the field. You’re a man of faith, aren’t you? Take a risk. Everyone else has.”
Aurelius stood there, dumbfounded. He bit the inside of his cheeks and clenched his fists. “For your insolence, I would have had you flogged and stripped of your rank,” he glared at the young colonel. However, his features slowly softened, letting out a soft sigh. “But I have never seen such conviction. Mighty is your faith.”
The Great Grandfather moved over to the panels and reached into his robe, pulling out from around his neck a key with the symbol of the sun. He inserted it into the machine and turned. A beep sounded, right before Aurelius pulled a lever. In an instant, the fluid inside the glass chamber began to drain out into the tubes under it. Slowly, the chamber emptied and all that was left was the nude form of the goddess sitting in the glass.
“Did it work?” Louis asked, stepping forward and looking at the woman.
Aurelius stayed silent, his hands shaking in anticipation. Mark moved toward the glass chamber, when suddenly, the glass opened up like a door, releasing a fragrant mist. They stood there, watching for a whole minute. Nothing. At first nothing. The Great Grandfather looked like he was about to break down. His knees shook as he covered his mouth, thinking that he was responsible for the death of Helena.
That was when… a soft sound was heard. Movement. Olivia immediately went over to Mark and stood in front of him. Ready to protect him should anything happen. Slowly, the goddess moved more, her arms inched to the side.
Then, her eyes opened.

First/Previous
Gemma was right about the sky’s open night, and I could sympathize with her recollection of the beauty, but for me it must’ve been a greater tragedy—the young woman had only ever enjoyed the stars in the pits of Golgotha; I could, long before, drink in the sky at leisure. Cruel memories.
The night the Rednecks died was one of viscera, but before that it was coolness on the breeze, a warmth by the fires while John played his guitar and we had only just taken two dozen kegs of lager (personal reserves) from the Atlanta despot—the man that kept his subjects as slaves and not a person among the camp was left without budding intoxication. No matter the age, everyone was invited to be merry; if it was that children too faced the plight of a bad world, then so too should they reap the moments of plenty—or so the camp figured.
John had taken a group by the fires where wagons were drawn in interlocking semicircles for cover and Jackson sat beside the picker. Jackson was a man which normally preferred quiet reflection over boisterous singing and nearly never wore the band on his throat, and yet there he was belting out the chorus at the top of his lungs, tankard in hand, red cloth blazed around his neck—it was a contagion and those drunk enough for easier embarrassment sang proudly along:
“There is power, there is power in a band of working folk!
When we stand hand in hand,
That’s a power, that’s the power,
That must rule in every land!”
I’d taken to the outlying shadows with my back pressed against the gas-powered caleche, my own tankard in hand. I loved the warmth of that great big family, truly, but even in those days—and maybe it was that queer youthfulness which longed for individualism that made me that way then—I remained as distanced as possible when I could. I sipped the lager, it was a fine drink and my brother Billy, nearly as old as I was when I’d first taken up in the infantry, swaggered to stand beside me just as quiet for minutes and we looked at the stars and he asked me what it was like to kill a man.
“Is it hard?” he asked.
I nodded, “Sometimes.”
“Killing monsters ain’t so bad. Don’t know if I could do it to a person.”
“You could if they meant to kill you; or if they meant to do it to someone you cared about,” I promised him. In those days, spry, energized, I held no time for staring into abysses; though I still wasn’t a man fully, I pretended as one. It was about family, and it was about doing what was right—what’s right seemed to change, or I changed. The world felt stark with good and evil and even later I’d feel that sentiment well up in me, but if that’s true, I know I stand more on the latter and so I intentionally obfuscated it—this I know. If not, it might be too much to bear. I was required to lie to myself and even in knowing I lied, it was better.
Billy tugged on the red kerchief around his throat and asked me how it looked on him.
“Looks good,” I said.
“Don’t think I look stupid at all?”
I smiled over my drink, “You always look stupid.” I sipped. “The neckwear’s fine.”
“Give me a break,” said Billy; he investigated his own cup, gave it a swish with his wrist, watching its contents swirl. “Aren’t you ever afraid you’ll die?”
“Sometimes—nights like this—I wouldn’t mind it.”
“Really?” my brother asked.
“There’s always a chance of it. Every moment, I guess.”
He smiled. “I wish I had that confidence.”
“You’ll get it,” I returned his smile; it was true that he would gain the fighting spirit. It came to us all with time and reminiscing on the early days, I recall the grit and the hatred—there was learning there too though. Besides, I’d seen the squalors of a stationary man. The stagnation of a place, an unmoving home.
John put his guitar away and laughter erupted from the crowd from something said and Sibylle, cowboy hat cocked funny, traipsed across the camp to the open keg for a refill; the man there, tending the cylinders, was a man named Tandy (a foreigner and one unknown besides the way he smoked a skunk pipe and told wild stories). My mother leaned over while Tandy opened the spigot mouth on the keg, and she froze there, and I could see her there cut out forever against the light of the fires; I watched, and it came so suddenly that I couldn’t be sure what’d happened at all. It was so sudden that I couldn’t find my weapon and I couldn’t find even the courage to fight because in those moments it wasn’t courage I needed, it was grounds to understand.
Sibylle came apart in two pieces immediately, torn completely through and dust erupted as her legs struck the ground while her torso spun through the air like a top, a trail of liquid trailed after, caught in the blue of night so it shone as black; she couldn’t scream. Tandy was a statue. Before anyone could react, more flesh, other bodies, went up and there was all manner of limbs which filled the ground, and it is astounding how quickly a red mist forms across the ground during a massacre. Perhaps the wails of my comrades started before, perhaps others fell before Sibylle, but I could not comprehend the goings-on till I saw her drop the way she did.
Frail human screams rose on the night; I slammed to the ground, tankard gone away and hands scrambling in the dirt; I reached up blindly and yanked Billy to my level and his expression was one of innocence, panic, tears even. Glancing around, I saw the demons bolt from the pitch-black darkness on the edges of camp, mutants taking the fore while greater creatures lurked further back, some hurled whips of gliding metal which writhed over their heads when they stretched them out for a strike—alien—and they sliced directly through soft human bodies. Not even a cry escaped me, but Billy let go with it and I slapped my cupped hand over his mouth hard to hold the screams. His voice would not have been alone anyway, not alongside that startling cacophony. Amidst the cries of people, there were the cries of horses, of our hounds.
We rolled across the ground, slipped beneath the raised body of the gas-powered caleche, remained quiet in the dark, peeked out between the wheels.
“What’s happening?” Billy whispered through my fingers; I removed my hand from him and caught a glimpse of him framed in a square of firelight through the wheels—we lay there on our bellies and the left side of his face was glazed with dirt where I’d pulled him down.
“Shh,” I told him, “Shh, please. Please.” Not another word came while I pleaded with him, pleaded with the world to make this all a nightmare.
Through the haze and the running silhouettes painted black, I saw what might have been Jackson; he stumbled and in the moment that it took me to gasp, his head was gone from his body, his torso slid on as he collapsed, came to rest mere feet from the motor wagon. I told myself that it wasn’t him, but it probably was.
Some mutants lumbered through the camp like animated corpses, some leapt with wild energy or sprayed noxious fumes which lingered in the air; others still were amalgams of humanlike limbs themselves—fiends—exhausting terrible sounds, producing smells of sulfur, glistening with whatever liquids excreted from their oblong alien orifices. Demons ran amok, chanted in devil tongued languages, laughed madly at the destruction—others still, those which displayed some greater intelligence, broke into a song I could never hope or want to replicate; it seemed a unified damnation.
“Please,” I repeated in a whimper and Billy hushed me this time and I realized we were holding hands, squeezing for dear life as figures walked the camp, speared those half-alive, elected others for twisted carnality.
In darkness, in fright plainly, we scuttled from the recess of our hiding place, kept quiet, held to each other, and went into the wasteland where nothing was—every shadow was a potential threat, every second could’ve been the last. We were holding hands; then we weren’t.
Only a glance—that’s all I afforded my brother and nothing more—what a joke of a person I am! What a coward I was. Always.
Something got him in the dark and instead of dying alongside those I cared about, I went on, heartbeat driving me till it was all that I heard in my ears and my muscles ached and my chest heaved and sweat covered me, chilled me in the breeze of the night—it was only once I’d accepted the dark completely, crawled into a hollowed space of rocks along a squat ridge that I watched the demolished camp; it seemed no larger than a spark, but the creatures, fiends and others continued their war cries; never before had I witnessed demons participate in such an attack.
I watched till the sun came, till the fires became smoke, then I watched the band of hell creatures disband. The smell of sulfur remained in the air—copper too—and I stumbled back to the camp in a dreamlike daze, totally unbelieving of the things I saw. Among those dead on the ground, I could recognize none; among those piked from rear to shoulder, standing like morbid scarecrows where they’d been steadied against the ground, I could not want to recognize.
Many of the wagons were overturned, including the gas-powered caleche and I went to it; the metal of its body was warped but I fell to the ground by it and pushed my back against the exposed undercarriage, remained frozen there while examining the bodies, the terrible strips of skin which rested places like wet sheets of paper, the piles of bones removed and smashed and piled.
I cried so deeply that oxygen became a memory, and the shakes couldn’t be contained.
It was like that for so long, knees pulled up, face pushed between, and the wails came unafraid of whatever attention they might garner; there was no rationale, but I imagine if there had been, I would’ve welcomed death in that misery. It was a deep wound that not even my own cowardice would overcome for the sake of survival.
Unaware of my surroundings, not wanting to look up from the ground between my legs, the noise which had started out as imaginary became real and I raised my head then to listen better and wipe my sore eyes; it was the sound of clip-clop horse hooves and I mildly wondered if any of the animals had been spared. I stood and pivoted around the dead camp and there it was, a man on a painted horse with golden hair; he leisurely drove the mount through the place, maneuvering around pools of blood, clumps of body parts and upon seeing me, he smiled and offered a languid wave, keeping one of his gloved hands on the reins.
The man wore white and swished his hair back upon arriving directly in front of me. Ahoy, he offered kindly, Did you happen to see the other riders?
I shook my head, feeling numb.
Ah, he said, I could have sworn four other riders, at least, passed me on my way. His gray eyes examined the carnage. Shame. He shook his head. You are?
“H-harlan.”
He nodded and nearly offered an expression of genuine condolence before descending from the horse; the animal gave a gentle grunt and wandered away from its master to inspect a nearby group of the dead. The man offered his hand, and I took it in a shake. Mephisto, said the man. He flashed a smile again before his face grew serious. I’ve come to you to deal.
I shot him a questioning look, one of bafflement.
I heard your calls from far off. He nodded, removed a white handkerchief from his breast pocket and swiped it down his face. Hot out. He shrugged then replaced the cloth in his pocket. This, he motioned to the disarray of vehicles, of bodies, I can’t fix all this—it’s too much—but there’s a person you love, I know. I could bring them back.
“Doctor?” In retrospect it was such a naïve question.
He shook his head.
“Angel?”
He grinned and nodded, Sure.
“Demon?”
Undoubtedly. His eyes—pits of gray in that radiant face—nearly expressed solemness; he daintily shook the hair from his face and looked at his steed which sniffed a corpse. What’s the word, Harlan? There are others calling and I must be on my way soon—I can’t dally. There was a sharpness to the words. Can’t dally. We must convene soon, or I’ll mosey on.
I snorted back the clog in my nose from the tears and wiped my eyes with my sleeves. “Okay.”
Deal?
I nodded, “Deal.”
Sleep tonight, said Mephisto, Sleep and you’ll be rewarded in the morning.
“You said it’s a deal.”
He nodded and scanned the carnage before we matched gazes and then he said, Yes?
“What is it you want from me?”
Nothing you need now. He called the horse, and it came, and he swept his feet quickly from the ground and settled into position atop the animal. Sleep, Harlan. You won’t be bothered. There are worse things still over the horizon.
I watched him go till he disappeared and once he was gone, I couldn’t cry anymore and instead rummaged through the wagons for what I might carry; along the way I found John, face twisted but corpse intact. The body from the previous night that I’d guessed was Jackson couldn’t be determined but I found him nowhere else. I slid Sibylle’s holster from her hips, fell hard onto the ground and found that I could sob more. I took her cowboy hat, placed it on my head and held her pistol in one hand and the belt holster dangled from the other while I searched the other bodies; there were so many, but I could not find Billy.
Waiting for darkness, I took the spot where I rested, back against the caleche’s undercarriage, watched the sky and felt the gun in my hand; it was heavy. I put it to my head, closed my eyes, and whispered affirmations to myself then I put the pistol between my splayed legs, watched it still in the dirt, and pulled the hat down over my eyes but it did little for the smell. Though the brim of the hat cut the sky out, I watched the ground and saw circling shadows form overhead and heard calls of turkey vultures; they came to pick over the bodies. I withdrew my knees to my chest there again and laid my forearm across them and bit into my arm while closing my eyes. I had thought I was a man and for a time, maybe I was, but there in that miserable pit of despair I became a child again and if I’d become more delirious, I’m sure I might’ve called out for Jackson like it was a bad dream.
Into a fading stupor of sleep in the sun I went and when I awoke again it was dark and chilly and I was tired and hungry but too sick to eat and hardly strong enough to move; I looked at the gun and put it into its holster and left it there by the caleche. In the light of the moon and stars, I moved to gather a bolt of canvas; I unfurled the fabric and created a leaning shelter against the overturned vehicle and crawled into it. There was a hole in the canvas, and I peeked out at the stars.
Weeping came again, but not so uproarious; I was stuck there letting go of whimpers, lying on my back, feeling the tears trace in lines from the outer corners of my eyes to collect along my earlobes. In time, I fell to sleep again on the hard ground because the mourning had taken all else from me.
A pinpoint of sunlight broke my eyelids and I jerked awake and reached for the holster, but it was gone. So was the hat. I crawled from the leaning shelter and there he was.
Billy stood plainly among the dried, congealed blood-soaked field and he looked on to the horizon and all shadows were long in the midday sun which hung up there in a soft blue sky. Whether it be a dream or a spell, I couldn’t care—I charged to him and spun him so he faced me and though his face was plain and expressionless, I wrapped him into a forceful hug. He placed his hands on my back and gave a gentle squeeze; when I pulled from him, my hands on his shoulders, I saw he held Sibylle’s hat in his left hand, pinched by the brim; he’d already tugged her holster belt around his hips—he could have it all. I shook while holding him then let go to wipe my face.
“You’re alive,” I nodded.
He nodded without speaking then looked at the hat in his hand and placed it on his head and firmly pressed it down.
“Billy! Hell, you’re alive!”
The corners of his mouth twitched upward for a moment then he nodded again. “Yeah.” His eyes curiously searched our surroundings like he meant to take each detail in forever.
I slapped him on the shoulder and almost squealed. “Goddammit.” I wiped my eyes again and could do little to keep the excitement from exploding from me. “Oh, we should go. We should go on and get somewhere safe.”
He nodded toward the horizon, “’Lanta?”
“Sure.”
We packed and it was a like an ethereal phantom remained among us beside the quiet dead; turkey vultures cawed to break the silence, pecked where they pleased on the bodies, and I couldn’t want to fight them. I kept sidelong eyes on Billy with the ever-present worry that he’d vanish. Perhaps he was the phantom.
From the rear of the caleche, I removed a few sentimental books Jackson liked, essential cookware, and sparse rations for the trek. The last thing I grabbed was my shotgun and a bit of ammo.
As we set from the dead place, the terrible silhouettes that were cut from there on the horizon behind us grew in my mind with every backward glance—I wanted to fall to pieces, but I saw Billy walk alongside me and although contented is not the right word, it is the nearest. The steps of our boots were all that was heard because I could not fathom to pierce the space between us with words for fear that it would all end. It was a dream, surely. I’d lost my mind. With my hands thumbed into the straps of my pack, I saw I my hands still shook, and they would shake a lot longer—years and with memories too. The crunch of earth underfoot became a rhythm and instead of looking at my brother, I watched his shadow on the ground.
“Everyone’s dead?” He asked.
“Yeah.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” I repeated.
“How ain’t I? How ain’t you?”
To say that it was luck would’ve been too morbid. Instead of saying anything, I shrugged, kicked a loose stone, watched my feet some more, and felt a queasiness come over me. For the moment, the immeasurable deaths of those I’d left behind were forgotten in the company of my brother and a sickness welled up inside of me so suddenly that I felt that I’d fall to pieces at the slightest provocation. Finally, I did speak again, but only after steeling myself to the troubles, “Yeah, how are you alive?”
Billy shrugged at me then stumbled up a hill which overlooked trash wood wilderness where sticks lay twisted and bare and further on the sight of Atlanta was visible and I cupped a hand across my brow and Billy did the same and we looked on at the shadows of the place out there where strings of smoke rose from the skyline as a signature for the desolation of the city; it was dead. I felt it in my bones.
My hands were light while my head was heavy, my throat was dry, and the entire world seized in moments of stillness or perhaps it was my own vision which construed the world in that way; I took to the small hill which Billy had climbed and sat there and stared at the place between my feet to steady myself.
“Fire,” said Billy.
I nodded and nearly choked.
Leviathan—till then I had no belief in dragons—glided over the broken city, its winged shadow little seen but its voice was deep across the scene, letting go of roars which shook the ground. We hid among the trash wood and moved down the hill and watched the creature thrash in the air as if it was angry for its abominable life. Whatever millennia it spent in the pits of hell seemingly thrust upon it a love of destruction and pain.
My brother moved with a more assured stride and kept a cool distance and upon fleeing from the wreckage, from the outlying area of Atlanta and the place we’d left our family, he spoke little and watched me strangely whenever I took to melancholic fatiguing. We lit no fires for fear of what it could draw from the night so in the dark I’d see him watching some far-off place, maybe seeing through the reality which surrounded us, and he’d snap from it, catch my eye, and disappear for minutes to scan the perimeter of whatever place we stayed. Being alongside my resurrected brother was lonelier than I could bear, and I hoped he’d disappear for good or that I could work up the courage to end my own life. It was like purgatory explained in books and for a time, it felt endless; upon witnessing the destruction of Atlanta, we pushed to Marrietta, and it was much the same. As was Chatanooga, Nashville, Knoxville, Louisville, Charlotte. The ocean had risen so that Fayetville was gone underwater, and the Florida leg disappeared completely as far as I’m aware. I understood later that Memphis was overlooked and more places further west were alive too, but when we’d exhausted the south, we moved north and found strongholds of families or traders or even small groupings of civilization, but by and large we found nothing much in the two years that we hoofed it from place to place; it was my doing mostly—I wanted to find a place untouched by the mayhem in the area my family had once patrolled.
In retrospect, I am certain that Billy only stayed by my side for convenience; there wasn’t any of my brother left in the man that was my travelling companion for that time. He was a ghost of a person and Mephisto had preyed upon my desire in the worst moment of weakness in my life. There were nights—maybe we’d taken up in a natural alcove for shelter or we’d locked ourselves in some ancient structure for sleep—I’d watch Billy lay where he was, Sibylle’s hat and holster lying beside him, and I’d think of putting him down but he’d stir and in a brief shadow I’d see my brother as he’d been and withdraw to bury my face in fake sleep to be met with images of the night the demons attacked where I’d shake, sweat, and bite my lips so hard I’d drink blood.
Two years we marched around the Appalachians and in that time, I felt myself wither and disconnect.
Upon moving further north we met Indianapolis—that’s what it was called back then—and it was run by an older woman called Lady Lazarus; I reckon her father, affluent and dead, was a fan of Plath. Indianapolis was fortified more than most with its high walls, and its wall men, and its underground facilities which produced substantial ammunition. We—me and Billy’s revenant—were travelling with a group of traders we’d taken up with from out west; they called themselves wizards and although they seemed of the occult, their spirits discounted whatever suspicions I might’ve had of them.
I remember first pushing through that big gate; the town kept with it an indisputable malaise and though we were greeted at the gate by the leader Lady Lazarus—her brothers came along with her—and her jovial demeanor carried a certain infectious quality, I could not help but notice that the regular denizens maintained a healthy distance from their leader (the guards which followed the Lady everywhere probably had something to do with this).
Lady Lazarus touched each of our hands in greeting with enthusiasm and I could not help but notice how soft they were, how vibrant her eyes were, how much she smiled, and how beautiful she was given her age; already her head was fully gray.
Upon meeting each of us, going through the wizard traders first, she came to me, and Billy and she shook my hand then pivoted to Billy.
“Welcome. You can call me Lady.”
Billy caught her hand in his, held it longer than she’d intended so that they held eye contact, and he smiled broadly, tipped the cowboy hat on his head back to expose his smooth forehead and said, “And you can call me Maron, mam. You are quite a sight for a tired man.”
Though Maron—as he’d named himself—was more boy than man, Lady took a disturbed liking to him immediately and we prolonged our stay in Indianapolis after the wizards departed to head west.
Under the rule of Lady, Indianapolis was a theocracy, with her addressing the huddled masses at the steps of her grand abode, she’d preach for hours on sin and strife and quote her favorite passages; though reminiscent of my time with the Rednecks, I never found any truth or sincerity or freedom in her teaching—hers was more trouble, brimstone, fire and I’d had enough of that for a lifetime. Public execution was common. As was torture.
Maron distanced himself further from me, but I remained to keep an eye on him—it was not sentimentality but rather I existed without purpose and conjured some from watching my brother.
Often, Lady invited Maron to her private rooms and though the rumors and speculation ran the full spectrum of perverse speculation, every denizen feigned ignorance at her pregnancy.
Upon giving birth, the infant was malformed with two heads—her brothers took this as an omen and killed the child, put their leader in the stocks for months, and stripped her of dignity while the denizens did to her what they pleased.
Maron rose through the wall men while Lady’s brothers assumed control of Indianapolis and called themselves Bosses; in the time since Lady’s reign, the place was renamed to Golgotha for its closeness to a messiah.
I went west but always found myself drawn back to Golgotha because of some emptiness in me. It was only with Suzanne that I wanted something more and knowing them, I almost believed in a world like the one that children dream about. The world that Gemma and Andrew chased after when they left home, like the one Aggie talked about in her mother’s books. There’s a hopelessness in me that I’ll never be rid of. In the interim between our initial arrival to Golgotha and that flight from that terrible city, I cannot know how many people I sacrificed in convening with demons because I refuse to know because the number would destroy me. That is the worst of it; I do not even have courage enough to face myself or the actions of my past in any substantive way.
Mephisto tainted me so that I could speak with his kind as a dealmaker and the disease grew.
Billy or Maron or whatever he is should have been reaped long ago or better, I should never have brought that abomination alive. Such a cruel world where a deep longing like that can be inverted, weaponized. Me and him should both die; me and him should have died a long time ago.
First/Previous
Archive

It first started with a small zit on the tip of the ear lobe, it had a black head that spread and inflamed the skin around the cartilage filling it with some kind of liquid and then lymph nodes got swollen around the ear and neck. The infection looked black, and within a weak made a crust that made it unrecognizable that was an insect bite. That is when I went to the doctors and they thought it was viral. That is why I was misdiagnosed so many years.
Since then I get this painful small blisters in the hands, some under the skin like the first picture, some on the surface. around joints. They are dark in appearance with black head and every time they appear they last around 1 - 2 weeks and when they leave the skin gets dry and flaky. But this does not end here, as soon as they disappear the nerve pain starts and I het really achy in the area for a long time.
I really believe that what I am looking at is the infection that havocs my body for such a long time (3yrs). I will not get into details but I do have neurological symptoms similar to MS, ALS.
I would like to know if you have these as well with Lyme.
https://preview.redd.it/qvl9ao2vsx0d1.jpg?width=1067&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4cc0a6402f08be7b034750fc5ea9fc595c0d6784
https://preview.redd.it/8j40kj1vsx0d1.jpg?width=466&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=9dbfbf3553e42169d7cf31bff20f7a49b40854d2
https://preview.redd.it/qjskem2vsx0d1.jpg?width=627&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=879f2ca64e8abf0eacfca53c4b8ea0c8893b7f8d

Previous case
We're back to business as usual at Orion. Sort of. I'll get into that in a minute. But first, I just need to put it out there that sometimes the clients drive me nuts. As much as I have an apparently irresistible desire to help everyone, some people really push it. Push it right off of a fucking cliff, that is.
I’m going to stop myself before I go off on an unhinged rant about the woes of dealing with the public. Instead, I’ll let yinz see for yourselves what I've been putting up with.
(If you're not familiar with what Orion Pest Control's services are, it may help to start here.)
We received a call from a client about mosquitoes running amok in her home. Since we had a few others to take care of that day, I informed her that the earliest that one of us could investigate the matter was in the afternoon. But because this woman is clearly so much more important than everyone else, her royal highness threw a hissy fit about having to wait like a common peasant.
I tried to be as nice as possible, “Ma’am, I understand that it’s frustrating, but there are others that called ahead of you, so we have to take care of their problems before we can take care of yours.”
The client huffed, “Okay, you clearly aren’t hearing me. There are mosquitoes in my house!”
“Yes, ma’am, I heard you. However, you are not our only client, so we ask that you please be patient and we will be there as soon as we can.”
I should also mention that this client talked out of the back of her nose, if that helps to paint a picture of how her cadence was equally as grating as her personality. “Okay, but do those people have mosquitoes? Like in their house, biting them and their kid over and over? My son could have Zika virus right now!”
Jesus Fucking Christ. I rubbed my temple with my free hand as I did my damndest to keep my customer service persona in place, “Again, ma’am, I understand that this is frustrating, but we have a wasp infestation and termites to deal with before you and those families want their kids to be safe, just like you. In the meantime, I recommend wearing bug spray or burning a citronella candle until we can get to you. We will be there as soon as we can.”
“You better be! And you really need to work on your customer service, sweetie!”
The client hung up on me.
I had to pace around the office after that one. Sweetie? Shove it up your ass, you entitled, snotty… You know what? Nevermind. I have many words to describe clients like that and none of them are pleasant. I hoped that she’d get mosquito bites in all of the most private areas of her anatomy.
It probably didn't help that I was saddled with some bitterness after the ‘dogging’ incident. I knew that there wasn't anything I could do about the mechanic other than stay out of his way going forward. And boy, did that eat me up.
On that note, I know what the mechanic is, however, even whispering the official title of these Neighbors is enough to draw them to you. I'm not sure if writing it counts and I'm not about to find that out the hard way.
Just know that if you hear wings beating from the west at night, hide and pray that you'll be passed by. Placing a line of salt on all of the doors and windows facing the west keeps them from coming inside. Once they set their sights on you, they'll never stop hunting you. Even death itself fears them. You'll still be running long after your heart stops beating.
But I promise, I’ll elaborate more on that later. I’m getting ahead of myself. Back to the case.
Reyna was at the point in her training where she could be trusted to deal with termites on her own. After I had the wasp nests taken care of, I set out to her royal highness’ home, and earlier than I’d told her, might I add. I will admit that I was tempted to dally a bit just to piss her off, but then I figured that it would be better and more professional to just get it over with.
She looked exactly like how I pictured her to look, complete with a weasley sneer that only the most unlikable of human beings are able to master.
“It’s about time.” She snapped.
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “Where have you noticed the mosquitoes the most?”
“Everywhere.” She said unhelpfully,
Her husband stepped in. “In the kitchen and basement, mostly.”
To make this call even better, the husband decided to take it upon himself to follow me around as I did my inspection, asking me pointless questions and giving me advice that I didn't ask for.
It got to a point where his hot breath wheezed into my ear as I shined my flashlight under their sink.
Stiffly, but politely, I asked, “Sir, can you please keep your distance?”
His wife chipped in, “Will you let her do her job, Curtis? It took her long enough to get here, and if you keep pestering her, it's going to take even longer!”
The husband puffed up and snapped, “Well, it's my house! I need to know that the person working in it knows what they're doing!”
They began screaming at each other. As obnoxious and uncomfortable as it was to have to bear witness to it, at least they weren't focused on me anymore. I shook my head and kept searching for the source of the infestation.
What I was looking for was standing water, which is essential for a mosquito's life cycle; you eliminate the standing water, you eliminate the infestation. The space beneath the sink was completely dry.
With the argument going on, I almost didn't hear it. An odd little sound. The easiest way to describe it was that it sounded like, ‘Kudo! Kudo!’
My head turned to follow it. That's when I noticed that one of the floorboards was slightly raised up from the rest.
I interrupted their marital problems, “You said that your son was sick earlier? Would he happen to have chills and a high fever?”
The client spat, “Yes, because some people-”
Not in the mood for her nonsense anymore, I cut in, “Ma'am, please just answer the question. I am trying to help you, I really am, but I'm going to need some more information in order to do that.”
She looked taken aback, her face bright red. While she balked, her husband answered instead, “Our son said he was feeling under the weather, but he does that whenever he wants to get out of something. You know how kids are.”
Good lord. Parents of the year.
“Have you noticed your salt going missing?”
The wife blinked at me, “How did you know that?”
I told them that I'd be right back and went to retrieve a cage from the truck. This critter is an odd one in that not only is salt not a suitable repellent for it, but it actually loves the stuff. It can consume as much as ten grams of salt per day. So if you find that the salt in your home has gone missing, it could mean that a False Egg has made a nest.
I returned with the cage and advised the couple to either move into another room or wait outside. Would it surprise yinz when I say that they refused? Not in the mood to argue, I just shrugged. Okay. Suit yourselves.
I set the cage up next to the lifted floorboard, took my salt off of my toolbelt, and sprinkled some inside the cage. It would placate the False Egg once I got it inside.
Using my knife, I pried the floorboard up. From behind me, the husband began to protest, but his wife snapped at him to keep still.
Meanwhile, my eyes met the beady gaze of a False Egg from where it hid under their floorboard.
At first glance, it looks like a white chicken's egg. If consumed, it causes the host to lay more False Eggs. That's how it reproduces. The telltale signs that you're looking at a False Egg include two dark spots on the shell near the pointed top of the ovoid. Those are the eyes, which they can leave closed to camouflage themselves. You may also notice two small holes at the bottom of the shell, which is where its legs can retract in and out. Mosquitoes follow False Eggs wherever they nest, though it's unclear why.
Generally, they're more of an annoyance than anything. However, they can cause flu-like symptoms in those that they feel threatened by, so they do pose a slight danger to those with compromised immune systems.
To my surprise, the False Egg leapt out of its nest and into the cage, tucking its legs back into its shell comfortably. Even though it didn't seem to have any intentions of moving, I quickly shut the door of its cage.
For the first time since I arrived, the clients were speechless. The woman had a hand over her open mouth while the man stared at the False Egg in a mixture of horror and disgust.
It wasn't until I stood up with the cage that the man asked, “What the hell is that?”
“The source of the infestation.” I replied. “I’ll take this guy out to the truck. The mosquitoes should follow him, but just to be sure, I'm going to ask that you all leave the house for a few hours so that I can apply a chemical treatment that'll kill off any stragglers. And your son’s condition should improve in a day or two.”
The couple didn't give me any trouble. They quietly collected their sick teenaged son, saying something about getting ice cream, then fucked off to do whatever while I dealt with the rest of the mosquitoes.
Once I was done, I drove off to release the False Egg somewhere where it could complete its life cycle away from humans. It is able to reproduce in any mammal. While forcing other organisms to lay eggs is bizarre and can be alarming for the affected individual, it doesn't appear to hurt the hosts, other than causing some mild abdominal discomfort. Once the False Egg is laid, the host goes back to normal, which is why we generally don't feel the need to kill them.
Unexpectedly, the False Egg talked to me.
It had a small, soft, mousy voice. “Thanks for getting me out of there.”
I glanced at the False Egg. I had its cage on the passenger's seat. Its eyes were visible, along with its little white legs as it sat on the bottom of its cage. It looked up at me as it wiggled its small feet absent-mindedly.
Whenever it spoke, a small crack that resembled a toothy mouth appeared in its shell. That was something to add to our records: not only are False Eggs capable of speech, but their mouths are located below their eye spots.
Stunned, I said, “You're welcome.”
The False Egg continued, “Oh, those humans are vile! I hadn't realized it when I first made my nest. Do you want to know why I made the boy sick?”
“Why?”
So that's how I learned every aspect of this family's lives. I'm sure yinz care even less than I do about some suburbanites’ interfamily drama, so I'll just say that it wasn't bad enough to warrant a call to social services, but enough that I can see why that kid probably couldn't wait to turn 18. Overbearing mother, father trying to use his son to relive his glory days as a high school athlete. The False Egg had done the boy a solid, giving him just enough of a fever to excuse him from lacrosse tryouts.
“Where are we going?” The False Egg asked after telling me all that information that I didn't know what to do with.
“Back to the forest.”
The False Egg kept swinging its little feet, “Can you take me somewhere nice? If it's not any trouble?”
Why not? Maybe some scenery would improve my mood.
So me and my little egg buddy took a little drive to the pond. It was a picturesque area as well as a nice environment for a False Egg. They prefer caves, but as long as they're near water, they'll be fine. When I opened its cage, the False Egg hopped out, its little eyes and shelled body swiveling to take in the peaceful sight.
“Oh, this is wonderful! Thank you!” Before it skipped off, it paused. “I think it would only be right if I told you something that could help, since you brought me here.”
It turned, its shell splitting to form a mouth as it hesitated before speaking, “If you hear whispers in the woods, even if it sounds like someone you care about, don't listen. The louder they are, the safer you are. They get quieter as they get closer to confuse you.”
Hold on. That didn't make any sense. The whispers had gotten louder and more urgent as I approached the mechanic's clearing.
Unless I was wrong and he wasn't the one doing it.
I asked, “Is the whispering thing disguising itself as a mechanic?”
The False Egg tilted to the side thoughtfully, “I'm afraid not. It doesn’t like to pretend to be human.”
So there was something else out there with me when I went looking for Victor. I remembered then that the whispers had stopped once I got close to the mechanic's clearing. When I unintentionally allowed them to lead me astray, they took me in the opposite direction of where he'd been waiting. Interesting.
With the False Egg wandering off to establish a new nest that was far away from humans, I headed back to the office, unsure of how to feel about the information it had given me.
Victor looked annoyed when I came in. The clients had called to complain about my ‘poor customer service.’ Wow. Okay.
“Next time, just leave the False Egg there.” Victor said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “They want to complain about poor customer service? We can show them bad service!”
“It's fine, Vic.” I replied. “Just let them leave their one star Google review and move on.”
“These fucking people…” He grumbled.
Victor's headspace hasn't been much better than mine. He's been pretty much stuck waiting by the phone for those ominous calls that the mechanic mentioned in the woods. They don't happen often, but when they do, he gets grim. Quiet. He hasn't told me in detail what has been requested of him. I don't know if he simply doesn't want to talk about it or if he's sworn to secrecy.
We'd had a long, uncomfortable talk during one of my days off while recovering from getting dogged. Victor stopped by with coffee and a box of donut holes. He drank the coffee, but left the donut holes untouched. We sat in my small kitchen, him staring intently into his black coffee, me quietly adding more sugar to my mocha.
I broke the silence. “What did you want me to see the other day?”
“I couldn't outright tell anyone that I was dead. Not without the mechanic finding out.” He continued after some hesitation. “It feels selfish saying it now, but… I just wanted someone to know what happened to me.”
Victor pulled the bandana aside with a finger, revealing that a jagged, red grin had been carved across his throat. I shuddered, being forcefully reminded once again how thin skin truly is.
He quickly pulled it back into place.
That prompted me to ask, “Is the mechanic the one that…?” I pointed to my neck.
Victor shook his head. I asked him who did.
His expression darkened, “Someone I used to use with. He didn't believe me when I told him that I was still clean and couldn't help him get his next hit. Everything happened so fast after that. Before I knew it, I woke up in his trunk. My chest felt empty. It's strange, you know? You don't notice your own heartbeat until it's not there anymore.”
I shook my head slowly, a knot in my stomach as I whispered, “Jesus, Vic. Where is he now?”
“He can't hurt anyone else. We'll leave it at that.” Victor muttered.
I took in a shaky breath. I couldn't believe that he'd been keeping all of this in. It was a lot to take in at once, so I could only imagine how much worse it was to be the one experiencing it.
Like I said, I don't blame him for what happened. He must've felt so alone.
After I regained my composure, I asked, “So… what does the mechanic have to do with this?”
Victor hesitated again, eventually saying, “He couldn't touch me while I was alive, so he made sure that death couldn’t get to me before he could. That's why I was trying to keep my condition quiet; I was hoping that I could outlast him long enough for the Reaper to catch up. Unfortunately, the fucker is good at what he does and knew that I’d drag someone else into my bullshit eventually.”
I shook my head, “I dragged myself into it. I could've just minded my own business, but I didn't. I chose to go out there, even though I didn't know what I was dealing with. And I chose to say the wrong thing to the mechanic to set him off.”
“You wouldn't have been in that position if I hadn't said anything.”
“So what happens now? You're just… forced to do these calls?”
Victor sighed, “It's either that, or I join the ones in the trees.”
The skulls. Grimly, I wondered if those trapped souls were still aware. If they knew what had happened to them.
I slumped down in my seat. “Is there anything we can do?”
“As of right now, no. We just go to work, keep our heads down, do what we have to do. And from now on, I'll deal with the mechanic, even if it's for something as trivial as changing a tire. He's my problem, no one else's.”
So that's where we're at. Victor's technically not alive or dead, but a secret third, worse thing.
Speaking of worse things, we got an emergency call in the middle of the night.
After we close for the day, Victor routes calls to his phone in case there is something that can't wait until the next day. Thankfully, this is an extremely rare occurrence; up until this incident, it's only happened twice since I've been with Orion. I joined Victor for one of those two emergency calls. Even though it's been two years since that night, I still hear the crunching of bones in my dreams.
Something yinz need to know about the farmers around here is that they know how to take care of themselves. They have more encounters with the atypical than anyone else and for the most part, they know how to live amongst things like the Neighbors in relative peace. They know about leaving cream out to appease them. They know about what measures to take to defend themselves and their animals. They're a tough bunch and they usually prefer to take care of things themselves. It's highly unusual for them to reach out to us.
So when Victor told me over the phone that the emergency call was at one of the farms, I knew it was going to be bad.
When he first described what the farmers were contending with, my stomach dropped. The client's brother was found on the porch with his chest entirely deflated, deliberately placed into a chair that was moved in front of the door where the family could see him.
The farmers were holed up in their home. The woman of the house was pregnant, due within the next few days, which made moving her extremely difficult. They could hear whatever killed the brother giggling and tapping on the windows, mocking them. Victor was already on his way there.
I arrived with my toolbelt along with a shotgun and shells filled with rock salt. This may sound ridiculous, but I also donned a collar that I'd made last summer by hammering long ass carpenter nails into the leather, then coating their pointed tips with silver. I looked a bit like a goth club reject, but when dealing with things that like to go for the throat, you gotta put your pride aside.
Victor's truck was in the driveway, but he was nowhere in sight. Shotgun at the ready, I glanced around as I approached the house. The body was still on the porch, untouched after the poor man had been posed there. It looked far worse than what Victor had described. His chest had caved in, like everything inside of him had been sucked clean out. His face was frozen in surprise rather than horror or pain. He'd been caught off guard and was dead long before he could react.
Wings. I turned, pulling the trigger just in time as the pest tormenting this family dove at me. It tumbled to the ground with an enraged shriek.
It appeared to be a woman. Well… half of one. Her legs were gone, brown entrails dangling sickeningly from her gray torso. Her leathery, hooked wings trembled as she used her bony arms to raise herself up to snarl at me, curling her lips to reveal doglike fangs. I shot at her again. She jolted as the shell took a chunk out of her skull.
That wouldn't kill her. Both her and I knew it. She skittered like a cockroach, an elongated tongue shooting out of her mouth, quick as a whip. I flinched, turning my head so she couldn't reach my face, grateful for the collar as I felt the proboscis slam into its spikes. The impact knocked me off balance, causing me to stumble. I leaned into it, hitting the ground and out of reach of the next swipe of her tongue.
I took aim again, knocking her back a few feet. A dark shape suddenly appeared from the barn, a glint of metal shining in the figure’s hand. Victor.
“I can't find the lower half.” He hissed when I was in earshot.
That meant we were going to have to keep her from rejoining the lower half of her body until sunrise. It was three in the morning.
Because nothing can ever be easy.
Victor had found chains and a padlock in the barn. They should be heavy enough to restrain her. We’d just have to get close. Without her sucking our insides out, preferably.
She was back in the air. I took another shot. I'd have to reload soon. I hoped that I'd have enough shells to last the next two hours. At the rate I was going, I'd burn through them in the next ten minutes.
Unfortunately, I missed as she soared towards the house. I used my last shot and thankfully knocked her out of the air. As I hurriedly reloaded, Victor rushed towards the fallen creature, kneeling on her chest to keep her from taking off again as he fought to get the chain around her.
I heard him make a terrible choking sound, followed by her retching. She'd gotten her proboscis down his throat, but had withdrawn it even quicker than she had gotten it down. I guess undead viscera doesn't taste very good.
As she gagged, Victor pressed his forearm against her throat, pinning her so that she couldn't sink her fangs into him. I raced over, setting the shotgun on the ground next to me so that I could help him restrain her. While he held her, I coiled the chain around her squirming torso.
She began to laugh. When she spoke, it sounded like an old woman and a young girl speaking in unison, “Do you think a chain will be enough to stop me?”
I kept going. She wiggled one wing out from beneath her, jabbing the hook into the hollow of my shoulder. I gasped as it pressed deeper into my skin. Victor roughly pushed her wing back down, the violent withdrawal of the hook making me see stars. Through all of that, I still kept going.
We turned her onto her side so that Victor could pin her wings against her back. She screeched the entire time, the proboscis shooting back to slap him in the cheek.
We almost had her. Then we heard a wail from inside the house. What now?!
The pest abruptly paused in her struggles to leer at us, then she sang, “The baby's coming!”
You've got to be kidding me.
Her fighting resumed with far more force than before. That man that she'd killed had merely been an appetizer for her. The baby was her true prize. Her eyes were wild with excitement, saliva dripping off of her fangs as she watched the front door open.
Shitshitshit!
“Go back inside!” Victor shouted as we both used all that we had to try to keep the pest in place.
The farmer yelled back, distress making his voice higher, “Something's wrong! I have to get her to the hospital!”
I risked a glance. The woman was white as a sheet, holding onto her husband for dear life as he half led half dragged her to his truck. Blood stained the inside of the woman's legs.
At the sight of it, Victor froze. I didn't like the way he looked at the woman then. Oh no. The creature went into a complete frenzy. She managed to get her fangs into Victor's arm, wrenching a cry of agony from him as she ripped a sizable chunk of flesh out. His hold on her loosened just enough that she could wriggle a wing out.
I screamed as I felt her beginning to slip away, frantically reaching for the nearest part of her, which was unfortunately her dangling intestines. It was like trying to hold onto oversized wet noodles, my hands slipping in her chunky blood as I struggled to slow her down.
They just needed to reach the truck. We just had to keep her here just long enough for them to get a head start.
I just hoped that I wouldn't end up having to protect them from my boss, too.
She roared as she turned and slashed me across the brow with one of her clawed fingers. My vision went dark in my right eye. Numbly, I wondered if she ripped my eye out, or if it was just from the pain. By some miracle, I didn't let go.
Fortunately, the bite seemed to snap Victor out of whatever had happened to him when he saw the woman’s blood. At least for the moment. He scrambled across the ground, seizing my shotgun. His first shot missed. The second one hit her left wing. The farmer had the truck's passenger side door open as he helped his wife inside. The pest reached a talon towards them, trying to drag herself closer. Victor was back on his feet and marched over to shoot her in the head. Once. Twice.
The truck's engine roared to life. With it, the pest screeched in rage, the sound warped by the damage done to her mouth after Victor had unloaded on her. She flailed as she watched her prize speed down the road.
But it wasn't over. The gunshot wound in her wing was already closing up. It wouldn't take her long to catch up to them if we lost her.
My cheek was wet. Turns out, I didn't lose an eye. I just had blood in it. Thank God. I crawled over her, trying the chains again as Victor went back to holding her wings against her body.
She called him every foul name in the book, words slurring from her destroyed jaw. One of them touched a nerve: “Bitch of the Wild Hunt.” He wordlessly snatched the salt from my belt and poured it over her face, holding her jaw to shove the container into her mouth. She gurgled and started to convulse as the salt was forced down her throat. That shut her up.
With the chain pinning her arms and wings against her body, Victor dug the padlock out of his pocket, using it to secure the links.
“I’m going to try to get her to the barn.” He yelled over the sound of her agitated howls.
I retrieved the shotgun and followed him as he carried the squirming, shrieking pest towards the barn. I pressed the palm of my hand to the cut on my brow. A flutter of unease went through my gut as it occurred to me that I could be in danger from Victor as well.
It didn't help that the pest had noticed it, too. She was goading him, “That girl smells sweet, doesn't she?”
“You want more salt in your mouth?” He threatened flatly. “We got plenty and we have some time until sunrise.”
She cackled, “You can't tell me that your mouth isn't watering thinking of her soft flesh between your teeth. Her blood warming your tongue. You long to feel warm again, don't you, dead man?”
The borderline pornographic way that she spoke about devouring me made me intensely uncomfortable.
“Keep it up and I'll pack the salt up your nose, too.” Victor retorted.
Once we got to the barn, we found an empty stall, which he tossed her into. I didn't follow him into the stall. My gut was telling me that something was off.
He drew a circle of salt around her. As long as it wasn't broken, it would trap her until sunrise.
I didn't think the boss would ever intentionally hurt me. But the way he looked at that woman…
What if he couldn't control himself?
Victor shut the stall door behind him, leaving the pest to wail and swear at us from her prison.
His eyes went to my forehead, “That looks like it hurts.”
I swallowed back the lump in my throat. There it was again. That look.
“Stay back, Vic.” I said calmly, my unease growing.
He took a deep breath, his eyes closing. I took a small step away from him, towards the exit to the barn.
I kept my voice even, “Vic, be honest with me. Is it safe to be around you right now?”
Victor stayed where he was, still not looking at me. He eventually answered, “Probably not.”
I took another step towards the door. “I'm going to leave.”
He nodded, eyes still shut, “I think that would be best. I'll make sure that she stays in the stall.”
As I backed towards the door, afraid to turn my back on him, I said, “I'll uh… see you at work tomorrow.”
“Yeah. See ya.”
I didn't dare turn my back on him until I'd left the barn. He didn't move a muscle the entire time. As I made my way back to my G6, I kept looking over my shoulder. Victor didn't follow me. I made it back to my car without incident.
I thought back to when I'd found him in the butcher shed. Looking back, I'm pretty sure that he'd been eating it.
Once I was in my apartment, I quickly drew lines of salt in front of all my doors and windows. It made me feel somewhat safer. I inspected the injuries on my forehead and shoulder. After cleaning them both up, I determined that I should probably see a doctor in the morning. In the meantime, I covered them both with gauze.
I painfully settled down onto my bed, my entire body aching. Even though I felt like a dish towel that had been wrung out over and over again, I knew that I wasn't going to be getting much sleep. My mind was racing too much.
Against my better judgment, I ended up texting Victor, ‘Are you a draugr?’
His response was, ‘i think so’
Draugr are known for their grotesque appetites. The joke Reyna and I had been making about him being a ‘high-functioning zombie’ wasn't all that far off, after all.
I reminded myself that Victor wasn't a complete monster. He'd at least had enough control over himself not to hurt me or either of the farmers. But the temptation had clearly been there. That begged the question of what his limits were.
Was it safe to work with him? Injuries aren't exactly uncommon at Orion. Maybe that's why he's been sending Reyna and I together for two person jobs rather than going on calls with us.
I received another message from him, ‘if you want to quit I understand’
I didn't, though. As stressful as working here can be, I do enjoy my job, weirdly enough. I've been treated better here than by any other employer and I like having only two other coworkers to worry about, especially since I get along well with both of them. But the biggest reason why quitting hasn't occurred to me is that I wouldn't be able to just walk away from all that I'd learned about the atypical cases. There was no way I could live a normal life after working at Orion.
I also wanted to keep an eye on Victor. Between whatever the mechanic was forcing him to do and his transformation, there was a lot that I was concerned about. As much as I didn't want to think about having to trap or kill Victor, if it came down to it... I'd do what needed to be done.
I sent back, ‘hazard pay? 👀’
His reply was, ‘😒’
A moment later, I received, ‘we'll discuss it when I don't have a manananggal mf'ing me’
Yinz see why I kept calling her a ‘pest’ rather than trying to type that long name out each time? I guarantee I would have misspelled it several different ways.
When the sun rose, I received another message from Victor, ‘it's over. thanks for your help’
We found out later in the afternoon that the hospital had been able to save the farmers’ baby. She was going to have to stay longer in the hospital, but otherwise, she and their newborn daughter were alright.
What was alarming was that the dead man's body had been desecrated at some point after I left. It was believed that the pest had been the one to take chunks out of his neck, shoulder, and chest. I wasn't going to be the one to tell the family the truth. They'd been through enough already without the news that the one they'd relied on for protection had gotten hungry.
I wondered if being exposed to so much blood had been the trigger. I suppose I should just be glad that Victor had eaten a man who was already dead instead of me or another living person.
Like I said, I'm going to have to keep an eye on him. In the meantime… maybe don't demand to speak to the manager.

It’s dark. Loud. Screams, terrible screeches all around. A metallic scent wafting about the air. A vast unending sea lay within the surrounding shadows. Something takes hold of his leg, his leg tucked away within its jaw. He is dragged through the iron scented, pitch black swamp. Can’t breathe. A putrid taste meets his tongue, trying not to swallow as animal instinct takes over in a helpless bout for air. Like fresh morning coffee, the liquid nearly soothes his throat. The revolting taste would have made him heave it all back up if it hadn’t happened so fast. His consciousness is slipping away, this is it.
He awakes. The entity that had wrapped its maws around his leg lay stiff. On close inspection he finds it hadn't suddenly been blessed with grace or any such virtue. What remained of it lay hollow yet with the faintest spasms. It is being consumed. A slave to a system that would like to see to it that it is dealt with and subsequently forgotten within the days passing. He gets up, wading his hands through this decrepit pool. Putting pressure onto his leg is met with a sudden and excruciating force. He falls before hobbling on hands and knees further into the void.
No way to know how long it had been. Days, hours, minutes, seconds. He feels his body beginning to give out. He continues on. Again his body feels as though it is about to fail him. Again he continues. On a loop he begins to tire only to keep going on. In the midst of this monotonous process he has his first real thought; Almost there. He stops, sits up. Looks around. Still nothing. He thinks to himself some more; Where? He doesn't move. Another thought reaches the forefront of his mind; This is hell. His head sinks. He has given up. Content with whatever is to come next. A stomach barren of anything resembling nutritional value in tow with a throat dry enough to collect dust argued in opposition to the sentiment.
He waits silently. Doesn't make even the slightest tremor. For how long yet to be determined. The faintest rise of liquid followed immediately by its descent. Then again. And again. The ripples become more violent. Soundwaves now reach his ear with frequencies so low the most seasoned hunters could miss. Plip. Plip. He listens. Plip. Plip. The noise becomes louder. Something light is making its way towards him. Plip, Plip. Plip, Plip. On four legs. Small. Easy prey. Just need to keep waiting. PLIP, PLIP. He launches toward the noise. Nearly had it. He scrambles, crawling towards the startled entity. Got a leg. He holds on tight, not content with letting his meal get away. Puppeted by his own biological limitations, he uses the leg as if it were a rope with his prize at the other end. Running off of his own body fat he claws his way up, dragging the helpless creature closer and closer. It tries to kick him off. He pulls the leg down towards the bed of that metallic pool. He summons the strength to snap something in the leg, leaving the creature crippled. This is his opportunity to overtake the creature. His reason and steady thinking smothered by the threat of starvation permits him to pull the poor creature's head below the surface. It struggles. Both these creatures fight with everything on the line. The more desperate of the two will determine which one is to go on with the suffering and strife that comes with being in a world such as this, and which will go on as an offering to the cycle of violence that rules the beings that inhabit it. The creature's will is broken. Its struggle leaves it without energy or oxygen. By sheer reflex it takes a breath, opening the floodgates for a great wave of dense liquid to make its way into the lungs. His body has won. It has procured the necessary resources for the sake of his struggle.
With a warm belly he sluggishly pulls himself further along. He tries to wait out the rest of his time, trying to outwit his animalistic sense of preservation. He gives up fighting it. Keeps his mind occupied in another way. What else is in here? How long before I'm the one with my head held down? The very thought of this sends a spark down his back as he halts all movement. He moves with greater purpose, making methodical calculations in his mind as to how much force and speed he puts into each movement. No matter how cautious or slow it's always too loud. If he can hear it, so can anything else. During his gradual progress he takes note of the depth of this shallow metallic sea. He feels for any fluctuations within it. Nothing abnormal yet. Perhaps some beast skulks just beneath the surface remaining undetected. He tenses up in anticipation of such an attack, waiting, conjuring up a myriad of strategies to employ against the unseen enemy. The liquid rises ever so slightly. He attacks. Nothing. He goes stiff. He knows he has just revealed his immediate location to this lowly beast. It got the better of him. After all this time? No. He won’t let some cowardly animal with no more thought process than basic instinct beat him. He is better, more clever, far more deserving of life. He snaps back from his trail of thoughts, diverting focus back to his surroundings. He closes his eyes, putting his other senses at the forefront of his mind. Nothing. He could feel there was something lurking, watching him. It has to be waiting for him to lower his guard, the perfect moment of weakness to take hold of. The liquid around him remains calm with only slight movement. There is no noise. There is nothing. He continues on, weighed down by the things he cannot see.
Time stops once again as he continues his slow trek through the unending sea. The eyes do not, they are just far enough to remain undetected. That much he is sure of. He hopes and prays that something will happen, anything to break the stagnant, menacing aura he is encased within. He prays. Prays that something, even death, will free him from his solitude. His prayers go unanswered. He knows this feeling too well. He has been shunned, if not outright forgotten by whichever force made him come to be. This is the only reasonable conclusion he could possibly draw. No omnipotent presence would subject its own creation to this type of isolation. As he reflects on these thoughts he can feel something deep within his chest ignite. Quickly, it turns into a magnificent blaze. It spreads like a wildfire throughout his body, if it doesn't escape now it will scorch him until all that remains is ash. He screams incoherently. He subjects the void around him to a fury of pure hatred with words alone. He intends to use this great flame within him to burn everything around him, but there is nothing to burn, nothing he can cast into ruin. This only makes the fire more intense. He begins to flail his body around like a ragdoll. He needs for something to come find him. He needs to tear something apart. His screams grate his vocal cords into a bloody heap of flesh. His bloodlust grants him the energy to stand for the first time in a millennium. He runs into the darkness. He will not stop. He cannot stop. Then he feels it. A guttural vibration echoes across the waters. He goes still. A low hum follows. All at once the liquid begins to bubble, small finned creatures jump out of the water in a repeated frenzy, propelled by powerful tails. They explode into a sporadic boil, extending far beyond his field of view. From the darkness protrudes what appears to be a human figure. He braces himself as it slowly makes its way towards him. He can hear his heart rate increase with every step. It pushes forward at a steady crawl. His breathing begins to fall out of sync. It continues on, seemingly unphased by his presence. He knows how little time he has to act. It takes another step forward. He must act now. He runs toward the figure with stretched arms, able to finally satiate his bloodlust. He grabs the figure by the throat, digging his nails into it. It lets out a pathetic whimper. This is his chance. He bites down on its neck resulting in a satisfying crack one might hear snapping a branch. There is no struggle. The figure gurgles as its body lay limp. This game isn’t fit for someone of his caliber. He wants a fight. He takes a moment to look upon his trophy as it lay in the fetal position, pleading for mother to come and make it all better. A boy, likely a squire of some sort, stared up at him. The boy's eyes were blank and begging him for some sort of relief. All he can do is watch as the reality of what he has just done sets in. The boy had a lightweight sword which now lay submerged. He knows there is only one way to save the boy. He searches for the blade, it can’t be far. Wading through the liquid, he searches, knowing each additional second it takes to find only contributes more to the poor boy's misery. Every second that passes he can hear the exasperated breaths that only turn into choking spasms. Here it is, the boy need not wait any longer. As he stands over the boy his attention is diverted. His body tells him to look out into the abyss. He stares for some time, unable to look away. His eyes fixate on the darkness. He sees it. Its unhinged jaw with many lengthy black vines floating atop the surface of the waters. Its eyes stare through him in the same way the boys had. Knotted hair is draped on either side of its head, it appears as if clumps have been ripped out by force. There is skin flaking off of its face revealing gray necrosed patches. Its body stays completely still in a hunched position. Nestled in its mouth where the vines originate are small white dots that appear as though they were the only visible stars in the night sky. The vines extend as they float towards him slowly creeping along. He had always been well acquainted with fear. It has been an ever present force that has pushed him to do the things he never would have otherwise. It has become a comforting presence, reliable, trustworthy. Though at times they may have been at odds, fear has been his greatest supporter, a true companion to guide him throughout life. He knows as long as he listens to fear he can pull through. So why can’t he hear it now?

Apologies. Forgot to add tags above. [Post Workout Massage] [Confession] [Listener Joins The Team]
Note: If you want to know about monetization and a little bit about who I am: An Introduction To The Book That Is Me :
Note: If you want to know about my other scripts: Masterlist for edgiscript :
Part 3: [F4M] Mafia Dog - Part 3 of 7 [Working Out] [Listener Getting His Strength Back] [Rescue Of A Colleague] [Earning Respect] :
Note: Oil sounds are a big trigger for me personally, so they were originally part of the massage at the beginning, but I've been told that they may create a problem with YouTube so I eliminated them. You can feel free to re-add them if you think it'll be ok or if you're adding this elsewhere like Patreon.

Part 4

(Optional sounds of a massage occur throughout the piece until instructed to stop.)
Jane: How’s that feel, puppy? Is the pressure strong enough?
(Pause.)
A little harder? No problem. I’ll start at your neck and work my way down.
(Pause.)
You’ve got some serious knots right up here.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you worked hard today. You’ve been working hard every day. You’ve come a long way since we first found you.
(Pause.)
You need some more right here? Oh, below that spot. Ok. How’s that?
(Pause.)
Well, I’m glad my hands feel so good to you.
(Pause.)
No, don’t say that. You deserve this. You’re doing so well. You’ve pushed yourself more than anybody here did. You really care, don’t you?
(Pause.)
Yeah, Carissa’s pretty great.
(Pause.)
All right. Mom. (Soft laughter.) Does it make you feel better if I call her that too?
(Pause.)
Yeah, I really do mean it. Honestly, I think everyone here does. She’s the mother of this group. She’s pretty wonderful.
(Pause. Massage sounds stop.)
Ok, roll over.
(Pause.)
Yeah, you heard me. Roll over. I’m going to do your chest.
(Pause.)
Who cares if this isn’t how I’ve done it before. You put in extra work today and need extra attention.
(Pause.)
No, I’m not your mom, but I am a bigger dog than you, Puppy, metaphorically speaking, now roll over.
(Pause.)
Here, I’ll start with your hands and your arms.
(Pause. Massage sounds begin again.)
Yeah, a lot of people overlook the fingers, but I think they need extra attention. We don’t realize how many times we flex our fingers and squeeze and push and grip. They need care too.
(Pause.)
So… have you considered what we talked about any more?
(Pause.)
You’re really sure you want to go through with it? It’s a dangerous life. You could end up worse than what you were like when we found you.
(Pause.)
I was hoping you’d say that.
(Pause.)
(With a surprised, mischievous smile.) Puppy? That question is pretty aggressively forward of you.
(Brief pause.)
(Smiling.) No, no. Don’t look hurt. It was a good question. I’m just surprised you found the courage to say it.
Yes, I suppose it would be fair to say that I am very “fond of you”.
(Pause.)
Here. Let me work up your arms now.
You know, Puppy, everybody loves you here. Even Ronnie, and Ronnie hates everybody.
(Pause.)
Yeah, he’s fully recovered from the blast. Well, nearly fully recovered. I think the Doc still has to give her final clearance, but even he thinks the world of you ever since you risked your life for him.
And you’ve become invaluable here, doing everything you can for everybody, even assisting Suzanne with Ronnie’s recovery.
(Becoming a little more soft and sensual.) Ok, let me move to your chest. Does that feel good?
(Pause.)
So, we’d have to talk to Carissa… I mean, Mom, about it, and then she’d have to clear it with Kent, but I think it would be ok if you do want to stay with us.
(Pause.)
Yes. I… want you to stay.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I do. I’mmmm, kindaaaaaa, crushing on you. Just a little bit. I… I like you, Puppy.
(Pause.)
Yeah, like that. So, what do you think about that?
(Massage sounds stop. Kiss. Gentle laugh.) I was hoping you’d say that. C’mere, you. (Kisses.)
(Interrupted by Carissa entering the room quickly.)
Carissa: Ok, guys, stop what you’re doing. We need to talk.
Jane: Mom, could you give us just a…
Carissa: No. I’m afraid not. I need to speak with Puppy, right now.
(Pause.)
Yes, Puppy, it’s very serious.
(Pause.)
No, no, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’ve been wonderful, Puppy. You’re my good boy. You have been ever since we brought you here. That’s never changed. This is something else.
Jane: Carissa, what is it? What’s happened?
Carissa: Not now, Jane.
Jane: But…
Carissa: (Not angry, but firm.) NOT… now. I have to speak with Puppy first before certain things can be said. Jane, please leave the room. And no, Jane, it’s not up for discussion.
Jane: Ok, Carissa.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, I won’t go far. See you in a minute.
(To Carissa.) It should be just a minute, right?
Carissa: It shouldn’t be long. In fact, you should wait just outside. I’ll possibly need to speak with you both next.
Jane: Ok. Bye, Puppy. Call me when you need me, Mom.
(Jane leaves.)
Carissa: Puppy, I’m going to get right to it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, this is not about you kissing Jane. Look, Jane’s great, you’re great, I love you both. Do what you want. I’m sorry for glossing over that. I’d honestly like to spend more time being happy for you. We can talk more about it later if you want, but this is about something else.
Jane told me you’ve been considering asking to stay with our group now that you’ve fully recovered. I need to know what your thoughts are on the matter. Something has happened that I need to discuss, but I can’t discuss it with you if you’re not one of us.
(Long pause while Puppy speaks.)
That’s good to hear. I’m glad you feel that way about us. About all of us, not just Jane and me.
But, Puppy, if you do stay, your life is going to change. You’ve seen some of the show, but once I let you backstage there’s no turning back. Are you certain you’re ok with that because we all care about you too, Puppy, and we don’t want to see you get involved with something you can’t handle.
Seriously, Puppy, listen to me very carefully. None of us want you hurt. Do you understand?
(Pause.)
Ok, then tell me straight up. Are you in or out?
(Pause.)
(Deep breath before going on.) Puppy, first of all, I’m very glad to hear you say how much you care about us and about how much you love me personally as your mom. You truly have become like a son to me, Puppy, and I don’t want to see you hurt any more than you have been, but… well… it feels good to know that you want to be here with us.
I trust you, Puppy. I’d like you by my side, we all would, as we move forward. There are about to be some very big changes within our organization. And that brings me to the second point. You need to know who we are.
(Pause.)
Yeah, I know you had some assumptions of your own.
(Pause.)
Actually, that’s pretty close. You continue to impress me, Puppy. We are a paramilitary organization with some pretty wealthy backers dedicated to stopping organized crime in this area.
(Pause.)
No, we’re not cops. In fact, we work outside of the law. If we’re caught doing what we’re doing, we could be arrested or worse.
We’re vigilantes, Puppy. The criminals don’t like us, but neither do the police.
(Pause.)
(Snicker.) Yeah, Puppy, I suppose we are kind of like Batman.
(Trying not to cry.) God, Puppy, you have an amazing gift. Only you could make me…
(Pause as she begins to break down a bit, but she holds it together.)
No, Puppy, it’s all right. I’m ok.
(Pause.)
Yes, there is something else I haven’t told you, but we need Jane first. Jane, can you please come back in here? Thank you.
Jane: What is it? What’s up? Is it about Puppy? Is he in?
Carissa: Yes, he’s in, Jane.
Jane: Yes.
Carissa: But there’s something else you both need to know.
Jane: Wait a second. You haven’t run this by Kent yet. How could Puppy be in without…
Carissa: Puppy’s in because I say he’s in. I’m running the show now.
Jane: What?
Carissa: At least for a while. Jane, Puppy, Kent’s been attacked.
Jane: Oh, God!
Carissa: He’s in surgery right now. Jane, he might not make it.
(Pause.)
No, Puppy, there’s literally nothing you can do right now for him, but… thank you for wanting to.
Jane: Mom…
Carissa: Jane, under the circumstances, maybe it would be best to refer to me as Carissa again.
Jane: Absolutely not. Carissa, under the circumstances, you’re not just Puppy’s mom, you’re everyone’s mom. You run the show. You’re the protector and overseer of our group. And Carissa… Mom, you care more than anybody else. We all love Kent, but if he’s out, we all want you watching over us. I will call you Mom with love and respect as will everyone else here.
Carissa: Thank you, Jane.
(Pause.)
Yes, thank you too, Puppy. I think I needed to hear that. Now both of you, come with me. We’ve got a lot of work to do.
Part 5 coming

Zack didn’t know why, but the hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the sight of his door knob. The eerieness of his near-empty room left a pit in his stomach and in seeing the doorknob that he hadn’t seen for years, suddenly jolted hidden or repressed memories of his youth. Times he would run from his bullies in the foster home Zack once lived in, now, this old building is being condemned and due to be demolished tomorrow. Zack can’t look away from the doorknob, the rust-covered bulb reminded him of his old life as a foster kid and being more of an outcast with the other kids in this house, Fists and insults would fly freely towards Zack daily, none more willing to be Zacks number one bully, Donny. Zack feels the palms of his hands start to sweat and the air around him completely conceals Zack in a fog of forgotten moments in his life here that he long wished had never come back. Hurtful moments… terrible moments…moments in this very room that Zack was slowly reliving in his mind, yet it felt as if it was happening in front of him. Beads of cold sweat stink Zack's eyes, forcing his eyes closed and rubbing them to help with the sting, to no avail. Zack didn’t feel like himself in this room, this place is as a time capsule for Zack. He was only holding terrible anxiety that had recently just been unearthed inside Zack and bringing with it, a long-buried trauma that Zack was not ready for.
The room itself felt darker to Zack and his eyelids fluttered to adjust to the new dim surroundings, A small beam of light broke through a crevice between some wooden planks blocking out most light from outside. The shaft lands solely on the doorknob, the old rustic metal seems to not exist and shines abnormally bright from the beam of light; Zack covers his eyes from the sudden flash and when looking about finds the room back to its original state all those years ago. “No this can’t be right” Zack rubs his eyes and looks back around to only see the room still as it was back then. Zack hears sounds that haven’t been heard around here for a long time, kids playing outside in the backyard. Zack walks slowly, very curious and at the same time nervous, not fulling understanding what is happening now. Looking through the window that was just covered in old wooden planks that were nailed shut, were now clear of all obstacles, revealing the source of the noise. Showing kids he remembered back when he was a kid here. All of them playing and yet he’d also be up here, away from the other kids, away from the insults and shame that the kids always brought for Zack. Zack gets a swift memory jolt again and remembers this day, he was standing right here when he saw Donny and his group of twerp friends messing around the yard as the others just tried to have fun playing kid games. Donny had his eye on the one person who showed Zack kindness here; Clair was tending to her patch of sunflowers she had been looking after ever since she came here. The boys around Donny watched as she watered them, all by herself, Donny took this opening to make his move on her. I couldn’t hear what was said, but it didn’t look like she was interested in his offer, this made Donny mad and his friends chuckled at his sudden rejection and fueled his anger more. She then got up and waved them all goodbye as she turned back and looked up at the window I was standing at. She then smiles and waves at Zack, but Zack gets confused and waves back at the past through the window. Donny huffs and looks up to the window as well and stares hate-filled daggers at me. Even a pre-teen that was the bane of my life here can still drive a familiar chill down Zack’s spine as Zack quickly drops his hand behind him and is frozen in fear.
The room is back to the eerie silence as before and the darkness creeps around Zack again as he backs up from the window slowly. Zack steps against the wooden floorboards don’t make a single sound, the cold sweat returns, falling from his forehead onto the dusty, dry wood under his feet, Zack wipes his forehead with a trembling hand and moves his gaze toward the door, thinking he needs to leave this room immediately but in reaching for the doorknob, it refused to turn, it was as if it was merely a prop, not turn even possible to turn it at all.”Oh no…what is going on with this door” Zack began to the knob hard and struggle with it, to no success, and Zack's annoyance, he took a second to calm himself and closed his eyes, and breathed in slowly. As it began to take effect and Zack’s heart returned to a normal rhythm, bangs from the door and the knob violently turned left and right. Zack jumped at the sudden crashing on the door, the banging and twisting of the doorknob Zack didn’t know what to do, just then A smaller hand reached out and held his trembling hand as the calming voice of a bygone friend to Zack heard; “It’s ok Zack” the phantom voice whispered in his ear, the violent crashing and splintering of the door in front of him sounded so muffed from the smooth, tunes of the voice, that it almost seemed nonexistent at the moment.” Donny likes to play rough Zack but I won’t let him pick on you anymore, ok”. Zack felt a warm sensation on his left cheek and even though he felt a hand in his, he was all alone in the room, the door was at the moment of burst but stopped as the room grew dark and still. The feeling of a friendly presence was gone and Zack felt the horror that he had always known his whole life.
The feeling of being utterly alone, and with the sense covering him like a thick weighted blanket, his eyes look again to the door knob. The single light beam falls back into sight of Zack, bringing him back to the present, the darkness engulfing Zack, matching the despair that covers him. Zack takes a moment to regain himself and steady his rapid heart rate before he is fit. The silence of the room was helpful for Zack to focus on slowing the pounding against his rib cage, The sudden rush of his rash past was something he was not thinking would be an issue, yet here he was, nearly having a panic attack in his old foster room. Zack’s eyes are closed, breathing in slowly through the nose and out the mouth. The Silence is then shattered by the sound of the rustic doorknob violently twisting left and right as if someone on the other side was trying their hardest to get the door open. Zack jumps at the sudden old doorknob twist in such a manner, and knowing that he is the only one left in this building, gives Zack pause to go towards the door in the first place. The doorknob popped and grind against itself on the turns Zack felt the person might just rip the worn knob off the door entirely. Zack’s mind wanted to reach out for the vibrating doorknob, yet he found his feet moving on their own, moving back slowly from the door.
A golf ball-sized lump of fear sat in the back of Zack’s throat; His fear of coming not just from the crazy moving doorknob, but now the voices Zack remembers hearing at a younger age. When running from Donny and locking the doorknob, holding back my tears, and shaking behind a closet door. Donny would beat on the door and nearly a few times rip the doorknob off the door of the room itself. One night Zack was talking with Clair and felt a tear come down his cheek, She knew Donny was the one behind all my troubles and had had her misdealings with his consent pursuits since we got around our teens, but she remained ever so kind to Zack.
Zack swallows that lump down his throat and whence at the door to the closest repeatedly banging and the doorknob loosening from the screws at this point, Zack decides to reach for the door and open it. Maybe it was blind fear, or maybe Zack decided to overcome whatever this place’s hold had of him and may still have. Zack's hands trembled as he reached a tentative hand towards the closest door and with each step a glimpse of a forgotten tragedy began to form inside Zack’s mind, images that flashed like a long picture book of some well-drawn sketch. Right footsteps first, as the moment of Clair and Zack hugging one another as young adults now, Zack had a bruise under his right eye and Clair was putting ice and tending to him. Something else was happening there. A second step; Clair and Zack's hands touched and a spark was ignited that was set the moment they first met. Zack returns with a light cruise of Clair's cheek and then they both share a lover's kiss, until now as Zack has this remembrance does he now know that Donny was watching this from outside through the window above that we proudly sat at and the kiss was on display. Only Donny was the only one there to see and he was not happy at all. Rage filled his eyes not because Clair wasn’t with him, but because she chose Zack over him. The third step and another, were the times after Zack felt happiest in the arms of Clair and she was happy in his. Just then a violent slam from Donny to the door to the room swung open with such force the shock of the noise scared Clair and Zack, Donny stood in that doorway with fire in his eyes and still…very still.
Zack feels the tips of his fingers reach the jerking doorknob and can’t understand the feeling that has overcome him here, but he is compelled to see this to the end. A final step and Zack places a hand on the knob and grips it, expecting the shake in his hand. No such thing, the door stopped pounding and the knob ceased its upheaval at Zack’s touch. Zack takes a huge breath and turns the doorknob. Nothing…No sound. No light. Empty and damp, say for a metal hook on the center back wall, stained with old, dry blood. Zack looks at it as if he can see it through the pitch black of the closet, then a hand grasps hold of Zack’s, and Zack gets a feeling of a female next to him but can’t see, any words or sounds of any kind yet Zack can’t help but see the hook and think back, back to that last moment with Clair, the kiss and the rage of Donny’s pain reaching us here. Donny in a fit of blind anger grabbed Clair by the hair and kicked Zack in the chest so that it nearly crushed his ribs in one blow. Screams from Clair for Donny to slop, but Donny does not do any such thing. He pulled her with him as he shoved Zack with his kick again, hard enough to land Zack into the broom closet of the room. Zack got up and almost hit his head on the jagged metal hook. Clair scratches Donny good in the face and Donny, In the attack Donny throws Clair from his grip, and Clair trips over lifted out of the rug, and crashes through the glass window facing outside. Zack and Donny are in a moment of frozen shock as the lifeless body of Clair lies mangled from the fall and the glass cutting her Donny then turns to Zack and tries to close the closet door on Zack and it is a struggle for both but eventually, Donny took a step back and then with a hard kick to the door, send Zack backward.
Zack is back in the dark closet and the room makes Zack feel alone and scared, like so many times before. A single tear forms and before it falls, a soft hand, gently wipes it away.
.

It was dark, like the type of dark that you have to check your eyes by blinking. Only then you realize you can no longer tell whether your eyes are open or closed. The sky was calm and thin clouds streaked across the sky like a child had obtained a paint brush and some paint. Below this oddly peaceful sky was a home, more precisely it would be called a mansion. A dilapidated old home that hadn't seen use in many years. Strangely though it was guarded as if some old treasure may have existed inside.
The old decrepit home had a wall encircling it with a fancy ornate gate, depictions of bats and skulls made it feel more ominous though. Gargoyles watched the guards as they lazily stood in front of the gate, they had no sense of urgency.
"Hey mind if I just take a quick wink? Not like anyone's gonna come here there no point. There's nothing here but an old coffin and a corpse." One of the guards sighed as he leaned against the wall.
"Yeah, go ahead man. I'd rather not get in trouble with the captain though. He's scary." The second guard shivered as he thought of the new boss they'd recently been answering to.
"Ah, that kid? Come on he's not even like us he's just a Lithian brat. He was assigned his position to make us look good for 'that' person." His voice lowered as fear crept in while thinking about the man they wouldn't even speak the name of.
"Damn, we've gone and involved ourselves with scary people huh. Whatever imma. . . Just." With his sentence trailing of soon snores filled the air and a sigh from the sleeping man's companion. The mansion behind them watched eagerly at their relaxed attitudes, waiting hungrily for the intruders it expected. And it's hunger was satisfied as the sound of glass breaking cut through the night.
Quiet footsteps landed on a carpet, "how's it looking?"
"Cody. . . Shut the fuck up." Skarlet's face appeared in the light of her fire magic, a single finger raised with a flame on top.
"Hey sorry, but there's nobody here right besides who can stop us?"
"Cody, just come inside." Skarlet grabbed him by the hand and yanked him through the window. She then pushed it closed behind him. In the light of her fire he could see her tail flicking with annoyance.
"Sorry, it's just been a bit since it was just the two of us right. There was that fight with Ares but. . . You know never mind remember Christmas?" Cody smiled mischievously, though her response was a barely visible blush.
"You're a terrible cook." She frowned as she started walking down the hall.
"Ooh, my heart as a man has been injured. But hey you know that I was trying to recreate something from my homeland. Coco doesn't exist in this world though." His voice fell at the end of the sentence, a partial pout appeared in his expression for a moment before a flash of surprise as he skipped forward to catch up with her. It was as he was just about to reach her side when she turned.
"You're not too bad at consoling a crying girl though." A smirk accompanied that statement before she spun around once more and kept walking. Cody froze, a dumb look on his face, but he recovered quickly and chased after her. Skarlet was blushing deeply, she even put out her flame to hide it. Damnit, why'd I say that. This stupid guy. . . Ugh the goal. . . We came here for a reason.
"You're much more social than when we first met. Didn't you try to kill me to keep me from getting close to you. What changed, little misfortunate." Cody asked with a teasing tone.
"Nothing Dumbass, I just realized I couldn't push you away cause you were stronger than me. Better keep up, hero if I surpass you in strength I'll end our partnership." Skarlet's voice shook at the end of her statement. If it was back then, it would've been firm, but she couldn't shake the emotions she'd been feeling more recently. She had to admit that she enjoyed his company, he was a dependable friend. Damn, why are my cheeks so hot.
"Here I found it!" Skarlet spoke up, breaking the conversation off forcefully. She was pointing to a staircase, Cody stepped up to the edge and looked down.
"Problem, um there's no steps only a case." Cody pointed out as he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She was staring at him in exasperation.
"Was that supposed to be a joke?" She sighed as he avoided eye contact and stepped off the edge.
"Um, I guess." He said while rubbing the back of his head and smiling awkwardly. Skarlet landed beside him with a chuckle and punched him in the shoulder.
"Come on let's go, dummy." She led the way further down, occasionally they had to leap down entire cases that were missing steps. But soon they reached the basement. Four stories and five flights, it was a very big house. They walked in silence as they approached a room at the back of the basement. It was a tomb, definitely. There was stone double doors, at there center was a black widow on a spiderweb. The split between the doors cut the window in half.
Skarlet stepped forward and pushed open the door, a draft of air escaped desperately leading her hair and skirt to flutter curiously.
Thud
The doors made a pretty loud sound as they clicked into place. There was a stone coffin placed in the center, the room however was set up almost like a set in an old Gothic play. A large bed, the colors were red and black. A bookcase on one wall and a fireplace on the other. The biggest out of place thing though was a massive rotating magic circle. It seemed to be made of a red viscous liquid and was floating off the ground by a couple inches. It was surrounding the coffin as blood red chains erupted from the magic circle and wrapped the coffin.
"Um, hehe hey don't you think this looks like a bad Idea actually. Maybe we have the wrong house." Cody joked anxiously as he stepped into the room behind Skarlet who was approaching the coffin.
"No this, this is right I think. It is just very elaborate, we'll have to carry her out. Get ready they'll know we're here when I break the seal." Skarlet explained as she stepped into the magic circle. It coiled around her like she was walking through a shallow pond. "Sapphire told us that she'll be groggy and confused when she wakes up, we'll have to protect her as we get her out of here.
As she approached the coffin she pulled out a dagger and stabbed it into the center of it, where the red chains all clustered together. The dagger was a normal looking blade, but the guard was a golden carved black widow with a ruby in the abdomen.
Her ears laid flat as her tail lashed anxiously with the massive mana wave that erupted outwards. Lastly, as if the stone prison before her wanted to give off one more ounce of flair the lid shattered into particles of black and red and trickled down the sides to mix with the blood pooling in the carpet around the coffin. The magic circle had been made from actual blood.
Though Skarlet froze, she seemed to have seen something in the coffin that greatly confused or surprised her. Cody frowned as he approached, he peered over her shoulder and gasped, he understood. The coffin contained a skeleton, the inhabitant had been dead awhile.
"Wait, what the hell, that that no that can't be what?" Skarlet reached into the coffin and lifted the skeleton before dropping it, the clattering of bones was chilling.
"So. . . What do we do now? I don't think Sapphire has a plan B." Cody sighed as he turned to the room. He started to approach the bed when he noticed something. "Um hey Skarlet, we're looking for an Older sister correct. And specifically one that's been sealed for the last ten years right." Cody spoke as he noticed someone in the bed.
"What the. . . That's a kid." Skarlet frowned as she approached the bed and pulled the covers aside to reveal a young girl in a classic Gothic Lolita dress. She was hugging a very traditional teddy bear with obviously sewed on bat wings. But most importantly, she was sound asleep.
"We can't leave her here right? This place is about to become a battle ground. I'm pretty sure she's human right, when I was with Sapphire I could sense that she was a monster and not a human. But this girl just feels normal." Skarlet was pondering when sound rang out upstairs.
"Damn their coming." Skarlet began shaking the young girl lightly as she pulled her into a sitting position. The girl groggily opened her eyes and yawned then they widened as she saw them. "Hello dear, we need to go, can you come with us for a little. It's gonna get dangerous." Skarlet held out her hand and the girl took it with sparkling eyes. Skarlet smiled awkwardly as she realized the girl was staring at her ears. "I'll let you touch them if you come with us ok." Skarlet led her by the hand as Cody drew his sword and they stepped out into the basement. It was still empty but the sound of feet and voices upstairs led them to move quickly.
On the first floor Cody stepped out from the stairs and into the hall. A shout brought his attention to a group of guards that immediately ran at him.
"Damn, stay back you two." Cody grumbled as he brought his hand up and cast light spear, chanting under his breath as he brought his sword in front of him. A ball of light appeared and morphed into a spear as he chanted then it launched at his opponents. Two of the guards got speared almost instantly.
"Shit these guys are strong, one of the remaining guards spoke up as he suddenly skidded to a stop along with his companies. They tossed their swords to the ground, Cody grinned awkwardly as he realized what was happening. He began making strides towards them breaking into a run he impaled one of the group as the other two began to change.
Cody ripped his sword out of the guard and let his body fall, the sword he held glowed with a soft white light and that glow reflected off the blood making the scene feel more red than it should have normally as he turned around and leaped at his two new opponents. They were werewolves, he cast a light spell called illuminate and the two reacted by recoiling. Cody slid under the outstretched claws of the first one and leaped upwards slashing from the beast's stomach all the way to the neck and straight out the jugular. Then with a round house kick, he smashed his heel into the side of it's head and sent it careening into it's companion who yelped in surprise. Cody then blasted a hole through both of them with another light spear.
As he finished the sound of clapping echoed out. Cody felt a bit of embarrassment as the little girl behind Skarlet had started clapping. Cody sighed and led the way towards the front door, they cleared out a couple more groups but for the most part went unchallenged till he pushed open the front door to reveal that there was a large troop stationed in the yard.
"Damn, is that old man this afraid of Ruby?" Skarlet muttered as she gazed at the large mob in front of her. "alright, upsy daisy." Skarlet lifted the girl and had her sit in her arm while holding onto Skarlet's neck. Skarlet drew her sword and held it one handed.
"Intruders, we can't let you leave. Where's Ruby!" A man looking like the leader approached.
"Sorry man, I don't know." Skarlet replied as a smile slipped onto her face. Suddenly she was in front of him as she dashed, dragging her sword across his waist she split him in half leaped and kicked his torso back at his own troops. There was a look of surprise permanently etched on his face. "Come on Cody, let's take this fuckers out."
"Skarlet, your carrying a child think you could maybe be less gruesome?" Cody's plea went unheard as she delved into battle. He sighed once more feeling himself growing older he leaped forward as well.
Skarlet hacked and slashed a path through the guards, she twisted, jumped, and ducked to avoid attacks targeting the girl in her arms. Cody was right behind her slicing through his own opponents. At this point he had a look of annoyance and exasperation in his face as he watched the blood covered black cat girl have her fun. "When did she start to enjoy fighting so much?" He realized he hadn't noticed this emerging tendency of hers.
Suddenly Skarlet had the area around her cleared out as a figure approached. He held a sword that Cody recognized, a katana. He was dressed in a gladiator style outfit with a cape. There was no smile on his face though he didn't look like a showman. The guards had backed away and even seemed to tremble.
"Captain, it's the captain."
"Hey, why'd y'all stop I thought it was getting good. There's enough of you for me to. . . Oh you look fun." Skarlet smiled as she looked at the man in front of her. A Fox Lithian that reeked of the blood he'd split throughout his life.
"Cody, take her." Skarlet spoke seriously as she handed the girl to Cody.
Skarlet then stepped forward and gripped her sword tightly. In an instant they closed in on each other, a loud bang rang out as they crossed blades. "Ha, damn I thought I was no longer a human with the strength I wield. That no singular opponent could match me. But this is gonna be fun." Skarlet smiled as she let her emotions out, a built up rage and fear filled her blade as a series of clashes rang out. Though her smile began to slip as pain blossomed in her side. Something wet splatter in the dirt. "Shit." Skarlet leaned back as the boy's sword barely grazed her neck.
"You can't beat me you're not at that level yet, cat." The boy explained as he calmly dealt with her frantic and chaotic attacks. She spun around and brought a kick to the side of his head, a thud exploded out as she came into contact with his forearm that had blocked. He then grabbed her leg and flipped her, she hit the dirt with a thud and immediately kicked the ground so she rolled away as a blade stabbed into the ground where her head used to be. Her fear had melted into her blade she felt nothing but exhilaration even as blood soaked into her shirt and dripped down her leg.
She leaped to her feet and pointed her sword at him, a serious expression on her face as she leaped at him with a large overhead strike. Mana erupted throughout her sword as a black fire erupted along her blade encasing it in a threatening appearance and aura.
She brought her sword down and the boy swung his sword almost like one would swing a rapier in a contest of beauty. Elegant and swift movements, he made it seem like it was weightless as he partied her sword to the side and twirled his blade around before piercing her chest.
"Skarlet!!" Cody exclaimed as he watched the blade rip out her back, blood dripping off its tip. The boy, smiled as he looked into her eyes.
"Skarlet, it matches your fiery eyes. My name is Gordon and I'm the one who killed you." He seemed truly happy. He even began to laugh but that froze on his face as he watched her mouth from a smile. It parted slightly and blood poured down her chin. A sharp pain stabbed his side as her sword sliced into him, a scowl lit his face as the blade carved through him with ease and ripped through his throat. Then with a bloody, choking laugh she kicked him away and let the blade slide back out of her chest.
Gordon hit the ground, her blade had carved a jagged path from his side, to his neck. Affectively amputating his arm, he was bleeding a lot, far more than her as she cast a healing spell. Her face scrunched in pain as her body began rearranging and reassembling the wound.
She then turned and wiped the blood from her lips as she placed her sword on her shoulder and grinned at Cody. "Damn that bastard was good." Cody sighed.
"Hahaha, victory must feel nice." Gordon laughed as he sat up. Blood was starting to slither and move around him. His body was pulling itself back together as he got to his feet. His sword was bleeding, no more accurately, it was eating her blood and healing him it seemed. "Girl, that was damn insane. You're literally crazy, who deliberately takes an attack that could kill them just to create an opening. Haha, not that I'm going to fall for it again. Come on try and kill me imma get serious now. This is gonna scar you know." He held his sword in a different stance as the blood coalesced on the blade and formed a larger scary blade made of blood. His sword looked more like a scimitar now or possibly a sword with an ax on the end of it. Then he dashed at her, Skarlet felt dread, but still fear escaped her. She looked down the jaws of death and smiled.
"Come on, let's go!"

Going into a career where you’ve got a fair chance of being ostracized probably isn’t what my parents had in mind when they paid for me to get a bachelor’s in magical theory. I know when I graduated and told them I was going into necromancy, they looked like they were sucking on a lemon. But they knew me well enough to know I was smart enough to do things the right way, and stubborn enough not to let societal taboos stand in my way.
Every time I have a job, I’m reminded of why I do this. Sure, many of my gigs are helping farmers whose crops are dying, the law doesn’t have anything to say on that kind of work, and that pays a good amount of my bills. But the ones who need a few minutes (all the law allows) to say goodbye, who lost someone in the blink of an eye, who are burdened with the pain of their heart being torn out of their chest, those people have nowhere else to turn. Well, they technically do, and that’s therapy. But being allowed a goodbye is a good start.
Though there are the occasional clients who sneak past my interview process just to interrogate the deceased about an affair or some such nonsense. Those are irritating.
Much of my day is spent at home, tending to the garden that grows the plants needed for my spells, which I brew myself. It was winter now, though, so I was in my workshop, making use of my harvest, dried and ground up, to mix together and enchant the potions. Occasionally I get walk-ins though, and so when the doorbell rang that morning, it didn’t quite catch me off guard.
The boy at the door did, though. His name was Harvey, and he lived a few doors down. And he was in floods of tears that were only now tapering off.
“What’s wrong?” I cried, crouching to his height. “Harvey, what happened?”
“It’s Sage,” he whimpered. “She-She died.”
“Oh, honey,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.” The boy’s dog was part of their family, adopted as a puppy. I recall her being seven or eight years old now, and especially for a boy of eleven years old, that was a tragedy. The words sunk in then. “Did you…did your family want to hire me?” He nodded. “What happened? How did she die?”
“She got spooked and ran off last night during the thunderstorm,” he said quietly. “We couldn’t find her. She came back this morning and something had…attacked her. A coyote, maybe. She barely made it back home before…” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When we went outside to look for her, she was on the porch, and she was already gone.”
“Okay,” I said. Without another word, I grabbed my purse and coat and shut the door behind me, following the boy to his house.
Out in the backyard, his parents sat tiredly in two patio chairs, looking worse for the wear and in mid-conversation. They were surprised by my appearance, and both rose to their feet. “Caroline! What are you-” Patricia’s face went slack with comprehension as she set eyes on her son. “Harvey went to fetch you. Are you sure you want to-”
“I’ve done this kind of work before,” I assured her. She just nodded slowly, and she and her husband Brian sat back down, taking her husband’s hand. Walking over to the dog, it wasn’t quite as gruesome a sight as I’d worried it would be, the attack just leaving blood caked on the left side of her neck. I also saw some on her paws; she’d put up enough of a fight to get away. To get home.
Kneeling down in the grass, crackling under my knees, the blades still stiff from the overnight chill, I took two potions from my purse. One of each that I always kept on hand for emergencies. The first was a syringe and I injected it into the dog’s neck, an anesthetic so the dog wouldn’t awaken in pain, charmed to supernaturally spread through the body since the heart wasn’t beating. I poured the second potion on my hands before rubbing them together, reciting the incantation under my breath, and laid my hands on the dog’s body, feeling the power slide through them and getting to work immediately.
A minute or so later, the dog’s weary eyes opened as her chest started to rise and fall and her gaze slid around until they caught on Harvey’s eyes. He burst into quiet tears again, sitting down and pulling the dog’s head onto his leg, stroking her gently. “Hey girl,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe, you made it home. I’m here, Sage.”
The dog blinked up at him, tired from her struggles, but her tail thumped against the ground regardless, a slow, regular metronome. She shut her eyes at the scratches behind her ears and the kiss he gave her on her head. “You’re a strong girl,” he murmured. “Good girl. And I’m here. You don’t have to go alone. We’re all here.”
I brushed away tears from my eyes before they could fall, letting the boy comfort the dog in her last moments, letting him lean his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. Then eventually, the dog’s breathing slowed, her tail lost its strength and rested against the ground and, as Harvey stroked the smooth hair on her head, she drifted away once again.

Going into a career where you’ve got a fair chance of being ostracized probably isn’t what my parents had in mind when they paid for me to get a bachelor’s in magical theory. I know when I graduated and told them I was going into necromancy, they looked like they were sucking on a lemon. But they knew me well enough to know I was smart enough to do things the right way, and stubborn enough not to let societal taboos stand in my way.
Every time I have a job, I’m reminded of why I do this. Sure, many of my gigs are helping farmers whose crops are dying, the law doesn’t have anything to say on that kind of work, and that pays a good amount of my bills. But the ones who need a few minutes (all the law allows) to say goodbye, who lost someone in the blink of an eye, who are burdened with the pain of their heart being torn out of their chest, those people have nowhere else to turn. Well, they technically do, and that’s therapy. But being allowed a goodbye is a good start.
Though there are the occasional clients who sneak past my interview process just to interrogate the deceased about an affair or some such nonsense. Those are irritating.
Much of my day is spent at home, tending to the garden that grows the plants needed for my spells, which I brew myself. It was winter now, though, so I was in my workshop, making use of my harvest, dried and ground up, to mix together and enchant the potions. Occasionally I get walk-ins though, and so when the doorbell rang that morning, it didn’t quite catch me off guard.
The boy at the door did, though. His name was Harvey, and he lived a few doors down. And he was in floods of tears that were only now tapering off.
“What’s wrong?” I cried, crouching to his height. “Harvey, what happened?”
“It’s Sage,” he whimpered. “She-She died.”
“Oh, honey,” I breathed. “I’m so sorry.” The boy’s dog was part of their family, adopted as a puppy. I recall her being seven or eight years old now, and especially for a boy of eleven years old, that was a tragedy. The words sunk in then. “Did you…did your family want to hire me?” He nodded. “What happened? How did she die?”
“She got spooked and ran off last night during the thunderstorm,” he said quietly. “We couldn’t find her. She came back this morning and something had…attacked her. A coyote, maybe. She barely made it back home before…” Tears glistened in her eyes. “When we went outside to look for her, she was on the porch, and she was already gone.”
“Okay,” I said. Without another word, I grabbed my purse and coat and shut the door behind me, following the boy to his house.
Out in the backyard, his parents sat tiredly in two patio chairs, looking worse for the wear and in mid-conversation. They were surprised by my appearance, and both rose to their feet. “Caroline! What are you-” Patricia’s face went slack with comprehension as she set eyes on her son. “Harvey went to fetch you. Are you sure you want to-”
“I’ve done this kind of work before,” I assured her. She just nodded slowly, and she and her husband Brian sat back down, taking her husband’s hand. Walking over to the dog, it wasn’t quite as gruesome a sight as I’d worried it would be, the attack just leaving blood caked on the left side of her neck. I also saw some on her paws; she’d put up enough of a fight to get away. To get home.
Kneeling down in the grass, crackling under my knees, the blades still stiff from the overnight chill, I took two potions from my purse. One of each that I always kept on hand for emergencies. The first was a syringe and I injected it into the dog’s neck, an anesthetic so the dog wouldn’t awaken in pain, charmed to supernaturally spread through the body since the heart wasn’t beating. I poured the second potion on my hands before rubbing them together, reciting the incantation under my breath, and laid my hands on the dog’s body, feeling the power slide through them and getting to work immediately.
A minute or so later, the dog’s weary eyes opened as her chest started to rise and fall and her gaze slid around until they caught on Harvey’s eyes. He burst into quiet tears again, sitting down and pulling the dog’s head onto his leg, stroking her gently. “Hey girl,” he whispered. “I’m here. You’re safe, you made it home. I’m here, Sage.”
The dog blinked up at him, tired from her struggles, but her tail thumped against the ground regardless, a slow, regular metronome. She shut her eyes at the scratches behind her ears and the kiss he gave her on her head. “You’re a strong girl,” he murmured. “Good girl. And I’m here. You don’t have to go alone. We’re all here.”
I brushed away tears from my eyes before they could fall, letting the boy comfort the dog in her last moments, letting him lean his forehead against hers, breathing in her scent. Then eventually, the dog’s breathing slowed, her tail lost its strength and rested against the ground and, as Harvey stroked the smooth hair on her head, she drifted away once again.
***
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Previously
I could not tell you exactly how I failed my semester. Everything was foggy. One thing for sure, I recalled spending more time with Al than with my studies. With her, I discovered the ins and outs of Boston: its neighborhoods and surrounding towns. She would take me to different areas to countless parties, hosted by her friends. We would sing reggae together, dance , drink, smoke marijuana, a lot of marijuana, and, afterwards, would go to her place, where we would sleep together a lot like rabbits. The only time I ever set foot in my dorm room was near the end of the semester, where I came across a stack of urgent notes from my academic advisor. These notes pertained to my parents and, particularly, their demands that I should “call them at once!”
It was through my parents that I learned about my academic failure for the semester and how I failed: not attending a single class. Prior to calling, my plan was to keep quiet like I normally had done before and let them do all the talking. That was supposed to be the plan.
Upon dialing, my mother picked up the phone after the first tone and, without exchanging any pleasantries, proceeded to blast me with her sweet voice and biting sarcasms. I was the son “scamming them out of their hard earned money” and one who was doing something that I was “finally more than average at,” making them “shameful parents.” I expected all of this from her, but what caught me off guard was the raw anger in her voice. Still, I stayed silent and listened as usual.
My father, on the other hand, was far angrier and did not mince his words with sarcasms. After my mother had said her piece, he took the phone and cussed me all the names he knew under the sun, even cussing me in his mother’s tongue. His anger made his nasal voice even more pronounced, making it difficult for me to remain silent compared to my mother's words. It felt like each word was a punch to the ear through the phone. I fought to keep my composure, but frustration surged within me.
"Mary, I bet this whole thing is all over some stupid asshole girl." That blew me up. I took it as a direct insult to Al. He hadn't even met her, hadn't seen her warm smile or her inviting eyes. He hadn't experienced her nonjudgmental nature or known how easy she was to talk to. Yet, he felt he had the right to insult her.
“So what the fuck it is!” I remembered yelling over the phone. I remembered there was a brief, deafening silence after I spoke, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Mind you, at this point, I was no longer the same Howard that my parents were used to talking down to. They were exposed to a rude awakening. A different Howard who had long thick dreadlocks that stopped at his knees and who could look you directly in the eye and cussed you out like a seaman.
“Mister man. I want you to pack your things and take the next plane back home.” It was the clearest I ever heard his voice, without even a hint of nasalness. I could also hear his heavy breaths, like a silverback just before it was about to beat his chest and charge at you.
“Bite me.” I had answered him and hung up. That was the last time I talked to my parents. I had many regrets in life and this was among the top ones. Looking back now, I probably should not have done what I did. First off, I probably should have called them when I was off sound mind or sober. I also underestimated how cold and unforgiving my parents could be, and how far they would go to maintain their family's image. I had two younger brothers and a toddler age sister. When I did not take that next plane back home, my parents, as far as they were concerned, still had a legacy that they could build up and make their name proud, even after they left this world. I was the first child: the mistake and experiment that they could learn from when rearing up my siblings.
Not surprisingly, I was kicked out of MIT as my parents did not pay for my next semester’s schooling. I did not care at the time. At least, I had my Al and she was nice enough to offer rooming to my bicycle, suitcase and I. We were officially together under one roof. Only this was not to be permanent.
About a month after moving in with Al, we found ourselves in a situation where we couldn't afford the rent and had to move out. Al had lost her job a few weeks earlier because she showed up to it high, a decision I blamed myself for since I had encouraged us to attend a party the previous night.
Living with Al's friends was initially a relief, a temporary solution to our housing predicament. But as the days turned into weeks, we began to overstay our welcome. Our presence became a burden, straining the patience and resources of those free spirits who had graciously taken us in. Eventually, we found ourselves with no place to call home, facing the harsh reality of homelessness.
During this period, finding work proved to be a near impossible challenge. Despite my best efforts, no employer wanted to even touch me. It was then that I truly understood my immigration status on a student visa and the obstacles it presented to securing employment. Until then, I had never considered or entertained such thoughts, leaving them up to my parents.
The idea of marrying Al for a green card never even crossed my mind. I refused to burden her with my problems or pressure her into such a life-altering decision. One way or the other way, I was going to find a solution on my own.
Though it looked like a grim reality check, strangely enough, Al and I were the happiest when we were homelessness. Freed from the burdens of parental or societal expectations, we embraced our status as free birds in the city, viewing it as our own personal playground.
If there was no luck at the soup kitchens, we would scavenge food from trash bins by restaurants. Surprisingly, we often stumbled upon untouched treasures like whole pizzas, pieces of chicken wings, discarded birthday cakes (often anniversary cakes), pies, and many other items. People's wastefulness became a lifeline for us, and we were deeply thankful for it.
Beyond mere survival, we reveled in the adventure of exploring the city's hidden corners. From navigating the labyrinthine subway tracks to stumbling upon alleys adorned with vibrant street art to sneaking into buildings with magnificent views of the city’s skyline, every discovery fueled our sense of wonder and curiosity. And we certainly were not shy to fool around in all these places as no place in the city was safe from our escapades: not the museums and not even the stadium.
But even with all the craziness and unpredictability, the most important thing about being homeless was the bond we shared. I fondly recall the nights spent huddled together under the stars in quiet parks, wrapped in blankets and sharing our dreams. Al wanted to go back to school to pursue nursing, while I had ambitions of completing my engineering degree at a community college. With that qualification, I hoped to secure a well-paying job that could sponsor both of us, paving the way for us to settle in a cozy home in the suburbs. There, we could begin our journey of building a family together. Each time I shared my dreams with Al, her left blue moon eye seemed to radiate with an illuminating glow, serving as a source of hope and strengthening my determination to believe that anything was possible.
Eventually, I managed to secure employment the other way: under the table at a slaughterhouse. But even with a steady income, my wages were barely enough to cover our basic needs, let alone secure permanent housing. However, luck seemed to smile upon us in an unexpected way.
At the slaughterhouse, I crossed paths with a fellow countryman named Archie, who had faced similar challenges with work status. Our shared nationality sparked instant camaraderie, and Archie eagerly offered his assistance upon learning about our homelessness. He revealed that he had a friend at the Port of Boston who could help us find shelter in one of the abandoned shipping containers there.
Archie assured me that living in a shipping container wasn't as bad as it sounded, sharing his own experience of finding temporary refuge in one upon arriving in America. He explained that as the weather cooled with the onset of fall, we wouldn't have to endure the sweltering heat of summer. However, he advised us to prepare for the winter chill with plenty of blankets and, even better, a portable heater. Despite its unconventional nature, it was a far better option than braving the elements out on the streets.
As Archie led Al and I through the lively Port of Boston, I couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude for his unexpected generosity. Here was a man who did not know me from Adam and was offering to help me and my woman, with no payment or strings attached.
We soon arrived at a secluded corner, where Archie introduced us to his friend, JJ. JJ was a short, stocky man with large muscular arms, a stark contrast to Archie's tall and malnourished skinny frame. Despite their physical differences, JJ exuded friendliness and kindness, much like Archie. He welcomed Al and I very warmly. Hence the reason, I could never forgive myself for what I did to him. That was also one of my biggest life regrets.
With a nod from JJ, we followed him to an abandoned shipping container nestled away from prying eyes. It was a hidden gem, shielded from the outside world by stacks of cargo containers. JJ assured us that it was a safe haven, far from the scrutiny of port workers.
As we settled into our new home, JJ's kindness continued to shine through. He provided us with port safety jackets, ensuring we could blend in seamlessly with the workers. He even offered his assistance if we encountered any issues, emphasizing that he was always available at the main loading dock during his night shifts.
The shipping container began to feel more like home with each passing day. Thanks to Archie and JJ's assistance, we were able to transport an old mattress, dresser, and milk crates— repurposed as shelves— from various junk sites and donation bins using JJ's cargo van. Despite the simplicity of our accommodations, the mere presence of these familiar items filled us with tremendous joy as we finally had a place to call our home.
Al's creative touch transformed the interior, adorning it with artificial bouquets she had found at a dump site. The vibrant colors breathed life into our makeshift home, infusing it with warmth and charm.
As we settled into our newfound sanctuary, a wave of relief washed over us. For the first time in months, we felt a sense of stability and security. With our basic needs finally met, we could now turn our attention to our goals for the future.
Eager to continue my education, I made plans to dedicate myself to finishing my engineering degree once the upcoming winter months had passed. Little did I know at the time that my student visa had already been canceled, making this goal completely impossible. Being a youth and all its naivety.
However, I never got the chance to find out about my visa status or even make the attempt to finish my education. At the start of winter, Al went missing.
Next Part 4 Preview:
It was a wicked, cold-blooded anger that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I tried to release my hands from his shirt, but it was too late. He seized my wrists like a vise grip and, in one swift motion before I had time to react, picked me up, slamming me onto the concrete.
/The Tragic Tale of Howard. A West African 9-Part Series short story about loss, second chance, betrayal and personal demons. By West African writer Josephine Dean /

Previously
I could not tell you exactly how I failed my semester. Everything was foggy. One thing for sure, I recalled spending more time with Al than with my studies. With her, I discovered the ins and outs of Boston: its neighborhoods and surrounding towns. She would take me to different areas to countless parties, hosted by her friends. We would sing reggae together, dance , drink, smoke marijuana, a lot of marijuana, and, afterwards, would go to her place, where we would sleep together a lot like rabbits. The only time I ever set foot in my dorm room was near the end of the semester, where I came across a stack of urgent notes from my academic advisor. These notes pertained to my parents and, particularly, their demands that I should “call them at once!”
It was through my parents that I learned about my academic failure for the semester and how I failed: not attending a single class. Prior to calling, my plan was to keep quiet like I normally had done before and let them do all the talking. That was supposed to be the plan.
Upon dialing, my mother picked up the phone after the first tone and, without exchanging any pleasantries, proceeded to blast me with her sweet voice and biting sarcasms. I was the son “scamming them out of their hard earned money” and one who was doing something that I was “finally more than average at,” making them “shameful parents.” I expected all of this from her, but what caught me off guard was the raw anger in her voice. Still, I stayed silent and listened as usual.
My father, on the other hand, was far angrier and did not mince his words with sarcasms. After my mother had said her piece, he took the phone and cussed me all the names he knew under the sun, even cussing me in his mother’s tongue. His anger made his nasal voice even more pronounced, making it difficult for me to remain silent compared to my mother's words. It felt like each word was a punch to the ear through the phone. I fought to keep my composure, but frustration surged within me.
"Mary, I bet this whole thing is all over some stupid asshole girl." That blew me up. I took it as a direct insult to Al. He hadn't even met her, hadn't seen her warm smile or her inviting eyes. He hadn't experienced her nonjudgmental nature or known how easy she was to talk to. Yet, he felt he had the right to insult her.
“So what the fuck it is!” I remembered yelling over the phone. I remembered there was a brief, deafening silence after I spoke, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Mind you, at this point, I was no longer the same Howard that my parents were used to talking down to. They were exposed to a rude awakening. A different Howard who had long thick dreadlocks that stopped at his knees and who could look you directly in the eye and cussed you out like a seaman.
“Mister man. I want you to pack your things and take the next plane back home.” It was the clearest I ever heard his voice, without even a hint of nasalness. I could also hear his heavy breaths, like a silverback just before it was about to beat his chest and charge at you.
“Bite me.” I had answered him and hung up. That was the last time I talked to my parents. I had many regrets in life and this was among the top ones. Looking back now, I probably should not have done what I did. First off, I probably should have called them when I was off sound mind or sober. I also underestimated how cold and unforgiving my parents could be, and how far they would go to maintain their family's image. I had two younger brothers and a toddler age sister. When I did not take that next plane back home, my parents, as far as they were concerned, still had a legacy that they could build up and make their name proud, even after they left this world. I was the first child: the mistake and experiment that they could learn from when rearing up my siblings.
Not surprisingly, I was kicked out of MIT as my parents did not pay for my next semester’s schooling. I did not care at the time. At least, I had my Al and she was nice enough to offer rooming to my bicycle, suitcase and I. We were officially together under one roof. Only this was not to be permanent.
About a month after moving in with Al, we found ourselves in a situation where we couldn't afford the rent and had to move out. Al had lost her job a few weeks earlier because she showed up to it high, a decision I blamed myself for since I had encouraged us to attend a party the previous night.
Living with Al's friends was initially a relief, a temporary solution to our housing predicament. But as the days turned into weeks, we began to overstay our welcome. Our presence became a burden, straining the patience and resources of those free spirits who had graciously taken us in. Eventually, we found ourselves with no place to call home, facing the harsh reality of homelessness.
During this period, finding work proved to be a near impossible challenge. Despite my best efforts, no employer wanted to even touch me. It was then that I truly understood my immigration status on a student visa and the obstacles it presented to securing employment. Until then, I had never considered or entertained such thoughts, leaving them up to my parents.
The idea of marrying Al for a green card never even crossed my mind. I refused to burden her with my problems or pressure her into such a life-altering decision. One way or the other way, I was going to find a solution on my own.
Though it looked like a grim reality check, strangely enough, Al and I were the happiest when we were homelessness. Freed from the burdens of parental or societal expectations, we embraced our status as free birds in the city, viewing it as our own personal playground.
If there was no luck at the soup kitchens, we would scavenge food from trash bins by restaurants. Surprisingly, we often stumbled upon untouched treasures like whole pizzas, pieces of chicken wings, discarded birthday cakes (often anniversary cakes), pies, and many other items. People's wastefulness became a lifeline for us, and we were deeply thankful for it.
Beyond mere survival, we reveled in the adventure of exploring the city's hidden corners. From navigating the labyrinthine subway tracks to stumbling upon alleys adorned with vibrant street art to sneaking into buildings with magnificent views of the city’s skyline, every discovery fueled our sense of wonder and curiosity. And we certainly were not shy to fool around in all these places as no place in the city was safe from our escapades: not the museums and not even the stadium.
But even with all the craziness and unpredictability, the most important thing about being homeless was the bond we shared. I fondly recall the nights spent huddled together under the stars in quiet parks, wrapped in blankets and sharing our dreams. Al wanted to go back to school to pursue nursing, while I had ambitions of completing my engineering degree at a community college. With that qualification, I hoped to secure a well-paying job that could sponsor both of us, paving the way for us to settle in a cozy home in the suburbs. There, we could begin our journey of building a family together. Each time I shared my dreams with Al, her left blue moon eye seemed to radiate with an illuminating glow, serving as a source of hope and strengthening my determination to believe that anything was possible.
Eventually, I managed to secure employment the other way: under the table at a slaughterhouse. But even with a steady income, my wages were barely enough to cover our basic needs, let alone secure permanent housing. However, luck seemed to smile upon us in an unexpected way.
At the slaughterhouse, I crossed paths with a fellow countryman named Archie, who had faced similar challenges with work status. Our shared nationality sparked instant camaraderie, and Archie eagerly offered his assistance upon learning about our homelessness. He revealed that he had a friend at the Port of Boston who could help us find shelter in one of the abandoned shipping containers there.
Archie assured me that living in a shipping container wasn't as bad as it sounded, sharing his own experience of finding temporary refuge in one upon arriving in America. He explained that as the weather cooled with the onset of fall, we wouldn't have to endure the sweltering heat of summer. However, he advised us to prepare for the winter chill with plenty of blankets and, even better, a portable heater. Despite its unconventional nature, it was a far better option than braving the elements out on the streets.
As Archie led Al and I through the lively Port of Boston, I couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude for his unexpected generosity. Here was a man who did not know me from Adam and was offering to help me and my woman, with no payment or strings attached.
We soon arrived at a secluded corner, where Archie introduced us to his friend, JJ. JJ was a short, stocky man with large muscular arms, a stark contrast to Archie's tall and malnourished skinny frame. Despite their physical differences, JJ exuded friendliness and kindness, much like Archie. He welcomed Al and I very warmly. Hence the reason, I could never forgive myself for what I did to him. That was also one of my biggest life regrets.
With a nod from JJ, we followed him to an abandoned shipping container nestled away from prying eyes. It was a hidden gem, shielded from the outside world by stacks of cargo containers. JJ assured us that it was a safe haven, far from the scrutiny of port workers.
As we settled into our new home, JJ's kindness continued to shine through. He provided us with port safety jackets, ensuring we could blend in seamlessly with the workers. He even offered his assistance if we encountered any issues, emphasizing that he was always available at the main loading dock during his night shifts.
The shipping container began to feel more like home with each passing day. Thanks to Archie and JJ's assistance, we were able to transport an old mattress, dresser, and milk crates— repurposed as shelves— from various junk sites and donation bins using JJ's cargo van. Despite the simplicity of our accommodations, the mere presence of these familiar items filled us with tremendous joy as we finally had a place to call our home.
Al's creative touch transformed the interior, adorning it with artificial bouquets she had found at a dump site. The vibrant colors breathed life into our makeshift home, infusing it with warmth and charm.
As we settled into our newfound sanctuary, a wave of relief washed over us. For the first time in months, we felt a sense of stability and security. With our basic needs finally met, we could now turn our attention to our goals for the future.
Eager to continue my education, I made plans to dedicate myself to finishing my engineering degree once the upcoming winter months had passed. Little did I know at the time that my student visa had already been canceled, making this goal completely impossible. Being a youth and all its naivety.
However, I never got the chance to find out about my visa status or even make the attempt to finish my education. At the start of winter, Al went missing.
Next Part 4 Preview:
It was a wicked, cold-blooded anger that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I tried to release my hands from his shirt, but it was too late. He seized my wrists like a vise grip and, in one swift motion before I had time to react, picked me up, slamming me onto the concrete.
/The Tragic Tale of Howard. A West African 9-Part Series short story about loss, second chance, betrayal and personal demons. By West African writer Josephine Dean /

Previously
I could not tell you exactly how I failed my semester. Everything was foggy. One thing for sure, I recalled spending more time with Al than with my studies. With her, I discovered the ins and outs of Boston: its neighborhoods and surrounding towns. She would take me to different areas to countless parties, hosted by her friends. We would sing reggae together, dance , drink, smoke marijuana, a lot of marijuana, and, afterwards, would go to her place, where we would sleep together a lot like rabbits. The only time I ever set foot in my dorm room was near the end of the semester, where I came across a stack of urgent notes from my academic advisor. These notes pertained to my parents and, particularly, their demands that I should “call them at once!”
It was through my parents that I learned about my academic failure for the semester and how I failed: not attending a single class. Prior to calling, my plan was to keep quiet like I normally had done before and let them do all the talking. That was supposed to be the plan.
Upon dialing, my mother picked up the phone after the first tone and, without exchanging any pleasantries, proceeded to blast me with her sweet voice and biting sarcasms. I was the son “scamming them out of their hard earned money” and one who was doing something that I was “finally more than average at,” making them “shameful parents.” I expected all of this from her, but what caught me off guard was the raw anger in her voice. Still, I stayed silent and listened as usual.
My father, on the other hand, was far angrier and did not mince his words with sarcasms. After my mother had said her piece, he took the phone and cussed me all the names he knew under the sun, even cussing me in his mother’s tongue. His anger made his nasal voice even more pronounced, making it difficult for me to remain silent compared to my mother's words. It felt like each word was a punch to the ear through the phone. I fought to keep my composure, but frustration surged within me.
"Mary, I bet this whole thing is all over some stupid asshole girl." That blew me up. I took it as a direct insult to Al. He hadn't even met her, hadn't seen her warm smile or her inviting eyes. He hadn't experienced her nonjudgmental nature or known how easy she was to talk to. Yet, he felt he had the right to insult her.
“So what the fuck it is!” I remembered yelling over the phone. I remembered there was a brief, deafening silence after I spoke, so quiet that you could hear a pin drop. Mind you, at this point, I was no longer the same Howard that my parents were used to talking down to. They were exposed to a rude awakening. A different Howard who had long thick dreadlocks that stopped at his knees and who could look you directly in the eye and cussed you out like a seaman.
“Mister man. I want you to pack your things and take the next plane back home.” It was the clearest I ever heard his voice, without even a hint of nasalness. I could also hear his heavy breaths, like a silverback just before it was about to beat his chest and charge at you.
“Bite me.” I had answered him and hung up. That was the last time I talked to my parents. I had many regrets in life and this was among the top ones. Looking back now, I probably should not have done what I did. First off, I probably should have called them when I was off sound mind or sober. I also underestimated how cold and unforgiving my parents could be, and how far they would go to maintain their family's image. I had two younger brothers and a toddler age sister. When I did not take that next plane back home, my parents, as far as they were concerned, still had a legacy that they could build up and make their name proud, even after they left this world. I was the first child: the mistake and experiment that they could learn from when rearing up my siblings.
Not surprisingly, I was kicked out of MIT as my parents did not pay for my next semester’s schooling. I did not care at the time. At least, I had my Al and she was nice enough to offer rooming to my bicycle, suitcase and I. We were officially together under one roof. Only this was not to be permanent.
About a month after moving in with Al, we found ourselves in a situation where we couldn't afford the rent and had to move out. Al had lost her job a few weeks earlier because she showed up to it high, a decision I blamed myself for since I had encouraged us to attend a party the previous night.
Living with Al's friends was initially a relief, a temporary solution to our housing predicament. But as the days turned into weeks, we began to overstay our welcome. Our presence became a burden, straining the patience and resources of those free spirits who had graciously taken us in. Eventually, we found ourselves with no place to call home, facing the harsh reality of homelessness.
During this period, finding work proved to be a near impossible challenge. Despite my best efforts, no employer wanted to even touch me. It was then that I truly understood my immigration status on a student visa and the obstacles it presented to securing employment. Until then, I had never considered or entertained such thoughts, leaving them up to my parents.
The idea of marrying Al for a green card never even crossed my mind. I refused to burden her with my problems or pressure her into such a life-altering decision. One way or the other way, I was going to find a solution on my own.
Though it looked like a grim reality check, strangely enough, Al and I were the happiest when we were homelessness. Freed from the burdens of parental or societal expectations, we embraced our status as free birds in the city, viewing it as our own personal playground.
If there was no luck at the soup kitchens, we would scavenge food from trash bins by restaurants. Surprisingly, we often stumbled upon untouched treasures like whole pizzas, pieces of chicken wings, discarded birthday cakes (often anniversary cakes), pies, and many other items. People's wastefulness became a lifeline for us, and we were deeply thankful for it.
Beyond mere survival, we reveled in the adventure of exploring the city's hidden corners. From navigating the labyrinthine subway tracks to stumbling upon alleys adorned with vibrant street art to sneaking into buildings with magnificent views of the city’s skyline, every discovery fueled our sense of wonder and curiosity. And we certainly were not shy to fool around in all these places as no place in the city was safe from our escapades: not the museums and not even the stadium.
But even with all the craziness and unpredictability, the most important thing about being homeless was the bond we shared. I fondly recall the nights spent huddled together under the stars in quiet parks, wrapped in blankets and sharing our dreams. Al wanted to go back to school to pursue nursing, while I had ambitions of completing my engineering degree at a community college. With that qualification, I hoped to secure a well-paying job that could sponsor both of us, paving the way for us to settle in a cozy home in the suburbs. There, we could begin our journey of building a family together. Each time I shared my dreams with Al, her left blue moon eye seemed to radiate with an illuminating glow, serving as a source of hope and strengthening my determination to believe that anything was possible.
Eventually, I managed to secure employment the other way: under the table at a slaughterhouse. But even with a steady income, my wages were barely enough to cover our basic needs, let alone secure permanent housing. However, luck seemed to smile upon us in an unexpected way.
At the slaughterhouse, I crossed paths with a fellow countryman named Archie, who had faced similar challenges with work status. Our shared nationality sparked instant camaraderie, and Archie eagerly offered his assistance upon learning about our homelessness. He revealed that he had a friend at the Port of Boston who could help us find shelter in one of the abandoned shipping containers there.
Archie assured me that living in a shipping container wasn't as bad as it sounded, sharing his own experience of finding temporary refuge in one upon arriving in America. He explained that as the weather cooled with the onset of fall, we wouldn't have to endure the sweltering heat of summer. However, he advised us to prepare for the winter chill with plenty of blankets and, even better, a portable heater. Despite its unconventional nature, it was a far better option than braving the elements out on the streets.
As Archie led Al and I through the lively Port of Boston, I couldn't shake the feeling of gratitude for his unexpected generosity. Here was a man who did not know me from Adam and was offering to help me and my woman, with no payment or strings attached.
We soon arrived at a secluded corner, where Archie introduced us to his friend, JJ. JJ was a short, stocky man with large muscular arms, a stark contrast to Archie's tall and malnourished skinny frame. Despite their physical differences, JJ exuded friendliness and kindness, much like Archie. He welcomed Al and I very warmly. Hence the reason, I could never forgive myself for what I did to him. That was also one of my biggest life regrets.
With a nod from JJ, we followed him to an abandoned shipping container nestled away from prying eyes. It was a hidden gem, shielded from the outside world by stacks of cargo containers. JJ assured us that it was a safe haven, far from the scrutiny of port workers.
As we settled into our new home, JJ's kindness continued to shine through. He provided us with port safety jackets, ensuring we could blend in seamlessly with the workers. He even offered his assistance if we encountered any issues, emphasizing that he was always available at the main loading dock during his night shifts.
The shipping container began to feel more like home with each passing day. Thanks to Archie and JJ's assistance, we were able to transport an old mattress, dresser, and milk crates— repurposed as shelves— from various junk sites and donation bins using JJ's cargo van. Despite the simplicity of our accommodations, the mere presence of these familiar items filled us with tremendous joy as we finally had a place to call our home.
Al's creative touch transformed the interior, adorning it with artificial bouquets she had found at a dump site. The vibrant colors breathed life into our makeshift home, infusing it with warmth and charm.
As we settled into our newfound sanctuary, a wave of relief washed over us. For the first time in months, we felt a sense of stability and security. With our basic needs finally met, we could now turn our attention to our goals for the future.
Eager to continue my education, I made plans to dedicate myself to finishing my engineering degree once the upcoming winter months had passed. Little did I know at the time that my student visa had already been canceled, making this goal completely impossible. Being a youth and all its naivety.
However, I never got the chance to find out about my visa status or even make the attempt to finish my education. At the start of winter, Al went missing.
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It was a wicked, cold-blooded anger that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I tried to release my hands from his shirt, but it was too late. He seized my wrists like a vise grip and, in one swift motion before I had time to react, picked me up, slamming me onto the concrete.
/The Tragic Tale of Howard. A West African 9-Part Series short story about loss, second chance, betrayal and personal demons. By West African writer Josephine Dean /

I don’t know what i’m having or experiencing, If you seen my profile history you would know i’m really anxious if I have herpes. Everywhere I go people think I don’t have anything and i’m just panicking and having anxiety. 2 months ago I had protected sex, 2 days later I was feeling super sick I was also having frequent urination and only a little bit came out. I’m not sure if its because I was anxious, I wasn’t burning or itching. So that’s when I went to the ER thinking I had a std, they tested me for covid and the flu and both came back positive. I also went to get a std test and that came back negative. 3 weeks later I get a lesion in my foreskin. It lasted for a month, it’s healed now but it left a scar. Got tested again everything was negative so I assumed it was herpes. I did get it swabbed and it came back negative but it was crusted so I don’t know how accurate it came back. It started like a pimple then it got bigger like a cyst bump and blistered then crusted. I remember I took the crust off when I was taking a shower and it was like a smooth hard and round bump or ball. The bump eventually got smaller and smaller and eventually just leaving a scar. You wouldn’t even notice it until i point it. It took a month to heal. I was having frequent urination again, It didn’t hurt or burn but this time I would pee clear water. I would have the urge to pee every 10 or 20 minutes. Went to get a uti test and that came back negative. I was having a runny nose and sneezing alot. Also my right ear was twitching and having pressure, then it went to my left ear. Found out I had EBV antibodies weeks later so i’m not sure if that’s why I had those symptoms. I’ve been going to ER a lot recently because i’ve been having nerve like pains, Ive been having twitching muscles, and tingling in the sides of my feet. Twitches in my eye lid or under my eye. Sometimes shocks in my toes, fingers, hands, legs, arms. Like something is pinching me or shocks that last a second. Everybody thinks it’s isn’t herpes since it wasn’t painful or itching when I had the lesion and got it swabbed and came back negative. And I haven’t had another lesion since and it didn’t spread or cluster like every other herpes lesion does. They’re thinking the nerve shocks or tingles I’m having is from being anxious or paranoid since i’m having it everywhere randomly in my body and i’m not sure if they’re being right. I got a IgG blood test and it came back negative for both HSV1 and 2 after 8 weeks. I also got a PCR Blood Test for herpes and that came back negative as well from my PCP doctor. I should’ve requested for a IgG one but I didn’t notice until they gave me my papers to leave. The only symptoms i’m having right now is nerve shocks that last a second. In my fingers, hands, toes, legs, arms, everywhere. A bit of tingling in my feet and heel. I was having tailbone pain aswell that started Saturday and lasted for 4 days like I had soreness. I’m not sure if its because I was working all day but the pain would come and go. Like one second it would be mild then few hours I could really feel it. I’m still having ear ache but mostly in my right ear now but it’s mild. Also pooping hasn’t been the same anymore like when I poop it isn’t hard anymore and only a little bit would come out. I just don’t know if I should keep trying to find out if i have herpes or If i should accept that I don’t have it and I have something else? I’m going to ask my family doctor if I can have a neurologist to see my symptoms. I’m also going to go ask for a IgG blood test again after the 12 week mark. Do these symptoms sound like herpes to you guys? Or am I just being anxious? Should I really move on from this?? What should I even do?? I’m just waiting for another lesion that I can swab but I haven’t had one since that first one appeared.

I have finally had both of these to test on alternate nights, and would like to share a little experience comparison. Apologies on misspelling Ozlos, autocorrect keeps changing it.
PACKAGING:
Ozlo- Packaged like an apple product, a lot of effort was taken here. Maybe a bit wasteful on resources but for a premium pricetag I guess It’s appreciated.
Anker- Packaged well, Everything secured and very minimal resources used.
Score- Ozlo
DESIGN/QUALITY:
Ozlo- Out of the box, the case feels hefty, nice quality rubber grip to keep it from sliding and remain stationary on my nightstand. Opening the case has a smooth glide and nice presentation. The case is a bit large but these are meant for sleep, not carrying daily so For purpose reasons it’s acceptable. One flaw, my first night I placed the buds back in the case and went to put them in the following night to find the right bud at 0%. I had to nudge it a hair to get it to lock into the connectors and start charging in the case. I’m guessing the magnet wasn’t strong enough to really pull them onto the charging contacts, and now I have to be precise when returning them to the case. The silicone on the Sleepbuds is very soft and pliable. First attempt at wearing wasn’t comfortable, but I have small ears and went straight to size 0 tips, with a 100% improvement. There’s still a specific amount of pressure laying on side of my head where these become noticeable and also my jaw seems to impede on the earpiece blocking sound at some angles. I’m a stomach/side sleeper. Easy fix, I create a small crater in my pillows (down feathers) where my ear is and problem solved. Comfort score for regular wearing is 10/10, side sleeping 8/10 (still best in market to everything I have tried)
A20- This is where the price difference becomes apparent. The case is smaller, and feels of a much cheaper and thinner plastic. Better portability size and rounded to make taking in and out of pocket better than the Ozlos. Super light weight overall. Greeted by the indicator lights on the outside of the case, so I can see status without needing to open. Taking them out of the case the silicone feels more like rubber, and notable size difference. The device itself has a “hollow” feel to it unlike the Ozlos. The ozlos seem like the voids inside the buds are filled in and insulated, where the a20s seem hollow and don’t insulate sound while touching them (bad for when a blanket or pillow slides and touches it while sleeping). I was greeted with automatic Rain noise the second I put them in my ears, I do like the ear detection and the tap features where I can pause/play, adjust volume, skip, etc by double or triple tapping the earbud. Useful feature absolutely, but i’m guessing adding that tech is the reason behind the girth of the buds themselves, in which case i’d rather go without. In the ear they are very light but don’t quite fit the shape of my ear, they almost resemble the fit of the first generation airpods. comfort normal wear is 8/10, side sleeping 4/10 very distracting bulge and pressure at a specific point despite changing tip sizes. The extra girth to add some features is not welcome for a device meant for sleeping, at least for side sleepers like myself.
Score- Ozlos
FEATURES:
Ozlos- without just listing off the manual what these can do, I can only review the available features, and will only share “after the recent update.” After the update the connection is seamless, but I still feel as though the earbuds might be on even while in the case, and would like an update where the buds and the case disconnect from my phone and turn off when the case is closed with the buds inside. I still find myself putting my buds in the case, closing it, and attempting to listen to music in the other room and finding my iphone is still playing through the buds… The app is intuitive but buggy, nothing a software update can’t fix as long as the hardware is capable enough. I would like an option to just pick up the buds, put them in my ear and it start playing automatically, even though I don’t use the native sounds. Honestly the features that haven’t released yet I can probably live without, but for the price of the sleepbuds I expect everything under the kitchen sink.
A20s- These don’t have nearly the features of the Ozlos, but for less than half the price I don’t expect them to. Plane and simple controls, adjustable tapping settings, and automatic sound playing when placed in the ears is welcome.
Considering I was a kickstarter for both of these, at time of release the A20s feel less buggy and more ready for release than the Ozlos, despite the significant quality of feel of the Ozlos.
Score- A20s
SOUND QUALITY:
Ozlos- Terrific sound for such a small device. I wasn’t impressed by the native sounds, they seem very 2 dimensional, however this lower quality sound is also easier for the device to stream and use less battery so it is expected. I use Odysound for my sleep/focus sounds (Pink noise, Florida Thunderstorm, and indoor seaside) and if anyone hasn’t used this app, you’ll likely be amazed to the dolby atmos sounds and these sounds having depth is greatly emphasized by good sound quality of the Ozlos. Still has a surround sound feel and impressive bass with my thunderstorm. I’m very impressed by the sound quality as long as my jaw and side sleeping doesn’t impede on the sound.
A20s- Initially the built in sounds seem a touch higher fidelity and depth than the Ozlos, but by fractions. The audio quality is both good and bad. the depth is there but lacking due to the hollow device and poor noise insulation. But, this also adds to the effect of the bass which has more rumble to it due to that, it makes heavier low frequency sounds resonate better. overall quality feel like that of stock headphones that come with a phone when you buy it, good enough but nothing to talk about.
SCORE- Ozlos
BATTERY LIFE:
Ozlos- keeping this short, I keep the case plugged in at all times since it stays on my nightstand or the side table of the hotels I stay at, so I won’t vouch for case battery life, but the earbuds have lasted me a 7 hour sleep with 80% volume streaming either pink noise or thunderstorms from odysound, and I put them away with 15% battery remaining, so easily 8hours and that’s all I need. I don’t use phone free mode as I prefer my premium sounds, and I don’t use an alarm or a timer to turn sounds off in the app (I use the built in 8hr timer in odysound). So battery’s been all I need it to be. I tried them on a 3 hour flight but much prefer my airpods with ANR.
A20s, i’m guessing they have a larger battery because a 7 hour night playing pink noise 80% volume had me putting them away with 24% remaining. But I don’t need that 24%, I need smaller earbuds to be more comfortable for my 7-8 hours of sleep.
Score- Even
PRICE:
Ozlos- I was hesitant to send a chunk of change this size for a startup device, but I was kind of expecting Bose quality, and feel like I got it. Overall I’d say these are overpriced, considering they are nearing the price of my airpod pros, but designated only for sleep/rest. Otherwise they just don’t compare with value and should be closer to $150. They seem premium, but they’re not $200 sleepbuds.
A20s- I got these for $90 kickstarter, and can say they belong right at that price, not a dollar more. They’re cheaper feeling and less refined all around, but they do their job and are more in line with their pricetag.
Score- A20s
Overall, both these devices do as they advertise (except unreleased features of the ozlos) and are useable for sleep. The biggest difference is for sidesleepers which is where the Ozlos are the best in the business. If you sleep facing up, the ankers are a better bang for your buck. Since I live in hotels as much as my own home i’ll keep the ozlos for myself and give the ankers to my wife, she is satisfied with them. But overall the Ozlos are superior in every way.

Chapter 5
Lacy opened her eyes and saw flashing colorful lights. She heard carnival music playing from loudspeakers. She wondered to herself what this place was walking around. She saw multiple vendor stands and carnival games. Everything looked abandoned, food dropped on the floor and chairs flipped. She continued walking, finding a carnival ride. It was one of the droppers. Lacy had memories with her mother going on these kinds of rides. She pushed on following the stands until she stumbled upon a circus tent. She stepped inside and saw a man. The man was very tall and was standing in the middle of the tent. The man turned around and the lights to the tent turned on revealing that the man was a clown on stilts. The clown had a white face with a red nose. His hair was red and was split in two making it look like he had horns. He had on an oversized shirt that looked like multiple blue and red shirts stitched together. His pants were baggy and had obvious blood stains. The stilts made him about ten feet tall. The clown wore a frown on his face, giving Lacy a sense of uncertainty. “What's your name little girl, I have all sorts of tricks that can make you laugh.” The clown's voice was goofy and lighthearted compared to the frown on its face that it kept. “Ah come on, don't be shy. We can still have fun. Not like all of the other’s who left.” Lacy noticed a man lying in a pool of blood next to the clown. He was wearing ringmaster attire. The clown noticed that Lacy saw the body. “He didn’t laugh. Just like the others.” The clown's voice had changed. He now sounded like an older man who had given up on feeling joy. “Did you kill that man?” Lacy asked, already knowing the answer. “No. I released him. He didn’t laugh. He had no joy. So I released him.” Lacy began to back off, gripping her knife. The clown revealed a sword it was holding behind his back. It had blood on it. “I’ll release you too”. The clown began stepping towards her, laughing while doing so. “God Dammit not again” Lacy ran throughout the carnival grounds with the clown closely behind her. She noticed a security trailer. She got to the door and it was locked. Hearing the laughter getting closer. She slammed her body into the door until it finally broke open. The laughter ceased. Lacy looked around the office not seeing anything special. Until she saw a tape recorder.
Chapter 6
Lacy grabbed the recorder. “Who would even have time to make these?”
This is Professor Crawdord. I have managed to survive in this obscure world for what feels like multiple days. This new threat, the clown on stilts seems to be less of a problem than he looks. He’s slow compared to other things I have faced. I discovered evidence as to who this person is. His name is Daniel Larson. He worked at the circus for most of his life. One could only imagine the mind of someone who is laughed at all day for most of their lives. On an unfortunate day Larson snapped and murdered a man on the fairgrounds. The man was another attraction. His specialty was swallowing swords and evidence showed that Larson used the sword to kill him. Larson continued killing, focusing on people that would not laugh at his jokes. The Ringmaster called showtime and at the start of the show Larson told him a joke in front of the audience and when the Ringmaster did not respond Larson killed him. The audience rushed out and as the police showed up Larson had disappeared. Upon searching his trailer they found pictures of other unsolved murders in the area. Larson was never caught. I have not figured out exactly what the holes are but I feel that Larson has to be connected somehow. These holes have a requirement to open. A death must take place for them to appear.
Lacy set the tape recorder down understanding now what had to happen. Lacy looked at the knife in her hand. “He’s a murderer. He’s hurt people. I'd be doing the world a favor.” Lacy opened the trailer door and followed the laughter leading to the circus tent.
Chapter 6
Lacy reached the entrance to the tent, peering inside she saw Larson standing over the ringmaster's body. Lacy moved underneath the stands. Larson turned towards the entrance and began walking around the tent. “I know you're here child.” Lacy ran throughout the underside of the stands. Trying to find an angle to see Larson and which direction he was facing. Lacy could see Larson was searching for her. The stilts made him move slow enough for her to sneak up on him easily. Slowly moving throughout the tent, Lacy got close enough behind Larson to hear him mumbling something to himself. Running towards Larson she kicked the stilts causing him to fall to the ground. Lacy took the opportunity to stab the clown in the shoulder. Larson kicked Lacy away and swept the sword in her direction, cutting her on the leg. Lacy turned to run towards the opening of the tent, but Larson grabbed her foot and lifted the sword. “You’ll pay like they did.” Lacy kicked Larson in the face, got up and ran to leave the tent. “DON’T LEAVE! YOU HAVEN'T LAUGHED YET!” Lacy could hear Larson limping behind her, now off the stilts. She ran until she could no longer hear Larson behind her. “The dropper, I can distract him with the dropper.” Lacy avoided Larson, eventually making her way to the dropper. She didn’t know how to work the machine so she had to guess until she got it right. “Come on, you stupid machine.” Pressing multiple buttons, Lacy could hear the laughter of Larson creeping slowly towards her. Finally the ride shot up into the sky. Larson stepped onto the platform of the dropper. “I found you, please stop. I'll lose everything if you don't laugh.” Lacy took notice of the dropper rushing towards the ground. Just as Larson swiped his sword down at Lacy, she dodged out of the way. As Larson tried to get his footing back, she pushed him under the dropper. The machine crushed him ending the vile man’s savage slaughter. Lacy turned around to see at the bottom of the platform a hole had appeared. “Please, let me go home.” Lacy stepped through the hole, once again blacking out.
Chapter 7
Lacy awoke to a wooded area. She noticed a sign that said “The Weeping Woods”. “Where am I? Am I home?” Standing up she followed a trail marked that led to a camping area. She saw multiple benches and what seemed like a campfire that was put out. She continued along the path seeing a fire watch tower in the distance. “Maybe that place has people”. Continuing to the tower she could hear someone crying from a distance. Lacy kept pushing on the trail until she reached the bottom of the watch tower. The stairs felt endless as Lacy could hear the hissing of a radio coming from the room on top.She noticed that one of the stairs as well as the railing was damaged. Lacy skipped that step in fear of it breaking. Reaching the top everything felt nauseatingly small. She could see a light moving in the distance. The light moved erratically as if it was a person holding a flashlight, running away from something. Lacy turned to the watch room and noticed that the lights were on and someone was trying to reach the radio in the room. Pulling open the door she walked up to the radio and as she tried to contact the person on the other side, the radio shut off. Turning to examine the rest of the room Lacy noticed another tape recorder. Grabbing the recorder she pressed play.
I managed to kill the smiling man. I don’t know what it has done to me emotionally. It seemed so easy at the time. I told myself that the man was a beast. Anyway, I awoke in a forest, I found a path and followed it until I found a woman. The woman was sitting in the middle of the path. She was wearing a white dress that was covered in dirt. I could not see her face, but I could hear her. She was crying and her body looked frail. As I got closer I noticed her hair was long enough to cover her entire face. She asked me a question. “Have you seen Kevin?” I had no answer. Fear took over every part of my body. I could feel my muscles start to ache at the thought of having to run from this girl. A loud growl came from the girl. It shaked my very soul. I managed to escape to her. I made my way to the watch room where I will rest for a while. To whoever finds this tape, you know what you have to do.
Lacy put the recorder down. Looking out of the window she saw the light continue to move in the forest before it stopped. As Lacy turned to leave the watch room. The light disappeared.
Chapter 8
Walking along the path that the light she saw was on, Lacy couldn't help but see the image of the girl the Crawford had described in her head. Looking at the knife she still had, she knew there was only one way to get out of this forest. Along the trail Lacy found the light source that she had seen. It belonged to a man that was lying still on the floor. His flashlight was still on. “Hey, are you alright?” Lacy asked the body. Turning the body over Lacy stepped back in horror. The man's body was pale and looked shriveled. Lacy brushed the fear off and picked up his flashlight. As Lacy picked it up she heard a voice from behind her. “Have you seen Kevin?” Fear erupted in Lacy as the words were familiar to her. Remembering the recorder she slowly stood up before turning around to face the being. The girl was exactly as described in the tape. Except for one detail. She had a wedding veil on. “I don’t know who Kevin is, I'm sorry” Lacy said the first thing that came to her mind, instantly regretting it. The girl opened her mouth at an angle that rivaled pythons. A ghastly wail rang out of her mouth, ringing Lacys ears. Without hesitation Lacy plunged the knife into the girl's neck. Pulling it out the wailing did not cease. It didn't affect her. Lacy turned to run, almost tripping over the body of the man. As Lacy was running the girl was on all fours crawling towards her at a faster pace than any normal person could crawl. She looked like an animal. Lacy noticed that the girl was no longer screaming, but was crying. The tears were blood red and she looked sympathetic to Lacy. Running past the trees Lacy looked for an answer to the problem that was crawling behind her. Trying to listen over the sound of her own breathing and the crying of the girl behind her, she heard the sound of a river flowing in the distance. Running towards the sound of the river, Lacy tripped over a log tumbling to the ground. Almost in an instant the girl climbed on top of her. Her eyes met Lacy as her mouth opened in the same disgusting manner that it had before and just as her mouth opened the same way as it had before, the same sound erupted as well. Lacy felt her blood boil at the sound, feeling her life leaving her body. In a final attempt to free herself she freed her hand and stuck the knife directly into the girl's mouth. The girl’s scream stopped and turned into a painful yelp rather than an angry roar. Lacy used the moment to kick the girl off of her and got up to run. As she began to run the girl grabbed her leg, piercing her skin with her nails. Lacy pushed through and kept running. As Lacy was running she turned her head around to see the girl just sitting there, crying. Lacy got a fair distance away and began walking to regain strength. Finally making it to the river, she stopped to drink. Lacy made a sudden realization. She wasn't thirsty. After everything she had been through she was not thirsty at all. Not only was she not thirsty, but she was not hungry either. “I have to come up with a plan”. Lacy understood the rules of this strange place. Something has to die in order for one of those holes to appear. “But I saw that guy's body, why wasn’t there a hole there? No, these beings, Larson, The Smiling Man, This girl, they don’t get to leave. That’s why Crawford said you know what you have to do. The holes appear when the beings in these places die. The girl has to die for a hole to appear.” Lacy was talking outloud, it made her feel less alone. As Lacy was washing the blood off of her she looked into the river. She could see the moon in the reflection as well as her face. Looking into her eyes she noticed a drop hit the river. Looking at the other side of the river. She saw the girl crouching down, looking directly at Lacy with her blood red eyes.
Chapter 9
The river wasn’t wide. It would take the girl less than 5 seconds to cross. Lacy had to think fast. Her mind was racing as the girl just sat there and watched her. An idea popped into her head. The watchtower. Almost supernaturally, as Lacy had the idea the girl lounged towards her. Lacy dodged out of the way and broke into a sprint hearing the girl crying and crawling after her. After what felt like hours of running and having this thing chase after her, she made it to the tower. The girl was crawling after her, looking like an alligator chasing its prey. Stepping onto the steps Lacy felt her legs start to give up. She pushed on, her muscles burning. Turning her head she saw the girl crawling up the stairs. Lacy’s heart was racing as her body needed to rest or it would shut down. “Where is Kevin?” The girl screamed for the first time since she had begun chasing Lacy. Lacy could feel her body giving up and just as she passed the broken step, her legs collapsed. Lacy layed on the steps as the girl crawled up the steps towards her. The girl was crawling slower now that she had seen Lacy was on the ground. Lacy continued backing up on the stairs. Just as the girl was about to lounge at Lacy she put her hand on the broken step. Seeing this Lacy kicked the broken step causing it to break. The girl lost her footing and Lacy pushed her off of the balcony. The girl fell from the immense height of the tower. Lacy took the moment to just lay on the steps. Hours passed as Lacy rested. She mustered up enough strength to go down the stairs. At the bottom of the tower she found the body of the girl. She looked as if all of her bones were broken. Her eyes were open and Lacy could see the blood pooling in them. Lacy became nauseous at the sight of her body. Looking to the left she saw a hole. A hole that was all too familiar with her. Lacy collected her thoughts. “This has to end” Stepping through the hole, only one thing was in her mind. This has to end.
Chapter 10
Lacy woke up to the sound of snow falling. The room that she was in was warm. A fire was crackling in the corner of the room. Looking out of the window of the house she saw a massive snow storm that affected her vision to see past the tree line. Lacy examined her surroundings and saw a normal looking room. In the middle was a couch. Just looking at the couch made Lacy tired. Walking around the cabin she noticed the room looked untouched, unlike every other place she had been in. Sitting down on the couch Lacy's eyes became heavy as she began to fall asleep. Just as she was about to pass out a loud bugle of an elk erupted. Lacy ran to the window to see where it was. As she looked outside it seemed as if the storm had stopped for just a second. As the snow ceased, an elk poked through the tree line. Its eyes were looking directly at Lacy. Just as fast as it disappeared, the snow storm erupted. “You’re a failure Lacy.” A voice swept through the cabin. It sounded familiar. “You killed her you know” Lacy placed the voice. It was her father. Lacy’s mind was racing. How did he get here? Why was he saying this? Where was he? And her last thought, Was this really him? The elk bugle rang throughout the cabin again. “I pitied you” The voice was Collin. Lacy searched the windows of the house trying to find the origin of the voices she was hearing. “Everyone hates you” Lacy stepped towards the door reaching for the handle. A sudden and intense fear brushed over her. Lacy felt that if she opened that door, whatever was telling her these things would take her life. Stepping away from the door she heard the Elk bugle again. “Why did you leave me Lacy?” The voice was her father again. This time it sounded as if he was crying. “I told you I needed you and you left. After everything I sacrificed for you, after all of the times I had to go to that school to bail you out. This is how you repay me.” Lacy could feel her emotions boiling inside of her. Everything that was being said was true in a sense so Lacy was letting it affect her more than anything else ever had. She could feel tears running down her face. “I'm trying to get back to you dad, I just don't know how.” Lacy looked towards the window and saw the Elk. It had gotten closer to the cabin. The snow had calmed down. The Elk opened its mouth and spoke in the voice of her father. “You won’t make it out of this place alive Lacy”.
Chapter 11
Looking into the eyes of the Elk, Lacy’s blood ran cold. Her mind was racing. Animals can’t talk but yet this Elk just looked her in the eyes and spoke in the voice of her father as well as other people she knew. The snow had ceased tremendously compared to when she had first appeared in the cabin. Lacy worked up the courage to ask the Elk a question. “What do you want from me?” The Elk did not reply, instead it turned to the tree line and left. Remembering the rules of this place, Lacy understood that the Elk had to die. The question was how she was going to accomplish that. Lacy gathered enough courage to open the door to examine her surroundings. Outside of the cabin was a blanket of blinding snow. The sun was high in the sky blinding Lacy. Before Lacy went back inside she noticed a wooden stump sticking out of the snow. Sticking out of the stump was an axe. Lacy slammed the door shut and closed the latch. Lacy knew that the dull kitchen knife she had wouldn’t be able to handle an elk, but an axe would. Lacy began to plan a way to get to the Elk. She took notice of certain aspects that the Elk had. Every time it made the bugle noise, it would change voices. The closer it got, the more the snowstorm would calm. Lacy had to play its game until it got close enough to the axe so that she could reach the axe before it could reach her. The elk bugle sounded again. “You really think that anyone thought you could accomplish anything.”. It was her teacher. Lacy peered out of the window. The snow had ceased ever so slightly. Lacy could see the silhouette of the elk near the same spot it was in before. “What do you think, we cared about you? We pitied you and your pitiful existence.” Lacy began to brush off the sentences coming from the elk's mouth. Lacy was contemplating if the axe play was the way to move further. The bugle went off again. “Lacy” the voice was the smiling man. The smiling man was a recent memory to Lacy. This elk had to know who she was to be able to know who he was. Lacy looked out of the window. The elk was watching her. This time Lacy saw it make the awful sound she had continued to hear. Instead of a voice she had heard. It was a voice that was unfamiliar to her. “Why fight it child. Why fight what you truly are. Why fight human nature? Why fight reality? Do you truly think you can escape? Do you truly believe that you will see your father again? Do you believe that you have people to rely on in this place? Do you truly believe that God is with you here? You have no chance. Smite me down if you must. HOPE SHOULD BE ABANDONED IN THIS PLACE” Lacy brushed off every word that was said. Rushing to the door she threw it open. Running through the snow. She reached the axe. It was a standard fire axe with a yellow handle and black blade. It wasn't heavy to her, it had to be adrenaline. Rushing towards the elk it did not fight back. She plunged the axe head into the elk's skull. Blood rushed out of the wound, covering Lacy. The elk fell to the floor with a booming thud. As Lacy stared at the body of the animal lying in the snow, a hole appeared behind her. Lacy had to believe that there was an end to this. She stepped through the hole. With a new found axe.

ALL TIME PICK RECORD: 223-156 (verified on my instagram finzchatsmma)
LAST WEEK: 5-7 (ouch)
PRELIMS
SW W Bout: Emily Ducote v. Vanessa Demopoulos
Records: 13-8 v. 10-5
Last 5 Fights: WLLWW v. WLWWW

• Ducote is coming off a win against Ashley Yoder who was coming off a 2 year layoff herself
• Emily throws with a lot of power but often finds herself getting outvolumed in earlier rounds - she debatably lost RD1 against Yoder but almost got a late round finish with how she pushed the pace
• Against Hill and Loopy, she was kept on the backfoot and was getting outworked by both of them - not bad losses considering those are two elite/crafty strawweights
• Ducote has excellent TD defense as well - the only bad thing is she sometimes leaves openings on the break of a takedown - both loopy and Angela clipped Ducote a couple times on the exit
• Vanessa has a big reach disadvantage in nearly every fight she has fought in, but she was able to record a clean knockdown on Maria Oliviera who had a 10+ inch reach advantage, so I don’t think this matters too much
• One thing about Vanessa is her reach is a$$, so she is absorbing way more strikes than a normal strawweight would - but then you look at Ducote, and she somehow absorbs even more (vanessa 5 to ducote’s 7)
• Ducote lands double the strikes Vanessa does and Ducote’s only UFC losses have been to high caliber competition who have been able to outland her
• I don’t envision Vanessa getting a takedown which is her main path to victory - she does have some punching power but Emily is way more accurate and lands bigger shots
• Vanessa has a chance to get Emily out early since she’s a slow starter, but I think Emily has what it takes to finish the fight here
• Vanessa is debatably on a 2 fight losing streak and the one impressive win she had, she was knocked down very early, so...
• For betting purposes, I think I am staying far away

PICK: Emily Ducote by RD3 TKO
BW Bout: Alatengheili v. Kleydson Rodriguez
Records: 16-9-2 v. 8-3
Last 5 Fights: LWWDL v. LWLWW

• 1st thing I like to examine is if either fighter has been chinned: Alatengheili has been chinned 3 times, all outside the UFC, to varying levels of opponents; Kleydson has yet to suffer a KO loss
• I rate Alatengheili’s win over Chad Anheliger more than anyone on Kleydson’s resume
• Kleydson has had one convincing win and it was a KO against Shannon Ross - who hasn’t knocked out Shannon Ross? - The other win on DWCS was a complete mismatch as he had a 5 inch reach advantage, and his opponent finished his pro career with a record of 6-4 after that.
• Alan hasn’t broken 50 sig strikes landed in any of his 7 UFC bouts - he throws with power as evidenced in his RD1 KO over Kevin Croom - he had a near 10 inch reach disadvantage in that bout as well
• Both men will utilize takedowns if they feel they can win a round with them - they don’t land many and aren’t good at controlling
• To properly handicap Kleydson, we can only really look at his bout against CJ Vergara since that’s the only one with no shenanigans
• In that bout, he was off to a face start, but time and time again I am seeing that if he is on the backfoot, he is not having a good time
• Kleydson is not good at fending off takedowns, but he is good at reversing positions on bottom at the expense of a lot of energy
• Alan’s main paths to victory are going to be shoot for takedowns and pressure Kleydson as much as he can
• I think alat can definitely do this - in fights he has lost, he finds moments of success - against Gutierrez, he got lit up with leg kicks for 12 minutes and then almost found a knock out against the cage
• Kleydson’s only path to win here is a knockout early - I think Alat has more paths to victory if he can mix in wrestling and continue his forward pressure throughout the fight, leading to a late round finish or a decision victory
• For betting purposes, I do like the idea of a unit on Alatengheili

PICK: Alatengheili by UD
SW W Bout: Piera Rodriguez v. Ariane Carnelossi
Records: 9-1 v. 14-3
Last 5 Fights: LWWWW v. LWWLW

• Both women have not fought in a year, and Ariane hasn’t fought in 2 years since her loss to Loopy Godinez
• Carnelossi doesn’t handle takedowns well - she has an 8% TD defense - she was taken down 8 times by Godinez and THREE times by LIANG NA THE GOAT
• In the defense of Ariane, she did suffer a knee injury in the first round which left her wide open for takedowns, but surrendering 3 to liang na is not a good look
• Piera, on the other hand, has landed takedowns on every opponent she has faced thus far and averages over 3 per contest
• Another thing to note - Carnelossi’s 2 UFC wins have come against winless UFC competitors - Nunes and Liang have ZERO UFC victories
• Piera lands more volume than Carnelossi and I think she will be able to have her way on the feet
• I have yet to be impressed by a full Carnelossi performance: she did do well against Nunes but she was rocked by Liang in RD1 and was controlled for a decent amount of time
• On the feet, I’d say the striking is very similar although I give the slight edge to Piera
• Carnelossi can also go for her own takedowns here, but Piera has done decent against women who chase TDs on her
• She did get tapped out by Gillian Robertson but I will chalk that up as an exception since Gillian is an elite BJJ practitioner
• Ultimately, I see more paths to victory for Piera - she can clip Ariane, fend off her takedowns, and get takedowns of her own
• Ariane can win by amassing control time and landing a lucky punch, but I don’t envision that happening
• Plus, Piera has been in multiple close fights that were debatably 1-1 after 2 rounds, and she has come out on top in Round 3 in all of them
• If you want to take a dog shot here, not the worst idea - this fight will more than likely be 1-1 heading into RD3 and anything can happen in low level WMMA, especially considering Ariane has been on the shelf for a while and could have been improving her game in that time
• For betting purposes, it’s dog or pass so I am passing

PICK: Piera Rodriguez by Unanimous Decision
MW Bout: Abus Magomedov v. Warlley Alves
Records: 25-6-1 v. 14-7
Last 5 Fights: LLWWW v. LLLWL

• Both fighters are coming off of short losing streaks, but both fighters were dominated in those fights by their opponents
• Abus is hard to predict - we’ve only seen him in 3 ufc bouts - he got a quick KO finish over Dustin Stoltzfus who had never been KO’d prior, a KO loss to Sean Strickland who simply outworked and put a pace on him, and a decision loss to Caio Borralho
• In that loss to Caio, we learned a lot - Abus is RD1 KO or bust and for him to be -200+ is crazy even knowing his opponent is chinny and has been finished a bunch
• Now let’s look at the Alves side - he has lost 5 of his last 7 and got finished in 4 of those losses - KO’d by Ikram at MW, split decision loss to Dalby at WW which he debatably won, KO loss to Jeremiah Wells where he debatably won RD1, triangle choke loss to Randy Brown where he won RD1 clearly, and a KO loss to James Krause where he was simply outclassed
• Alves has not performed well when he has the reach disadvantage, and he has a 6 inch reach disadvantage against Abus and will be significantly smaller
• It will be fun to see the leg kicks in this fight - both guys love to fire them at will and both have had successful KOs from their kicks
• If I was coaching Alves to win, the blueprint to beat Abus is simple - gas him out with clinch work and takedown attempts and hunt for a late round finish - Abus gasses in every fight we’ve seen that extends past the 1st
• I give Alves the wrestling advantage here - Magomedov might be Dagestani but he’s shot for only 1 takedown in his 3 UFC bouts and was unsuccessful - he shot for 0 against Borralho in a fight he was getting clipped on the feet
• Alves is chinny so backing him is a mega concern but backing Abus is equally as dumb especially at -295
• Both Alves and Magomedov are super active in RD1, so if this somehow extends beyond that, Alves is a worthy live bet
• I am predicting either a RD1 KO from Abus, or a RD3/Decision finish from Alves
• For betting purposes, I’d much rather bet the under 1.5 rds than I would a bet on either guy to win

PICK: Abus Magomedov by RD1 KO
BW W Bout: Tamires Vidal v. Melissa Gatto
Records: 7-2 v. 8-2-2
Last 5 Fights: LWWWW v. LLWWW

• The narrative for this fight is Gatto is looking for a bounce back and Vidal is the perfect opponent to get that win
• This is actually a move up in weight for Gatto - her last fight was canceled after weigh ins so rather than cutting weight again, she is fighting at BW for the 1st time in her UFC run
• Gatto seemingly possesses all the upside here - she has the takedown edge, she is better at fending off takedowns, and she has the power edge with 2 UFC KO wins compared to Vidal’s one
• Off of stats alone, you would think this fight is going to be razor close since their outputs are nearly identical
• Getting out struck by Montserrat Rendon isn’t the best look for Vidal, but Rendon fights a much different way than Gatto - she is more grindy and clinchy whilst Gatto is more in your face
• Watching the Rendon fight, it is clear what Vidal’s strategy is - she is going to pound low leg kicks until her opponent puts her hands down, then she is going to fire overhangs off of leg kick feints
• Against Rendon, this did not work - Rendon countered nearly every low kick with a cross and got multiple takedowns off of Vidal’s leg kicks
• The Gatto side isn’t super trustworthy in this matchup - when she gets taken down, she is willing to stay in guard for a long time while she fishes for subs
• If this fight hits the ground, I think a finish will soon come after
• I give Gatto the power edge, the grappling edge, and the takedown edge - I believe she can clip Vidal on the way in and get the fight to the mat, leading to a submission victory
• For betting purposes, I like this fight to end in sub

PICK: Melissa Gatto by RD2 Submission
LHW Bout: Oumar Sy v. Tuco Tokkos
Records: 9-0 v. 10-3
Last 5 Fights: WWWWW v. WWWLW

• This fight was put together this week so it’s hard to give a full handicap but I will try my best
• After suffering a KO defeat to Mingyang Zhang in the Road to UFC as a -600 favorite, Tuco went on a 3 fight win streak: decision win against a 3-2 guy, and back to back TKO victories over guys with 1-7 and 19-10 records - his record is insanely inflated
• Oumar has a relatively simple gameplan - get this fight to the mat as quickly as possible - he is a big position over submission guy so you won’t see him chasing finishes on the ground super often
• He is willing to get a sub, and he willing to get a ground and pound TKO, and he is willing to back mount for 15 minutes en route to a decision victory
• Looking at the tape, Tokkos can so easily get his back taken and has let opponents do this such as Clayton York
• I don’t think Oumar is chinny, and Tokkos’s main win condition is going to be an early KO which I don’t see him finding
• Oumar by sub is a risky play considering he is all 3 paths to victory, but I like it when you factor in Tokkos’ proclivity to being taken down by higher level wrestlers
• For betting purposes, I really like Oumar as a parlay piece

PICK: Oumar Sy by RD1 Submission
LW Bout: Tom Nolan v. Victor Martinez
Records: 6-1 v. 13-5
Last 5 Fights: LWWWW v. LWWWW

• Tom Nolan as a -500 favorite is absolutely crazy to me considering his only UFC performance was a 30 second KO loss, so I am going to try to do everything in my power to look for fade material in this writeup
• Well, I didn’t get far. Martinez is coming off of a KO loss to Jordan Leavitt, who only has one other KO victory in his career (by a slam)
• There’s nothing on tape that would show Martinez is chinny - his KO loss was a knee to the body, and his only other KO loss was his 1st professional fight
• Prior to his KO loss, Nolan was on a 6 fight win streak and a 4 fight KO streak
• Ok - I have seen enough
• Martinez was nearly KO’d in his DWCS fight in RD1 and somehow managed a comeback
• Nolan is getting a quick finish here or he is going to get finished trying - I will take my chances on him though
• For betting purposes, Nolan by KO is a worthy read

PICK: Tom Nolan by RD1 KO
MAIN CARD
SW W Bout: Angela Hill v. Luana Pinheiro
Records: 16-13 v. 11-2
Last 5 Fights: WLWWL v. LWWWW

• Can’t really handicap this fight based on stats - Angela Hill been in the UFC for eons it feels like and she is an aging fighter who has liked somewhat decent in her recent fights
• On the feet, I give Luana the power edge - she loves throwing overhands and hooks and throws with vicious intent
• In her fight against Michelle Waterson, she was losing rounds via points until she would clip Michelle with a big shot, thus swinging the round in her favor
• Luana doesn’t throw with much volume, but when she lands, she draws a big reaction which is key for the judges especially in WMMA when the rounds are separated by a razor thin margin
• The question is is Angela Hill the type to get rocked like this? I think not
• Angela is going to turn this into a grindy type fight - she definitely has the fight IQ to win a fight like this
• Angela’s last fight against Denise Gomez is a very good one to rewatch since Luana and Denise share similar characteristics in the fact that they both throw with heat early and they both gas as the fight wanes on
• In Hill’s losses, she was either getting taken down a lot or was outvolumed on the feet - Luana doesn’t throw with high volume so don’t see that happening - Luana does average over 2 TDs per fight but she’s not a high level wrestler like that and I see Angela having more success in that department as well
• Hard to make a pick here - I think Luana will throw the bigger shots, but I also think Angela can grind out Luana along the fence and point strike her way to a very close decision victory
• For betting purposes, I like the over 2.5 rds, but I think this should be a fade

PICK: Angela Hill by Split Decision
BW Bout: Adrian Yanez v. Vinicius Salvador
Records: 16-5 v. 14-6
Last 5 Fights: LLWWW v. LLWWW

• This card seems to be full of fighters looking to get right after a bad loss, or fighters the UFC is trying to prop up giving them a can to defeat
• This is one of those fights
• Yanez is on a 2 fight losing streak after having big jump ups in competition: he lost to Rob Font by getting absolutely destroyed from his jab, and he lost to Jonathan Martinez by getting absolutely destroyed with leg kicks
• We have seen Yanez in a UFC branded octagon 8 times, and NOT ONE of those fights included a takedown - he wasn’t, nor did he shoot for one and succeed
• Salvador, on the other hand, shot for 2 takedowns against CJ Vergara and landed zero, and he shot for 6 takedowns on Victor Altamarino and landed 1
• For all intensive purposes, this fight is going to stay standing, and Yanez has excelled on the feet against lower level competition
• It is interesting to note: of his 8 ufc bouts, 3 of them were a 1st round KO victory
• Against Randy Costa, he lost RD1 before getting a liver shot KO in RD2
• Against Davey Grant, he arguably lost 2 rounds before winning a split decision
• Salvador has had one impressive performance and it was a KO win against Shannon Ross, and who hasn’t KO’d Shannon Ross
• Watching the tape on his fights against CJ and Altamarino, you can see a couple of things: he does badly against guys that mix in TDs (Yanez will not), and he throws with vicious intent just like Yanez. If he has you pressed against the cage, you better bite down on the mouthpiece and hope for success.
• Salvador is also moving up a weight class so his chin might be better and he may have more power
• Ultimately, I’ve always thought of Yanez as having Top-15 level talent, and I cannot expect him to lose here
• For betting purposes, I may throw Yanez in a parlay or simply bet this fight to end in KO

PICK: Adrian Yanez by RD2 KO
WW Bout: Ramiz Brahimaj v. Themba Gorimbo
Records: 10-4 v. 12-4
Last 5 Fights: WLWLW v. WWLWL

• Pretty simple to breakdown Braimaj - he has 10 wins, all by submission, and 3 losses by decision, and the 1 ko loss he has could have went to a decision but his ear was falling off so the doctor had to step in - he also has not fought since 2022 whilst Themba has been super active in the UFC recently and has shown huge improvements fight to fight
• In fights that stay standing, Brahimaj has been pummeled - he barely shot for a takedown against Max Griffin and was brutalized on the feet for 3 rounds until the ref stepped in for his ear
• We know Ramiz’s game, but does Themba have the tools to expose Ramiz’ weaknesses and negate his strengths?
• Well, Themba has 2 Guillotine losses on his record - it is concerning how he keeps his neck out there to be taken when he shoots for a takedown
• I am hoping Themba has improved his FIGHT IQ since his Fletcher fight since he has a new team and new camp - if he shoots for takedowns, he might be cooked with a Ramiz gilly
• Themba recorded a nasty knockdown on Takashi Soto in their bout - I see this fight going similarly
• Themba losing by gilly is the only way I see him losing - if he goes in for a lazy takedown perhaps
• Outside of that, Themba has KO power shown in his most recent performance, has striking ability shown in his Soto performance, and has sub/back mount ability, which has been shown in all his UFC fights thus far
• For betting purposes, I really like Themba as a straight pick

PICK: Themba Gorimbo by RD2 KO
WW Bout: Khaos Williams v. Carlston Harris
Records: 14-3 v. 19-5
Last 5 Fights: WLWWL v. WWLWW

• On the surface, this appears to be a striker v. grappler matchup, but I wouldn’t go so far as to say that - Carlston definitely has hands outside of his elite grappling - Khaos, yeah, he’s mainly a striker
• If this fight stays standing, I give Khaos the slight edge - he doubles Carlston’s output and 3 KO victories compared to Carlston’s 1
• Wathcing over his last few fights - Khaos fights in a very particular manner - he charges in with a flurry of power shots and is willing to get point fought to a decision if he doesn’t land a KO blow
• He has a split loss to Randy Brown which was super close, and it was only close because of the occasional power shot Khaos landed
• He has a decision win against Bodoya in a fight I could have seen him lose, but his big power flurries are what got him the W
• He is very good at fending off takedowns as he fended off 4 of Randy Brown’s attempts and 2 of Bodoya’s, but we also haven’t seen him tested against elite wrestlers (Carlston is not an elite wrestler, mind you)
• Now looking at Harris - not the best striker but he has excellent clinch work if he gets close and excellent BJJ if the fight somehow hits the mat
• One thing I noticed in his Wells fight - he got dominated for 2 rounds and nearly subbed, but it wasn’t because he was taken down - rather, he kinda almost threw himself at the ground and Wells followed him
• Against Gooden, he showcased his clinch work and showed he has pretty good takedowns
• This is a match of question marks: We haven’t really seen Khaos’ grappling/wrestling on display yet, and we haven’t seen what happens if Carlston Harris is forced to stand and abandon his wrestling for 3 rounds
• If we’re going by paths to victory, it’ll be a long night for Harris if he can’t get a takedown
• Khaos I think just has more ways to win: he can get the knockout since we’ve seen Harris recently chinned; he can get the decision victory if he outlanding Harris as well
• BUT... after reviewing Khaos v Michel Pereira, how on earth can you pick this man?
• Pereira landed takedowns at will and nearly got a RNC on khaos - if harris gets into similar spots, it should be wraps
• For betting purposes, I really like Carlston as a straight pick

PICK: Carlston Harris by RD2 Sub
FeathW Bout: Edson Barboza v. Lerone Murphy
Records: 24-11 v. 13-0-1
Last 5 Fights: WWLLW v. WWWWW

• We find ourselves in the main event and this one is fairly straightforward to break down, not straightforward to provide a pick
• Barboza is coming off back to back wins, one a KO on Billy Q and another a 5 round decision victory over Sodiq
• Against Sodiq, he was nearly KO’d in the 1st, but then he himself almost got Sodiq KO’d later in the bout
• Edson is a super dangerous striker - you didn’t need me to tell you that - the issue he’s had in his career has been not being able to beat the upper echelon of fighters in his weight class
• Edson has recorded knockdown in nearly ALL of his past 10 fights, having 1 in at least 6 of them, even in fights he wound up losing
• Edson does have trouble with the takedown, but I rate Murphy’s wrestling similarly to Sodiq’s - I picked Sodiq in that fight for this reason but Edson turned it up to a whole ‘nother level as the fight progressed
• We have yet to see Murphy compete in a 5 rounder, but we have also not seen Murphy get super tired in the 3 rounders he’s fought in
• Both guys are proven finishers with multiple KO victories, but both guys have also shown abilities to grind out close decision victories - although Barboza often finds himself on the losing side if a fight sees the scorecards
• The level of competition is not comparable - Lerone Murphy’s best wins are against guys that are no longer in the UFC, and even the guys that are, they aren’t the best level
• Lerone leaves so many openings on the feet - Edson’s unique striking is going to give him issues IMO
• Edson does have a chin issue - this is the only concern - he was wobbled and nearly finished by Sodiq in RD1, and Sodiq isn’t known for his striking like that
• Edson was also knocked down twice by Giga and even once by Bryce Mitchell of all people
• Edson is also aging so that could be a factor here, but ultimately, how do you not side with the guy who’s been on a recent career resurgence AND the guy who has fought the higher level of competition AND the guy who has been in 5 rounders before?
• For paths to victory, they both have KO and decision, so can’t really use that to predict either - but Murphy may have a sub path even though he has 0 wins by that method - in his Culibao fight, he nearly got a RNC from his wrestling
• I have seen Murphy wobbled before, and I wouldn’t be shocked to see an Edson finish
• BUT - I have also seen Edson wobbled and KO’d by lesser competition, and I have seen Murphy utilize his grappling before
• For betting purposes, I like Lerone Murphy straight up - his win conditions are too volatile in this matchup

PICK: Lerone Murphy by Unanimous Decision

I do not drink or smoke. Been dealing with some sinus issues for the past few weeks, since around April 25th. The aching teeth have faded.
My teeth are generally sensitive, but I came down with a sinus infection a couple weeks ago (ear pressure, sinus pressure, upper teeth ache, the whole nine), and I'm mostly over it except the ear pressure.
But my very front upper tooth is still so very sensitive, while it mostly went away with the other ones, this one remains. It had a very small cavity that was filled back in February I believe. I had no issues with it being so sensitive until the end of last month. That's when I started having to drink everything out of a straw. I don't go back to my dentist until July, and I'm supposed to get braces placed in August, but not until I get this under control.
Also feels really sensitive when I floss between my two front teeth. It doesn't hurt, just feels really weird. My gums are also not swollen, I don't have a toothache and I don't have pain eating anything that's not cold. Also not sensitive to pressure.
Can't afford a root canal, don't want to lose the tooth, so I'm just wondering if my sinus issues could play a part? I just switched to a different Sensodyne toothpaste I' going to see if helps.

At a dead end with experimentation and looking for input on my situation!
I got Covid In October 2022 while already sick with a sinus infection and on antibiotics. It was a mild infection I developed constipation and insomnia that has not left since I fell ill. Things popped off 2 weeks later after I hit the gym.
Highlights: (from October 2022 - Present) - I tested with a 12.6 on the longhauler index under the cytokine panel (may 2023) with Bruce Patterson, last test In march 2024 i was under 1. - progression from slight intestinal methane overgrowth in 2023 to a significant methane overgrowth and addition of hydrogen SIBO in present) - I have done antimicrobial treatment and had an FMT, currently on antimicrobials again and still only passing stool once in very other day very constipated - cognitive impairment, depressive thoughts (this is volatile on a day to day basis i will go through periods where I don’t feel significantly overwhelmed and stressed, and then I will feel like everything is manageable and so I don’t have these feelings or thoughts), malaise, brain fog, muscle twitching, sensitivity to sounds, head pressure between eyes and on temples, memory troubles, very stiff neck and mid back on and off, terrible insomnia (needs medication) if not I get hypnic jerks on repeat for hours and an very overwhelming feeling in my body that can best be described as anxious, restless, and I get squeamish. I will eventually sleep but it will take 6 hours and it will be of exhaustion. - I’ve had chronic sinus infections every day for the past 19 months they have improved significantly once I halted probiotics. Was blood and green snot every day
Summary of abnormal testing: 2023: Basophils have been consistently above high normal on some tests and normal on others - above high normal progesterone - h pylori (been dealt with) - slightly elevated histamine (plasma) - slightly below normal natural killer cells - SPECT scan (concentration) showed some low levels of blood flow to 6 major areas of brain, the write up mentioned results show a likely past brain injury. I’ve never had a brain injury in my life -> I know it’s from Covid just don’t know how it fits in the puzzle . - my organic acid test had above high normal 4-hydroxyphenylacetic arabinose, glycolic, oxalic, 3-methtylglutaric acid. And below normal pyruvic acid. Was also notably on the lower end of a lot of my amino acid metabolites - very mild ochratoxin A mild residue on mold test (was treated)
Crossed off: - Covid spike (in blood) - negative Lyme, negative EBV - majority of autoimmune tests - B cell testing - cytokine testing - Mast cell activation markers Lymphocyte markers (cd3, cd4, cd8) - normal general blood testing, complement testing (c3, c4, CH50), differential testing, general hematology, , lgG, IgM, IgE, IgA, , c reactive, liver enzymes, cortisol am, glucose random, rheumatoid factor, vit D, thyroglobulin AB, thyroid peroxidase AB, cholesterol, HDL, LDL, triglycerides, t4 free, Tsh, potassium, sodium, fsh, estradiol, testosterone, dheas, insulin
If you made it this far in my little essay cheers loooool this shit is absolutely fucking insane, you’re not alone 😂. I am seeing an infectious disease specialist in July and am looking to book a neurologist. I look forward to your responses and wishing you all the best guys🙏