Hamish, my feline family member, is turning seven on the 29th of May.
He's FeLV+, and according to his vet it's very unusual that he has lived to be so old. So, I want to REALLY celebrate his existence and (relative) old age!
Any kind of card-based solidarity would be great (Hamish doesn't read, so there's no need for *actual* birthday cards).
Some Hamish facts:

• He is the kindest, most forgiving cat I've ever known. He's incapable of carrying a grudge.
• His zen demeanour is likely due to the amount of exercise he gets: running laps every morning, chasing the laser whenever he can convince us to operate it, and doing frequent bicep curls to lift & drop his robot feeder in hopes of some kibble spilling out.
• He is a champion cuddler, allowing unlimited head-kisses and frequently adopting the position of "little spoon" when one of his humans is sleeping.
• Like many cats, he imitates the sounds of other creatures- clicking at bugs, chirping at birds, and meowing at humans. His human speech is eerily low-pitched and raspy, and often scares first-time visitors. He understands conversational back-and-forth and will carry on long conversations with us.
• He's a sort of love/affection transformer: for every unit of affection you give him, he returns four units back.

Trigger warning I guess since this is 2024 /OWLCITY
Hello, it's me. My last post here was quite silly. I'm back for more.
Lately, I've been listening to Maybe I'm Dreaming since the last album is a snoozer. Air Traffic is rather dark looking back.
I'll start with the first verse.
A song seemingly about the love of flying on planes with notes of escapism. Okay. That's normal. But the way the final bit of verse 1 carries to verse 2 is quite disturbing to me.
"Relax your back and let the noise Sing you to sleep in my arms If you awake before we arrive I will carry you down And I won't make a sound"
Who's he on the plane with? An old person. Adam's a pretty big guy. He can lift an elderly person with ease.
Now look at verse 2:
"The scent is strong as we move on And breathe in the pristine crime scene The false veneer is old like a substitute volunteer From, oh, some other year"
Yeah, crime scenes don't smell pleasant. Pristine crime scene? It just happened. Who did it? Who is the old volunteer?
"I'm just a shell as far as I can tell So I paint my eyes a light green"
He's a shell of himself and thinks changing his eye color will help him cope?
Is this an admission of guilt or was he just a witness?
So, is this the tale of a murder case?
edit: just noticed my last post was made exactly a year ago lol

I've been into DnD for years and years, listening to DnD podcasts and playing every other week with a group for 1,5 years now. And since several of my colleagues are geeks like me but had never had the chance to play I offered to DM for them. I had a couple of weeks of sick leave, so plenty of time to plan something special. Why I chose IKEA as the battleground: because I like to troll my friends. Also, again, they had never played before and I thought it would make it easier to improvise if they were familiar with the surroundings.
I think it was a pretty basic labyrinth setup; mimics in the living room department, spiders in the beds, goblins in the wardrobes... I even nicked one of the 'find the alien' floor plans they give kids at the ball pit for reference. But of course I sprinkled plenty of IKEA references throughout.
I started the session saying it was a late evening after a sunday opening (we were playing on a sunday), and everyone present was still working when bam! blackout. When the lights came back on, all the customers still present were gone, but there was some furniture oddly carrying the same name where they once were. I made Ingvar (the founder of IKEA) appear Tom Bombadil-style (I mean, he's yellow and blue all over anyway) and explain that there were some bad angry customer vibes. Apparently this happens every now and again in IKEAs all over the world, and that after meeting Gary Gygax in the great beyond he'd come up with a system of eliminating this evil force by turning the IKEA in question in a temporary dungeon, turning all the customers temporarily into furniture and the evil energy into monsters that could safely (ahem) be dealt with.
My players were allowed any improvised weapons they could find. Pencils for darts were along the line I was thinking, but one of them collected every fire extinguisher he could get his hands on, and another rolled exceptionally well and got herself a nail gun. I also lifted the phone system from the podcast Dungeons and Daddies where they had to roll if they wanted to use them.
Many shenanigans were had. Mostly because I thought I had considered every short cut and secret passage known to IKEA workers - except for that VERY important one behind the showcase for the solar panels that heads straight down to the lower level of course.
At the cafetaria they could have a short rest, but to get there they had to answer three IKEA trivia questions from Geralt of Trivia (DaDaddies is a very good podcast okay). Once answered, they could get drinks with a variety of effects and get some more information where this evil energy originated from (customer service, duh).
Market hall was overgrown with evil vines. The floor was SNURRAD (tik-tok-hyped lazy susan for in your fridge) in a hall in the self service area, but if they conquered it they got themselves a fork lift.
After the cashline, at customer service, they got their first hint of what their goal was: one computer was still working, showing info on an item that has not been sold in many years: the DUVBO kitchen doors.
True story: this line was discontinued because of the bad quality. Guess which store they forgot to inform at the time? Ours. When did this happen? Right when they changed from FAKTUM kitchens to METOD kitchens. So anyone returning their doors not only needed a different kind of doors, but an entirely different kind of kitchen, because the new cabinets came in different sizes. This cost our store a LOT of money. Eldritch nightmare item: check. What did our companions find on the computer screen? That there was still one in the system in the depot.
Down to the lower levels they went. I nicked a puzzle straight out of Tomb of Horrors especially for them (relax - it only teleported them right back to the start) and had one of my player's girlfriend who also works at our store save them batman-style from a couple of rogue dishwashers. After retrieving the door from the shuttle and destroying it they heard a terrible scream coming from the customer service area above them - my magnum opus. My final boss. Penelope - aka the angry Karen.
Well, until my sorcerer rolled a critical succes on his charisma roll and calmed her down with a free coffee voucher.
Can't have it all I suppose. If only this worked in real life.
Anyway, it was a very fun night and I'm kinda sad I didn't record it because it was one-of-a-kind, but at least we had fun and now I find myself with a DnD group and apparently I just am a DM now.

Wondering if anyone has ever done pft remotely? Can it even be done remotely? I live in an area where the closest pft is 7 hours away. This is a long and expensive trip for me to make with a young baby.
My healthcare provider is unsure if I'm experiencing a prolapse, said it's out of her level of expertise. I'm 9 months pp, started working out again and now have a sensation like a tampon is not in properly. I've scared myself reading things online. I'm scared to lift anything heavy, run, or carry my baby. It's like no one cares about women's health. Was told just to do kegels or make the 7 hr trip to find out if I'm experiencing prolapse. I just started feeling more like myself again and now I feel so defeated. I don't know what to do.

strength:

• Manhandles Jon and carries him outside
  
• Manhandles Jon and crams his entire body into a cat carrier
  
• Manhandles Jon and uses his foot to plug a leaky faucet
  
• Manhandles Jon, using him as a TV remote
  
• Ragdolls John with a single swipe
  
• Kicks Jon’s chair over, with Jon in it.
  
• Gives Jon a limp
  
• Stuffs Jon’s head in a bottle
  
• Implies he can rip off Jon’s lips.
  
• Actually does it.
  
• Shreds Jon’s chair into an unrecognizable mess
  
• Shreds a couch up until there’s nothing left but a tiny scrap of fabric.
  
• Slams a mailman around like nothing
  
• Hauls Jon up a tree at running speed
  
• Holds himself up by his teeth
  
• Lifts his body weight with his teeth
  
• Rips out a tv’s screen with his teeth
  
• Bends a mirror
  
• Drives a long nail through a door
  
• Pushes Odie all the way around a swingset
  
• Cleanly bisects a christmas tree by slamming a door
  
• Sends a snowman’s head flying with a baseball bat
  
• Breaks a table in two with a stomp
  
• Stomps Odie flat
  
• Stomps through the floorboards
  
• Flings an apple hard enough to knock Odie flying
  
• Knocks Jon over with a snowball
  
• Bashes down a door
  
• Punches down a door
  
• Accidently pushes a door off its hinges
  
• Knocks a down a door by tackling Jon into it
  
• [Pushes a door off its hinges and walks with its weight on his back into his house]
  
• [Busts a hole in the door]
  
• [Again]
  
• [Smashes a cat door off its hinges with a single push]
  
• [Smashes a door in half with Odie]
  
• [Working with Odie, busts down a door using Jon’s chair as a battering ram.]
  
• [Sends a fence gate flying off its hinges by smashing into it]
  
• [Smashes his head through a table]
  
• [Catches up to a car and rips its fender off]
  
• [Catches up to a car and rips an entire axle off]
  
• [Rips a fender off a car and a mailbox out of the ground]
  
• [Sends Jon flying with a kick]
  
• [Hurls an adult woman out of his house]
  
• [Drags a woman back to Jon]
  
• [Drags a mailman to Jon as a gift]
  
• [Drags and carries Jon outside]
  
• [Walks with the weight of Jon and a chair on his back]
  
• [Rips the cap off a fire hydrant]
  
• [Launches Odie into the horizon]
  
• [Punches another cat so hard they go flying]
  
• [Launches another cat into the horizon]
  
• [Launches Odie above the panel]
  
• [Kicks Odie to the ceiling]
  
• [Kicks Odie from one room into the other]
  
• [Punts Odie into the distance]
  
• [Launches Odie above the panel. Claims to have sent him to the moon.]
  
• [Kicks Odie so hard, he spins fast enough to hover in the air]
  
• [Kicks Odie so high in the air, it takes a significant amount of time for him to fall back down]
  
• [Smacks Odie with a signpost hard enough to send him flying far into the distance.]
  
• [Smacks Nermal high into the sky]
  
• [Sends Nermal flying with a flick]
  
• [Sends Nermal through a door]
  
• [Again]
  
• [And again]
  
• [Sends Nermal flying through a wall]
  
• [Smashes an enormous spider with a rolled up newspaper]
  
• [Lifts a table full of food]
  
• [Juggles a sofa]
  
• [Hurls a tv]
  
• [Holds up a tv]
  
• [Nails a tv to the ceiling]
  
• [Lifts a refrigerator]
  
• [Lifts a refrigerator and a giant magnet]
  
• [Pushes a refrigerator]
  
• [Rips a refrigerator door off its hinges offscreen]
  
• [Moves Jon’s above ground pool inside to disguise it as a food dish]
  
• [Dumps a large piano onto a scale]
  
• [Holds up a large safe on a pulley]
  
• [Reels a stone birdbath into his mouth]
  
• [Carries an entire tree into his house]
  
• [Holds up a giant coffee cup]
  
• [Holds up a giant donut with one hand]
  
• [Holds a giant burger]
  
• [Punts Odie into the distance]
  
• [And again]
  
• [Together with Odie, smashes through a wall]
  
• [Pulls down a chunk of wall]
  
• [Smashes into a wall with enough force to crack it]
  
• [Again]
  
• [Pushes his way out from inside the walls]
  
• [Jumps through the ceiling]
  
• [None of Odie's attempts to move him makes him budge]
  
• [Jon can’t pull him an inch on a leash]
  
• [Smashes an alarm clock]
  
• [Smashes a phone]
  
• [Mangles a scale]
  
• [With a swipe of his claws, knocks two bricks out of a fireplace]
  
• [Rips the concrete basin off a birdbath and carries it away]
  
• [Karate chops a table leg in two]
  
• [Either carries or creates a giant snowball on the roof of the house and pushes it onto Jon]
  
• [Throws a massive snowball high into the air to land on Jon.]
  
• [Pushes Jon’s bed out the window]
  
• [Rips a fire hydrant out of the ground]
  
• [Bends a traffic sign by accidentally running into it]
  
• [Carries a Christmas tree in his teeth]
  
• [Catches a shark and carries it to shore]
  
• [Using all of the snow in his yard, builds an enormous snowman that dwarfs his house.]
  
• [Smashes an ice cream truck, causing its roof to cave in]
  
• [Slams a window so hard the entire house collapses]
  
• [Lifts up his house using a jack]
  
• [Lifts a Christmas tree and shakes all its needles off]
  
• [Lifts a pile of food larger than himself]
  
• [Pulls a fish’s skeleton out of its body]
  
• [Rips a dial off a tv and sends it through a window]
  
• [Throws Odie]
  
• [Smacks a clown through a circus tent]
  
• [Walks with a pile of mud 2/3rds as tall as Jon stuck to his feet]
  
• [His tongue punches a hole through his bowl and the table it’s on]
  
• [Blows a spider out of a rolled up newspaper with enough force to stretch a screen window as far as the door it’s attached to is tall.]
  
• [Inflates a balloon so large it expands beyond the confines of the house he's in and lifts it off the ground]
  
• [Sucks an entire roast chicken through a straw]
  
• [Similar feat]
  
• [The coffee he drinks seems to grant improved strength, allowing an ordinary fly to carry Jon through the air at full speed]
  

The Penguins of Madagascar

"Just smile and wave, boys. Smile and wave."

The Penguins of Madagascar are four ordinary penguins turned secret commando team. Born in the frozen wasteland that is Antarctica, Skipper, Kowalski, and Rico spent their childhood in boredom, waddling along the ice with seemingly no destination in mind. They were constantly told by the rest of their colony that it was a dangerous world for a penguin, and something so "cute and cuddly" shouldn't take any risks. One day, the group witnessed a lone egg rolling down the snow towards an icy cliff. When they realized no one was going to help it, the three baby penguins leapt into action. They rescued the egg from certain doom, but in the process were separated from the rest of their group, stuck on a lone iceberg and floating towards an unknown future. It was that moment that Skipper, Kowalski, Rico, and the new hatching Private, became not only a team, but a family.
Fast forward a few years, and the Penguins of Madagascar have grown into a skilled group of elite commandos, partaking in various missions that have taken them all over the world, from New York to Madagascar to Africa to Europe. Over the course of their dangerous careers they have accumulated a wide variety of friends and allies. These range from the residents of the Central Park Zoo to the members of the spy agency North Wind. However they have also made no shortage of enemies, including Hans the Danish puffin, the Red Squirrel and the maniacal Dr. Blowhole.

Respect Threads

• Skipper
• Kowalski
• Rico
• Private
• Group Thread

Skipper

"Cute and cuddly, boys. Cute and cuddly."

Skipper is the leader of the group, devising tactics and gives orders. He is calculating, strict, paranoid, short-tempered, stubborn, and has a great disdain for hippies. Skipper's raving paranoia and tendency to view even the most ordinary activities as a military operation, combined with his experience in covert ops, has driven him to prepare for nearly any situation, no matter how bizarre or unlikely. While his antics do tend to alienate other animals outside of his commando team, more often than not his paranoia is proven justified, as he and his team have saved the world on multiple occasions.
Strength

• Slides into a metal door with enough force to dent it
• His punches shake a tree
• Forces open a giant alligator's jaws
• Crushes a golf ball with his flipper
• Throws a plastic unicorn toy with enough force for it to get stuck in a brick wall
• Repeatedly breaks himself out of a block of ice that was "Antarctic cold"

Speed/Agility

• Dodges a multitude of darts from a booby trap
• Dodges a large missile multiple times
• Dodges multiple lasers while charging towards an experimental laser turret
• Slides fast enough to stay ahead of Officer X's combat van
• Jumps over 1 1/2 stories onto a rising platform
• Bounces and flips around several lamp posts, rocks, and trees, eventually knocking out some pins with an explosive dive kick

Durability

• Gets kicked into a brick wall by Joey the kangaroo, cracking it
• Gets kicked high into the air by his evil android doppelganger, who was strong enough to crack concrete
• Kowalski's Nexto Skeleton knocks him through a bench with a rocket kick
• Gets pounded into the concrete by Bada
• Gets slammed into a concrete wall by Roger, creating a penguin shaped indention
• Falls through the roof of a plane mid flight
• Gets blasted into a stone wall by an explosion
• Gets shocked by the Zoo's new electric field
• For a short while, he walks across pavement that was hot enough to turn an egg to ash in 3 seconds
• After being buried alive, gets blasted through the dirt with a piece of dynamite and is perfectly fine

Skill

• Even while unconscious, his reflexes always keep him ready to fight
• Fends off the other penguins with relative ease
• Throws a playing card with enough accuracy to cut a four ropes keeping the penguins suspended in the air as well as a rope holding up a chandelier
• Throws a coin, which cuts two ropes and frees Maurice, bounces off a wall, cuts another rope and frees Mort, and finally bounces off another wall and turns off a light switch

Kowalski

"Okay Kowalski, wow me."
"Behold, a portal to times past. The Chronotron!"
"So, its a time machine?"
"Well, yes."
"So why not call it a time machine?"
"Sure, yeah. And while we're at it, let's call the Great Wall a fence, the Mona Lisa a doodle, and Albert Einstein Mr. Smarty Pants!"

Kowalski is the brains of the operation. He is a brilliant inventor, creating a multitude of different inventions and gadgets to help the penguins on their missions. If given enough time, there are few things that he couldn't invent. Unfortunately, most of the time his inventions cause serious trouble for the team, either falling into the wrong hands, turning against Kowalski, or just exploding. Not to mention, despite his intelligence, he cannot read (although he still carries around a clipboard to record drawings of their plans). He tends to over-analyze situations, trying to perfect every minute detail of a plan before he acts. This often causes the team more harm than if he would just act. That being said, he is still an invaluable member of the Penguins. Without him, they would simply be a couple of ordinary penguins that can do flips and karate chop people.
Strength

• Slides into a metal door with enough force to dent it
• Kicks a bowling ball with impressive velocity into Private's face
• Pulls down a bill board
• Digs through solid concrete with nothing but a plastic spoon

Speed/Agility

• Jumps over 1 1/2 stories onto a rising platform
• Dodges a multitude of darts from a booby trap
• Dodges several laser beams from the Penguins' lair security protocol
• Slides fast enough to stay ahead of Officer X's combat van
• Wall jumps several times to climb out of King Julian's fake volcano
• Dodges and weaves around several spotlights

Durability

• Gets pulled by Rico with enough force to dent a steel door
• His Nexto Skeleton knocks him through a bench with a rocket kick
• Gets crushed by a swinging wrecking ball and is fine moments later
• Gets crushed under a large boulder
• Gets blasted into the air by Rico's rocket launcher
• Gets shocked by 5000 volt electrical cables twice
• Gets his face torched by the Penguins' flamethrower
• After being buried alive, gets blasted through the dirt with a piece of dynamite and is perfectly fine

Skill

• Flips and dodges around several attacks from chameleon tongues while being blindfolded
• Throws his abacus, which bounces off of both Badda and Bing and then returns to him (similar to Captain America's shield)

Intelligence/Gadgets

• Invents a machine that can remove someone's intelligence and store it in a cardboard box
• Invents a fully functioning time machine, which he uses twice to travel back in time. When three Kowalskis exist in the same space it rips a hole in the fabric of the universe
• Built a thermo fusion reactor within the penguin's base
• Invents the Helmet, which allows the user to move object with their mind, as well as summon any object they think of to them at a moment's notice
• Builds an invisibility ray
• Makes a laser gun that can revert things to their younger, fresher state, which turns Skipper into a baby and eventually back into an adult
• Creates a device that can stop time, (anyone that is touching the device at the time he activates it will experience the stopped time)
• Builds a mech suit, which he dubs the nexto skeleton, that can fly, shoot missiles, is strong enough to life a large boulder over his head, and can even rebuild lost limbs out of seemingly nothing
• Builds a machine that can clone an exact replica of any living organism, as long as it has their DNA (which he uses to bring a dodo bird back to life)
• Built an anti gravity gun
• Hacks into a traffic light with relative ease

Rico

"B-but that shouldn't have worked! It breaks all known rules of science!"
"And that's why we call Rico a maverick. He makes his own rules."
[BLEH BL-BLAH BL-BLUH BLAH BLEH]

Rico is the group's weapons and explosives specialist who mainly communicates through grunts and squeals. With a stomach that defies reality, Rico swallows a plethora of useful tools and weapons and regurgitates them when needed, including ones that appear to be too large to have been swallowed in the first place. Rico has a few screws loose, so the other Penguins need to keep him on a tight leash lest he lose his mind in a dynamite filled frenzy. That said, Rico's love for explosions and destruction is an asset that Skipper has no problem letting lose on their enemies or any problem that the team may be facing.
Strength

• Breaks a fairly large hole through a brick wall
• Pulls Kowalski with enough force to dent a steel door
• Lifts an anvil over his head
• Bites through a lock
• Digs through concrete at an incredibly fast with two plastic spoons

Speed/Agility

• Jumps over 1 1/2 stories onto a rising platform
• Dodges several laser beams
• Dodges one of the Red Squirrel's missiles
• Kicks Kowalski into the air, and by the time he falls back down, Rico had already got into, started, and drove the penguins Buggy next to their base to catch him
• Cuts up a fish into perfectly sized bites of sushi in just over a second
• Climbs over the zoo's main gate in seconds

Durability

• Slams into a brick wall, cracking it
• Falls directly onto a rhino's horn
• Gets crushed by a falling elephant
• Falls through the roof of a plane mid flight and is completely unharmed
• A bomb explodes inside of his stomach and he barely reacts
• Is right next to where Kowalski shot his newly acquired plasma blaster on turbo setting, which caused an explosion powerful enough to blow a hole in their concrete ceiling (that same plasma blaster on medium setting was able to disintegrate a lamp post in a single shot
• Gets hit by a static shock that is strong enough to knock out the power in the Penguin lair
• For a short while, he walks across pavement that was hot enough to turn an egg to ash in 3 seconds
• After being buried alive, gets blasted through the dirt with a piece of dynamite and is perfectly fine

Skill

• Fends off both Skipper and Kowalski with nothing but a doll as a weapon
• Throws Marlene like a boomerang, bouncing her off of both Bada and Bing's heads and then catching her
• Shoots 3 fish out of the air with a crossbow

Swallowing/Regurgitation
Rico is able to regurgitate whatever Skipper needs as long as he has it locked away in his intestines. As soon as an object, weapon, or tool is needed he can produce it almost instantly.

• Spits up a stick of dynamite with a lit fuse and immediately regurgitates a flash light
• Spits out a grenade filled with knock out gas
• Regurgitates a massive missile which is far larger than he is
• Continuously regurgitates hook shots so he can swing from buildings like Spider-Man
• Spits a small anchor into the air with enough velocity to strike him in the head a couple seconds after it leaves his mouth
• Regurgitates a chainsaw with enough velocity to fly into the air and cut through a sewer pipe
• Fires screws fast enough for them to secure a metal door in place and keep Jiggles the slime contained
• Throws up a cinder block with enough force to send a leopard seal flying backwards

Private

"Private, options."
"Hello? I'm the options guy!"
"But not when it comes to matters of the heart. That's where young Private here shines."

Private is the emotionally sensitive, British-accented rookie of the Penguins of Madagascar. Though younger and less experienced than the other penguins, he is the most down to earth and compassionate. Private tends to offer simpler, more commonsense solutions in response to Skipper and Kowalski's complex strategies, often in an understated tone while those strategies are falling apart. He also has an affinity for unicorns.
Strength

• Slides into a metal door with enough force to dent it
• While underwater, he kicks a baby leopard seal which flies into an adult leopard seal, reversing its momentum
• Stops a massive leopard seal from falling off an icy cliff
• Hangs onto his golf club as he uses it to swing their golf cart around a tree

Speed/Agility

• Jumps over 1 1/2 stories onto a rising platform
• Dodges several darts shot out from one of Kowalski's booby traps
• Dodges several lasers from the Penguins' security system
• In the flash that Dave's monster ray is fired, he frees himself from his bindings and hides beneath a piece of machinery without anyone noticing
• Out swims a leopard seal for a short while
• Deflects a golf ball with his club
• Wall jumps multiple times to get to the top of the zoo's gates

Durability

• Gets karate chopped by Skipper to the ground
• After covering one of Rico's bombs with a bucket, he gets blasted through the roof of the zoo's security building
• Gets crushed between Skipper and a concrete wall after an explosion blasts Skipper into him, leaving a Private shaped indention in the wall
• Falls from the outskirts of the Earth's atmosphere and crashes to the ground below
• Gets dropped onto an electric fence by Savio
• For a short while, he runs across pavement that was hot enough to turn an egg to ash in 3 seconds
• After being buried alive, he gets blasted out of the ground by a piece of dynamite and is fine
• Falls into a pit of rusty bear traps, which mildly injures him

Skill

• Defends himself from Skipper's strikes and disarms him while blindfolded
• Defeats over a dozen of Dr. Blowhole's minions with ease
• Fires a dart gun, which bounces off of several objects and walls before eventually hitting the light switch and turning off the lights

Cuteness

• Unlocks what Kowalski calls "quantum hyper cute", which causes anyone who sees him to faint because their brains are overloading from the cuteness
• By using himself as a power source, his cuteness is able to reverse the affects of Dave's monster ray

Teamwork

• Push an elephant into a cage
• Using Rico as a battering ram, they destroy a brick wall
• Forming a penguin chain, Kowalski, Rico, and Private support the weight of an elephant
• Kowalski, Rico, and Private manage to hold Officer X's van in place while it tries to drive away
• Incapacitate Capitaine DuBois and her men, tying them up and launching them out of a canon
• Take on a small army of Dr. Blowhole's lobster minions

Gear

• Grenades
• Rocket launcher
• Flamethrower that is hot enough to melt a lamp post
• Laser pen which can cleanly cut through stone
• Grappling hooks
• Jetpacks gifted to them by the North Wind spy agency

Using the Penguins on WWW

While it may vary from episode to episode, the penguins are all around the same ballpark in stats and skill. They're pretty well rounded, being able to withstand blows that damage stone and metal walls and can dish out those same kinds of hits. On top of that, most have dealt with minor esoteric damage types like heat, electricity, and cold. While they're not too crazy speed wise, they're all capable of aim dodging lasers and can avoid slower projectiles like darts. Combine that with their absurd agility and small size and these four will be extremely difficult to hit for opponents that are on their physical level.
However, it's the areas outside of physical stats that let the penguins fight above their weight class. They're all capable in close quarters combat, with Skipper being the clear standout (though Rico and Private have both shown to be able to hold their own against him under the right conditions). Rico is a walking armory that will give them access to any weapon in their arsenal at any time, Kowalski has plenty of inventions that most opponents won't have resistances too, and Private's hyper cuteness could certainly catch their opponents off guard.
The best way to beat these four is to split them up and fight them individually. They've shown many times that they are far greater than the sum of their parts, engaging in hit and run tactics or using one of their various haxes to battle opponents above their weight class. Kowalski and Private in particular are vulnerable to losing their composures if things aren't going their way in a fight (though I wouldn't exactly call that a strength for Skipper and Rico either).

I'm 14 and my dad And mom got a divorce when I was just two years of age. After that everything was different. Yeah of course I went to school and made friends,but the thing is they were all fake and treated me baldy. They talk behind my back and also throw their stuff for me to carry. I decided that I was done and i Stood up to them, but after that they became my worse rivals.anyway they aren't the reason why I want to do this. It's my family Every morning when I wake up I have to do chores the moment my eyes open and they never give me break when I'm tired . they had me lifting heavy stuff, And that was the whole reason why I started getting chest pains And had to go to the hospital.one time I almost fell Down the stairs And During that incident I bumped into my grandmothers plants.after that I picked up the shards I started cleaning up the mess .she said that I should've been the one to fall and break my bones.hearing those words made me cry myself to sleep that night. after all that my family started treating me badly.my uncle and my aunts were all beating me most of the time or yelling at the top of their lungs for the smallest reasons,like that one time I accidentally spilled water on the floor,my uncle slapped me so hard it hurt for 2 days.they never acknowledge my feelings or well being and they only be nice to me when guests are over or if it's my birthday,but besides that they are so terrible and I try to bottle up all my feelings but it's just too hard and I can't control my crying.I think I'm depressed .I wrote this to expose them and hope that you guys can give me advice on how to get the help out of here before I end my life.it's already hard enough hiding my feelings from them but now I have to hide it from everyone including my teachers.I hope you all read this .if I don't post anything tomorrow then you all know why.hugs and kisses to my community this may be my last day .💔 bye 😔

Thanks to everyone who helped me out on my first post. I was able to get things working great. I did have to go to Tractor Supply and pick up a heavy-duty tarp for my wife to lay in, and I had to get some heavy duty chain to rig the tarp to the hoist to create a sort of four-point sling similar to what they use to lift horses and dolphins. Since doing this our sex life has improved dramatically!
Sadly though, I'm in the shitter again. Although my wife is normally a petite little thing, she just explodes outward when she's pregnant. She carries all forward, like a dude with a giant beer gut. I mean, its so large even doggie is difficult because she can rock back and forth on her stomach like a giant medicine ball, which, while convenient (since I don't have to thrust as much) it is sort of uncomfortable for her.
Anyway, for mother's day I thought I would do something nice for her and get her a nice satin set of pajamas from pajamagram. I figured it would be nice and cool in the upcoming summer, make her feel sexy, and most important provide easy access for me whe she pulls out the habor freight remote... just hearing the sound of that electric motor gets my juices flowing now!
Here's where I fucked up. Given she's gotten so huge now I bought the 5XXXL set of jammies, because with her belly so big I wanted the jammies to be big enough for now and leave some room to grow in.
She says I'm the AH because I should have gotten her something in her "normal" size she could wear once she gives birth and springs back to her normal self.
So, AITAH for buying my wife 5XXXL jammies she can enjoy now rather than jammies that wouldn't fit her now and she wouldn't be able to wear for a while?

The first rays of rosy-fingered dawn climbed their way over the Macedonian hills and fell like arrows to glint upon the racing bronze of the Scythian raiders. Death clattered and rang among the early morning light as they made their way across the plateau towards the waking village. Gleaming in the rosy light, but obscured by the mist, they seemed like comets cast as Olympian arrows. Their horses' breath clung in the air as they dragged behind them chariots of bronze and chariots of iron. Each carried two men. Those with bronze carried a driver and an archer with bow bent, while those with iron carried a man with a mighty cleaving axe. Each driver also carried for himself a leather shield and bronze short sword. Behind the chariots came footmen equipped like the drivers, and at their flanks rode horsemen carrying one-handed axes, javelins, and wooden shields covered with leather. Thus the horde came down the valley towards the village, cloaked in the fog, but vastly beyond what their victims could hope to muster.
Then, the fog parted like the curtain of a theater. Before the coming horde stood arrayed a sturdy phalanx, a wall of bronze shields and forest of spears aimed towards the invaders. Behind them, men stood with bows bent and arrows knocked. At their center, a man sat astride a white-faced bay mare. Shining in his steel armor, he drew his bow and fired. An arrow sped into the eye of the foremost driver, and a moment later another caught his axeman in the throat. He roared with a voice like a trumpet. “MEN OF MACEDON, SET YOUR HEARTS ABLAZE!” Thus cried Leonidas Kygniois, keen eyed hunter, and with one voice his men answered him. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED!” At those a volley of arrows was loosed from behind the phalanx and fell among the Scythians. Many died, as Leon bid his aide unfurl the banners. Across the field each unit raised up two banners. Below was the banner of the unit, and above the sun with sixteen rays. Besides Leonidas arose his own banner, the white wolf on the blue field, under the black dragon’s wing.
The foremost forces of the Scythians were caught in the charge, unable to pull away. They crashed into the wall of shield and spear with the terrible sound of breaking bones, shearing bronze, dying horses and dying men. All the while arrows continued to rain, and the slaughter was brutal. But then, swift as a winding river, the Scythians turned and wheeled away. The chariots of bronze sent forth arrows of their own, coated in serpent’s venom. The phalanx raised their shields, and covered themselves. Even so some struck through, and the venom wrought a terrible toll on the men. Even so, the phalanx began to march forwards, stepping over the dead with their grim chant. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED”. With this chant they kept their stride, and advanced as a seamless wall. The wounded fell back, helped by their brothers. The archers helped guide them back, and reservists stepped forwards to replace them. Thus the army advanced.
The Scythians pulled back, and danced at the range of the archers. They sought a weakness, or to create a weakness. The bronze chariots formed into a circle and spun like a wheel. Each man turned and fired, and slipped out of range. It was troublesome to target and gave each Scythian plenty of time to line up his shot. In their midst was one most terrible, their chief in gilded chariot. Shining was their armor, brilliant as the sun, head hidden behind a helm like a lion. Their bow was strong and eye keen. Whenever they loosed, a Hellene fell dead.

At the same time, the chariots of iron gathered on the left, and with them the horsemen of the left. The army of the Hellenes had deployed on the flat ground before the village, with a forest on their right to guard that flank. For a flanked phalanx was a doomed phalanx, and the flat ground was optimal both for maintaining a unified line, but also for the chariots and horsemen to maneuver. So the scythians gathered on the left, and sought to envelop the Hellenes there. Their chief suspected their enemy might have hidden horsemen in the mists, and so the wheel turned. They drew forth arrows set with whistles and fired them into the flank. The arrows screamed with a terrible sound to spook horses and sunder morale. Then forwards the flanking force drove to envelop the foe, or else slip behind them to wreak ruin among the archers.

There they found the strongest of the Hellenes. Beneath a banner showing serpent-haired Medusa, they stood clad head to toe in steel. No arrow could find purchase against these immortals, and no blade of bronze could wound them. They turned with grim purpose, spears tracking the foe as the mist lifted. The flanking scythians found themselves with no cover, facing no exposed flank, but the royal elite of the Macedonian army.
Then out from their midst stepped a dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. She pulled back her cowl to reveal a diadem, and opened her thumb on a bladed ring. She reached into her cloak and drew forth iron shavings, a magnetic stone, and rose thorns. Then she spoke words of power and imposed her sovereignty over reality.
“Apaangan
Loha
Kaante”
Then she blew the iron over the field. From the bones of the earth, iron answered. It erupted like a field of nails under the feet of the horses. They screamed in pain and stumbled. They fell and cast their riders on the thorns, or else were slowed in their stride. Thus the charge was stalled and the pace ruined. Then spoke the witch again and the air stank of ozone.
“Trisula.
Munhatod
Bijalee chamakana.”
By these words she called forth lightning. It came as a brilliant trident to her bloodied hand. Her hair came alight into the air with static, her diadem gleamed in its light. The enemy saw her and beheld the dread heir of Olympus, last and mightiest of the demigods, Queen Cassandra of the Macedonians. She hurled forth her trident into the air. There it broke and a storm cloud formed over the battle. The fury of Heaven rained down on the chariots of the Scythians. Their chariots of iron were brought to ruin. Their men fell bloodied, deafened, and burned. So Cassandra brought ruin to her enemies.
Thus, the enemy retreated from the hellene lines, and fled from the wrath of Cassandra, daughter of Zeus. For her fury was terrible, and her deeds were mighty. Thus they came back around their chief, and escaped the ruin that had come upon them. They withdrew, step by step, and runners were sent further back to the baggage train to make ready. On the Hellenes came against them, but they were slow in step and cautious. Leon watched the canny chief of the Scythians, and never did his eye wander. The chief in turn watched him, and both put hand to bow, though they did not loose at one another. The range was wrong, but each made ready for their duel.
At length, the Hellenes pushed the Scythians back beyond the extent of the forest, and so their left became exposed. Their chief launched a probing attack with their horsemen, who drew near and threw their javelins into the midst of the Hellene line. The line recoiled, pulling back and inwards, bunching up. At this sign of weakness, at once the chieftain struck. The chariots closed in for the kill. Likewise, the horsemen circled and lowered their spears. As one they would drive into the exposed flank of the Hellenes and drive them from the field.
Then the forest vanished. It had not all been an illusion of it, but enough of it. The chieftain turned, the world seemingly slowing to a crawl. Out of the fading shadow ran bold men armed with long spears. They crashed into the flank of the charging horde and into the midst of the chariots. They drove their spears into the wheels of the chariots, and ground them to a stop. They thrust upwards at the horsemen, who’s mounts reared away from the danger. The charge had been utterly disorganized by this sudden surprise attack, and the advantage was to the Hellenes.
Valiantly the Scythians fought, and most valiant was their chieftain. They lashed about themselves with axes and swords. Their chieftain hefted high a mighty flax; a reverse-edged blade held in two hands. Down the falx fell, and a Hellene that drew too near was all but split in two. The surprise was sudden, but for their charge the Hellenes had forsaken shield and heavy armor. As surprise faded, the battle seemed to shift in favor of the Scythians. Yet the chieftain lifted up their eyes, and saw that they were in danger. The Hellene cavalry finally made its move. Slipping in behind and around the bulk of the Scythian force, with Leonidas at their head, they made to encircle and destroy the Scythian mobile element.
Then the tide truly turned against the Scythians, as a roar sounded out of the mist. A shadowy blur, nearly the size of an elephant, was among them. It snatched the wounded out of the jaws of death, and threw aside chariot and horse with ease. Axes struck at it, and bounced. Spears thrust and were broken. A few bold horsemen charged towards the black mass in the mist, then she raised up her head. Great wings split the mists aside, and her majesty froze horse and rider alike in terror.
Her body was like that of a panther or other great cat, covered in interlocking scales like a serpent. Her four limbs were long and powerful, ending in mighty claws gleaming white as ivory. A tail like a scorpion lashed, a glaive-headed blade at its tip, sharp enough to split a man in twain, swifter than arrows. A long neck terminated in a head a bit like a horse, a bit like a viper, and a bit like a bird of prey. Plated black scales overlapped across her body, gleaming in the dawnlight, sturdier than steel, yet flowing like water. Blue fire lapped around the edges of a mouth full of teeth like daggers. Two great wings eclpsed heaven behind her, leathery like a bat. Long white scars from battles past covered her throat, as eyes like amber froze men like trapped bugs.
Seramis of Achaea, the Dragon Princess, entered the battlefield.
The chieftain saw this doom amongst their men, but watched with wisdom. Though Seramis wielded terror as her weapon, roaring with flame and talons drawn, she wielded only terror. She might have slain many easily, but she used the Gehennan flames as only a firewall. Her tail lashed and claws struck, but they slapped rather than slashing. The dragoness certainly broke bones, but that was more a function of mass than malice. Her priority was the wounded, and she struck those that got in her way.
“Avoid the dragon! Do not strike the wounded, nor stand to capture them! Slay them in a single blow, or wound them and move away before the dragon intervenes!” The chieftain cried, and while the Hellenes could not understand her, Seramis did. The Diluvian princess turned her head and looked toward the lion-helmed Scythian. The pair shared a look of understanding, before the tumult of battle resumed their attention.
Seramis continued her work, all the easier for the lack of interference. Acting as both medic and ambulance, she rescued the wounded, Hellene and Scythian alike. Following in her shadow came a creature a bit like a ram, with seven horns of lapis lazuli. This was her familiar, a spirit of knowledge she called Elijah. He acted as her diagnosticator, identifying wounds and ailments to aid her work. Sera cast spells of healing, not complex work but quick and efficient. Bleeding stalled, bones were set, and pain was soothed. Then she would take the wounded and lash them to her side and back with tendrils of shadow. Once she had gathered a full load of men, she retreated back behind the Hellene lines. There she deposited them with the healers, and leapt forth to rescue yet more.
With the dragoness identified as less a threat, and more a mobile hazard, the Scythians returned their focus to the Hellene cavalry. Their own cavalry had been Leon’s primary target during the initial confusion of the charge, and he had made good use of the opportunity. Many a Scythian horseman had been slain in those first few moments, and no less than thirteen by the prince of marathon’s own hand. The white-feathered shafts of his steel-tipped arrows were seen planted in throat, eye, and heart, a testament to the prince’s deadly aim and fearsome bow. For he was wolf to ringbearers, and the strength of his bow and the superior metal of his arrows pierced breastplates of bronze, even the scale mail of the Scythians.
Even so, while the Hellenes had bled the Scythian horse fiercely, they had less success against the charioteers. The chariots provided additional cover from Hellene javelins, and space to evade their lances. Moreover, their sturdy construction made them perilous to the Hellenes horses, as a swinging wheel could easily break a leg. Finally, the simple fact that each chariot was a two-man team allowed for greater resilience. One man focused on driving, and the other on fighting. If either was wounded so they could not do their work as well, they could switch. Even if the driver was outright killed, the other could take over and use the mass of the chariot as a weapon. So, though the play gave the Hellenes the advantage, the Scythians were far from out of the fight.
So, with fury, their chieftain rallied their men about them and led a fierce counterattack. With the superior durability of the chariots and their mighty chief at their head, the Scythians reaped a bloody retaliation on their foes. Leonidas ordered his men back, to gather themselves anew. Each side had been bloodied, and both sought a retreat. Then with a cry, he took his personal guard back in, aimed directly at the enemy general. His bow was drawn, and fired.
The Scythian general stepped to the side of their chariot, dodging the shot. They drew their own bow, aimed, and fired. Leon evaded, but he wasn’t the target. Instead, his horse was. The white-faced bay mare took the Scythian’s arrow in her flank. The wound was minor, but the poison was not. She ran on seven steps, then seized, and fell down dead. Leon leapt from his dying steed, and landed in a roll. He came up with shield and spear at the ready, as the Scythian chief turned their chariot towards him.
The two general’s bodyguards whirled in a melee as the Scythian and Hellene commanders faced each other in single combat. The Scythian forsook their bow, knowing their poisoned arrows could not pierce the prince’s steel armor. Instead they raised high their fell falx, as their chariot closed in. Leon readied himself as the chariot closed to trample him. Then, at the last moment he sprang aside, unusually agile despite his heavy armor. Still, the lion helm tracked him, and down the falx came. Leonidas raised his shield and set his feet. The shield was steel, and sturdy enough to shatter a blade of bronze such as the falx falling upon him. But it struck true, and carved the steel shield, then kept going. Leon pulled back, but he’d braced himself and couldn’t maneuver. His steel armor parted, and he came away with a serious gash in his arm. He felt the blade hit bone, and realized that if he hadn’t been so well equipped, that blade would have taken his left arm off, cutting straight through the bone.
Still, though he bled, he did not quail. He threw aside his ruined shield and took his spear in both hands. While his foe had the mass and momentum of a charging chariot, the physics of metallurgy dictated that their blade should have broken against him. Curved blades were more fragile, a trade-off for their superior cutting power, and a bronze blade should have no chance against steel. If physics were being violated, it meant sorcery was at play. The enemy’s blade was enchanted.
Again came the chieftain with their blessed blade. Their horses panted heavily in the air, adding to the rattle of the chariot. Chaos swirled around them, but Leon silenced it. The world reduced to simply himself, his enemy, and the vanishing space between. He set his target, and waited for the space to entirely vanish. The beat of the horse’s hooves were set like a metronome. Then, at the precise beat, he shattered the rhythm. He drove his spear forwards into the knee of the Scythian horse. The spear’s wooden haft shattered from the force, but so did the stallion’s leg. It collapsed in a bloody heap, tangling its partner. The chariot crashed into its steeds, slaying both brutally. The chieftain and their driver were staggered, but grasped hold of the chariot and were not thrown.
Leonidas took fourteen calculated steps, moving around the wreck of the chariot, then stepping aboard. In a single motion he drew his blade and cut upwards. The driver fell back as a spray of blood erupted from his throat. He slumped over the front of the chariot, blood flowing to mingle with the horses. Leon whirled on the chieftain as a shout of rage came to their lips. He stepped in close, too close for his foe to swing their great blade effectively. Here, his short blade had the advantage, and the chariot cornered his target. He drew the blade back to his hip like he was knife-fighting, and thrust upwards towards the foe’s beast. The scaled armor of the Scythians was legendarily hard to slash through, but the overlapping scales that caused such strength were vulnerable to this exact kind of upwards thrust. But his canny foe knew the armor’s weaknesses just as well, and pivoted with agility to rival the warrior prince.
They slashed with their great falx, but the range was awkward, so Leon evaded. He then pivoted, taking his blade in both hands. Gritting through the pain of his wounded arm, he wheeled with a mighty blow. He put his back, legs, and both arms into a murderous strike too quick to evade. The Scythian chief recognized it, and ducked their head. Rather than suffering a decapitating blow, they took the hit on the crown of their helm. The gold gilding it deformed and parted, but this was by design. By using a coating of deformable gold above the bronze, the helmet could better absorb slashing attacks. The gold twisted as it was cut, catching the blade and altering the edge alignment. Leon cut though, but rather than burying his sword midway into his target’s skull, he cut apart the helm and left a relatively shallow wound along his foe’s scalp, running down their forehead and across their face. The lion helm split, and fell away. Leon looked the enemy general in the eye for the first time, and hesitated.
The helm fell away, and out spilled long, golden hair, now matted in places by blood. A fair face, with piercing blue eyes looked up at him. A warrior’s snarl covered her face, as the Scythian Queen recovered. She snapped up and slammed the hilt of her falx into Leon’s eye. The prince staggered back, blinking to recover, as she took a step back in turn. With this, she obtained her range, and cut down with her falx. Leon raised his sword to block, but the reverse curve of the unusual weapon made it difficult. His wound caused his arm to spasm, and the curve came around the sword. The enchanted blade bit ito the common one, then cast it away. Leon’s wrist was wounded in the exchange, and blood began to fill his gauntlet.
Leon realized his peril, and stepped in swiftly. He caught his foot behind hers, and pulled back as he slammed his shoulder into her. The queen fell back, but caught herself on the edge of her chariot so she did not fall. Leon pressed in, pinning her arm with his his hand so she could not swing. He drew his hunting knife, and it was at her throat in a moment. His grip was unsteady, as his wrist was wounded, and he felt an utter brute to have a knife at a woman’s throat. “Yield. I do not wish to harm you.” He ordered, uncertain if she could even understand.
The Scythian Queen laughed in his face. “You do not wish to harm me?” She asked through a thick accent. “Then you should never have come to the battlefield! Know that I am Tamur, Queen of the Scythians, no soft flower of the south that you might bruise with your breath. I am here to that I might crush my enemies, drive them before me, hear the lamentations of your pathetic women, and reap from your ruin the prosperity of my people. Slay me now you coward, or else you must yield, for I will slay you without mercy.” Clear and clarion was her voice, as Athena upon the battlefield or Artemis on the hunt. She feared neither death nor injury, and laughed in spite of the carnage all about them.
Leon held his ground and was not moved by her laughter or insult. “Hear me then, oh Queen of the Scythians. What is greater cowardice? To be slain for principle, or to breach principle for fear of being slain? You are a mighty warrior; this I cannot deny. But this is my principle, that no man is any man that slays a woman, even if she is a warrior. I bid you now yield, that we might bring peace between our people and an end to this meaningless conflict you have brought about.” He spoke with all respect due to a fellow warrior, and with the resolve of his own indestructible soul.
“Far be it from meaningless, warrior of the Hellenes. Would you not do anything, even go beyond the bounds of the earth for your people? Hear now my principle, that my people shall conquer that we might not be conquered. For you who are blessed with so much shall not offer a pittance to our meager tents. So we shall take, for this is the nature of things, that the prosperity of one must always be at the expense of another. This is the balance of the world, and it belongs to he who carries the sword.”
Then she snapped her head forward, and impacted with Leon’s helm. Headbutting a steel helmet with your bare, already wounded head is generally not a good idea. But she was braced, and he was not. The maneuver would have opened her throat, but Leon had held back his knife for his soul rebuked him to harm a woman. Needless to say this principle, while generally noble, was extremely foolish in this instance. Chivalry was certainly not on Tamur’s mind as she pushed him back, and kicked him in the balls.
Leon was wearing armor and greaves, but about his waist was more of a plated skirt than a codpiece. The introduction of a bronze boot to that region inflicted less damage than it might, but this was in the sense that his family line could continue, rather than full nullification. He staggered further back, agility shattered. Tamur lashed out with her falx, and Leon wisely rolled away.
Leonidas began pushing himself back to his feet, but a Scythian archer circled. Whether by skill or by luck, they let fly their arrow and it struck true into the gash their queen had torn in the prince’s armor. Leon gasped briefly in pain as the arrow hit under his shoulder plate and pierced the meat of his back. It went through to the rib, and cracked it. He felt his blood already burning as the poisoned arrow delivered its deadly payload into his veins. The meat of muscle across his back began to scream and spasm, dropping him back to the earth. He saw Tamur approaching, and grit his teeth to rise through the pain. He was too slow, the falx came up…
Then there was a rush of wind, a smell of sulfur, and the sound of bronze ringing against talon, then scraping against scale. Seramis had intervened. She swooped in, and her talon met the falling flax. The two mighty women’s blades rang against one another, then Tamur shifted the blade. She cut across the dragoness’s palm and wounded her, drawing blood as the enchanted weapon carved scale. Seramis retaliated by coiling her tail, then striking forth with it like a whip. The foot and a half long blade at the end of the tail met the barbarian queen’s guard, and drove her back. The blade of the falx shook and sang like a tuning fork.
Seramis lowered her head, and spoke with a voice tinged with fire. She spoke in the Scythian’s own language, a growl deep in her throat and fire on her tongue. “Have you not heard, queen of the Scythians, that one should not trifle with a dragon’s hoard? If not, then I will educate you. Come not between a daughter of Tiamat and her treasure. This is folly, and will be your ruin should you persist.”
Tamur heard the words of the dragoness, and looked once to the blood on her sword, and once to the flames in the maw before her. She saw the damage the hellenes had wrought on her vanguard, and the advance of their phalanx. She stepped back, and ordered a retreat. Scythian and Diluvian locked eyes as the queen boarded a new chariot, and swiftly they retreated from the battlefield.
Sera breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly turned to her prince. Leon had kept trying to get up, and managed to stagger to his feet. Gently, she took him in an unwounded claw, and bore him away. “Leon, please tell me you can hear me.”
“I can. Ow.” Leon replied, breathing slowly, and deeply, to keep his face and voice from twisting in pain. “What did you say to her?”
“Just a bit of theater to make her leave, don’t worry about it. You focus on not dying, oh chivalrous fool mine.”
“Hah. Tease me when I’m not dying, would you kindly? It hurts too much to laugh.”
“Maybe next time, don’t be such an idiot then.”
“Ah, but then how would you have an excuse to rescue me?”
“Please, we both know I don’t need an excuse to steal you away. I’ve done it before.” Sera teased, and Leon smiled through the pain.
Even as two of the trio of royals retreated, Cassandra remained. She saw the Scythians trying to quit the field, and that the ambush had not been successful enough. They had mauled the Scythian mobile element, but not utterly broken it. She sent an order for caution, for if they overpursued the wily Scythian general, she might turn and crush them in turn. Still, she would not allow her enemy to escape her wrath so easily. She cast again, and thunder boomed across the clear morning.
“Avataar”
“Poorvaj”
“Rosh”
The mists of early morning fled from the Hellenes, and ran down the Scythians. The retreating barbarians turned, and saw the mists gather together into a humanoid figure. Long curls of smoke came down from a scowling face, almost akin to hair. Winds howled like limbs to throw men from horse and chariot. Tamur quickly evaded as the growing titan of mist swung, clear blue eyes gleaming amongst the artificial cloud. Then the avatar drew back its hand, and lighting crackled into being. The heir of Olympus and last daughter of Zeus hurled down lighting bolts at the Scythians, reminding all why even with the thrones of Olympus long empty and ashen, they were still remembered in myth and legend.
Bolts of lightning mauled man and horse alike. Chariots fell away twisted and burning. Thunder terrified men and horses. Cassandra watched from the eyes of her avatar as she delivered the wrath of an angry god upon then. “I am the dread Queen of Macedon. I am the miracle of destruction. I am mankind’s answer to dragons, and you dare, YOU DARE! Come to my home, my kingdom, and hurt my people, and now you think you can simply run away?” The whisper grew to a roaring fury, bolts of lightning leaping from her eyes to slay yet more.
Then Tamur cried a loud challenge, and bid her driver turn the chariot. She charged at the avatar of mist and storm, raising her blade high. In rage, Cassandra cast down another bolt of lightning, but Tamur raised up her sword. The bolt caught the bronze blade, but did not rip down through into the queen. Instead, she turned and set herself, then cut the air. Lighting ripped back into the avatar, and cut it from crown to groin. There was a clap of thunder, and the avatar was banished.
Cassandra went flying back, caught by her men, but left dazed. A wound, thankfully shallow, had sprung from no apparent source, from her crown down the center of her body, even under her armor. She staggered upright, hands shaking violently. She reached for magic, but it was like a man who was concussed. It was there, but unstable, difficult to control, unreliable. The clean, efficient control she prided herself on eluded her. She drew in a breath, and clenched her fists to stop her shaking hand. Showing no pain from her wound, she watched as the scythians slipped out of her grasp.
“Where in the world did she get a sword that can cut the soul?” Cassandra wondered aloud. Then, heeding the insistence of her men, she retreated, and ordered the army to retire from the field. She growled as she made her way back towards the medical tents. “I hate dealing with other miracles.”

First/Previous
Satan was on the air, on the night, within everything in the long shadows cast by the setting sun and with him came a chill to the air that I could never hope to internalize; it might kill me.
From a rotted abode across the street, I watched the large outbuilding and the field in which we’d buried the hand and I found myself in prayer—among the torn and exposed studs of dry-rotted wood and rusted metal I caught my own whispers and forced myself to stop like I intended to convene with God right there in the dark; I wasn’t there for Allah. It was something else that compelled me there. I whispered the prayer and felt foolish at my own voice and ducked lowly among the rubble and held my breath to watch the sunlight go from the land and in a blink, the light was gone, and I was there in darkness that at first was a terror and then I slipped into it through blinks and the surroundings became clearer even in the dark.
Time went on.
I was exposed, but the yougins were safe—Trouble too. If nothing else mattered in the world, then they should go on without me. It had come to me so suddenly (maybe it was the prayer that withdrew such a sentimentality) that I liked them okay.
Before anything else, a cat’s hiss came so faintly that I plugged my ear with my pinky, shook it and listened again; the noise grew closer, and I could do nothing but watch the field and squint in the darkness and wait.
Fumbling, I counted the glass containers with touch only—two in my jacket pocket and the third by my feet—and my fingers then danced to the threadbare strap of the shotgun on my shoulder; I shed my pack for mobility.
The domineering creature lurched forcefully from the shadows and then went on display in the moonlight properly and its arched back protruded even over its own head till it lifted that muzzle, so its rattish face was cut out in a black outline; it was sniffing, and the hiss came through the air again. The Alukah kept a serpentine strut, smoothly gliding across the ground as it used its hands like forelegs to press its snout against the ground. In watching, I consciously relaxed my shoulders and refrained from biting my teeth together. That creature found the spot it had been searching for—it seemed roughly the place we’d buried the hand—and it took its claws there with bestial shovelfuls.
In a hurry, I gathered the jar I’d placed by my feet—it would not slide so gracefully into my jacket as the others—and as quietly as I could, I slinked around the rubble, through two studs, and onto the dirt. Within milliseconds, my own heartbeat pounded all over my body and I stood in the street and lit the Molotov cocktail with a lighter and took closer to the creature.
It shifted around and in that moment I wished I had a light source powerful enough to expose its body; I tossed the cocktail in a high arch and it exploded in a moment by the creature’s feet as it stood and pivoted to look at me fully; its solid white eyes were wide in a glance of moon-shine and it slung itself from the eruption of flames around its feet with violent speed. Its black hair hung down the sides of its face and its head parted midway to expose a snarl. It stalked in a circle around the concentration of flames, remaining mostly in the dark; the thing moved slowly nearer, those long arms swaying in front of itself with each step.
You should know better. It stopped midstride, coming no closer and we each stood there in the field roughly thirty feet from one another, and I refused to take my eyes from it. The boy’s mine. The flames began to flicker and die. For how long we stood like that, I couldn’t say, and I waited.
I couldn’t find a voice till it was all dark again, besides the moon and stars. “Why can’t you leave us be? There’s easier pickins.”
You offer yourself too much credit, Harlan. We remained in silence and in the darkness the creature may have been a statue—in a blink it seemed as much. You are a corpse, no? A walking corpse of a man! A terrible sickness is in you. I know it. I see it on you as plainly as I see your fear.
Rigidity took over my body and I puffed my chest out like it meant something and I shook my head, “I’m not afraid.”
Not of me, no. Of yourself? Something. The voice lingered with the ends of its words, drawing them out first guttural then it left them on hisses. Something I know.
I lit the next Molotov, and the creature didn’t move; I threw the bottle furiously and it went into the darkness like a far candleflame till it erupted in the spot the Alukah had been standing—the thing had leapt from there, leaving me unawares and I lowered myself to the ground in a crouch, swiveling my head around to catch the thing in the dark. The flames on the ground danced brightly, leaving me light-blinded.
Not again, said the thing, You will not catch me so easily with fire again. It was behind me, nearer the outbuilding and it took a moment through blinks for my eyesight to return well enough to see the grotesqueness of the misshapen massive humanoid thing.
The Molotov explosion burned then disappeared and we stood looking at one another again and I felt silly, foolish, radically unprepared, and overwhelmingly trivial in the grand scheme of the universe—if it wanted to, it could leap the distance between us and rip me to shreds. Why didn’t it kill me? Why wasn’t I dead?
That damnable night creature extended one of its massive forehands, flexing the digits on the end of its arm and whispered its words like a plea, The boy, Harlan. That is all. Take that brimstone smelly girl and carry that shell of a body—walk on to whatever hole you humans call home.
Hoping to not draw a movement from the creature, I pressed my forearm against my ribcage, feeling the last Molotov that was there in the inner pocket and I gently slid the strap from my shoulder, and held my shotgun in both hands, licking my dry lips, watching the dark frame of the Alukah, fearing even a moment of distraction; my eyes locked on the creature and I refused to speak.
No deal then. It wasn’t a question; its rattish snout offered a mild nod of understanding. You despise a good sense of words.
I readied the shotgun, legs spaced in proper formation—looking down the barrel, I held my breath and upon squeezing the trigger, the thing knocked into my shoulder, but the creature was gone. In scanning, I found the thing had moved from the field and bounded wildly across the street towards the dead ruins of Annapolis, its muscular limbs made short work of fleeing.
The outbuilding remained quiet and erectly tall, and I moved to its shadow and cussed whispers for wasting ammunition. Only three shells remained; worse, I’d wasted two of my explosives. I watched the horizon in the opposite direction of the crowded foundations of Annapolis and carefully held my breath in watching and I prayed again, hoping that the commotion would not draw attention.
An overwhelming sense of foolishness welled in my guts, and I trotted off towards the direction I’d watched the Alukah go, through the ramshackle streets haphazardly.
The darkness was maddeningly empty, so I filled it with shouts, “C’mon! This is your turf, ain’t it? This darkness is yours so come and take me if you can!” Rusty as I was, I held the shotgun like never before, squinting my eyes, keeping my pace in unison with my heartbeat. There’s a place in that darkness that is beyond reproach, beyond the comprehension of a city dweller, beyond even my own understanding and I found myself padding through those streets at an accelerated rate, hopeful to confront the demon and I only found more dead and vacant lots and I crossed more than two intersections where the signs were either gone or indecipherable in the black shadows cast there. I wished for a payback of the demon’s hunt or perhaps I wished for something even more than that—what did I need to prove and to who? “You sick and twisted and foul beast!” I went so loud I continued to hoarseness, “Slimy fuck!” I’s so mad that spit came with the words too.
Still, there was nothing and I came to a final crossroads, a place more commercial—at least for a flatland dead town—where brick storefronts half-stood on those four corners. Finding my voice again, I continued my tirade, cursing the demon, “Come get some—c’mon already! Here’s your fight?” I was scared though.
A sudden noise from the dilapidated storefront to my left startled me to pivot and watch, gun pulled up, and I focused as hard as I could on the recesses of that shadowed place; it was a large antiquated face where a window might have sat many years prior. Wet and hungry sounds emanated from that place, the disgusting noises of a fiend—even in knowing it, I was surprised in seeing the new creature spill out in a lumpish mess of slickened muscles, lubricated, its innumerable arms and legs clawed its own body forward so that it rolled like a mushy ball—each of those limbs remained human in nature. Upon the thing pulling itself onto the street, I staggered backwards, gun still raised, and watched its form take a modicum of understanding in the moonlight; its mouths—sporadically, illogically placed over its mass of a body—opened and seemed to try and speak with each one merely letting go of meekly audible, painful sighs in doing so. The eyes, spaced much the same as the mouths, blinked and rolled as if it was torture for the thing to live. The mutant was a tongue-like mass at its center, and it was almost the size of a horse—I’d seen fiends grow much larger, but this was still a great threat.
In moving away from where it spilled onto the street, I stumbled backwards and caught myself on the backfoot and clumsily spun into a sprint; my boots pounded in my flight from the thing, and it chased after.
Its mouths exhausted terrible sighs as it gained speed in the relative openness of the street and in seconds, I would not have been surprised if the thing snatched me by an ankle and devoured me without thought—not that fiends had any other thoughts above the basest urge to consume.
The pursuit kept me going in the dark, watching the still shadows of the dilapidated housing and I pushed on until I tasted copper; my breathing went raspy—it’d been so long since I’d been forced to run from such a creature in the open. I took a glance back and saw it coming, gaining speed in its perpetual roll; its body excreted some fluid across itself so that it could glide more easily.
Coming to a crossroads I’d passed earlier, or perhaps it was a new one—I couldn’t fathom in the dark—I took in the direction of what I thought was south and ran full throttle; my knees ached.
In hoping to confuse the mutant, I quickly dove towards the right side of the southbound street, towards some ramshackle, through the skeletal framing of a skinless house without a roof; I pushed through the pencil-narrow vertical beams and stumbled through, landing onto the unseen ground on the other side. My left leg spasmed and in the millisecond that it took for my nerves to register the pain, I let out a mild, “Oh.” I tried to lift myself from the spot and found that my left leg refused to bend straight; in total horror—more so from my body failing than the mutant—I swiveled my torso around and scooted on my rear across the ground, raking myself in the opposite direction of the fiend.
The mutant slammed into the frame; its many arms reached through the bars and in a moment, it began to use its hands to lift itself along the exposed wall and I scooted further away till my back met the bars of where an opposite wall would’ve gone. In a scramble, I snatched the shotgun, pushed myself sniff against the bars on my side and watched the thing down the barrel; I waited and concentrated on my own breathing. If nothing else worked, I still had that Molotov—if not for it then for me.
As it crested the top of the wall made of bars, I watched patiently and only when I was certain I fired.
The mutant, the great meatball-thing that it was, lost its grasp for a moment and slipped onto the arrangement of vertical bars; I gush of liquid, illuminated in starlight, shot from its base of its soft body; it began to try and catch its grasp on the bars and I took a moment for myself to examine my left knee—I pulled it as close to my face as I could manage which was hardly at all—some black triangular mass had lodged itself into my flesh; more accurately, I’d slammed myself onto something sharp in my panic to flee the fiend. In a second, not thinking of the repercussions, I gripped the thing with my left hand and clamped my mouth onto my right hand, biting into fat of my hand by the thumb. The debris was free from my leg, and I let it to fall to the ground; blood ran freely into my mouth and I let go of the bite and tentatively lifted the gun again, ignoring the pain; the creature continued to struggle, and I fired again. It slipped again, further impaling itself on the bars.
I had one shell left.
Using the place I’d propped my back, I pushed free from the ground and put all my weight onto my right leg, testing the left; I staggered—hopped really—around in the small square of ground surrounded by metal framing and searched the ground for something long. I unearthed the dirt around my feet and found a long piece of metal rod; setting the gun to the side, I lifted the metal rod over my head and then slowly arched it out from my body. It would give me just enough room to further injure the thing while also staying well out of its grasp.
I swung the makeshift weapon down like a bat or a sword and the fiend slid a little further down the bars, the exit wounds began to show across the top of its roundish body, and I smacked it again—its mouths spoke words that could nearly be understood. Though it took only moments, I was thoroughly exhausted by the time the creature had reached the ground again, good and dead and impaled upon six of those vertical bars. I tossed the weapon to the ground, lifted my gun, and shimmied through the bars on the opposite side of the square.
Adrenaline only lasts so long, and my left leg throbbed to the point of nausea; I did not want to inspect the wound, but on rounding the ramshackle and watching the still dead thing, I stumbled into the street and knelt and lifted my pant leg. It was dark and bloody and already it was burning. Infection was my first thought. A puncture wound could spell a terrible fate. I shifted to sit in the street. My leg didn’t bend right.
The cat’s hiss came from the darkness and there wasn’t a way I could respond in time; I felt those long nasty fingers grab me by the back of my neck and I was lifted immediately from the ground—the gun clattered to the ground and all I could do was initially freeze and stiffen and then my hands moved to the grasp which held me firmly by the throat; those massive knuckles were like stones.
The Alukah had me and situated me so that it could look into my face, its long black hair hid its eyes but I could smell its breath and see its teeth which rested in its round mouth. I could snap you. It seemed to nod its head, but to detect humanity in that damnable pale face was a mistake.
I choked.
What’s that? It relaxed its grasp on my throat.
“Do it.”
Why’re you crying? Its foot brushed against the gun at its feet, and it lifted it with its free hand, and it commented casually, Little human toy.
It moved, holding me by the throat, dragging me along the ground in an abnormal sluggish gait. It was hard to see anything but the night sky, anything but the strange angle of the demon—with its grip, it was hard to breathe, and tears indeed welled in my eyes, and I held to its forearm to distribute some of the weight of my own body away from my neck. With its tugging, I could not speak, but it spoke.
I’ll squeeze you dry, but your blood’s too tainted to drink. That won’t make it any less interesting. I’ll twist you like a rag and see which hole it comes from first. More than that, you’ll scream. You’ll scream so loud everyone will know. Everyone will know what I’ve done to you—once you’re no more than ruin. Not even Mephisto would balk at my handiwork once I’ve had my time with you. God will look on your sour corpse with so much disgust there won’t be a place for you anywhere. Only Oblivion, a place worse than any.
The creature moved us to the open field, tilted its head back and forth, rose its rattish face to the sky and snorted and then clearly sniffed, dropping the gun to its feet to brush the long black hair from its eyes; its muscular body shone in the moonlight so that even its bluish veins stood plainly from its white skin. It shifted its gaze to the outbuilding—maybe fifty yards away—where the youngins were hidden.
Deftly, the thing lifted me from where it had kept me by its side and my feet levitated over the air, I felt feet taller, suspended from that long arm the way I was. It took its free hand to my midsection and I felt the digits of its hand squeeze my ribs and it let go of my throat and I coughed and wheezed, placing my hands on its fingers to dig into that thing’s skin—it didn’t matter—in seconds, a scream escaped my rattling throat; it squeezed more and I felt the glass bottle in my jacket burst from the force then the Alukah gave relief and I tried to gulp air, but felt pangs along my body. My jacket was wetted from blood by the broken bottle shards entering my body or from the contents of the bottle or both.
Urine? It pulled me close to itself, sniffed, and shook its head. Oil? it cackled, Again! Beg for the help you do not deserve! It held me outright once more.
Again, the great hand constricted me and again I could not help but to let out a scream—my lungs were on fire, my voice stretched like a dying animal. I heard barks and saw nothing through wild choking tears. The grip softened.
I coughed more and tried to speak; the Alukah brought me close to itself as if to wait and listen to what I had to say. Weeping words fell out in a whisper, “Kill me. Do it. I don’t mind.”
Another sharp laugh exited the thing’s throat and it squeezed again, facing me out so that I could look at the black outline of the outbuilding. I heard the barking again and I saw the figures stumble out from the sidelong face of the outbuilding. I blinked to remove the tears.
A voice, neither mine nor the demon’s, shouted an attempt at authority, “Let him go!” It was Gemma. They rounded the building so that moonlight removed them from obscurity. Gemma held Trouble on a lead while Andrew followed.
Trouble growled.
The smile was audible through the Alukah’s voice, Strong words for one so dainty. I felt its grip tighten and I chuffed and couldn’t manage a word.
“Get it!” shouted Gemma; she let go of Trouble’s lead and the dog looked curiously at me and the demon where we were and tucked its tail and circled to hide behind the children.
The Alukah laughed. Scary dog.
I was lightheaded while my vision went; I should die—I’d bleed out there or some unknown medical oddity would shut me off. Perhaps I’d will myself to death. My head nodded tiredly, and I fought it, blinking, shaking my head to maintain my eyes.
“You want me?” The boy took a few steps forward and his voice cracked. “We could make a deal.”
The Alukah lowered me so that my feet skimmed the ground but shifted to keep a tight hold around only my throat. Oh?
“What are you doing?” shouted Gemma; she closed the space between herself and Andrew and shoved him.
He shoved her back. “Me for him,” he addressed the demon.
Is that the deal?
Everything in my body protested while I reached for the jean pocket on my right side; I could not reach it. I stretched and my ribs screamed in pain—it was worse than bruising. The demon did not notice me moving. Maybe because my movements were weak, subtle. I tried again while mentally asking God for help and I came short of the pocket. I cursed Him and then my shaking fingers found the pocket. I withdrew the lighter there.
“That’s right,” said Andrew.
“No, he won’t,” Gemma’s voice was aflame.
It’s not your deal to make, girly.
I took the lighter to my jacket, lit it, and the flames grew around me in a flash, feeding on the oil.
The Alukah hissed, attempted to unwrap its hand from around me while I dug into its forearm with two claws and bit onto the thing’s hand for extra purchase. It swung me around and my legs flew limply. It took every bit of strength I had.
Let go! The Alukah shrieked.
Trouble barked, the children screamed, and I bit deeper till that thick black blood filled my mouth. The flames were immaculate, cleansing, more furious than I could’ve imagined. Not for life—that’s not why I held on so strongly—it was for them, for Andrew and Gemma. Me and that creature should’ve burned together. Fitting.
Delirium took over and I swiveled overhead in the demon’s tantrum, holding onto that arm. The Alukah hissed, roared, shouted nasty epithets.
The gunshot rang out and I met ground, hard.
Exhaustion or death could’ve taken me then, but it was the former.
When consciousness came again, it was hands, smacking hands that brought me to life—then the vague smell of burnt hair, cooked flesh. My body stung and I could not move but to lift my face from the dirt where I lay belly-flat.
“You almost died,” said Gemma somewhere between hope and sorrow, “You almost killed yourself!” She shook me and shoved me hard enough so that I rolled on my back. She’d been crying, but surely, we’d won. What was there to cry for? If we’d lost, she wouldn’t be talking at all.
She left me and I stared at the sky through slits. The sun was coming but I couldn’t feel the warmth; I couldn’t feel anything (that would be a sweet memory in the time to come). It was quiet save the crackling I heard; it was like the lowness of a dying fire. It wasn’t me? I wasn’t on fire?
When she returned, she lifted my head to place my pack underneath it; it elevated my vision. I surveyed my surroundings. The outbuilding was there and the Alukah lay on the ground perhaps ten feet from me; its body charred and sizzled and caught little flames in response to the cresting sunrise; everything was a daze—we’d won.
Gemma’s eyes glittered, and she called the dog over and the dog sniffed my face and the girl’s lips remained flat, expressionless.
I saw the boy’s body—it lay motionless alongside the dead Alukah and alongside that body was my shotgun. The body’s head sat on its side, disconnected from its owner, facing away from where I lay.
“He killed it. He shot it.” Gemma sat beside me, and Trouble placed her snout on the girl’s shoulder. “We’re going to die,” she nodded.
First/Previous
Archive

2017 came and went with no notable missions. It was a busy year for NASA on the ground, however. New contracts and buildings, the re-election of Obama, and the announcement that the ISS would be retired in 2028. After many a few appeals to congress, NASA gained continued funding for both Orion and a future joint space station with the ESA and JAXA. Boeing’s Starliner was delayed into 2019, and the Crew Dragon would not be ready until 2020. So it was that Orion 3 would be the biggest mission of 2018. And it was no wonder why. Humanity would be returning to the Moon for the first time since Apollo 17, and NASA was ready to promote it.
The mission was a cultural milestone in itself – it was the first time NASA would stream an Orion mission in its entirety online, and it became popular for large internet celebrities and news hosts to talk about the upcoming mission. They would be paid, of course. For the first few steps, whoever would take them, a combined audience of ~1,000,000,000 would be watching them.
Astronaut selection was tricky. NASA needed to choose a crew that had experience, but were limited in that not many of their astronauts were both experienced flight-ready. Most of NASA Astronaut Group 19 were retired (or about to), but one stuck out to the Astronaut Office: Christopher Cassidy. Much like Wiseman, he was a former Chief of the Astronaut Office, and had two flights under his belt, both Shuttle and Soyuz. He would be assigned as Mission Commander. Another that stuck out was James Dutton. He was a pilot aboard the Shuttle, and endeared to the former shuttle personnel and many NASA employees. He was selected as pilot. Robert S. Kimbrough, another Shuttle astronaut, was selected as flight engineer. Jack D. Fischer was selected as payload specialist for the mission, rounding out the crew with three NASA Astronaut Group 19 astronauts and one NASA Astronaut Group 20 member.
During training, ideas for callsigns were thrown around. NASA wanted something symbolic of their progress and the future, politics would drive them to name it something patriotic, while the public would be largely indifferent. Except a minority: the Star Trek fans. Much like with the Space Shuttle of late, they had campaigned for Orion to be named after the USS Enterprise. In the end, it would be left up to the crew to decide the names. And you can likely guess what they chose. So it was the Orion capsule for this mission would be named Enterprise, and the Altair to be named Polaris. After a long eight months of training, production, processing, paperwork, calculations and other assorted work, the mission was ready. The Ares I was rolled out to the pad, with it Polaris, and the booster launched half past three in April 2018.
But the successful launch of Polaris coincided with the news of the contracting of the Space Exploration Vehicle (SEV), to none other than JAXA. It would be complete by around 2022, meaning that it would be utilized on a mission no earlier than Orion 6. In exchange for this, a seat on Orion 4 was given. The SEV would be landed by a separate Altair lander. Contracting for the non pressurized Lunar Roving Vehicle (LRV) also fell to JAXA, this time being light enough to be unfolded from one of Altair’s cargo quadrants in its descent stage. The LRV, which had the majority of its work done, would be ready by 2020. This meant it would fly on Orion 4.
As Polaris orbited, Enterprise was rolled out to the pad. Much like Orion 2, there would be a large crowd to view the launch. Present was former President John McCain, Vice President Joe Biden, Chief of Staff Dennis McDonough, Apollo 11 astronaut Buzz Aldrin, three cabinet members, 30 mayors, 21 governors, 55 ambassadors, and 350 congressmen. A viewing public of almost 150,000 and 2,000 media representatives and personalities also attended.
After final check ups on Polaris, a go-ahead signal was given from Houston. Five minutes later, the launch countdown began. Liftoff began at 2:33 PM EST May 12, 2018. Three minutes into the flight, Kimbrough’s vitals flatlined. After a short panic from the flight surgeon, Kimbrough reported back that the sensors had failed. The fault was recorded, and the flight continued. By 2:41, Enterprise had entered its parking orbit.
For about an hour the systems were monitored, checked, and checked again. Polaris and Enterprise showed nominal performance, and procedure for relighting the EUS’s engines began.
After a short burn, Enterprise began its approach towards Polaris. After its approach, Enterprise circled her lander to check for damage or any potential issues. After this, Dutton maneuvered and docked with Polaris. Cassidy and Fischer opened Polaris’s main hatchway and conducted an inspection of the systems. After a short meal, the EUS fired its last burn to put Enterprise and Polaris in a Trans-Lunar Injection (TLI). The next three days were mostly monitoring systems and conducting small course adjustments with the RCS thrusters. On May 15, Enterprise fired up its engines to insert both it and Polaris into lunar orbit.
The selected landing site was Oceanus Procellarum, a few miles off of the Apollo 12 site. Oceanus Procellarum was chosen for its relative flatness, as well as to more thoroughly inspect the region. Apollo 12 didn’t cover all bases, so Orion 3 hoped to refine the data on the site and see how the new systems reacted.
The crew were allowed to sleep, and on May 16 orbital operations began. A small telescope was installed on Enterprise to conduct surface observations. The telescope was nowhere near powerful enough to see Polaris when it landed, but it could help scope out the area. Cassidy and Kimbrough were selected for landing on the Moon, and they spent their time in orbit powering the systems and adjusting to the lander interior. May 16 also included one of the most important experiments on the mission: sunflower bulbs were carried on board, with a small amount of dirt.
This was carried in a special compartment on board Altair, but the dirt and bulb itself were carried on Enterprise. The experiment, creatively titled the Lunar Bulb Germination Experiment (LBGE), would germinate the sunflower bulbs on the lunar surface, and note any differences.
Other experiments on the mission were the Altair Specialized Experiments Package (ASEP), which included experiments ranging from solar wind to passive and active seismology. A third and equally important experiment was the Lunar Deployable Payload Module (LDPM), which would simulate the deployment of the LRV for Orion 4. These experiments were stored in the side panels of Polaris, which could be pulled down for access.
It was a lot for the first mission, but both Mission Control and the crew were prepared and confident. Overall, this experiment package would consume the majority of the seven EVAs for the astronauts. The remaining time was spent collecting samples and resting.
The landing was scheduled for around 7:00 PM EST that day. Cassidy and Kimbrough entered Polaris and gave a salute to Fischer, and sealed off from Enterprise and undocked. After clearing a distance, the deorbit burn began. Minutes later, and under almost a billion viewers’ scrutiny, Polaris touched down. The first EVA would follow a few minutes later. Cassidy stepped into the airlock, depressurized, and looked out upon the lunar surface. Viewing peaked around this time, much to NASA’s Public Relations Offices’ delight. Cassidy descended the ladder down to the lunar surface, and stepped onto the lunar surface.
“With these steps, we begin anew the exploration of our nearest neighbor, in peace and with hope for all mankind.” The immortal words by Cassidy. He looked around the surface, and waited for Kimbrough to descend. Kimbrough’s words were not as majestic - “Looks just like White Sands.” After some remarks and looking around, the two received a call from none other than President Obama, who congratulated them on the mission. Work began shortly after.
First was the deployment of the American Flag on the lunar surface. Then was the deployment of the ASEP. First was the RTG, which would power the experiments. The command station was set up with the Ion and Passive Seismometer a few feet away. After the rest were set up, the Active Seismic Experiment (ASE) began. It was a simple thumper-geophone combination, and had good results. After the experiments were tested, the crew returned to Polaris and had their rest period.
May 17 began with freeze-dried breakfast and the second EVA. This EVA would set up the Radio Antenna Stand Test Article (RASTA). RASTA was a tripod stand with a small suite of communication instruments and a dummy satellite dish. RASTA would aid the development of the Farside Radio Observing Scanning Telescopes (FROST) for Orion 5. After this was another round certifying the ASEP was functional, sample collection began. The remainder of Day 2 was checking systems and deploying the more time-consuming ASEP systems. The Solar Wind Experiment (a large sheet on a tall pole) was also set up. In orbit, Dutton fired Enterprise’s engines, altering the orbit just enough to align the capsule for docking once Polaris lifted off. Fischer did surface observations, and took many photos of the lunar far side. The last activity for Day 2 was unpacking a small retroreflector, which was placed not far off.
Day 3 would be more sample collecting and exploring the landing site. Near the site was a shallow crater about fifteen meters across. Cassidy descended the crater wall, which Houston considered a risky move. After gaining his footing, he picked up a few soil and rock samples before climbing out. It became evident this move on Cassidy’s part was worth the risk, as the samples collected would help expand knowledge and study on lunar asteroid impacts. After this Cassidy and Kimbrough returned to Polaris to store the sample bags and process data. After a routine checkup on LBGE, the crew called it a day.
Day 4 meant the deployment of the LDPM. After wrangling the pulley on the panel, Kimbrough removed the panel and, with help from Cassidy, pulled the pallet out. The pallet itself was ten feet long, but had two hinges at the front and back allowing the pallet to fit into the cargo quadrant. They detached the pallet from Polaris and tested some of the batteries and affixed parts onto it (such as the antenna and seats). Most of these parts were non-functional, and this activity was mostly a practice exercise for Orion 4. The remainder of the day was spent inside Polaris, processing and transmitting the data for NASA to work with. Kimbrough, the mission specialist, was trained with a small degree of knowledge on geology and biology. While nowhere near certified, his work with the LGBE and sample collection were invaluable.
Days 5 and 6 were like the rest: checking ASEP systems, strolling around the lander, picking up samples, and processing data. Day 6 was special, because Cassidy and Kimbrough held a live interview for major news networks. In the meantime, Fischer and Dutton conducted gamma ray and x-ray observations, surface and stellar photography, and small particle spectrometer and mass spectrometer sensing. With the research being done by Enterprise, new images could be compared with old to note and new impacts or differences. Day 7 was the last day on the Moon, and that meant one thing: packing up. Experiments and data were packed up, samples were moved into their respective locations on board Polaris, and assorted cargo were taken aboard. The SWE had its net removed and placed in storage, and the ASEP was put into “Long-Duration Mode”.
Polaris lifted off the surface of the Moon on May 23, 2018, returning to Enterprise in orbit. Polaris’s ascent stage was jettisoned, and Enterprise’s engines were lighted to send it back to Earth. After a three-day coast, Enterprise and her crew reentered and splashed down off the coast of Hawai’i at 12:24 on May 26, 2018.
Orion 3 was a record-setting mission. The fourteen-day mission logged 120 minutes of EVA time, well above any mission on Project Apollo. Time, sample and other assorted records were all shattered. The data collected could be processed for decades of research and development, and the data on the Altair lander and Orion capsule would aid in the development of their respective Block II counterparts. The mission was also a large PR boost for the program, ensuring funding for FY2019 and beyond. After all, the election cycle for the Democrat Party was only two years away and the announcement of Orion’s cancellation wouldn’t help their political base, which was slowly falling to the GOP, nonetheless after six years of the Obama administration. Orion missions up to Orion 15 were promised funding by congress, with a hopeful return on investment in international cooperation and research by 2025. This put political pressure on NASA to include more international partners in the program, much to both JAXA and the ESA’s delight. Seats for JAXA and ESA astronauts opened up for Orion 4, 5 and 7. The Canadian Space Agency (CSA) would push for one of their astronauts on an Orion flight. Because of the current seat conflict, NASA responded with a resounding ‘Maybe.’

Thank you for the amazing universe!
l Prologue l Previous l Next l
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"Will he live?"
The Kolshian doctor ensured that the IV line was set properly in the arm, given feathers and fur tended to get in the way. But he knew what he was doing, and the needle slipped beneath the skin without protest. Confident that the connection was good, he stepped back, taking in the full form of Kalsim with bulbous orange eyes.
The captain was better off than when they found him in the cave, but that wasn't saying much. Naked, delirious, covered in blood, and on the brink of death. His guard wasn't doing much better, spare the mortal injury, but hysterical regardless. He was talking now, but Kalsim wasn't so lucky.
"Barely, maybe. I'm surprised he survived for as long as he did, given the extent of the gash." He regarded the large compress wrapped around the captains chest. Underneath, teal colored medigel worked feverishly to repair the wound. "I'm gonna say the makeshift bandage saved his life."
"Good thinking on his guards part, bad on mine." The other observer sighed. "If only we just escorted him through, all of this could've been avoided. But that's in the past now. Did you manage to preform a brain scan yet?"
The doctor shook his tail. "Unfortunately, it's better to wait until he's stable to run the scan through."
The other thought for a moment. "Do it now."
The doctor was taken slightly aback. "But sir, doing a brain scan on him, in this condition? There's a real chance that the process might kill him."
"I know the risk, but its one we have to take. If he dies, we lose our only piece on the board."
"Are you sure? How useful are his memories to us? Don't we need him alive?"
The other walked to the beside, and gently stroked a tentacles across Kalsim's chest. It carried with it small flakes of violet blood, which a single rub turned to dust.
"We don't need his body, but we need his mind. No matter what happens, we continue on as planned. Understand?"
The doctor was still hesitant, tentacles and tail rapping fidgeting nervously. "Alright, I can get it done. I'm just telling you now that I don't think this is a good idea."
"Nothing we've done so far has been a good idea." The other stepped back from the bed, and moved to exit the small medbay. "But we do what's necessary."
The doctor began the process of setting up the brain scan, while the other made for the door. He took one step out, before he raised his tentacle, and turned back to face the doctor.
"Oh, and do let me know when he wakes up. We have much to discuss."
Memory transcription subject: Kalsim, Captain, United Federation Fleet
Date [standardized human time]: December 31st, 2136
It was not the sound of Kelum's voice that awoke me, nor the agony pulling my chest apart. My first sense of awareness was entirely lacking them, replaced instead by a repeating electronic beat, and what sounded like someone rustling around inside of a cabinet. And pressing against by body was not the ungrateful chill of bare rock, but a plush mattress and soft sheets.
Am I...dead?
Opening my ideas left me staring across what appeared to be a small medbay. At least, it looked like any medbay I would find on one of my ships. Taking the place of the usual zurulian personnel, however, was a kolshain, a deep green, donned in a coat, tentacles shifting through a cabinet hanging over the basin.
"W-where am I?"
The kolshian spun around instantaneously, eyes widened at the sound of my frail voice. "Stars above, your awake." He rushed to my side and began scanning over my face. "How are you feeling? Any pain, any grogginess?"
Maybe I'm not dead? "I...feel fine, I think. The pain is gone, at least."
The kolshain nodded. "Then the medigel did its work, thank the stars above. It looks like your going to be alright."
I looked down to see a large bandage wrapped around my chest, much more professional than the rags that Kelum used as a substitute. In place of the pain, a soothing cold projected from where my wound presumably laid. That must be the medigel he's talking about. I moved my wing around as a bit of a test, and found that besides a few twinges here and there, it was almost like I hadn't been raked at all.
"It's gonna take a couple of months for the wound to heal, and there's definitely going to be a scar." The doctor placed a tentacle on my shoulder. "But you should be able to walk up and about no problem. Do you feel like walking?"
"I...I guess?"
"Alright, let me help you here." A tentacle wrapped around my wing as he gently helped me out of the bed. Placing my legs down on the panel floor felt odd at first, likely the lingering effects of whatever painkillers they pumped into me. But however awkward it was, I could move.
"I gotta say Kalsim, your quite resilient. I've never seen someone survive a wound like that."
I coughed, but it only produced a small wince. "Well, maybe I just have a reason to go on."
"Yes, yes..." The doctor looked towards the door, before concerned eyes turned back to me. "Are you sure that your alright?"
"Yes, I think so..." I paused as I remembered the first question that came to mind. "Where am I? Where's Kelum?"
"Your guard is safe, no worries. He was concerned about you, so he'll be glad to know your up and about."
"Can I see him?"
Some of the doctors compassion seemed to slip away. "Not at the moment. There's more important matters to attend to."
It was then I noticed his other tentacle slipping a holopad back into his pocket. "We're you just talking to someone?"
He looked to the door. "Someone that want's to talk to you. I can bring you to him, if you like?"
"Who?"
"It's better if you meet him in person. He can explain everything."
My mind immediately went to the most obvious possibility: Could this be the person who sent me the note? I was suddenly filled with a mix of anticipation and dread. The person who revealed that my old home still existed, but who's cryptic nature nearly led to my death. He could be friend or foe, ally or enemy. He promised me an out, but it could all still be a lie. A gift wrapped box hiding a live grenade inside, ready to blow up in my face.
But it seemed that no matter what, I would have to talk to him.
"Bring me to him."
I quickly realized that the medbay was just another part of the maze-like facility me and Kelum entered in what felt like months ago. The same confusing layout, the same matte steel panel floors and ceilings, the same sickly green light bars, the same signs leading to the same places. Quarters, Maintenance, Observation.
It was a short journey, but one that nearly sent my nerves jumping out of my skin. My mind was alight with possibilities of who the person could be and what he wanted. Why did he need my help? Why not anyone else? Was it because this facility held a past dear to me? Or was there something that I wasn't seeing here? That last option felt more the case as we neared our destination.
Finally, we stepped through a doorway leading back into the familiar room. The consoles still lay dormant, the sanctuary light still blasted through the (now damaged) viewport. And standing shadowed near the edge,
SQUAW!
The sudden screech threw me back for a second, for there wasn't just a person standing at the window. Accompanying the man was one of those birds, green and gold, the very same that plucked that lizard from right in front of me and Kelum. Its sharp beaked plucked seeds from the outstretched teal tentacle before it, beady forward facing eyes planted firmly on the kolshian's face. He let the bird feed for a moment longer before his appendage returned to his side, and he turned to face me directly.
"Ah, Kalsim. I'm glad to see you up and about."
He was well above middle age, that much was clear. His voice crackled like the pages of an ancient tome, carrying knowledge and wisdom of a lifetime and more. His face was creased and spotted, his eyes were beginning to dull, and his back was beginning to damper. But he was proud and determined, all carried in a demeanor that seemed to disdain the very concept of age itself.
And that demeanor also carried a permeating aura of authority. In the gilded bands and rings around his sleeves, in the robes tailored only for those select few, in the necklace around his neck born with the symbol of the Chiefdom. Yet he was not gaudy or audacious. The blue fabric was well maintained, but not perfect. The guild shone, but was not spotless. He was powerful, but not infallible, and that he knew well.
He was unlike any shadow caste member I had ever met.
"I will see myself out." The doctor bowed before he took his leave, shutting the door in his wake.
The shadow caste member sighed. "I tell him that he doesn't need to bow, but he never listens. My colleagues leave their impression, let me tell you."
He stepped down from the observation platform, prompting the bird to fly back out the broken window. He watched it fly away, only turning back when it finally disappeared over the canopy. His tail bent in a manner that suggested happiness.
"Beautiful creatures, are they not? I can't exactly recall the name, it's probably in the archives somewhere. But I'm sure it's more than befitting of their elegance. Your people had a talent for names, even still to this day."
He stepped up in front of me, standing just slightly below my eye level.
"I'm sure you have plenty of questions, so ask away."
I was surprised at how casual he was being with all this, given that I nearly died. Is this just an act, or is he really this laid back? It would've helped if I knew his actual name.
"Who are you?"
"Ah, that's simple. I am Maronis, and before you ask, yes, I was the one to send you the note."
Maronis. The name didn't ring familiar, despite my numerous interactions with the caste. "I don't recall you."
"I didn't expect you too." He began to walk around, sliding tentacles over the dead consoles. "Truthfully, I'm one of the less prominent members of the caste. Partly because I prefer it that way, partly because I'm not the most popular."
"Popular?"
"Yes, the caste hasn't taken a particular liking to me, and that's entirely my fault. I don't apologize, and they don't expect me too. However, it has left me, how shall I say, rather uniformed."
He stopped his wandering, and turned to face me directly. His causal disposition did turn out to be an act, for a grave expression quickly took its place.
"There are happenings, Kalsim. Happenings that threaten to bring the Federation to its knees. I need your help to stop them."
"Happenings?" I had the feeling he was being intentionally vague. Or maybe... "What do you mean, happenings?"
Maronis sighed, before closing the gap and placing a tentacle on my shoulder. "Like I said, I'm rather uniformed. In that respect we are the same. Come with me."
He guided me over to the viewport, where a warm breeze blew threw the broken window. The 'sun', now nearing the horizon, sent long shadows cascading over the hills and treetops. The town laid shadowed in the center.
"Tell me Kalsim, what do you believe the purpose of this place to be?"
The answer seemed obvious now. "Some sort of habitat for pre-contact life from Nishtal."
He nodded. "In some sense, you are correct."
"In some sense?"
His eyes glowed brightly as he stared towards the horizon. "When the Federation first began on its endeavors, our government initially insisted on the complete extermination of all predator flora and fauna. The farsul, scholars that they are, disagreed, believing there to be some value in maintaining at least some samples of predatory life. Whether for the purpose of study, or that scholarly disposition towards collection."
"Eventually, they came to a compromise, whereby the farsul could maintain their little collection, as long as it was well isolated from the rest of the galaxy. It's why their archives are located a kilometer below their oceans, and why this place is here."
"As the Federation expanded, they constructed hundreds of facilities just like this. For centuries, they served their purpose without issue. And that's where the story should have ended."
But it didn't was the statement left unsaid. And something inside told me it had to do with the discovery in the cave.
"Me and Kelum, we found a skeleton of an arxur in that cave. And the town...people used to live here, didn't they?"
The 'sun' now began to dip below the horizon, and the habitat began to grow dim. Somewhere off in the distance, the calls that became somewhat familiar died into the falling darkness.
"I believe your intuition to be correct. This place was once a facility of observation, transformed into one of experimentation. To what ends, well that remains to be seen."
He turned back to me as the light finally disappeared, rendering his already teal complexion a further decomposed green.
"And I believe that this is, or was, part of a larger plot that I've yet to be let in on. I only know it by its code name, Clear Sky. A secret so important that all besides its name is to be kept from even fellow members of the shadow caste. And you know how secrets can be dangerous little things. At once seeming so minor, yet carrying the capacity to bring down entire nations, civilizations, in one fell swoop."
Maronis brought his tentacles behind his back, and began to pace the room once again. "Now let me ask you another question, Kalsim. Why does the Federation stand today?"
I watched him circle as I processed the question. "I...don't know what you mean."
"Well think about it. The Federation is responsible for numerous crimes against sapience. The destruction of entire cultures, histories, ideals inconvenient to our rule. We wage a war that we both know continues only for its sake. We stand at the core of an empire whose foundation is built on blood and bone, and we revel in it. Any sane world would have long ago rejected us. So tell me, why does the Federation stand today?"
The way he talked so casually about the essential destruction of forty four distinct species, including my own, should have given me pause. But maybe that's the point. Maybe it's because we can talk about it at all. Maybe because...
"It's no secret."
Maronis stopped, turned to face me again, and for the first time since the conversation began, let a small smile lift the corners of his mouth.
"Its. No. Secret. For centuries upon centuries, this galaxy has come to understand us, the cured, the values that we propagate, the foundations of our empire, to be the true predator, and all because one species decided not to become its prey. And from that point forward, we have had to fight for every single tiny ounce of legitimacy, to convince others that we are the path forward when reality tells of an otherwise case. And that struggle," he raised a single appendage to the air, "that is what has granted our Federation strength. For despite it all, we have crafted the most powerful polity this galaxy has ever known, and likely will know."
He paused to take a breath.
"But, to those of a less intelligent disposition," I could almost see the urge to mention Nikonus by name ripple across the kolshian's skin, "to those whose analysis errs to the superficial, they do not see this strength. They see the agitations of the Shield and the Coalition, factions which in reality can be crushed with but a flick of a tentacle. They see the furthering acceptance of the arxur, a natural product of their ideologies inevitable decay. They only see the superficial, because they only desire the superficial."
"So imagine, for a moment, if the conquest of Skalga was an uninterrupted process. If the Federation had never been given pause to reflect. What then, Kalsim?"
I'd almost forgotten that I was a part of the conversation, given how long and, dare I say, passionate his little speech had been. But reflecting on his question, the answer only seemed obvious.
"The secret would have been maintained. The Federations true nature, lacking the intervention of the Venlil, would have in all likelihood never been revealed."
"And what would it have done," Maronis continued my train of thought, "but grant the superficial strength so many seem to desire? The Federation, supreme in its power, free to enact its will upon the entire galaxy, no obstacle standing in its way."
"But secrets are a dangerous thing. Uncontested power is no different. It breeds malaise, complacency, confidence. Combine them together, well, that's an easy way to bring down an empire."
The logic seemed sound, if not common sense. "If what the Federation did only came out now, it would be chaos. Entire species suddenly discovering they're the monsters they've been led to hate the entire time. The Federation, it would just tear itself apart."
"Exactly." Maronis stepped forward. "And it's why I need your help. Because me and you both understand that there can be no more secrets if the Federation is to survive. And more than anything else, that is what we both desire. Correct me if I'm wrong."
Maronis looked up to me as I considered what I did truly want. Because what I wanted was always a product of what the shadow caste wanted, what Nikonus wanted. They told me what to do, what to say, how to act. Constantly kept an officer at my side, making sure that I toed the line perfectly. So what did I want?
"I don't know."
But far from disappointment, or shock, Maronis looked almost like he expected that answer. "You've been on a leash so long you've forgotten how to fly. I know what Nikonus wants to do with you, to make you another pawn in his game to create a forever war with humanity. A delusional plan born from the ideological dredges that can only be described as his mind. And I know you want no part his game. So like I promised, I'm giving you an out."
But that only raised the obvious question, "How do I know I won't just become your pawn as well?"
"Because," he expected that response as well, "unlike Nikonus, I'm giving you a choice. You can walk out of here, pretend that this place and this conversation never existed. Of course," he took in the bandage, "the wound would be hard to explain. I doubt falling down a flight of stairs would do that, but that's all besides the point."
"And you wouldn't make me disappear, suffer an accident, two gunshots to the back of the head?"
"Smart of you to consider that, but no, I don't work that way. At least, with people I consider allies. And even if you walk away, I know you would side with me if it came down to it."
He looked out to the habitat, which was now bathed in dim glow of a false moon. The wails echoed through the night, met with like-minded calls across the ancient expanse. So called stars twinkled across the dome, forming the constellations that once stared down at me every night. Maronis looked upon it all with no small amount of appreciation.
"I brought you here to remind you of what the Federation took from you, and so many others like you, all in the service of predator and prey."
"But predator and prey is all but dying. The continuing acceptance of the arxur and humanity serves as prime evidence to that point. Those who cling to it have condemned themselves to die alongside it. And if they succeed, if Clear Sky becomes manifest, they'll drag the entire galaxy down with them too. Of that I am sure."
"But you don't even know what Clear Sky is, you said so yourself."
"But I know what the caste wants, and you know what they want: To have predator and prey to define this galaxy in perpetuity. Clear Sky can only serve that end. The path that the rest of the caste seems want to take, even if it succeeds, will bring ruin to the Federation."
There were still lingering doubts, but those were inconsequential in comparison to the evident truth. If Nikonus got the war he desired, it would spell the end of the Federation. Humanity, the Coalition, Jones, they had no interest in playing along like the Dominion. They would go for the throat before the shadow caste even had a chance to get out of bed.
And even if they did, what then? Whose to say the rest of the galaxy would go along too? Humanity was no arxur, that was plain for everyone to see. Fuck, even the sivkit found it in themselves to see humanity for who they truly were. At that point, waging a war against humanity on the grounds of 'fighting predators' would be tantamount to sticking a gun in our collective mouth and pulling the trigger.
Either way, if Maronis was telling the truth, the Federation was doomed, unless the shadow caste was stopped, unless Clear Sky was put down.
"What would you have me do?"
Maronis nodded his tail and he spoke in a stern report. "Nikonus believes you to be a loyal pawn. Use that against him. Find out the true nature Clear Sky, then kill it in its cradle. But most importantly, do whatever it takes to ensure that Clear Sky remains a secret. If any inkling of it reaches the public, that could spell the end of the Federation. To that end, no sacrifice is too great."
"Whatever it takes?"
He leaned in closer. "Whatever it takes."
He stepped back, and some of his casual demeanor seemed to return, if not fully.
"And if you don't think you can do that, leave. But if think you can," he raised one tentacle up, and held it out before me, "then I think we can help each other."
He wanted a handshake. That human gesture, their way of signalling agreement.
And it brought for that great dilemma once again. Whether this was an act, or an out. Whether I would once again sign my life away, or finally take a step towards freedom.
After all I've done, all I've been forced to do, what I'm meant to do...It could be an escape, or I could be doing it all over again.
But I looked out the window again, heard the calls of the wilds robbed from my people by the organization whose member was now promising to bring it all to an end. Me, my people, we could have this all. After a thousand years, we could finally fly free, or have our wings clipped once and for all.
And all it took was a handshake.
"So Kalsim, what will it be?"
I recalled what I told Kelum, standing on the brink of death: It only took a thousand years, but things are finally back to normal.
It was a lie, but it didn't have to be. Not anymore.
So I raised my wing, took his tentacle in my talon, and shook to the future of the Federation.
l Prologue l Previous l Next l

The episode faded back in to a shot of the Gaffers' platform being raised up to the roof by Scott, Ripper, and Chase as MK watched and Izzy walked over, wiping slime off herself.
"Uh, not to sound lazy," Scott said as he left the chain, "but I'm not feeling so good."
"You probably just have a cold," Izzy told him.
"Since when do colds have sores like this?" Scott followed up as he lifted his right arm and pointed to a round, reddish-brown spot on his elbow.
Izzy looked at him attentively and put her hand on his forehead. "Your body temperature is high, but it's possible that-" she was interrupted by a sudden burp from her teammate that caused her to cringe and take a step back. "Why does your breath smell like lemons?"
"Are you trashing my burps?" Scott asked in confusion.
"Hold on," Justin interrupted as the camera cut to him. "Red sores, fever, lemony burps? Aren't those symptoms of one of the diseases in the book?"
"Page 753," Millie exclaimed. "Mortatistical Crumples Disease!" She gasped. "And it's fatal!"
Everyone gasped. "Mortatistical Crumples is also highly contagious!" MK added, eliciting another gasp from most of the cast.
"Okay, looks like it's quarantine time!" Chris said, backing towards the door with barely-hidden panic. "See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya!" He gave them a quick wave, then dashed out the double door between the two vats. Both teams went over to it with shock on their faces as the sounds of power tools were heard on the other side.
The camera cut to Chris as he pounded a nail in with a hammer. It was one of many holding up a red banner with an orange skull-and-crossbones on it, set over several long pieces of wood that had been nailed up to bar the exit. "There's more to this disease than either team knows," he told the camera with an impish grin before walking away with a dark chuckle.
Another shot of the numbered studios was shown. "Hold on," Anne Maria spoke up as the shot cut back to the ten castmates in the challenge set. "How did Dirt Boy catch a fatal disease?"
“I'm sure it's just a twenty-four hour kind of fatal,” Scott hoped.
"We have to quarantine Scott! Stat!" Izzy said in a panic.
The camera showed Ripper furiously inflating a plastic bubble with a bicycle pump; the bubble had a yellow-and-black biohazard symbol on it. "Get inside now!" the bully shouted before Scott threw himself head-first into the bubble.
"Oh no!" Jasmine cried. "Brick has a sore too!" She pointed at the soldier boy's upper left arm, who took one look at the sore and began to wave his arm in a panic.
"It has to be a mistake!" Brick exclaimed.
"Hey!" Scott exclaimed from inside his bubble, another one getting inflated nearby. "Is there an exit to this thing?"
"There isn't one!" Ripper shouted as he continued to pump and Brick got into his bubble.
"Why didn't anyone tell me that before I jumped in?!" Scott griped.
“Okay, everyone just calm down!" Chase said.
"Agreed," Jasmine spoke up sternly. "We should make sure no one else is infected. Symptoms of Mortotistico Crumple's Disease include explosive diarrhea..."
"Oh no!" The camera cut to Chase as his bowels began to groan and he ran into a nearby portable toilet with a panicked look on his face.
"Itchy lips," Jasmine continued as the shot cut to Justin, who suddenly bit his lip.
"My… my lips," he moaned. "They're on fire!" He began to frantically rub and scratch at them, leaving them swollen and red.
"Sudden hot flashes," Jasmine listed off as MK began to sweat profusely and tug at her jacket. "Sea sickness," Ripper turned green and vomited. "Speaking in tongues," Izzy was the next to be affected as she babbled incoherently and indistinguishably with her eyes rolling upwards, which continued even as Jasmine listed the final symptom, "and temporary blindness."
"Everyone can see, right?" Jasmine asked as she checked over the castmates’ current states. "That's good to know," she said in relief before walking forward and bumping straight into Brick's bubble. "Oh no," she said in newfound panic. "I'm the one who's blind!"
Confessional: Anne Maria
"I know this is a reality show," Anne Maria told the confessional camera in a serious tone, "but I doubt that Chris would allow us to actually die on national television!"
Confessional Ends
The scene cut to Chris himself watching from his control room, leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on the desk in front of him. "You'd think we wouldn't," he told the camera, "but, just imagine the ratings!"
Back in the quarantined set, the camera panned across the room to show that everyone except for Anne Maria, Millie, and the bubbled Brick and Scott were now laying on top of stretchers, groaning and moaning.
“This is super bad,” Millie said. “We have to do something.”
“Do you mean taking their temperatures, because we only have rectal thermometers, and I'm not in the mood to joke around with them,” Anne Maria responded.
“I wasn't even thinking about that at all,” Millie stated. “Joking with diseases is not funny at all.”
“Obviously, but have you noticed we're the only ones who didn't take part in the studying all-nighter, and we're the only ones who haven't been infected?” Anne Maria asked while looking over everybody.
“I'm not so sure about this supposed disease,” Millie mused. “We need to get our hands on one of those textbooks. There has to be something they missed.”
“I’d do it if Chris didn’t seal off the only exit,” Anne Maria argued.
"There’s another exit over there," Millie pointed to the Grips' platform, which was now sitting on the floor empty of body parts. The chain still led up to a hole in the ceiling where the reel was situated.
"Oh yeah. How in the world did I not notice that?" Anne Maria droned sarcastically before the two made a dash for the platform.
"I still haven’t forgotten you pushing me off the diving board a few days ago, so don’t think I’m scared of pulling the platform as high as possible," Millie informed as they stepped onto the platform and pulled down on the chain, making them ascend.
The footage flashed forward to the outside of the studio as the two girls jumped down from a ladder on the wall of the building. “You grab a textbook, I'll look in the kitchen,” Millie instructed before they split off in opposite directions.
Confessional: Millie
"I really hope that the disease is fake," Millie explained in the make-up trailer. "There were some diagnoses and symptoms in the textbook that I've never heard of before, but I've studied a lot about diseases to be familiar with a selective few."
Confessional Ends
Back inside, Scott was shown to be rolling around in his bubble. "How long has it been since I got in this bubble?" he groaned.
"I don't want to hold onto my bladder for more than an hour!" Brick cried while covering his groin with both hands.
"My lips," Justin groaned on his stretcher. "Of all places, why my lips?"
"I'd kiss them to make you feel better, but I'm not a princess and you are not a frog," MK said, sitting up on the stretcher next to him; Jasmine and Chase were visible in a row behind them. "And even then, I am not an animal kisser."
Ripper was sitting against one of the walls, writing something on a piece of paper with a bucket of vomit next to him. “To my parents; don't let my brothers keep the money I've taken from weaklings in the past.” He paused to throw up into his bucket before writing again. “To my brothers; don't even think about stealing my stash from me, especially you, Wolfgang! From your best son, Richard Kennedy.”
The double doors between the vats were thrown open by Millie and Anne Maria. The camera pulled out as the other cast members moaned, and the two young women stepped into the room – the Jersey girl holding a textbook, and the author with some kind of canister.
"Who's there?" Jasmine asked.
"Simmer down, everyone," Anne Maria said. "We're just here to expose the truth about these textbooks, which are actually bogus." She held the book she'd brought up, and easily tore the cover off it. "The book covers are just cereal boxes." Her bowels started to growl, and with a panicked look, she dropped the book and ran towards the portable toilet. "I'll be right back!"
"It can be a crock," Jasmine sat up on her stretcher. "Nobody's faking the sickness!"
“No, but it's still untrue,” Millie interjected. “I just went to Chef's kitchen, and I found this "cheese". The camera focused in on the canister in her hand as she held it up, showing that it had an image of a cheese wedge on the label.
"Uh, what is in that parmesan?" Brick wondered innocently.
"It is not cheese, but it is," Millie tore off the label to reveal a second beneath it with an image of scratching hands on it, "itching powder and laxatives!"
"Chef!" Brick muttered under his breath. "Why did he not inform me?"
It was then that Anne Maria burst back out of the portable toilet followed by a cloud of foul odor. "That explains the diarrhea and itchy lips."
"And I didn't get sick since I'm the only one who didn't eat the pizza," Millie added.
"What about the sores on Brick and Scott?" Chase asked.
"As for those," Millie laughed lightly, walking over to her quarantined teammate. "They're just pepperoni pieces that got stuck on you when you likely fell asleep."
Brick reached over to touch his sore, and it peeled off easily. "She's right!"
Scott also touched his own sore and it also peeled off quickly. "I was suckered! Now can somebody let me out of here now?"
"So wait," MK spoke up, "the disease is fake?"
Jasmine was the first to react, sitting up and blinking. "By golly. I'm not blind anymore!"
"And I can talk normally!" Izzy cheered.
"And I'm not gonna throw up anymore!" Ripper added. "We've been cured!"
"Could I be let out now?!" Brick pleaded. "I have some urgent business to take care of!"
"I'm comin’," Anne Maria rushed over to the bubble and simply popped it with her fingernail. Both of them winced as the bubble burst, and Brick immediately rushed over to the portable toilet.
"And don't forget about me as well!" Scott spoke up, rolling his bubble into the middle of the room.
Izzy took out a pin, popping her teammate's bubble. “This was all first year med school syndrome!” she said. “Too much studying and too little sleep can make you think you've got every disease in the book!”
"Congratulations, Killer Grips!" the voice of Chris McLean came suddenly, the camera pulling out to show the host descending from the ceiling on another chain. "You just won the challenge!"
The five Grips began to cheer and celebrate. "Brilliant diagnostic skills, Anne Maria and Millie. Way to suss it out. And, for your reward," Chris continued, frowning and looking down at his empty hands. "Knew I forgot something. Just a sec!" he said before stepping back onto the chain's foothold and raising back out of the room.
Confessional: Anne Maria
"This challenge was certainly… something," Anne Maria confessed. "I can't believe that I had to play the role of doctor just to tell everybody about the so-called disease being a lie. Who knew tainted pizza could make you have hot flashes and sea sickness?”
Confessional Ends
"One thing's for sure. I'm double checking my food from now on if I want to prevent temporary blindness or having to speak in tongues," Jasmine told the Grips as the footage cut back to them.
“Once again, the pizza was too good to be true,” Brick commented. “You made a good call not eating any slices, Millie.”
“I had no idea that there were laxatives put onto it,” Millie claimed. “If I wasn't so invested with the book, I'd probably eat the pizza and fall victim to the sickness just like you guys.”
It was then that Chris returned, descending down on the same chain as before but now carrying a covered platter. "As I was saying," he said as he walked towards the Grips, "for your reward!"
He removed the cover and the camera zoomed in on what lay beneath – five picture frames, three in back and two in front, each containing a photograph of a different person. The first on the left was a light purple cat. The second was a confident-looking Hawaiian woman with black long hair wearing a yellow tracksuit and red hoop earrings. In the middle was a teenage girl, pale with brown hair tied in a bun and a beige tank top. Fourth was a smiling white man; he had no hair, had golden dog tags around his neck, and was dressed in a dark green military outfit. And on the right end was an elderly black man with white curly hair, a white mustache covering his mouth, and a dark orange collared long-sleeved shirt.
"That's my cat Whiskers!" Jasmine said excitedly as the shot panned across the photos.
"And that's one of my girlfriends Vanessa," Anne Maria declared.
"Yup!" Chris told them. "One of you gets a whole spa night away from this cruddy studio lot, with your very best friend! So, who's the lucky stiff?"
“I'd kill for a spa day, even if it's with my mom, so how about letting me have it?” Justin smiled widely at his team.
“I have some things I want to talk about with my father,” Brick suggested.
“Now wait just a minute…” Jasmine interrupted as she, Brick, and Justin started to argue over who should get the prize.
“Can all of you shut up!!” Anne Maria ceased the fight, causing everyone to look at her. “As much as I would love to be away from this trashy film lot, I say we should let Millie have the reward.”
"Wait, me?" Millie asked in astonishment. “How come?”
"Clearly, you did the most research out of all of us, and you won the challenge for us," Anne Maria answered.
“You did say that the person who contributes the most should claim the reward,” Brick brought up.
“And with you also not eating that pizza, you've certainly earned that spa night,” Jasmine smiled.
“I don't want to be left out, so okay then,” Justin agreed with a shrug.
"Chris, the Killer Grips came to a decision," Anne Maria said before giving Millie a light shove forward.
"W-wow," Millie said softly as she began to tear up. "This is really generous!"
“Just accept the offer before I trade places with you,” Justin said.
"Eeeuuughh," Chris said in disgust. "Clean up on aisle two!" he called, and moments later, a pair of young white men in white work outfits walked through the open door, one of which carried a push broom. They disappeared off-screen for a moment, then reappeared with one pushing Millie towards the door and the other sweeping up after.
"Thank you for allowing me to take the reward!" Millie said as she allowed herself to be escorted out, wiping away her tears with her hands.
The scene cut outside as Millie walked up to the beaten-down Lame-o-sine. The door opened, and she smiled and stepped inside.
"Granddad!" the writer said happily as the shot moved inside to show her hugging the white haired old man who had been seen in one of the pictures. "I've really missed you!"
"I missed you too, Millie," the man said as he hugged his daughter. "Don't get my favorite shirt wet now. I got it dry cleaned."
"Sorry," Millie said as they broke their hug. "I have a lot to talk to you about ever since I competed in the first season."
Her grandfather smiled proudly. "Spill the details. I can tell you had a ball, but don't blame me if I start to doze off more than I do while writing best selling books."
"I'm not that boring!" Millie laughed cutely. "So it all started when I was dropped off on the dock..."
"Sheesh," Chris cringed as the scene cut to him in his control room. "Talk about a loving family! Hopefully they'll get their dullness smoothed while they're at the spa." He pulled a lever on the desk, cutting the monitor feeds to static, and stood up. "So, will the Grips' winning streak last? Or will they fall apart and lose their teamwork? Find out next time, on Total! Drama! Action!"
(Roll the Credits)
(Bonus Clip)
“That spa night was amazing!” Millie told the camera while in the trailer. “The manicures and pedicures were to die for, and the facials and mud bath really smoothened the rough parts of my skin. Granted, this spa night wasn't as fun as the two-day resort back in Camp Wawanakwa, but thankfully, I didn't have to eat any disgusting food this time, so that's an upside. Want to know something interesting? Granddad was more into the spa treatments than me, but don't tell him that I said that to you,” she added with a giggle.
Eva - 14th
Geoff - 14th
Izzy - RETURNED
Trent - 12th
Sky - 11th
Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Brick, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott

So currently I’m a truck driver and on a local gig, aka home every night, I workout 4 days a week. 1 Chest - 2 Back - 3 Legs - 4 Shoulders&Arms.
I’m thinking about branching out to a regional gig, 4-5 days out / 2-3 days home. Im wondering if I did all the lifting stacked in on my two days off if I’d still be able to get gains. I’m on TRT@200mg a week so this helps. But finally getting jacked again after 3 months on TRT and don’t want to lose it all.
I know this isn’t optimal but it’s the best that would be possible, seeing as I can’t carry a whole gym set in my truck.

Werthin crouched low on the evening watch crag, the setting sun turns the sky a burning gold. The cold fall wind whipped his light gray fur and carried a strange, pungent scent. He lifted his stance to get his nose more into the wind. It wasn't the familiar tang of industry from the beavers nor the energizing hum of golden chi. This smell was raw and primal – the unmistakable odor of. “Death.”
The rest of the pack started to smell it too, Werthin could see a few thousand heads turn and sniff the air, wisps of condensation visible in the sunset. The pack had decided a unified action was taken, knowing what that meant he flexed his exposed chest, his abs rippling his fur, as he leaned up onto two feet and let out a howl. Every wolf lifted their head and joined into the harmony of their voices. The one that carried the loudest was the wolves current leader, Wutzel.
The howling died down when a lone speedor was spotted far on the horizon, a small dust cloud following it. Werthin climbed down and dashed through the maze of tents and other impermanent residencies to a wooden watchtower where his fiance Worina was crouched low, a knocked arrow tracing the rider as the zig-zagged their way towards the camp, tendrils of steam rising from her steady breath.
“Who is it?” Werthin whispered.
Without breaking her concentration, she spat. “Lion, although I have no idea which one is stupid enough or suicidal enough to approach our tribe completely alone.” Even crouching , he was a few centimeters taller than Werthin, her maple fur broken up by much lighter pale vitiligo patterns. Her arms were shaking from the strain of keeping her bow knocked and taught.
Other wolves had taken notice of the speedor and had started to get into defensive positions. As the speedor did a wide loop around the camp, Wutzel ordered the wolves to stand ready but relax. Werthin jumped down and stood next to Wutzel. He had shifted the holster for his double-sided sword to the quick-draw position, although he felt exposed without his armor on.
The rider pulled a hard stop just inside the entrance of the camp. They were a young lion with a dapper yellow and red fur pattern. They looked and smelled 20 at the oldest. Their heavy blue plate armor and crown marked them as royal. He held himself like a prince, even when staring down the entire wolf tribe. If it was not for an ugly sneer with a nose upturned in disgust, he may have even been considered handsome.
Wutzle barked an order, and five wolves lowered their spear and barred their teeth at the lion. The lion put up their paw in response, trying to show he meant no harm, but his sneer was not at all reassuring. He took in a deep breath and glared at every single wolf, seeming to calculate his odds if a fight broke out. “Who is your leader, if you are even civilized enough to have one?” He muttered coldly.
Multiple wolves lurched forward, hackles raised and fangs showing, but Wutzel snarled a warning, and they backed up but kept the aggressive mirthless smile. Wutzel himself did not look amused at the insult, but he stepped forward. “I guess you can say I am. Which means I am the one that decides if you live or die for trespassing.” Wutzel stood as tall as he could, but he still had to look up to make eye contact.
“Good. I am Prince Leyan of the lions… Why did you kill my dad?” The prince gave a look of pure anger and hatred.
Wutzel’s muzzle started to quiver in anger, his eyes burning red. The rest of the wolves looked like they were just waiting for the signal to kill this lion. “How dare you come into our home accusing us of murder with no evidence! How absolutely suicidal are you? I should have you killed for such an insult!”
The threat didn’t seem to phase Leyan at all. Two strides were taken to get right in the face of Wutzel. The height difference between them was now much more apparent, with the lion towering half a meter above the wolf's leader. “No evidence!? I have all the evidence in the world! It was no secret that you hated him and would do everything you could to rule Chima! So tell me: why did you kill him?”
Wutzel’s ears dropped back, and his pupils dilated. Spit flew from his mouth as he seethed. He kept opening his mouth to speak, but he seemed incapable of finding words strong enough to express the hatred he felt. When he spoke, all that came out was a cold and barely audible. “Kill him.”
Werthin drew his dual-bladed staff and stepped forwards, the humming of the energized edges rung out. Other wolves, some with spears and others with guns, also stepped forward. The prince drew his greatsword as his eyes narrowed into slits. He dropped into a defensive fighting stance, with as much armor and blade between him and the blades leveled dangerously at him. His terror was clear as day, though. His knuckles’ fur was spreading from how tight his grip was, and his breathing was irregular and short.
Werthin dropped into his fighting stance, his blade held close to him, and his chest turned as perpendicular to his opponent as he could manage while still facing him. His current lack of body armor made him incredibly nervous because one lucky hit would be it for him.
The whole wolf tribe was about to pounce on the lion prince when Worina’s voice rang out in warning. “Second speedor inbound! Another lion!”
Wutzel put up his hand to get every wolf to pause as the second speedor whirred up. It stopped, and a much younger lion dismounted, a crown also marking him as royal. This one was in similar armor but with a chain undershirt and a lighter torso plate. Emerald green eyes shone with panic out from behind his glasses. His fur was much darker than his brethren, a dark brown with lighter red highlights in his growing mane. He ran to the side of his fellow lion and tugged on his shoulder. “Leyan! What are you doing!?” His voice quivered with fear.
Leyan shrugged him off. “Avenging our father Laith, now get out of here, you are not capable of handling this.” There was a collective tension and hesitation that rose in all the wolves as they realized that they now had both of the lion princes to deal with. Wutzel broke down into unchecked anger as the new lion stared him down. “Your brother comes waltzing into our land and accuses us of killing your father! He then insults our entire pack! By all rights of the moon, he is ours to deal with, boy. Leave now before we are forced to kill you as well!”
The tension and anger in the pack were thick enough to chew on. The steam rising from the breath of the wolves gave them an almost ghostly look. Their collective eyes darted from the lions to their leader, awaiting a command.
“Please brother! Come home! I am just as hurt as you, but that is no excuse to get yourself killed!” The younger lion pleaded, his voice cracking from stress. "This is how you change everything for the worse!”
Leyan glared at his brother, his teeth barred and his body shaking with fury. “No one needs to hear your words!”
Laith also drew his sword, a narrower tachi whose edges glowed blue with chi energy. The wolves turned their attention to him, but instead of turning to face them, he turned to his brother. Regret was etched into his face as he unsteadily gripped the blade. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will do what I have to to make sure you are safe.”
His brother’s face flashed surprise at the actions but returned to his rage as he pointed his blade tip between Laith’s eyes. Laith took a step back, the scent of fear wafting off him. “You are still a coward.” Leyan hawked at Laith.
Wutzel snarled, clearly having enough of their crap. “The sibling conflict is awfully cute, but you two are still trespassing on our home. I'll give you two 30 seconds to leave before I let my family have dinner.”
The two lions stared at each other, no words exchanged, but they were clearly having a very in-depth conversation. Laith was doing his best to look big, but his eyes were still darting around, his tachi being shifted from one hand to another. Leyan still looked murderous but seemed to be slowly coming to his senses, as his posture got more and more relaxed as they stared at each other. Wutzel kept tapping his foot and counting out loud. “15 seconds!”
The lions came to some sort of agreement because Leyan sneered once more at the wolves as he turned and stepped onto his speedor. “I will prove to everyone what you did.” He shouted as his ride hummed to life, and he took off. Laith still smelled like fear as he scanned the crowd of wolves with a look of sorrow. His voice was quiet and hurt. “I am sorry…” He then got onto his own speedor and took off after his brother.
Werthin sheathed his blade with a muted shing. He turned to look at the still hatred filled face of Wutzel. They made eye contact, and both of their expressions went deathly grim. “So that's… who's going to..?” Werthin muttered darkly. The rest of the wolves discussed everything that just happened as they slowly relaxed and went back to what they were doing.
Wutzel nodded solemnly. “We are in for one hell of a ride.”

Werthin crouched low on the evening watch crag, the setting sun turns the sky a burning gold. The cold fall wind whipped his light gray fur and carried a strange, pungent scent. He lifted his stance to get his nose more into the wind. It wasn't the familiar tang of industry from the beavers nor the energizing hum of golden chi. This smell was raw and primal – the unmistakable odor of. “Death.”
The rest of the pack started to smell it too, Werthin could see a few thousand heads turn and sniff the air, wisps of condensation visible in the sunset. The pack had decided a unified action was taken, knowing what that meant he flexed his exposed chest, his abs rippling his fur, as he leaned up onto two feet and let out a howl. Every wolf lifted their head and joined into the harmony of their voices. The one that carried the loudest was the wolves current leader, Wutzel.
The howling died down when a lone speedor was spotted far on the horizon, a small dust cloud following it. Werthin climbed down and dashed through the maze of tents and other impermanent residencies to a wooden watchtower where his fiance Worina was crouched low, a knocked arrow tracing the rider as the zig-zagged their way towards the camp, tendrils of steam rising from her steady breath.
“Who is it?” Werthin whispered.
Without breaking her concentration, she spat. “Lion, although I have no idea which one is stupid enough or suicidal enough to approach our tribe completely alone.” Even crouching , he was a few centimeters taller than Werthin, her maple fur broken up by much lighter pale vitiligo patterns. Her arms were shaking from the strain of keeping her bow knocked and taught.
Other wolves had taken notice of the speedor and had started to get into defensive positions. As the speedor did a wide loop around the camp, Wutzel ordered the wolves to stand ready but relax. Werthin jumped down and stood next to Wutzel. He had shifted the holster for his double-sided sword to the quick-draw position, although he felt exposed without his armor on.
The rider pulled a hard stop just inside the entrance of the camp. They were a young lion with a dapper yellow and red fur pattern. They looked and smelled 20 at the oldest. Their heavy blue plate armor and crown marked them as royal. He held himself like a prince, even when staring down the entire wolf tribe. If it was not for an ugly sneer with a nose upturned in disgust, he may have even been considered handsome.
Wutzle barked an order, and five wolves lowered their spear and barred their teeth at the lion. The lion put up their paw in response, trying to show he meant no harm, but his sneer was not at all reassuring. He took in a deep breath and glared at every single wolf, seeming to calculate his odds if a fight broke out. “Who is your leader, if you are even civilized enough to have one?” He muttered coldly.
Multiple wolves lurched forward, hackles raised and fangs showing, but Wutzel snarled a warning, and they backed up but kept the aggressive mirthless smile. Wutzel himself did not look amused at the insult, but he stepped forward. “I guess you can say I am. Which means I am the one that decides if you live or die for trespassing.” Wutzel stood as tall as he could, but he still had to look up to make eye contact.
“Good. I am Prince Leyan of the lions… Why did you kill my dad?” The prince gave a look of pure anger and hatred.
Wutzel’s muzzle started to quiver in anger, his eyes burning red. The rest of the wolves looked like they were just waiting for the signal to kill this lion. “How dare you come into our home accusing us of murder with no evidance! How absolutely suicidal are you? I should have you killed for such an insult!”
The threat didn’t seem to phase Leyan at all. Two strides were taken to get right in the face of Wutzel. The height difference between them was now much more apparent, with the lion towering half a meter above the wolf's leader. “No evidence!? I have all the evidence in the world! It was no secret that you hated him and would do everything you could to rule Chima! So tell me: why did you kill him?”
Wutzel’s ears dropped back, and his pupils dilated. Spit flew from his mouth as he seethed. He kept opening his mouth to speak, but he seemed incapable of finding words strong enough to express the hatred he felt. When he spoke, all that came out was a cold and barely audible. “Kill him.”
Werthin drew his dual-bladed staff and stepped forwards, the humming of the energized edges rung out. Other wolves, some with spears and others with guns, also stepped forward. The prince drew his greatsword as his eyes narrowed into slits. He dropped into a defensive fighting stance, with as much armor and blade between him and the blades leveled dangerously at him. His terror was clear as day, though. His knuckles’ fur was spreading from how tight his grip was, and his breathing was irregular and short.
Werthin dropped into his fighting stance, his blade held close to him, and his chest turned as perpendicular to his opponent as he could manage while still facing him. His current lack of body armor made him incredibly nervous because one lucky hit would be it for him.
The whole wolf tribe was about to pounce on the lion prince when Worina’s voice rang out in warning. “Second speedor inbound! Another lion!”
Wutzel put up his hand to get every wolf to pause as the second speedor whirred up. It stopped, and a much younger lion dismounted, a crown also marking him as royal. This one was in similar armor but with a chain undershirt and a lighter torso plate. Emerald green eyes shone with panic out from behind his glasses. His fur was much darker than his brethren, a dark brown with lighter red highlights in his growing mane. He ran to the side of his fellow lion and tugged on his shoulder. “Leyan! What are you doing!?” His voice quivered with fear.
Leyan shrugged him off. “Avenging our father Laith, now get out of here, you are not capable of handling this.” There was a collective tension and hesitation that rose in all the wolves as they realized that they now had both of the lion princes to deal with. Wutzel broke down into unchecked anger as the new lion stared him down. “Your brother comes waltzing into our land and accuses us of killing your father! He then insults our entire pack! By all rights of the moon, he is ours to deal with, boy. Leave now before we are forced to kill you as well!”
The tension and anger in the pack were thick enough to chew on. The steam rising from the breath of the wolves gave them an almost ghostly look. Their collective eyes darted from the lions to their leader, awaiting a command.
“Please brother! Come home! I am just as hurt as you, but that is no excuse to get yourself killed!” The younger lion pleaded, his voice cracking from stress. ”This is how you change everything for the worse!”
Leyan glared at his brother, his teeth barred and his body shaking with fury. “No one needs to hear your words!”
Laith also drew his sword, a narrower tachi whose edges glowed blue with chi energy. The wolves turned their attention to him, but instead of turning to face them, he turned to his brother. Regret was etched into his face as he unsteadily gripped the blade. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will do what I have to to make sure you are safe.”
His brother’s face flashed surprise at the actions but returned to his rage as he pointed his blade tip between Laith’s eyes. Laith took a step back, the scent of fear wafting off him. “You are still a coward.” Leyan hawked at Laith.
Wutzel snarled, clearly having enough of their crap. “The sibling conflict is awfully cute, but you two are still trespassing on our home. I'll give you two 30 seconds to leave before I let my family have dinner.”
The two lions stared at each other, no words exchanged, but they were clearly having a very in-depth conversation. Laith was doing his best to look big, but his eyes were still darting around, his tachi being shifted from one hand to another. Leyan still looked murderous but seemed to be slowly coming to his senses, as his posture got more and more relaxed as they stared at each other. Wutzel kept tapping his foot and counting out loud. “15 seconds!”
The lions came to some sort of agreement because Leyan sneered once more at the wolves as he turned and stepped onto his speedor. “I will prove to everyone what you did.” He shouted as his ride hummed to life, and he took off. Laith still smelled like fear as he scanned the crowd of wolves with a look of sorrow. His voice was quiet and hurt. “I am sorry…” He then got onto his own speedor and took off after his brother.
Werthin sheathed his blade with a muted shing. He turned to look at the still hatred filled face of Wutzel. They made eye contact, and both of their expressions went deathly grim. “So that's… who's going to..?” Werthin muttered darkly. The rest of the wolves discussed everything that just happened as they slowly relaxed and went back to what they were doing.
Wutzel nodded solemnly. “We are in for one hell of a ride.”

Just started at a high volume restaurant, been definitely pushing myself with my tray carries for drinks and bussing tables, and at this restaurant it’s non stop, always have one in my hand. I’m not the strongest female, never lifted weights before really, so I truly have been pushing myself with this! Starting a few days ago, almost 2 weeks into the job, I’ve been having severe neck pain I think is related.
Anyone else experience this/have advice on stretches, exercise, etc to help with this? Thanks!