Seating airbus industrie:a343 jet

Today I decided, after dropping off my dad at the airport in Bentonville AR, to stay to show my toddler a plane or two landing/taking off. We saw two planes take off. I was probably more excited than he was, but I was able to see them on adsb exchange as soon as they came off pushback it seemed. After two I saw a cool shaped plane on the exchange, but it was time to go. I packed my toddler in the car and drove away. To my surprise they were fighter jets. My toddler can't see from his car seat, so he missed two fighter jets taking off. Doh! Anyways I have some questions.
Is it possible to plan a trip accordingly to know when they take off again?
How can I listen to air traffic control at XNA with my toddler?
How can I see flight plans and times, so we can watch a landing next time?

Hey nerds!
I haven’t been on a plane in years and curious if I can take my bag any personal item.
I have a GripEQ BX3 that’ll only be about half full of discs. I know the under seat dimensions say 18x14x8 and the bag dimensions online say 20x17x9.5. Are the dimensions under the seat like a hard cut off? I can squish the bag since it’ll be half empty, but I can’t make it shorter obv and idk if it poking out 2” is gonna cause a ruckus. Or if the 1.5” extra depth will make it impossible to push under. The bottom of the bag is hard plastic so I could slide it under top first and the bottom hang out some, but idk how stiff attendants are about that.
I don’t really want to take something different or only 3 discs in a carry on as I’ll be playing across the country in the dessert and have never played outside of NC and no clue what I’d need or want out there lol.
Edit to say flying American airbus A321

Location: Defense Line Husky, Datsot-3

POV: Motsotaer, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Pack Member)
The shrieking whistle of incoming artillery shell was among the most terrifying noises known to living beings.
Sheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeew. Boom. Boom. Boom.
But it meant you were still alive.
Pack Member Motsotaer wondered if the poor pups in the forward trenches heard them coming as the enemy high explosive pounded into their lines.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
One of their anti-aircraft concrete bunkers took a direct hit; its roof collapsed on itself with a loud crumble.
Grass Eater artillery was voluminous, destructive, but scariest of all, it was incredibly precise. Their intelligence assets in orbit knew all, saw all. Their kill chains were short. Once they saw you, they would call it in, and the remainder of your life was measured in minutes and seconds.
There was nothing vegetarian about the efficient and bloodthirsty way the long-eared Grass Eaters fought, and the numerous intelligent predator species they’d exterminated on their way to Datsot… some of those tales gave even Motsotaer nightmares.
The defenders of Datsot had no choice. No choice but to defend their homes against the psychotic enemies pounding their lines to bits. And the ones who remained had learned the hard lessons of war, either through experience earned by blood or via the process of not-so-natural selection.
Motsotaer clutched his rifle against his chest as he laid in his own shallow hole, eyes closed. If the end was going to come for him, there was nothing else he could do but huddle in his freshly-dug grave.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The blasts continued walking across the defense lines, undoubtedly killing scores of his comrades. But he accompanied each shockwave with a sigh of relief; they let him know that he was still alive. Still breathing.
One final rumble. And then there was silence across the battlefield.
Motsotaer waited a minute before he peeked out — another lesson that smart defenders of Datsot had discovered the hard way. A couple brave medics were already on the move, their shouts left and right, pulling bodies and the groaning injured alike out of the rubble aftermath of the shelling.
With a grunt, he pulled himself out of his hole, rushing towards the neighboring anti-air bunker. The concrete roof had collapsed, but he could still hear cries from the dark. He squeezed through the cluttered entrance.
It was a mess on the inside. The lights were all gone. Scattered sandbags. It smelled like blood and death, and he pushed aside the still body of a Head Pack Leader he only knew of, only to find the corpse of yet another Pack Member, her limbs sprawled in an unnatural position.
“Anyone still alive in here?” he asked in the dark as his eyes adjusted. “Hello?”
There were a series of loud coughs. “I’m here. I’m here.”
“Pack Leader Nidvid!” he shouted as he recognized the familiar shrill voice. “Keep talking! Where are you?”
“Here. I’m here. Help me up.”
As she continued to cough, he had the sense to fish a flashlight out of his pocket, fumbling around until he found the on button. As the light activated, he could see Nidvid half-buried in the dirt, her lower limbs trapped beneath some sand from the broken sandbags.
“Pack Leader!” He got onto his front paws and started digging. “Are you injured?”
“I don’t think so,” she shook her head in the dim lighting as she experimentally wriggled her legs. “Here, I think I’m loose. Help me up.”
Motsotaer grasped her under her arms, and with a heavy grunt, pulled her out of the dirt.
“Whew,” she said, checking her body again for wounds. Nidvid looked around at the other bodies splayed in the bunker. “Oh no… Head Pack Leader…”
“That was a close one. I can’t believe you lived through that!”
“Yeah, me neither… Wait a second,” Nidvid said as she began rummaging through a pile of rubble near the Head Pack Leader’s body. “The radio…”
“What are you looking for?” he asked as he aimed his flashlight towards where she was looking.
“Oh no, no, no…” her voice trailed off as she picked up the device she’d been looking for. “Our hardline communicator…” It was clearly broken from the strike, its shell perforated with a hundred holes and its connection to the landline severed. In disgust, Nidvid threw it back to the ground.
“What uh— what did you need that for?” Motsotaer asked. “Were we supposed to tell them we were being attacked?”
“No… It was— before the strike, we got a high priority order.”
“A high priority order?”
Nidvid recalled, “There’s a special platoon in our salient… We were supposed to get an important message to them!”
“Special platoon?” Motsotaer asked. “Are you okay, Nidvid?”
“Yes, yes,” the Pack leader replied, visibly distraught. “They only had a physical line to us because they’re supposed to be keeping in the dark. Emissions control or something like that so they can activate the flying machine swarm in time. They said this was life and death and our whole defense line hinges on it!”
“Emissions control? Flying machines? Pack Leader, we should get you to a medic,” he said skeptically.
“No! Motsotaer, this is important. We need to get the message to them now. They’re only a couple kilometers south from our position. If we run over to their position now, it might not yet be—”
He looked up at her face in alarm. “Run to another position? Outside the trench line?”
“Yes! We have to go!” she said, as she peeked out of the concrete bunker towards the barren zone ahead of the trenches. “Now! Before they start their offensive.”
Motsotaer began to protest, “But that’s no creature’s land. If we get spotted by their troops, we’ll be hunted down by the Grass Eaters ships in orbit…”
She was insistent, “Pack Member Motsotaer, get it together. We still have a job to do. Are you with me or are you going to sit here and die like a coward to the long-ears?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, straightening up. Death or not, he was no coward. “I mean… I’m with you.”
“Good. Then let’s go.”
With a grunt, she leapt out of the trenches and jogged south, keeping to the defensive side of it for the modicum of cover it provided, and Motsotaer quickly followed. As they sprinted away from the tattered defenses, they ran into a thick tree line that hopefully provided them with some concealment from the Grass Eater ships above.
After a couple more minutes of running in the forest, Motsotaer started to tire and pant. He weighed his burning lung and how embarrassed he’d be if he complained. Luckily for his ego, Nidvid gestured for them to stop after another minute and tossed him her canteen. “Take a break before we get going.”
He chugged as much water as he could in a single swig, and returned the canteen to Nidvid. He gasped out, “How much further, Pack Leader?”
“About one more kilometer south,” she said, aiming her snout up at the treetops. “I recognize the smell of this area.”
“What’s this even about? The message… what was it?”
Nidvid exercised her limbs. “That Grass Eater artillery strike… it was to prepare for their offensive on our lines. They’ve gathered an armored division on the other side of that,” she pointed out into the barren fields beyond the trees. “We have an hour at most before they roll over us.”
“An armored division?!” Motsotaer squeaked. The enemy’s Longclaws — their armored vehicles — were legendary. They could kill from kilometers away. And their thick shells protected them against all but the most powerful artillery in the Federation’s arsenal. He’d never seen one of them personally. If he had, he suspected he wouldn’t be alive to tell anyone about it. “What can we do against a Grass Eater armored division?”
“That’s why we have to get to the special platoon,” Nidvid replied. She pointed in the southern direction, “You ready? Let’s go.”
They galloped for a few more minutes. Motsotaer’s limbs tired and his breaths shallowed as his lung burnt. As he was contemplating whether to ask for another break, Nidvid pointed at a shape in the distance. “There, that’s their position!”
He squinted at it. It was not easy to see, but buried in the tree line was what looked like a bunch of out-of-place branches and leaves over a small vehicle. Buoyed by the anticipation of the end of the marathon, he managed to keep up with Nidvid’s pace.
As they approached, there was a loud shout.
“Hi-yah! Stop!”
They halted their steps and looked for the source of the voice.
“Not one more paw step, deserter! This is a restricted area! Turn around or you’ll be shot!”
Motsotaer looked up at the voice hidden up in the branches. After a moment, with some help from his nose, he found the yeller. It was a short, stout middle-aged male with strange-looking green and brown paint smeared all over his fur and face. He had a rifle aimed squarely at the duo.
“Don’t shoot!” Nidvid yelled back. “We’re runners. We’ve got an important message! For your platoon commander.”
The male in the tree looked suspiciously at them as he leapt down. He lowered his rifle, but didn’t seem any less on guard. “A message?”
“Yes, we’ve got an urgent message for Special Platoon Commander Graunsa. Take us to him right now!”
He sized the two of them up. After a moment, he said slowly, “I am Graunsa. Why are you here, and what is the message?”
Nidvid recovered some of her breath and explained, “The Grass Eaters hit us hard with an artillery strike. Our Head Pack Leader is dead. Our landline is gone. We ran all the way over from our lines north of you.”
Graunsa nodded and gestured for her to continue.
“The Grass Eater armored offensive is about to start. They’re moving into position and ready to go, and there’s a special message embedded—”
“Wait a second,” Graunsa interrupted. “Give me the special message exactly, without omission or your own interpretations.”
“Yes, Platoon Commander,” Nidvid nodded. “The message is: bunny water carriers are in play, red-five-zero-eight; come out of the dark and introduce yourself. Authorization is three-three-greyhound.”
Graunsa looked thoughtful for a moment as he pondered it.
“What does the message mean?” Motsotaer whispered at Nidvid.
“I have no idea,” she shrugged, whispering back. “The Head Pack Leader just told me to memorize it.”
The platoon commander seemed to have made up his mind. “Alright, that seems legitimate. Thanks for the message.” He turned around to leave.
Motsotaer shouted behind him, “Wait, what are we supposed to do now?”
Graunsa turned around. “I don’t know. I’m not your commanding officer.” He paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t recommend going back to your lines though. Might not be there when you get back…”
“What?!”
“You can’t just leave us! Where else are we supposed to go?” Nidvid asked.
Graunsa seemed to contemplate the question for a few heartbeats and sighed, “You said you’re from the position up north?”
“Yup,” they replied in unison.
“And you’re a spotter, Pack Member?” he asked, looking at the rank and position patch on Motsotaer’s chest.
“Yes.”
Graunsa relented. “Fine. We might find a use for you. Get into the bunker… before the Grass Eaters in orbit see us dawdling out here.”
“What? Where?”
The officer pointed at a patch of dark green leaves on the forest floor. As they approached it, he grasped a latch and lifted it to reveal a ladder. The three of them descended into the darkness and Graunsa secured it behind them. With a quiet swoosh, a lamp mounted on the wall lit up to reveal a small hallway leading to a heavy-looking door.
Graunsa knocked on it twice. He turned around and looked at Motsotaer and Nidvid. “What you’re about to see in here is of the highest secrecy level of the Malgeir Federation. If you tell anyone what you see in here, you will be executed for treason. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Platoon Commander.”
“Swear it, on your honor.”
“We swear,” they replied in unison, their voices infused with growing excitement.
“Good enough for me.”
The heavy steel door swung open, showing a room that was vastly different from what its primitive exterior suggested. It resembled a command center far more than a field base, and Motsotaer felt a blast of cold air conditioning in his face as he passed the door threshold.
At the front, a main screen showed a map of the defensive lines in the sector. Facing it, two rows of sleek, new computer screens lit up the dark. Their operators worked busily at their controls, and only a couple faces looked their way in mild interest as they entered.
“What is this—” Motsotaer started to ask. Nidvid grasped his shoulder and shushed him.
Graunsa cleared his throat. Several faces looked towards him in anticipation. “Platoon, we just got the message. Activate the FTL handshake and authenticate us in the network.”
“Yes, sir.” A young-looking communication officer near the front operated a few controls on her console. “I’ve got the advisors on the line.”
Motsotaer read his nametag: Gassin. She was a Gamma Leader, much higher ranked than he, but she looked not a day over twenty. He noted that many of the people in the room sported high-ranking insignias despite their apparent youth.
“On screen,” Graunsa ordered.
A communication window appeared on the main screen, streaming video of someone in a jet-black EVA suit.
Motsotaer stiffened. It was obvious that the subject was alien; at around 1.7 or 1.8 meters, it was far too tall for being a Malgeir. Too small for a Granti. And from the side profile of the suit, it didn’t bulge nearly enough for the tails that the Malgeir’s Schpriss neighbors were known for. A strange new species of aliens.
From the blackened visor, it was obvious that whoever that was… it was the reason for all this tight secrecy.
“Special Platoon Commander Graunsa,” it transmitted in perfect Malgeirish. The alien was either a trained-from-birth Federation Channel One newscaster with a perfectly inoffensive accent, or its translator was far better than anything the Malgeir themselves had invented. “This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”
Graunsa stepped up to address the screen directly, “Yes, advisor. Our fire support platoon is ready for tasking.”
“Excellent. Transmitting the first batch of targets in your sector now.”
A series of symbols scrolled onto the screen, showing a number of coordinates.
“We’re getting the enemy positions now,” Gassin exclaimed.
Graunsa turned to her and nodded his appreciation, “Sixteen armored targets. Weapons free.”
“Yes, sir. Programming the sequence.”
A camera on the main screen activated, remotely showing a small hole with some machinery in it dug a few hundred meters away just at the edge of the tree line.
“Launching flying machine swarm!”
As Motsotaer watched, a thicket of metal erupted from the hole in a blur, roaring into the sky.
The main screen was replaced by a four-by-four of windows of black and white images. It took him a couple seconds to realize that he was looking at the battlefield from above. The Malgeir had rotary wing, airplanes, and jet — some were even armed, but they were usually much bigger. And their air assets had been grounded since the early days of the battle for Datsot when the enemy took the orbits.
Not these tiny devices though.
He focused on one of the sixteen windows.
The ground sped past below the camera’s vision, tree line after tree line, the flying machine seemed to know where it was going by itself: Motsotaer looked at the other occupants in the room. None of them seemed to be directly controlling it.
He stiffened.
Is this controlled by a thinking machine?
“We’re getting in range of the target coordinates, Platoon Commander,” Gassin updated the room a few minutes later.
As if on cue, the flying machines flew higher, and the trees on the ground grew smaller, as if further away. Until…
“Targets identified!” Gassin reported with excitement in her voice.
As an infantry spotter, Motsotaer had been trained — barely — to identify enemy armored vehicles. As in, he’d been given a cheatsheet containing the silhouettes of the different types of vehicles the enemy drove. But even he couldn’t tell at this distance what the white-hot smudges on the screen were.
The machine had no such issues though.
Several red boxes materialized on the screen, clearly marking several enemy vehicles in the thermal imagery and adorning them with detailed information.
The one Motsotaer was watching said:
Hostile vehicle, Longclaw MK4 (top armor: ~25mm), 4.2 km.
No hostile EW detected.
Without additional prompting, the flying machines raced in towards their targets, each recognizing a different one as its final destination. Afraid to blink, Motsotaer stared intently at one of the video streams.
A new line of text appeared at the top of the screen:
ETA 20 seconds.
It counted down the seconds, number by number.
The enemy Longclaw got larger and larger until… the screen went black, replaced by static. As he looked around, the other windows were similarly replaced with static one-by-one.
Motsotaer frowned, wondering where the videos had gone.
Then, it hit him. The flying machines were on one-way trips.
The sixteen windows disappeared, and another one appeared, showing the enemy assembly area from a much higher perspective. And instead of the vehicles he expected, he counted sixteen burning wrecks, the black smoke from their flames reaching up into the sky in columns.
“Targets destroyed, Commander,” Gassin said. Several of the officers in the room looked at each other excitedly, but their celebration was muted.
Graunsa nodded. “Call our advisors again.”
The alien appeared on the screen again. “Excellent work, Platoon Commander. We’re assessing the lines and getting the second batch of targets to you now.”
“Understood.”
As the new target coordinates scrolled onto the main screen, Gassin didn’t need additional prompting, “Launching flying machines!”
Another sixteen of them flashed out from the pre-dug position. Another sixteen windows appeared on the screen, replacing the odd-looking aliens’ video.
“Wait a minute,” the aliens’ voice cut into the quiet hum of the control room’s operation. “Switch back to the high-altitude drone. Something’s happening.”
The main screen’s image was replaced by the previous camera looking down at enemy lines. There was a flurry of activity in the enemy base area. Numerous dots representing the ground troops moved to-and-fro. And worryingly, the red squares that surrounded enemy armor began appearing en masse as enemy Longclaws drove out of their covered positions into the open.
Dozens of them.
Then, hundreds. And more appeared every second.
“What’s going on?” Graunsa asked, his voice reflecting Motsotaer’s worry.
The alien took a minute to get back to him, its black helmeted face filling up the screen again. “They’re attacking. They don’t know what hit them in the last strike. But they must have realized that they’re not safe in their assembly area, and they’re doing the only thing they can… We estimate they’ll get to your first lines in thirty minutes.”
“Can we stop them?” Graunsa asked. “We can—”
The alien looked directly into the video. “Not sixteen drones at a time. And if you launch the whole swarm at once, it’ll reflect enough signal for them to sniff out where you are with their counter-battery radars and take you out from orbit.”
Graunsa swallowed. “That’s— that’s— The machines can fly themselves without us, right?”
The alien didn’t say anything for a few heartbeats. “Theoretically, yes. But even if you evacuate your position now, your people won’t get out of range from the orbital strike they’ll call in.”
“I understand. Feed us the enemy targets.”
“Delta Leader, we can’t ask you to—”
“I said, feed us the enemy targets,” Graunsa insisted.
Quietly, hundreds of coordinate pairs filed onto the main screen. Graunsa looked at the faces of the young officers under his command. Dozens of them. He turned around to look at his two guests. “I’m sorry,” he said.
“It’s the right choice,” Nidvid replied, shrugging.
Motsotaer nodded at him.
“I know,” Graunsa said, turning back to the main screen. “Just doesn’t make it any easier.”
“Sir, we’re ready to launch,” Gassin reported.
“Weapons free. Release everything.”
“Yes, sir.”
The ground shook and rumbled, hundreds of flying machines leaving their canisters for the sky. They were close enough to hear the outgoing buzzing as the munitions launched. This time, more and more windows filled up the screen with the visuals of the outgoing flying machines — hundreds of them, and Motsotaer was surprised that the computers could even handle it all.
The visage of the alien returned to their screen. It said calmly, “Enemy orbital launch spotted. Multiple launches. High yield. Missiles incoming to your location, ETA twelve minutes.”
“Understood, advisor.”
POV: Slurskoch, Znosian Dominion Marines (Rank: Five Whiskers)
“Scramble! Scramble! Scramble!”
Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing.
“What’s going on?” Longclaw Commander Slurskoch sat up in his turret cupola as the sirens rang loud through the hull.
“We’re under artillery attack!” his Controller yelled back at him through the roaring startup sequence of the turbine anti-grav engines. “The Lesser Predators… they’ve got some kind of new weapon! Took out a whole battalion’s worth of Longclaws in the 194!”
“But we’re not ready!” his Driver complained. “Our artillery is supposed to pound them for another hour before we—”
Slurskoch shook his head as he checked the friendly force tracker on his screen. “Doesn’t matter! If they’ve got some new weapon, we can’t sit still while we get pounded to bits by whatever they have. We gotta get out there. Hurry it up!”
It took them another two minutes to fully warm up the engines, and with a roar, the Longclaw burst out of its camouflaged emplacement, kicking up a curtain of dirt in front of it.
“Let’s go! Go! Go!” Slurskoch yelled as his lagging Longclaw joined the armored formation already on the move.
The Controller spoke with one of her ears in the radio, “Their artillery just launched… something at us. We’ve pinpointed their location, and orbital support is on its way.”
His Gunner whooped twice, and Slurskoch nodded silently in agreement. That’d flatten those carnivorous abominations where they stood. He drew a few symbols and circles on the digital battlemap as the Longclaws drove toward the enemy lines. “Gunner, watch those potential trench lines in front of us,” he instructed. “Their anti-armor may not look scary on paper, but their infantry can always get a lucky hit in.”
Slurskoch was taught in training that it was better to overestimate the enemy than underestimate them. Luckily, the predators usually fell below expectations, which was why the Dominion controlled the orbits of Datsot now and not them.
His Controller frowned at something in her radio, “They’re saying something about the enemy artillery… The engineers at the base assessed the strike aftermath. There’s something strange in the rubble. The attack was more precise than anything we’d ever seen.”
“What does that mean?” Slurskoch asked in confusion.
“The sensor officer in charge of the assembly area has taken full responsibility. They didn’t see the incoming at all. Higher ups are speculating that the Lesser Predators have a new weapon in their arsenal.”
“The predators made new weapons?” Slurskoch snorted. “Useful ones? That’ll be a first. Well, whatever it is, maybe our Design Bureau will get a good look at it when we finally cleanse this planet of their filth. Make our next battle a little easier when we have to take their home planet.”
His Gunner agreed, “And then, the Prophecy shall be fulfilled.”
A few kilometers into the charge across the open, the Gunner remarked with one eye on her targeting computer, “Looks like even the local winged predators know that there’s about to be a slaughter here.”
The Driver, in his open hatch, looked up at the cloud of them flying over the enemy lines. “Looks like it. A nice juicy feast for them in the coming battle. The irony of the barbaric carnivores being eaten by themselves.”
A few thousand years ago, winged predators would have curdled the blood of any natural-born Znosian. On the original plains of Znos, they were one of the most dangerous threats a lone Znosian faced. Now, that fear had been completely bred out of the gene pool, replaced with contempt for predatory primitivism, the courage to face them in battle, and the drive to exterminate them all.
Curious, Slurskoch stared up into the cloud of winged predators with his Longclaw commander optics. He frowned.
One of them shimmered.
Shimmered.
He zoomed in.
Then, he saw a metallic glint. His whiskers tightened.
“That’s— those aren’t winged predators,” he barely made out in shock. “Incoming!”
“Huh?” his Driver asked, craning his head up to look at the dark shapes in the distance.
“Get inside! Secure the hatch!” Slurskoch shouted at him.
His Driver was not very good at thinking on his own, but he had been bred to follow direct orders without question. He ducked into his seat, quickly securing the hatch above him close with trained claws.
He barely secured the Longclaw as other commanders began yelling out similar instructions on their radios.
“Incoming!” his Controller advised, about ten seconds later than necessary. “Enemy… artillery?!”
“Gunner!” Slurskoch gestured in the general direction of the sky.
“I can’t get a shot on them. They’re too high up!” she screamed back at him.
A trio of air defense vehicles next to him opened up with their six barrels towards the sky, lines of bright tracers stabbing out at the dark swarm. He saw one of the… flying machines hit and fall out of the sky. Then another.
It wasn’t enough.
As Slurskoch’s optics tracked the incoming, he saw them dive. They were fast, and they flew erratic patterns, almost organically, like actual winged beasts. If he hadn’t had that specific fear bred out of his bloodline hundreds of years ago, he would have been frozen in shock. Instead, he yelled out, “Brace! Brace!”
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The world exploded around his Longclaw.
Through his friendly force tracker, Slurskoch watched an entire battalion disappear off the map on his right flank, and two Longclaws in his line of sight brewed up in massive fireballs, throwing their turrets into the sky as their plasma ammunition detonated. One of the anti-air vehicles brewed up next to his, splattering its parts against his hull.
His Driver drove for all he was worth, ducking and weaving in the open field. So did the other Longclaws. Some deployed curtains of smoke in front of them in desperation.
None of it seemed to help.
The shockwaves hit his Longclaw in quick succession, knocking him around the armored cabin and rattling his teeth.
Boom. Boom.
More Longclaws exploded. Many more. They were disappearing off his screen faster than the software could update the signals. He closed his eyes waiting for the end.
It didn’t come.
It was hard for Slurskoch to tell when the last Longclaw near them was hit. His hearing organs must have been damaged some time during the attack. His auditory senses ringed as they returned to normal, recovering when his Controller shook him with a paw on his shoulder. “—Five Whiskers! Five Whiskers!”
“What is it?” he snapped, keeping the quivering out of his voice.
“We’re alone in our company, and I can’t contact the six whiskers! And I’ve been trying to reach battalion without success!”
“Try the regiment commander!” he yelled out against the noise of the anti-grav engine.
“Can’t reach them either!”
“What about division headquarters?!”
“I think division’s gone, sir!”
“What?!”
“Nobody there has been responding. All I’ve got is a seven whiskers in the reserve infantry division behind us! They’re saying they see black smoke in the direction of our division field command!”
“What in the Prophecy? How is that possible?!”
“What do we do, Five Whiskers?”
Slurskoch had been trained for a wide variety of combat scenarios and contingencies, including losing his immediate superiors, losing most of his unit, and losing his communication link to command. But he’d never been trained for all of those combined at once. That was just not something predators were supposed to be able to do to you.
He fell back to the next best thing.
“What’s the combat computer say?” he asked.
His Controller operated the controls on her console, and after half a minute of querying, she replied, reading off the instructions, “Absent orders, continue the attack. Maybe we can push through.”
“What? Did it take our losses into account?” he protested as he checked the battlemap. Of the nearly five hundred Longclaws that had pushed out of the assembly area, only a quarter remained. At most. Some of the signals on the map were flagging themselves as mobility or mission killed.
She shrugged, “It did. That’s what it says.”
He squinted at her screen. That was indeed what it said.
Slurskoch thought for a moment, sighed, and bowed in prayer, “Our lives were forfeited the day we left our hatchling pools.”
The other crew members all did the same, lowering their heads to mutter the familiar mantra.
That ritual out of the way, he drew up to his full height of 1 meter and mustered all the confidence he could into his voice, “Attack! Attack! Attack!”
POV: Graunsa, Malgeir Federation Planetary Defense Force (Rank: Delta Leader)
The command center watched glumly as the hundred or so surviving Grass Eater Longclaws emerged from the wrecks of their comrades and slowly resumed their charge across the open toward the defense lines.
The flying machines had gotten a lot of them. Quite a few disabled too. And they were disorganized from the loss of their command. Yet they still charged. Diminished as their numbers were, they rolled towards the battered defensive lines with psychotic determination.
We’ve failed.
Graunsa sat down heavily into his chair. He brought up his communication console, connecting it to the advisor network.
The alien appeared on the screen, and though he couldn’t see its face, he could hear the sympathy in its translated voice, “You’ve done all you can, Special Platoon Commander.”
“It wasn’t enough,” he said, shaking his ears sadly. “They’re going to break through our line. Our infantry can’t stop them.”
It tilted its head. “I wouldn’t count them out completely, Delta Leader. They might. They might not. But your next defensive line certainly will hold them. The city behind you will be held.”
“Tracking enemy orbit-to-ground. ETA three minutes,” Gassin reported quietly from next to him.
Graunsa sighed. He looked at the alien, “I think I understand your people now, advisor.”
“You… do?”
“Yeah, at first, when we were picked for this mission, I wondered why your people were doing this.”
“Doing this?” the alien asked, seeming confused.
“Helping us. The weapons. The equipment. The training. The targeting. It was all in secret, but you didn’t have to do it. The other species around us didn’t do it. The Schpriss…” Graunsa snorted, “The long-tails can’t even find it in their spines to send us field rations. I thought your species… your people were just generous. Or perhaps you simply enjoyed the craft of war, being so adept at it.”
“Are we… not?”
“Those reasons may be part of it,” he conceded. “But more importantly, I think your people understand one thing the other species don’t… that we might stop the enemy here. Or we might not.”
“We didn’t set you up to fail, if that’s what you think—”
“But the next defensive line certainly will hold them,” Graunsa said, staring the alien in the eye. “You will hold them. Isn’t that right?”
It sighed. “I would be lying if that wasn’t part of the strategic equation. Our star systems are indeed next in line — sometime in the next decade or two, probably — if these bloodthirsty Buns conquered your Federation. That harsh astropolitical realism. But there’s something else too.”
“Is there?”
“Yes,” it nodded its head firmly in a familiar manner. “Yes, there is. We aren’t a particularly long-sighted species, Graunsa. We can plan, yes, but wars are fought by true believers. People don’t sign up to put their lives on the line for a hypothetical, potential invasion of our Republic twenty years in the future. They— we signed up for this because we truly believe what’s happening to your people… it shouldn’t happen to anyone, ever.”
Graunsa looked at the helmeted head for a while, then nodded. “I believe you, advisor.”
“I’m sorry this didn’t pan out, Graunsa. If I could, I’d be down there with you. We’d have made them pay for this.”
Graunsa smiled. “I believe you about that too. Thank you, advisor, whatever your name is.”
“You may call me Kara,” it said simply. A deft snap of its paws — he hadn’t noticed how soft its claws were before — and it released a latch on its helmet with a hiss. Lifting it from its head, it revealed a soft, smooth face without much fur except a bundle of long, brown strands on its scalp tied up in a neat spherical shape. Its hazel forward-facing eyes stared at him with the empathy that only other predators were capable of, filling him with mild relief. “Don’t tell anyone though,” it joked lightly, mirroring his smile back at him.
You’re not as ugly as I thought you’d be. Not nearly.
Graunsa’s grin widened at the thought. He put it out of his mind. “Ah. One last thing, advisor— Kara.”
“Yes?”
His mind drifted to his cubs at home. Perhaps they were still alive. He chose to believe that. “Our people’s clans and packs…”
“We’ll let them know,” she interrupted him softly. “And when the information quarantine is lifted, we’ll let your clans and packs know what you did here — everything.”
“Good. Thank you.”
Gassin sat down next to him, “Delta Leader, enemy missiles incoming. ETA thirty seconds, they’re entering—” She stopped her report and stared at the unmasked alien on his screen with equal parts wonder and sadness.
“Take a closer look, Gassin,” he ordered softly. “That… that is who will avenge us.”
On screen, the alien put its gloved paw up to its temple, forming a stiff triangle with its arm in a recognizable salute. “It was an honor, Graunsa.”
Graunsa returned it crisply, letting a primitive fire shine through his face. “Happy hunting, Kara.”

Location: Atlas Naval Command, Luna

POV: “Kara”, Terran Reconnaissance Office
Kara watched solemnly as the green signal blinked off the battlemap. She closed her eyes for a moment in silent prayer for the fallen.
Beep. Beep.
Another light on her console blinked urgently for her attention. Four thousand kilometers from the previous one. The war raged on — day and night — across four continents on the besieged planet. Fifty light years from the Republic, its defenders’ sweat, tears, and blood lined the fields and valleys of the beautiful blue sphere not so different from her own. Tens of millions of them: many who she knew would not see the end of this war.
They didn’t all know it, and some might not have cared, but fifty light years away, someone recorded their names, and someone felt a pang of loss for their sacrifice. In the cold, dark forest of the galaxy, somebody heard their trees fall.
Kara collected her thoughts, adjusted the bun in her hair, and lowered the tinted EVA helmet over her face once more.
She cleared her throat as she glanced at the screen and activated the microphone in her helmet, “Special Platoon Commander Treiriu. This call is encrypted, but the enemy Znosians in orbit are trying to find your location from the signals, so we’ll have to make it as quick as we can. Have your defensive lines completed your preparations?”

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Thanks for reading my story! This is a standalone chapter in my Grass Eaters story, meant to be enjoyable all on its own. If you're interested in more of my writing, please do subscribe to the update waffle bot or check out the rest of the universe in Grass Eaters.
(Grass Eaters posts every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. We are closing in on the end of Book 1.)

A/N: yeah I changed up the Alliance admiral's name from Shepard Adama to Sheparda Dama (so creative i know) because the old one was going to fuck me over badly at some point. It would be like trying to make a legitimate, serious fantasy novel with a wizard named Albus Gandalf. I was NOT cooking when I came up with that shit.
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It was said that no plan ever survived contact with the enemy. That, at least in the case of Marcus Wayne’s infiltration of Neldia, was proven entirely true.
His ship, the Peacemaker, had undergone an extensive refit before its jump to Neldia to both modify its sensor signature and repair its failing Aegis barrier. The first objective succeeded. The second did not.
One day later, leaving the derelict Ultimate Vigil behind in deep space, the United Human Alliance courier ship Winged Deliverance logged a real space entry at the edge of the Neldia system. Its crew, having spent their waking hours plagued by hallucinations and enduring horrible nightmares as they slept, found this shift very welcome. The worst, though they could hardly believe it, was still yet to come.
“The Neldian fleet is mustering for war,” rumbled the man who had once held the title and security codes of an Alliance sector admiral. Now, he was a traitor to his homeland. “Security will be high.”
“No need to worry, Admiral,” said Marcus Wayne. “Your code will get us through.” It would not.
It took two hours for the Peacemaker, disguised as the Winged Deliverance, to be challenged by the Neldian Armada. “Transmit clearance code,” said an automated voice. Marcus took out a data disc with the admiral's clearance code on it.
“Hold,” said Terris. She was clad in black, her active camouflage offline to save battery, and she had been sitting at the passive sensor console for the past three hours. “Look at this.” A news broadcast popped up in front of Marcus Wayne and his officers. Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama, or at least he was once a sector admiral, had been tried and convicted of high treason.
“It was a secret trial,” Dama said, still in shock at the revelation. “I had no knowledge of this.”
“Well, that tracks, but what do we do now? What code gets us through?”
“Transmit clearance code,” the voice said again, “or adjust course.”
Dama thought for a moment. “Change course,” he said. “We’re not getting through.”
They did. A great sense of defeat took hold in the hearts of the crew. They would never reach the Neldian hypercom. Sheparda Dama, who would have gladly given his life in defense of humankind, would never get the chance to be the man who broke their chains.
The Peacemaker was halfway out of the Neldia system before Terris spoke again. “Hold it,” she said. “I have an idea.”
That was why she had been placed where she was. Clad in an airtight stealth suit. Inside a hollowed-out asteroid. On a ballistic journey to the heart of Neldian space. It was the most insane idea that Marcus Wayne had ever seen.
But, sometimes, insanity was a symptom of genius.
Terris flew past the Neldian Armada undetected. Many asteroids entered the inner system this way, flung by outer-system prospecting ships to the foundries and shipyards in Neldian orbit, and they were thrown and caught so frequently that only the most cursory of inspections was put upon each one. Terris passed the Alliance fleet entirely undetected.
Terris’ chameleon suit could mimic the sensor return of the precious metals it was buried in, at least enough to fool a probing scan, and the cuts made by Protectoral engineers had been so precise that Terris had fit inside there with barely a centimeter of space to spare. She was effectively entombed inside sixty meters of solid rock.
Interstellar espionage was not a job for the claustrophobic.
Finally, after days of waiting, the signal came. She was in range. A mental command triggered a series of shaped charges in the rock above her, if such directions existed in microgravity, and forty pea-sized explosives blasted a circular tunnel all the way to the asteroid surface. If just one of them had failed, that rock might have been her tomb.
Terris tried not to think about that as she began climbing her way out. A brief burst from her suit’s EVA thrusters was enough to start her on her way, and the tunnel out was wide enough for her to use her arms and legs to speed things up. Finally, after too long a wait, Terris saw the Neldian sun for the very first time.
There was fire in the distance. Comm chatter on every band. Warships burning hard for the outer system. The Coalition fleet was here.
She zoomed in, far more than she had ever had to before, and she could pick out the faintest flashes of blue as warships exploded in the black. A brief crawl around the asteroid, which also helped to warm up her muscles after days of inactivity, let her discern an attack force engaging the Alliance fleet. After a moment’s hesitation, weighing the risks, Terris activated her passive sensor suite to try and decrypt Alliance military chatter.
Instantly, her sensors were flooded with noise from the defensive bastions. The fleet base at the L5 point was loudest, its comm operators screaming indecipherably at fellow Alliance elements fighting in the black. Neldian orbit, where the hypercom station was, seemed to be the centerpiece of all the communications traffic. The hypercom, unsurprisingly, was being used as a relay for comm traffic all across the system. Terris made a note to hack its server banks for intelligence, and perhaps leave a timed virus or two to shut down the system after she was gone.
Her suit bleeped, alerting her that she was in optimum position to make the leap to the hypercom. She zoomed in on it, a red and spiked thing just like everything else the Alliance made, and calculated the right trajectory to land right on its metal surface.
Trying to jump from a moving asteroid out past Neldia’s rings and hit a hypercom station barely three hundred meters in diameter was like shooting a rifle from a jumbo jet in hopes of hitting a mosquito down on Earth. A nearly impossible shot, even with Coalition computers to help make the jump, and anyone lucky enough to make it would have been better served bankrupting their local casino at the slot machines.
Terris gave a command to her suit, activating a set of ion thrusters to boost her off the asteroid and adjust her course mid-flight. She’d never believed in luck.
She coasted silent and graceful past the particle guns in high orbit, like a majestic swan flying on a summer wind. Their sensor arrays were directed out, past her, to the far distant parts of space where a trillion tons of steel were locked in deadly battle. Terris really did wish she could smile at the moment. She was about to have unrestricted access to the biggest communications relay in the star system, able to send out viruses and receive vital intelligence that could cripple the Alliance fleet if placed in the right hands. Terris, confident as ever, knew they would be.
She would make the Neldian Armada burn, and they had no idea she was even coming.
She reached the hypercom station in just under a day, agonizingly slow for a woman like her, hovering just above its surface to avoid triggering pressure sensors. After that, it was simple enough to get inside. Terris found it almost trivial to bypass the airlock sensor grid and trigger the outer bulkhead to open unnoticed, its report to the command room destroyed before it ever arrived. Entering the station itself was easy after that.
Here, there was gravity. She could not hover like she had on the outside of the station. But here, there were no pressure sensors. She really had no need to hover.
The corridor she found herself in was large enough, though nothing like the expansive halls of a dreadnought, and a patrol of marines in powered suits trundled towards her obliviously. Terris had made the right call not to wear a Phantom powered suit. She ducked into an alcove, the chameleon suit concealing her from even their impressive sensor batteries, and they passed by with no clue at all.
Terris made it to the server banks with ease. Most of the hypercom’s security measures took the form of warships in orbit, clustered tightly around the planet to prevent exactly this scenario from happening, but those warships were off waging war. The station defenses were hopeless now that she was actually inside.
The data was encrypted, and she could neither access it nor copy it without potentially fatal consequences, but she wasn’t there to steal data. A brief, milliseconds-long connection to the primary server was all it took to riddle the entire system with custom-tailored computer viruses. The viruses were self-replicating, rather like an electronic version of the biological ones on Earth. They worked similarly, too, meant to latch onto outgoing communications signals and remain inert for a certain amount of time before activating and wreaking havoc across cyberspace.
The program would be scoured from the net in seconds once it began its assault, but it would cause plenty of chaos before then. And, with another critical transmission being scheduled to send at around that time, Terris knew her mostly-ineffective virus attack would be just enough of a distraction to make sure its message was heard.
Terris planned to leave the station in approximately thirty minutes. Shortly after that, the fireworks would begin. It was going to be beautiful.
She heard footsteps. A maintenance worker, no doubt. It was time for her to go. She disconnected from the server, taking pains to hide her involvement, and snuck out of the server room like a ghost in the night.
Next was the transmission array. This room was better-guarded, its door being flanked by marines, but Terris slipped inside by trailing behind an officer as he entered on some unknown pretext. After that, her daring and sleight of hand made sure Admiral Dama’s pre-recorded propaganda transmission was uploaded to the hypercom transmitter. It came with a set of instructions bearing the Admiralty’s seal, changed to be anonymous, to ensure as many people as possible heard his message.
In just under one standard hour, the United Human Alliance would be shaken to its very core. Terris had just made sure of it.
It took longer than she had expected for the door to open again and give her a chance to slip out. Terris had spent that time quite productively, downloading as many incoming and outgoing messages as she could to the internal hard drive just by her spinal cord. Even if they were encrypted, they’d be useful intelligence once Coalition codebreakers took a crack at them.
After that, it was trivial to slip past marine patrols and escape to the hull of the hypercom station. Terris found her ride, an Alliance warship by the name of Brightest Thunder, holding orbit just near the hypercom station. Admiral Dama, even if he was no longer an admiral, still had connections.
She charged her ion thrusters by tapping into the station reactor, an act which did not go unnoticed, but by then it was too late to respond. She had completed her incursion. The damage had been done. Perhaps if the Alliance acted swiftly and accurately, they could undo it, but Terris was a careful woman. She had covered her tracks well.
Waving one final goodbye to the crew of the hypercom station, Terris triggered her thrust pack and shot off into the ink.
“You must be my passenger.” A man in an Alliance captain’s uniform was waiting for her in the Brightest Thunder’s airlock. He wore a helmet and gloves, hermetically sealed to his airtight outfit, so he felt no effects from the vacuum of space. “I was sent by Sector Admiral Sheparda Dama,” he announced after a period of silence, “To transport you and whatever you may have safely to the Coalition fleet.” Nothing. Apart from the dull thudding of the ship’s railgun batteries, firing missiles at range to ward off a strike force of Coalition ships, the airlock was quiet as a ghost.
“You cannot expect me to endanger my life and the lives of my crew without at least some identification that you are who you claim to be!” Silence. Captain Senar Trevy had been standing in that airlock for three and a half hours, while his ship was tasked with screening Neldia and her eighteen billion inhabitants from harm, and he was just now wondering if he had been talking to a ghost.
“I am,” came a voice. Cold. Sterile. Inhuman. Exactly the kind Trevy expected from the secret spies of his former admiral.
“So you are.” Captain Trevy thought for a moment. He cycled the airlock. If his guest held hostile intent, one steel bulkhead would make no difference. “I’ve been stocking the crew with handpicked men and women since I received word of the operation,” he explained as they walked through the ship’s corridors. The crewmen he passed thought him insane. “I can’t vouch for them all, but the ship as a whole will obey me.” No response. Sometimes, Captain Trevy thought himself insane as well.
“This is my personal quarters,” he told the specter, stepping inside and sealing the door behind him. “I must warn you, for your own safety, it would be best not to leave it. The crew are mostly still Alliance loyalists.” He looked around, paying no heed to the decorated furniture or artificial sky, and finally shrugged and sighed. “Are you even here, still?”
Terris decloaked. She stood between him and the door, winged and cloaked in black like a demon of ancient myth. “I am.”
“You’re a black angel.” Senar Trevy, to his credit, kept his composure well. “A spy for the Ierad Republic.” He questioned her purpose here. They both knew it.
“You weren’t told?”
“I was told an alien would be coming aboard, but…” Trevy shrugged again, as if to say ‘what am I supposed to do?’ “The admiral vouched for you. That much is enough for me.” He also knew he had no choice in the matter. From what he knew about black angels, his ship had been lost the moment she boarded.
“I could have impersonated him,” said Terris, voice a perfect replica of Captain Trevy’s own. Even his own mother could not have told the difference. “And I’m trained to lie.” She was testing him, gauging his reaction to assess his personality. She was good at that.
“I could have you screened for deception,” Trevy countered, pointing up at a pearl-sized camera in the ceiling. Terris made a note that it was disabled. “And I could have had the technology officers vet your transmission.”
“I’m trained to lie well.” Terris sat down on Captain Trevy’s bed, a spartan thing compared to the sleeping quarters of most officers. There were no chairs in the room, so her options were few. She took off her helmet and tried to at least appear relaxed. In reality, she was anything but. “It comes with the job, really.”
“Fair,” Trevy chuckled, feigning calm. “I suppose the question now becomes whether or not you can trust me.”
“It’s a safe gamble.” Terris made a mental calculation. It would take her between thirty and fifty seconds to kill Captain Trevy, take the bridge, and vent the ship. That was a very safe gamble. “Besides, that’s what a peace treaty is.” Trevy looked confused. “A leap of faith. You trust your enemy to back their word, and you trust them to trust you as well. If we can’t get along here, can’t put aside our differences to work toward a common goal, then the Alliance will be right. And I hate it when they’re right.”
“I’m speaking to you now because I know they are wrong.” That came as no surprise to either of them. “You know, I was once a foreman of a labor crew in the munitions factories. The most productive unit in my sector.” That one did come as a surprise. “As a foreman, you get leeway to make certain decisions regarding the… well, I suppose they are slaves, under your command. Food intake and the like.” Captain Trevy looked pained when he brought up such memories. Terris wasn’t convinced that was how he really felt. “They use it to weed out any potential xeno sympathizers from the populace. Of course, at the time, I wasn’t so empathetic.”
“So you were a slave driver, and you beat your slaves to make them work. I hope every one of those shells was sabotaged.” Terris’ voice dripped with disdain. She had almost forgotten the Alliance captain was her enemy.
“No, I showed mercy,” Trevy defended himself. “I was generous.” This made Terris reconsider. Perhaps Senar Trevy could be an ally, if not a friend. “I won’t say I was a good man, but I wasn’t cruel. I was practical. Strong, healthy, well-treated workers are more productive than the beaten sacks of flesh in the other factories. My crew’s output was unmatched.”
“And?” Terris cocked her head inquisitively. For a high-ranking officer in the space navy of a genocidal regime, Senar Trevy really did not seem so bad. To be fair, however, she had set the bar pretty low.
“I was investigated for anti-human activity.” Terris could have predicted that. She almost did, too. “They sent me to the fleet, and my labor crew was reacquainted with the energy whips and pain beams.” There was no carrot for an Alliance labor slave. Only the stick. “Their productivity fell thirty percent in the first two weeks alone.” He sounded almost mournful as he said that. He was not lamenting the loss in productivity.
“You see,” said Trevy, “Hatred is not natural. It has to be caused, sustained, nurtured from the day a man is born until the day he dies.” With that, at least, Terris agreed. “And, as you’re about to see, a nation built around cruelty or prejudice cannot sustain itself. It will have to apply pressure to maintain its flawed status quo, like it did with me, and the pressure will build and build until it cannot build anymore.” He tapped a few buttons on the data disc in his hand. It began projecting an image of the battle for Neldia. He placed it on the bed next to Terris. “Now it’s breaking.”
“I wonder if they’ll find themselves in need of more shells.” Terris knew it wasn’t just shells. Every time a slave driver prioritized hatred over hard work, put cruelty over their quota, or even just bowed their head and obeyed the traditional dogma, they hurt the Alliance. Across nine worlds, with billions of slaves not working as they could have, things started to add up. “You know, for a superior species, your fleet is really getting its ass kicked right now. Might want to work on that.”
Captain Trevy nodded. His data disc beeped. He was needed on the bridge. “Agreed,” he said. “I hope this war ends soon, and to our mutual benefit. I’d hate to face you on the battlefield.” He picked up the data disc and turned to leave.
“Oh, forgot to mention, there’s a virus embedded in the transmissions you’ve received. Self-replicating. Nasty piece of work.” Terris shifted a bit in her seat. “Almost forgot about that.”
“Well, better to know now than when it’s activated,” Trevy smiled. “I’ll have Technology Officer Galdir investigate it.” With that, he left. His duty to the Alliance was nonexistent, but the men and women under his command still needed him. He had waited too long in the stateroom.
Terris, with nothing better to do, got to work on cracking the encryption in the transmissions she had copied. She failed. A transmission from deep in unknown space, sent from a dreadnought at the head of a task force known only as the Deep Expedition Fleet, was the only message she could read. Its contents, while troubling, mattered little at the moment. What was far more crucial, however, was the message Terris could not decipher. The military battle plan of Janus Ora’s personal armada.
The battle plan that, when analyzed on a Republic starship, would reveal its terrible secret too late.
The Coalition fleet was walking into a trap.
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Just some surface thoughts and experiences. We left NYC on 4/27 and left the ship on 5/12 in South Hampton England.
I first heard about the Prima on a cruise a couple of years back when they presented a video in the Atrium on their newest ship and it was love at first sight.
The Prima is an impressive ship, I love the modern look to it. The only downside is that it is not a ship that works well in cold weather. It was on average mid 30s to 40s outside sailing from NYC to Canada and then Iceland and I applaud the people who went into the hot tub and stayed in for hours. That is dedication.
But the outside deck, all the awesome stuff that I saw in the video was closed for the bulk of the trip. Oddly enough when we finally did hit warm weather, either because it broke or for some other reason they closed one of the 2 hot tubs on the whole ship. In the over 2 weeks I was on the ship I was only able to get into the hot tub once when I could not sleep and woke up super early and got in. Soon afterwards the hot tub was overflowing with seniors.
I loved the various restaurants. They were all beautiful looking and I enjoyed the food. I am not that picky and eater. Being able to go to Cagney's for Breakfast and Lunch was really convenient and I got to know the staff very well.
the Spa package was such a waste of money. On day 2 we asked if we could move our money into spa services instead and was told "no". There was no hot tub in the spa. Only 2 pools, one with jets on the wall and one that was salt water. Very boring, very crowded and also no views. The pools are in the inside of the ship with no exterior views of the ocean. The rest of the Spa was small. The changing rooms were tiny compared to previous ships. We had to stand and wait 15 minutes for some seats to become free in the lounge area where we COULD see the ocean. Maybe the spa would have been less crowded if the weather was warmer, but it was still some very odd choices made to the layout.
Also I am not going to shame one of the barbers but I usually get a nice haircut on my cruise and for the first time was super disappointed. It was not only a bad haircut but painful as he pulled at my hair and the scissors felt like they were not sharp and gave me a little "pinch" with every use. He was a nice kid, but man this was the worst haircut I have ever gotten that I can remember. I already have an appointment this weekend to see if I can undo some of the damage. My spouse had someone else do his hair and the other barber commented that my guy was just not "good".
Shout out to Medical. For the first time ever in my life, I fell and hurt myself with only 2 days left in the cruise. My balcony (which was at the front of the ship) was always wet and slippery. So I was normally very careful going outside. It was typically too cold to use, but on a warmish day I put my bathing suit outside to dry and later on went out to get it and landed on my back with my ankle twisted.
Medical was quick and nice. Security interviewed me and asked questions, they took a breathalyzer to make sure I was not drunk (never have drank). They said that any medical fees would be added to my ship board account, but its been a week since I left the ship and 1) never got any fees added to my account and 2) nothing charged directly to my credit card. they DID say they would send me all my paperwork to the cabin before the end of the cruise or by email and again never saw any paperwork. Dreading if at some point my credit card is going to take a hit for the medical exam, pain killers, crutches and boot I got from them. Anyone else have similar experiences?
Observation Lounge - was taken over by seniors the whole trip. 2x we got there early enough to secure seats.
Buffet - SMALL. About half the size of the other ships. Which is why for the first time I stayed away mostly and did Cagney's or looked at other options.
The cabin was amazing. We had a suite, so it was nice when one of us work up early (me) that I could shut the door and transition to the living room. Plenty of ports to charge everything. The Butler, Constringe and Room Attendant were all amazing.
Entertainment - was there any? Maybe I have cruised for too long, but just did not find anything fun or exciting. Nothing stood out. I saw Donna Summers and it was not great but what made it worse was the people behind me who would not stop talking. Just drunk and rude.
The ports were all amazing in their own way - Hallifax, Iceland, Amsterdam, Belgium, France all wonderful. Although my foot prevented me from getting off in France. I think the only real compliant I had was that I paid for a walking tour of Bruges in Belgium and we got there at 10am and had to leave at 12:45. Two plus hours is just not enough time to take in this fairy tale village. I needed 8 hours.
we did have 5 days at sea between Canada and Iceland and that felt like it went on forever, each day bled into the next and time stopped having any meaning except. with all the time changes, we gave up and only tried to remember when our dinners were coming up. It actually was a bit of a shock to go from 5 days of laying around relaxing to being back on a schedule once we hit our ports and then it was BAM one port after another with no real break. the last 4 days flew by.
On boarding and disembarking were a snap with our priority status. We were on and off the ship very quickly.
The NCL app - never worked once on my phone. I always have issues with it.
My fellow passengers. Just like humanity a mixed bad. There is one culture out there that just has no real understanding of how their actions impact others. They usually travel in large groups. They can be loud. They crowd around any entrance. They do not listen to directions (or do not understand them) given by the crew. trying to leave the ship to go into Amsterdam we were stuck behind one person who had forgotten their card and could not get off the boat and they all crowded around the entrance yelling at each other rather than moving to the side to allow everyone else off.
We had our drunk and inconsiderate people, but also met some great individuals.
Anyway that's my surface thoughts.

Hey, so you ever get a birthday present that's so not your style, but you really can't return it because it'd be really awkward? Normally it's like, I dunno. Shoes, or shirts or something like that, right?
For me it was four fire-breathing horses.
Okay, so I should clarify. My dad didn't really give me four fire-breathing ponies to keep. It was more of a test for him to treat me like his son again.
See, I just recently got out of a Styx oath that would have led me to eternal damnation if I didn't fulfill it. It's a long story, but to keep it short: I swore an oath on the Styx to be a brave hero by my eighteenth birthday when I really should have just pinkie promised. But yeah. My dad, God of War and dad of the year took it well. …In that he pretty much said that I was a waste of space, disowned me and he'd personally hand me over to the Styx for eternal damnation.
Nice guy. Really should get into motivational speeches.
The night before, after riding the high of not having the threat of being sent to Super Hell I had a pretty bad dream. I mean, it wasn’t the normal David nightmare. It wasn't me killing endless hordes of monsters while my dad laughed at how pathetic I was.
Well, half of that. It was just my dad. To be honest, rather I’d take the monsters.
He was laughing at me, with that smug face of his, in that all-leather biker outfit with the shades that made him look even more like an asshole, as if that's hard to believe.
Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to cuss. Anyways yeah. Me and my dad. Not the best relationship, even by demigod standards.
He gave me a toothy grin, like a shark’s as he circled around me. I instinctively stood up straight, at attention. As much as I hate my dad, ticking off a god is a pretty dumb thing to do. Plus, I was pretty dumbfounded to see him here in my dream of all things.
“Well, color me surprised. To be honest, boy, I thought I'd end up taking care of this myself. So, congratulations on that front. But, sorry to burst your bubble, it might be good enough for ol’ Styxy but…it’s not good enough for me. But, you know, I'm a generous guy! Prove me you're a warrior. Do that, and I'll welcome you back in the family with open arms. I even got the perfect way for you to prove yourself.”
Without warning, he tossed me a set of keys with a miniature boar-headed keychain and a really big switchblade on the end of it. I fumbled with it before slipping it into my pocket.
“An oldie but a goodie. Used to let my sons prove themselves to me all the time with this one. Now, I'm sure once you see what I got planned you'll know the rules, considering you're a fuckin’ nerd. But in case you forget…”
He lowered his shades, revealing balls of fire as he glared right at me.
“Sundown. My temple. Don't be late or I'll toss you in the Styx myself. Well! Have fun, yeah? I'm looking forward to watching you fail this one, like your last quest. Now, get up. Clock’s ticking after all…”
“Gaah!”
I snapped my eyes open, falling out of my bed and onto the hard floor under me. As soon as I hit the floor, I could hear one of my many siblings start to stir from their sleep. Immediately, my sister Tiffany started to sigh as she shot up from her bed. I could see her pastel pink sleep mask perched on her head as she glared into the darkness of the early morning. She groaned in frustration, her words cutting through the quiet of the dawn.
"What the hell are you idiots doing?"
To be fair, I could see why she’d think that. Most of my siblings were fond of pranking each other every now and then. The chaos of the Ares cabin was unmatched from most cabins, except maybe Hermes. But, when you cut off her beauty sleep, the threat of an angry Tiff was usually was enough to make nighttime a truce. Usually.
My sister rubbed her eyes and looked down at me. I sheepishly gave a smile as I rubbed my head, still sore from when it hit the floor.
"Seriously, David?"
Tiffany got out of bed and silently made her way to me. She wordlessly held out a hand and I grasped at it as she pulled me up.
"Thanks Tiff. I had this dream, where Dad called me a nerd and was talking to me about testing me now that my Styx Oath is..."
I felt something hard and metallic poke against my leg, from my sweats pocket. I pulled out the unfamiliar object and to my surprise, there were the same keys from my dream. My eyes widened as I realized that my dream was a little bit more than usual demigod stuff.
"Oh. That...wasn't a dream."
She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the keys that sat in my hand. I played with the accessories, absentmindedly feeling the boar head and the switchblade knife. She leaned in, peering at the keys as the dawn started to rise.
"What the hell are those for?"
She looked to the keys, then back at my face, and then the keys again. She looked at me as if I just said that Kronos was about to come back and throw an ice cream party courtesy of the Titans.
"You're telling me Dad gave those to you or something? You're joking. Have to be."
I shook my head, but I could see why she thought so. I was pretty sure I was near the bottom, if not at the bottom of his list of favorite kids. If I was being honest, I was pretty sure he wanted me dead more than a few times.
"Tiff, you know that I'm not exactly Dad's favorite by a long shot. Why would I say something like that and risk him getting even mad more mad at me because of my lying? Dad disowned me, remember? He mentioned something along the line in my dream that if I pass his test I'd be treated as one of his sons again but he didn't mention what it..."
The gears started turning as I looked at the keys in my hands.
”A test…keys…sundown…oh no. Oh, no.”
I immediately pocketed up my keys and started putting on my shoes. No time for pants, sweats would do just fine, I just had to make sure to take my wallet with me, considering I was going to New York now. I had to be quick or this test was over before it even started.
"No. I...I think I know what it is. But if I'm right, then shoot I gotta get going then! Before our brothers take it."
In hindsight, I probably should have told Tiff a bit about my thoughts. But, the more I delayed the more issues that could have cropped up. I just had to make sure it was safe.
"Take what? Where the hell are you going?!"
I burst out of the cabin, staring at what was in front of our cabin. I felt a bit of nervousness bubble up as my thoughts were proven true. Tiffany was close behind me as she walked outside our cabin. I looked at her face and caught an expression of wonder as whatever she was going to ask me was forgotten. Parked in front of the cabin was a red and gold Harley. The seat was white leather and gave a sorta…humany vibe to it that I did not wanna think about. Only one thing came to mind, something I knew instinctively from the moment I saw it. Dad's War Chariot.
Or as the god of war would call it, his chariot.
"I...I think dad wants me to take his ride for a spin."
I ran my hand over the cold metal, and I realized what Dad meant about the “oldie but a goodie.” A while back, before the Second Titan war ended, and all of the children of the gods had to be claimed, there was a ritual all sons of Ares went through. It was something all my brothers did at fifteen. Drive around his Chariot and return it before sundown. It wasn't easy, my Godly siblings, Phobos and Deimos both loved to mess with whoever was in charge of the chariot at the time. And you had to deal with monsters too, but overall when it came to demigod stuff it wasn’t the most dangerous around. I dunno if that says a lot about how dangerous this life can get though.
But, shortly after the then-counselor Clarisse La Rue became the first girl to do it, Dad pulled the plug. I dunno if it was good ol’ sexism, someone totaling it, or dad not wanting to let all of his kids drive his ride, either way it wasn't super common nowadays. It wasn't like he stopped, but it was something given, not a right. Dad letting me do this was him at least giving me a chance to prove myself to be one of his kids, which was more than I expected to be honest.
I took a breath as I looked at Dad’s ride, feeling a pit of unease in my stomach as I started to climb in. If it wouldn't end up with me being tormented for the rest of my short life, I'd tell him no and go back to sleep. But, telling a god no, especially my dad is a neat way to be turned into a rodent. Or a fine red paste. Or a rodent that would be turned into said paste.
Tiffany's brows furrowed as she processed my words, a layer of disbelief on her face as she chewed over it.
You? He wants you to drive it? I...that...what the hell?"
I fought off a wince as she looked at me, then the ride, then back at me again. I could tell she was a bit annoyed. I mean, yeah from her perspective I was singled out by dad to do something she probably wanted to do for a while. I felt a pit of guilt in my stomach, it wasn't fair, really. But at the same time I had to do this.
"I mean, seriously? He must be out-"
She cut herself off. Calling my dad crazy was another way to get turned into a rat that would then be turned into a fine paste. Actually a lot of things carried the threat, my dad is kinda a jerk. I sighed, figuring I might as well tell her about why Dad was doing this. I didn't wanna hide it, but it's not like I like to talk about the fact that I've been disowned for two years. She knew, most of us did. But it's not something I like bringing up, because yeah. It sucks.
"I read a bit about previous Ares campers. He used to do this more often, at first only his sons did, but later his daughters could. I dunno why he stopped but, this isn't really like he's doing it because he's proud of me. I'm sorta disowned, remember? He said if I can drive the chariot, he'll take me back as one of you guys again. It's...more of a test to earn myself back into his good graces, I think.”
Tiffany listened to my explanation, not saying anything for a bit She looked a bit bothered about the fact that I was chosen to drive the Chariot, which again, not surprising.
"Ugh, I guess that makes sense."
I could hear the frustration in her voice as she crossed her arms. I winced again, preparing for her to resent or hate me. But to my surprise, I heard her add more in a softer voice.
"Well, don't get yourself killed trying to pass this stupid test, I don't want to have to explain to everyone why you're not coming back."
Her icy tone defrosted as she looked back at me with a bit of concern in her eyes. She seemed less annoyed and more worried about me, which was sweet. Not that I'd let her hear that. I hoped that maybe, dad would let her give it for a spin later down the road. If anyone deserved it, it would be her. I gave a nervous laugh as I took the keys out of my pocket.
"Of course, I passed my Styx Oath, didn't I? It'd be really dumb of me to die right after barely avoiding that, right? Oh, yeah. If Ellie asks for me, tell her about dad's little test he has for me. Hopefully it won't be too long but you know how it is with godly stuff. I should be back in time for us to hang out for the rest of my birthday once I do this for dad. I'll bring back something cool!”
I felt my trepidation fade away as I prepared to drive. Lots of my siblings dreamed of piloting the chariot. It wouldn't be right to reject the opportunity when it was given to me. And, who knows? Getting back in Dad's good graces (or as much as one can get in them) might help me out. At least I would have one less target on my back. As I sat down in the white leather seat, I put the keys in the ignition and instantly it began to morph.
OOC:Read this while listening to whats coming up
The front split apart into one steel horse that slowly split into two, and then four cream-colored horses that looked around with a cruel intelligence. The seat dipped, and warped before it became a horse-drawn chariot I was now standing in. The chariot was gold and blood red, adorned with the lovely images of people dying gruesome deaths, because Dad's taste in decor is somewhere between military surplus and serial killer, apparently.
“Okay…so, I need to get to Dad's temple before sundown. I don't know New York highways though, so how can I…oh hey! A gps!”
My fingers brushed against a touch screen set up on the chariot and punched The Intrepid into the coordinates. I gave one last wave to my sister before I lashed the horses and they immediately took off. I led them out of camp easily enough, but as we reached the highway they sped up to an impossible speed for a chariot. Their speed was even faster than any cars on the highway, rivaling the time that Aphrodite camper drove us to the beach once. I pulled back on the reins, trying to get them to slow down. Instead, they gave a rebellious snort and went even faster.
I would like to say that I embraced my inner Ares kid and relished the challenge. But I'm not going to lie, when you end up going past 80 MPH in a chariot, you tend to think you're going to die, fun fact. I screamed for most of the way, yanking and pulling at their reins so we could bob and weave through traffic.
It's a bit of a drive from Camp Half-Blood to New York City, I know it well, it’s a pretty common place for me to go for some monster slaying. But, up until now, I've been in the passenger seat while Argus drives. The speed of the horses really made the time go by faster. As we entered the city, the horses started to slow down and I felt a ray of hope as I started to steer them through the city. I gave a triumphant laugh as I looked down at my ETA. It was surprisingly quick, considering how congested New York can get. And I didn't see hide or hair of either one of my godly brothers, so I felt pretty good, all things considered.
“Huh. That's weird. There's not many cars today…my luck must be turning around!”
“Traffic update: Incoming Monsters. Rerouting. Cannot reroute.”
“Huh?”
Immediately, a massive boar the size of a garbage truck burst from a nearby alley way behind me. Behind the massive pig, two armored bank cars recklessly merged into traffic. One leaned out, revealing a gray-skinned human in body armor brandishing a shotgun.
“Of course! I had to open my big mouth! Is there anything that I’m going to have to deal with?”
“You are on the fastest route!”
“Well that’s just GREAT! Now I can be on the quickest way to the underworld!”
”Rerouting to: D.O.A. Records, Los Angeles.”
“Woah, woah, woah, no! Keep me on The Intrepid! The Intrepid!”
Seeing all these enemies together though, I started to put a thought in my head. They all had something in common, now that I saw them all in front of me. A boar was sacred to Ares, Spartoi too came from a dragon sacred to him. I put the pieces together as I saw the monsters come out of the woodwork and all to me. Now things made sense. The lack of Phobos and Deimos, the sacred beings to Ares, the lack of mortals on the street.
I didn't see my siblings because Dad wanted to mess with me personally.
Even now, I don't know if he wanted to test me in a Spartan way, or if he just wanted to get rid of me without kinslaying. Either way, I couldn't back down now. Not when I was so close. I snapped on the reins and the rebellious horses continued on their path, bickering and weaving left and right as they snorted and whinnied.
I heard the wiz of something traveling through the air and quickly moved out of the way. A metal feather hit the chariot, bouncing off the hull and onto the ground. I looked up and saw a few birds. They were black and crow-like, but their feathers had a metallic sheen, like iron. Their wings flapped and I heard the sound of metal on metal as they soared above me.
“Dad called in feather-shooters too? Come on!”
I steered left and right as I evaded the metal feathers shooting at me. The newcomers behind me quickly gained as I bobbed and weaved. I had to figure a way out of this, and fast. Problem was, I was quickly outnumbered and outmatched. I wasn't the best at archery, and my sword could shoot a blast of force, courtesy of the then Forgemaster. Main issue was it took a bit to charge, and I couldn't take them on so high up.
I couldn't run. I needed to fight out of this. But even if I could fight the two Spartoi and the big pig, the problem was the birds. I didn't have a ranged option…or did I? I looked to the horses, breathing embers as they huffed and pulled the chariot further on. Ares kids couldn't talk to horses, but these were godly horses. They seemed smarter than your average horse. Maybe I could talk them into behaving, the same way I got some of my siblings to listen to the plan during Capture the Flag.
“Hey guys, are you bored? I'm sure Dad and my brothers take all the good fights, huh? You know, if you guys continue fighting each other, I might lose this and you guys will miss out on a good fight.”
At first, I thought it fell on deaf ears. But then, they stopped their jostling and started to take a more unified path as we raced along the streets. Like I thought, they enjoyed a good fight as much as their owner did.
“That's what I like to see. Look, we're pretty surrounded right now. What do you say we rampage a bit before I take you guys home?”
An evil-sounding whinny came from the horses. I couldn’t really speak horse, but I took that as an okay and pointed at the birds above us. Did I feel stupid? Kinda. But as long as it worked, I couldn’t complain.
“See them? All yours. I'll cover you guys from the ground forces, and in exchange, you guys fall in line. Alright?”
A burst of fire came from one of the horses in response and I heard a loud squawk as it engulfed one of the feather-shooters. I breathed a sigh in relief as the rest of the birds started to scatter. They veered left and right in an attempt to avoid the flaming streams that were now sporadically being fired in their direction.
“Alright! Good job, I'll leave it to you!”
I gave a smile as I turned behind to my land-based foes, quickly gaining on me. I could hear the occasional woosh of fire as the horses fought the birds. One of the armored trucks caught up to my right and one of the spartoi leaned out of the vehicle. They aimed down the sights and pointed their shotgun at me.
“Sudden traffic in your area. You will be delayed by…five minutes. You are still on the fastest route!”
“Woah, that’s not fair! Come on Dad! A gun? Really!?”
I felt a tug in my stomach. It wasn’t something I could do a lot in a row without being exhausted, but I had some sorta pull when it came to weapons. When I gave a command, they were able to fall right out of their owner’s hands.
“Alright, let’s even the playerfield shall we?”
I held out my hand and they dropped it, the gun fell onto the ground, crushed by the wheels of the car. The second caught up to my left and once again, a spartoi leaned out of their car, weapon in hand.
“Another one!? Come on! How am I going to…”
I was jerked to the side as the horses suddenly veered right. At first, I thought it was the horses misbehaving again, but then a monstrous squeal came from behind me, rushing forwards.
Crash
I heard the sound of steel groaning as the boar rushed past the truck, pushing their truck out of the way as they aggressively charged forward. It was a good thing I managed to get out of the way, or else I would have been in trouble. I could see the spartoi shaking their fist as they spun out, their car massively dented with a massive gash in the armor. Now that I had to deal with two enemies, I decided to use the boar’s momentum to my advantage. I pulled back on the reins and the boar kept barreling on, too fast to stop as I made the chariot suddenly stop and then take a sudden turn away from the temple. The boar ran straight into a brick wall, seemingly dazed but otherwise okay.
”Rerouting...”
That temporarily took care of two of my enemies. Now that I had one to worry about, and my horses were pretty steady, I could start this fight in earnest. I kept one hand on the reins as I grabbed my Miku keychain. I unclipped it, and the keychain turned into a katana, with said keychain still on the bottom. It was my sword, Anime (I want to clarify, my friend Jules named it, not me). One of the Spartoi readied a spear and lunged at me. I parried it with my blade, and stabbed at their chest. I felt my blade plunge into their body. I pulled away at it, slashing at it again to tear it apart. To my disappointment though, the monster quickly reformed.
I don't know what I expected, to be honest. They wouldn't be much of an immortal soldier if they died after the first hit. But it bought me valuable time as we pushed forward. Almost as soon as its bones knit back together, it struck at me. I guarded once again, my sword starting to glow brighter and brighter with each strike. Our blades clashed and separated again and again for, I don’t know how long to be honest. I was putting up a good fight, but I just couldn’t gain the upperhand in that fight. For starters, if it was a monster or even a demigod it’d be ten ways to Tartarus at the moment. But, no matter how I sliced or diced it, the immortal soldier kept on coming back. Also, I just wasn't used to multitasking like that, I held on as tightly as I could, but the brief times I practiced Chariot combat with my friends Jules and Cel, I was either driving or fighting. Both at the same time was hard, and I was lucky that the horses were so cooperative.
I heard the whinny of one of the horses ahead as I looked back to the front. No sign of the birds meant that there was a few extra-crispy feather-shooters along the road somewhere, which was good news. But then, I looked out in front and realized that there was a big problem. One of the trucks we left behind somehow got in front of us, blocking the road with their car. Five spartoi were standing outside of the car, swords and spears drawn as they headed the chariot off.
At this moment, I knew I was screwed. I was too fast to just stop. And, even if I did stop, I’d have to deal with all the angry skeleton men chasing me down. I just winced, bracing for impact. But then, I heard a neigh as the horses pulling my chariot started to turn into steel and combined once more. The chariot started to shift, the creak of metal folding and turning. I quickly sheathed my sword as the reins turned into chrome handlebars which I gripped like my life depended on it. The chariot continued to morph until once again it was a motorcycle with flame patterns. I veered as left as I could, narrowly avoiding hitting the side of a nearby building as I sped past the skeletal blockade. I braked, motorcycle now turning back into the chariot form as I turned back and watched as the car that was chasing me slammed straight into the other.
The now pissed spartoi stumbled out of the wreckage and started to scream undead obscenities to each other. I couldn’t speak ghost, but whatever they said seemed to be pretty rude, because both sides started to unsheath their swords and get into an all-out brawl. One of the spartoi sliced the other in two, and they didn’t reform this time as their essence slid into their black sword.
Huh. Well, that was one way to deal with them.
“Whew! Good horses.”
I turned, ready to snap the reins once again, but I stopped as I saw what was waiting for me at the other end of the road. The boar, still very much on my trail stood in front of me. It pawed at the ground in front of it, and my horses started to do the same. I stared at the boar, unsheathing Anime once again as we stared off.
“Keep straight for…500 feet.”
The thing about boars is that they can be pretty deadly. They’re brutish and aggressive, and they go down fighting. You know the crossguard that’s near the pointy end of a spear? That’s so the animal doesn’t run up the spear to take you out with it. You don’t think them being that dangerous, but there’s a reason that dad’s symbol is a boar.
I had to make this quick, and efficient or I’d end up maimed, or worse. I snapped the reins one more time, and the horses started to dash down the street. The boar squealed as it barreled to me. I could see it get closer and closer. I grit my teeth, holding my blade in my right hand as it started to shine more and more brightly. My hand held onto the grip tightly, bracing for my next action.
I’d have one shot at this.
I miss, I’m dead.
I hesitate, I’m dead.
I don’t hit the vitals, I’m dead.
Time started to slow around me as I watched the boar rush at the chariot, enraged as it reached the point where there was no stopping it now. I could see the powerful muscles push and pull, the beast using all its power in an attempt to off me for good. I felt heat coming from the front as all four horses breathed a stream of flames at the swine. The boar kept on charging forwards, through the fire as the flames engulfed it. An angry squeal erupted from the inferno as it lept up from the sea of flames, still on fire as it used its strong legs to clear the horses and go straight for me.
Breathe in
I felt a sense of calm wash over me as I pulled my sword hand back. My blade shined brilliantly, even in the May sun. I watched it fall ever closer to me, the flames still eating away at the flesh. I stared into its ever-angry eyes, burning brighter than the flames surrounding it. I don’t falter. I’ve faced monsters that have crushed my bones. I don’t feel fear. I’ve fought creatures that could have killed me in five seconds. This is it. I need it to be perfect.
Breathe out.
SHING
I swung my blade and a rush of air followed it, making an arc that flew to the boar. I don’t doubt my skills. I simply watch, confident that this will end the monster once and for all. The blast, charged from my fight flew unimpeded. The beast’s chuffs turned into surprised squeal as it sliced the boar cleanly in two, bisecting it from the snout down. I sheathed my sword and put both hands back on the reins, eyes on the road as I barely watched what came next. The flaming boar started to fade into dust, still falling through the air until only a tusk was left. I held out my arm and caught it with my right hand.
“Oh hot, hot!”
I juggled it a bit with one hand before placing it down on the chariot floor. I grinned triumphantly as I realized what happened. Dad tried to test me, to see if I was “worthy” or he genuinely tried to kill me. Either way, I beat him this time, proving to him that I was more. That he underestimated me when we first met, that I was a brave warrior all along. In the end, I proved to him that I could fulfill my Styx oath even past what was expected of me. I laughed as I sped up, I felt pretty good about my victory. I wondered how his face would look, or if I could read his expression past his dumb sunglasses.
But as I rounded the corner, a terrifying sight came to my face as my glee turned to sorrow. I watched with horror as I realized Dad’s influence on the fight kept a more dangerous foe than any before at bay. Now that the fight was over, he had no reason to keep it around, and for once, I wasn’t sure if I could get through this unscathed. I gulped as I put my hands on the reins, not ready to face the impossible challenge alone. I hoped it wouldn’t break me as I prepared what little I had to fight this foe.
”There is an unusual amount of traffic in your area today.”
“Now you tell me…”
None other, than New York traffic.
I’d like to say that I did something else. Like I defeated an army of drakons on my way, or managed to fight off crazed demigods sent by my dad…but no. It was pretty much just traffic the rest of the way there. It was long and arduous, but I managed to make my way over to The Intrepid. After that traffic,I had to say, the amount of crazy drivers was almost San Francisco bad. I’d have taken as many spartoi and boars as dad could throw at me, if it meant I wasn’t drowning in the sea of cars. I drove down Pier 86, feeling a sense of relief as I got closer and closer to the aircraft carrier turned museum. As I got within eyeshot, I realized that dad said to take it to the temple, but not where to drop it off at.
It would be really stupid to end up failing just because I wasn’t sure where to leave dad’s ride. I got off the chariot, and was eyeing the prices of a ticket.
“Adults are thirty-six, Seniors and College Students…thirty four… Oh hey! Children of Ares get in free! Now, how do I wheel dad’s chariot through the front…”
Suddenly the side gate opened, lights flashing and clanging as it automatically retracted. The person standing in the booth waved me over and I hopped back onto the chariot, driving it by cautiously. They were dressed like a security guard, shades covering their eyes as they looked down onto their phone that they were absentmindedly playing with. Eyebrow piercings peeked out from behind the shades. They were tall, looked about early twenties, and seemed like your average bored museum guard, if not for that sorta godly aura I got from them.
“Take the chariot this way, Lord Ares will be at the end of Pier 86. Can’t miss him.”
I eyed the godling suspiciously. They seemed like one of those myriad younger and minor gods I saw when I was on Olympus. Not anyone I’d know, but if they wanted to stop me, it’d be annoying to get past them. They didn’t seem to be that dangerous, at least right now. But when you were a demigod, you learned to be wary of free handouts.
“Uh…look man, I’m going to be honest. I just got through some hellish traffic to get through here. So if like, you’re leading me into a trap or if my godly brothers are going to show up to try and take this, can you just start the fight and save me the trouble? It’s been a long morning, and I just wanna get this over with.”
I stared back at my reflection through their mirrored shades. Growing up, I always thought of myself as gangly and awkward. I could see my messed up hair, tousled from the wind. I stood tall, and although I wasn’t the buffest Ares kid around, you couldn’t call me skinny anymore. I looked almost heroic as I held the reins atop the chariot. Was that how I looked now? The godling shook their head as they chuckled, putting down their phone as they looked at me in the eyes.
“Kid, even for a god like Ares who likes conflict, you don’t do something like that in a temple. You can’t just attack his kid on his own grounds. Plus, it's part of the rules of war to respect neutralized zones. Trust me, you’re home free.”
“Oh. Um, thank you.”
He nodded and went back on his phone. I snapped on the reins and the chariot trotted along, even fire-breathing horses had to follow traffic laws apparently. I was on guard, not taking the godling’s words at face value. Mortals in a daze parted around the chariot, a few snapping pictures at me. I freaked out for a split second before I heard the tourists being in awe at what I heard to be a “vintage bomber”. Dumbfounded, I stopped for a brief second. It didn’t even have wings! But, I could see the mist shimmer around me and for a brief moment, see the silhouette of the plane around the chariot. It was an old fighter, a single propellor with flaming horse art on the nose.
“P-40B Warhawk? Alright, guess we’re working with that.”
I frowned a bit, trying to think if I knew that before this, from a school project or if it was more demigod shenanigans. I was never into fighter jets, but when you’re a demigod sometimes your parent’s godly influence shoves itself into your head and it’s always confusing when it does.
I drove the “plane” to the end of the pier, where I could see my dad sitting down on a barricade, blocking off a massive plane above him. It wasn’t used for war apparently, because I had no clue what type of plane it was. Looked cool though, it was really narrow around the nose end and the wings were all near the back end. He had a big wicked-looking combat knife in his hand that he used to clean his nails. He looked up at me, disinterestedly, before going back down to the knife.
“You’re alive.”
I couldn’t tell from his tone if that was a good or bad thing. It seemed… neutral. Like he was stating the sky was blue. But, overall I’d take that as a good thing, considering our last meeting. I spoke a bit warily, not sure if he was in a good or bad mood considering my victory.
“Uh, so Father. I’m finished with what you-”
“No. You’re not.”
“I’m not!? Do I need to do anything or-”
A moment of panic snuck up into my chest. For a brief moment I was afraid he was going to pull a twelve labors on me, but then he whistled and held out his hand.
“Not until you give me the keys kid, then it’s done.”
I hopped out of the chariot, the reins in my hand turning into keys as the horses went back into their motorcycle form. I somewhat clumsily tossed it to my dad, who grabbed it. He pushed himself off his perch, first making sure his motorcycle was unharmed. Then, he turned to me, eying me up and down as he circled around where I stood. I stood still, at attention as I felt my heart racing in my chest. I felt like a deer, cornered by a wolf just waiting to strike. Yet, the first pang of anxiety soon settled down. If he wanted to take care of me, he would have done so already. Or sent something more dangerous like a Drakon at me when I was driving. I felt my heart leap up into my throat as he clapped a big hand on my shoulder. The gesture wasn’t hostile, if anything, the motion seemed friendly. But his grip was anything but. His hand, like the claws of a tiger dug into my shoulder as he grinned at me.
“I have to say, I thought you were a lost cause, but look at you kid. Took you long enough, but I guess you have enough of me in you after all. Well, a late bloomer is better than being completely useless, but man! You were one of my most pathetic kids when you took that oath. I don’t think I had a kid as wimpy as you in a long time. Well, I’m glad my little nudge helped you keep that oath up after all. It would have been a waste of a perfectly good warrior if you didn’t shape up.”
I looked at him, dumbfounded. He helped me? He didn’t do anything! I wasn’t stupid enough to point it out, but I guess he knew what I was thinking as I felt his grip tighten as he growled.
“Come on, don’t give me that look, kid. Oh, don’t look so surprised. Tip of advice: don’t dip your toes into cards. You have a horrible poker face. Your mom was the same way. But, yes. I helped. Not that kids these days would understand. Parents these days are too soft, including most of us gods. Back in Sparta, we’d leave our kids to fend for themselves. Just give them barely enough food and let them hunt or steal the rest. If they end up dying in the hunt or starved, well that’s fine. They were too weak to do anything of note anyway. You should consider yourself lucky I was generous enough to just turn my back on you.”
He chuckled low, and my blood ran cold as he shook me. I shook my head, fighting off a wave of dizziness as he threatened to take off my arm.
“Oh, but that’s in the past! You passed your agōgē period, all by yourself. Now that is true strength.”
His evil grin widened as he gave me the closest thing to an approved look he’d ever given me. I furrowed my brow as I shook my head. This credit, it wasn’t mine to take, was it? Before I could think, I spoke what was on my mind.
“I’m sorry, but I didn’t do this by myself. Everywhere I went, I had someone to help me out. If it wasn’t for the help from my friends, I don’t think I would be standing here. I didn’t-”
My dad’s good mood instantly soured as his grin warped into a snarl. His grip, although somewhat friendly now seemed dangerously tight as he frustratingly interrupted me.
“Oh for the love of! I’m complimenting you, kid. Look. I don’t care about those other twerps one way or another. Allies are fine enough in war, as long as you don’t make them do all the work. Kid, you’ve gotten strong all on your own, like a true son of mine. Don’t deny you and me the kleos you rightfully deserve ever again. Shut up and just take the honor.”
“I…uh…yes, Dad.”
I was surprised that all it accounted to was a mild scolding. My dad, too seemed to calm down after I agreed with his words, as he went back to a smile. He put his hand back into his pocket as he started to walk up to his chariot. He ran his finger across the chrome finish, taking out a cloth and cleaning off my fingerprints from the metal.
“About your joyride. Not bad, not bad at all. It took you a bit to embrace your birthright, but you ended up not even scratching my ride. Nice. Nice. Saves me the trouble of buffing it out. Now, if you could only stop complaining at everything that opposed you. You’re a man, aren’t you David? Start acting like it. If you think a bag of bones and a pig are hard, just wait until your future. The stronger a warrior gets, the stronger their foes get. Make sure you’re strong enough to stand up against them before you end up a stain on the pavement.”
I heard the engine rev as he got into the seat. He threw a bag at me that I clumsily fumbled with before I fully caught it. I opened it, and a few golden drachmas shined back at me.
“Since your agōgē finished up, consider yourself un-cut off. Even I’m not heartless enough to leave a son of mine stranded in New York. Keep the rest. Feel free to hang around my temple, and help yourself to the gift shop if you want, it’s on the house, happy birthday and all that. Just don’t go overboard.”
He turned the motorcycle, wheeling it around so he could leave the pier. He turned around, giving me a few more parting words he shouted over the roar of the engine.
“Don’t think you’re done yet, David. You got a lot more to grow. Especially now that you can receive my blessings again. What, did you think that taking a good hit was all you can do? You’ll see sooner or later. See ya kid! Don’t disappoint me.”
He revved his engine one more time and took off, leaving me behind on the pier. As I watched my dad leave, I realized that with that resolved, the last of what made my Styx Oath so suffocating was finally finished. A part of me felt that I’d always keep the consequences of it with me. Either dad would continue to disown me, or I’d be horribly injured from my jobs. But, to my surprise, everything worked out alright. I worked as hard as I could, and now everything was over, truly over. I…wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I mean, like obviously I didn’t wanna have them with me for the rest of my life. But, for all of my oath’s lifespan I had the deadline looming overhead, and my expectation was that something would happen to me as a result. I was glad to have it over with, but I never felt that I could relax until now. The feeling of not having the anxiety of my imminent demise was something I wasn’t familiar with, and to be honest I still have trouble relaxing. As he disappeared into the afternoon traffic, I realized that, so too did my previous life.
Maybe…maybe I could afford to enjoy my life now after all.
OOC: And there we have it! The final David storymode relevant to this storyline! I meant to have this yesterday but I didn't see the modmail that gave me the okay until literally an hour ago oop. Which means that yes, the Chariot and Ares both are approved from the mods.
Big thank you to Tiffany's writer, angelspoint for helping me with her parts, I had a blast working with them! Hope you enjoyed David's Victory lap!

I wanted to post my experience in the hopes that this helps someone in the future since I couldn't find much on it when I searched.
I recently submitted a damaged baggage claim for my $1200 stroller. One of the wheels was broken when they delivered the stroller to the jet bridge. I was expecting Delta to reimburse at most 50% of the original value since I purchased the stroller nearly 4 years ago. To my surprise, Delta reimbursed the full $1200 plus provided an additional $300 flight credit. It took 4 days to process the entire thing from the day I submitted the completed claim to when I got the notice of the claim decision.
Delta exceeded my expectations with their response. I'm sure there were several factors that helped: platinum medallion, decent annual spend on my delta Amex, and only one prior damaged bag claim (+10 years ago and for far less).
It is important to note that I dragged my damaged stroller straight to the baggage office at my destination to file a claim. The agent took photos and a video as part of the claim. I was able to provide a copy of my original purchase receipt for the stroller.
I was so sure that Delta would only reimburse a portion of the original purchase cost that I had already started a claim with Amex. I was just waiting on Delta's claim to finalize so that I could complete the Amex claim.
I was made whole by Delta and then so much more. To top it all off, my toddler loved being able to run through LAX when we landed even though it was 5 hours past his bedtime.
If you're wondering why we would spend $1200 on a stroller... We chose the safest infant car seat we could find at the time and then bought the stroller that went with it.

I had always remembered my deeply rooted envy at a girl at my old high school. Alyssa Howard, Home Room 207. It hadn't been long since I graduated there. I was in Class of '22, in a homeroom that I simply didn't fit in. It was isolating since everyone in my homeroom was in groups of friends, everyone was their own designated groups.
Alyssa was in the Choir group, consisting of 8 girls. They were girls that were a part of Choir Class, an elective that made no sense why I took it. Along with Alyssa Howard, there was Brianne Becker, Fiona Figueroa, Leslie Smith, Hannah Klidford, Emma Kelly, Mandy Lake, and... Karla Reyes. Karla Reyes was one of them I knew very well. In fact she is the reason why I'm typing this out.
Karla was my childhood friend, we met in 5th grade. Her family was from around Texas, and she recently moved to this small town of Meadows Dale. I didn't have friends at that age since most kids thought I was...well weird. I didn't comprehend why I was weird to them at the time, I just simply thought I wasn't cool enough. I remember vividly that I was walking far from the rusty playground, to a hill that pretty much if going more up north, you'll be at the Centennial Park of the town.
That sunny day in 5th grade felt like it was just yesterday. I was walking up a hill, my Elsa shoes making every step feel like a chore. I sighed, looking down at my shoes, feeling embarrassed that my mom had gotten them for me. All the other kids in my grade were wearing Converse or cool sneakers, and here I was, stuck with sparkly, princess-themed shoes. I flopped down on the grassy ground, feeling like the biggest outcast in the world.
I sat there, lost in my own thoughts, I noticed a girl with dark hair and tan skin walking towards me. She looked a bit nervous, fidgeting with her hands as she approached. I recognized her from my homeroom class.
"Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "These hills look like a pair of butt cheeks, don't they?" She giggled, and I couldn't help but laugh too.
I signed back to her, using my hands to mimic the shape of hills and then making a silly face to show that, yes, they did look like butt cheeks. Karla laughed, and I was surprised. Not many people in my class knew sign language, and it was nice to have someone to communicate with in my own way.
"Do you know sign language?" I signed, curiosity getting the better of me.
Karla nodded, her dark hair bobbing up and down. "Yeah, my aunt was born deaf, so I learned to communicate with her."
I signed back, asking her if she thought it was cool that I knew sign language too.
Karla grinned. "Yeah, that's really cool! I'm Karla, by the way."
“Lily,” I signed my name, and Karla sat down next to me on the grass. We chatted for the rest of recess, discovering that we had a lot in common. We both loved DreamWorks movies better than Disney, and our favorite music group was Fifth Harmony. I was obsessed with them back then, and Karla was too. We both wanted to be like Camila Cabello when we grew up.
From that day on, Karla and I were inseparable. We'd sit together at lunch, partner up for group projects, and even started a Fifth Harmony fan club in our class. Karla would always lend me an earbud so we could jam out to our favorite songs together. Our friendship was effortless, and I felt like I'd finally found someone who understood me.
It was perfect until the start of Freshman year of Meadows Dale High School. I held my scheduler tightly in my hands as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, my stomach twisted in knots. My heart sank as I scanned the pages, taking in the fact that most of my classes were designated for students with special educational needs. Homeroom and choir were the only exceptions.
I made my way to the living room where my mom was seated, tears brimming in my eyes. "Mom, why do I have to take these classes?" I signed, frustration etched on my features. "I don't need this kind of help. I can handle regular classes just fine."
My mom looked at the schedule, her expression sympathetic. "I know you don't seem to need help, sweetie, but the school requires you to take these classes. It's just protocol."
I sighed, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me. "I'm going to feel like even more of a freak than I already do," I gestured angrily, trying to hold back tears.
From the living room doorway, my father's deep voice cut through the silence. His ears perked up from the conversation. "Hey, kiddo, what's going on?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I signed again, rapidly gesturing my fingers "I don't want to take Special ED classes, Dad. I can do normal classes. I can hear the teachers very well!"
My dad walked over to us, his eyes scanning the schedule. "I know it's tough, Lily, but the school is just trying to help. Plus, You're not a freak. Not in our eyes, anyway. If anybody gives you trouble, I'll personally see to it that they regret it." His tone was lighthearted, but his meaning was clear. He was the sheriff, after all, and his reputation preceded him.
I rolled my eyes, signing, "Dad, please. You're only making things worse."
Ignoring my pleas, he ruffled my hair affectionately before leaving the room. I retreated to my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed in a heap of tears. The night passed in a blur, and soon enough, it was time for me to wake up and face another day.
I woke up to the sound of my dad calling me from downstairs. "Lily, time to get up! First day of school!" I groggily got out of bed, still feeling the emotional hangover from the night before.
My dad drove me to school in his police cruiser, which only added to my embarrassment. I remembered feeling weird being in the cruiser, with its flashing lights and sirens. As we pulled up to the school, my dad turned to me and said, "No matter what, you'll always have me and Mom, okay? We love you, and we're proud of you."
He hugged me tight, and I felt a lump in my throat again. I nodded, trying to hold back tears, and got out of the car. Finally me into the world of Meadows Dale High School.
The enormity of the building hit me hard as I stepped inside. The halls were bustling with activity, and the noise level was overwhelming. The classes flew by, and I couldn't help but feel like my Special ED classes were too easy for me. The teacher aides were sweet, but they were busy helping other students, leaving me to feel like I was just going through the motions.
As I walked out of my Literature class, I noticed a boy sitting alone next to a locker. He had ginger hair and was a bit overweight, and he was using a big headset to listen to music. There was something about him that drew me in, so I walked over to say hi.
He removed his headphones, looking up at me with a nervous smile. "Hi," he said, his voice a little shaky.
I signed back, "Hi."
He laughed, a little awkwardly. "Sorry if I'm a bit awkward. I'm not really used to talking to people."
I signed, "You're not awkward at all."
He smiled, looking relieved. "Thanks. I'm Matt Weston."
I nodded, signing, "I'm Lily."
Matt's eyes lit up. "Sweet. What's your homeroom?"
"207."
Matt's face brightened up. "No way, that's my homeroom too!"
I smiled, feeling a sense of excitement. "That's amazing!"
Matt stood up, walking towards a bookshelf. "Homeroom's next class. Want to walk with me?"
I nodded, following him as the bell rang. We exited the class, and suddenly we were swept up in a sea of students pushing and shoving to get to their next class.
We finally arrived at class 207, which was already filled with students. I saw Alyssa sitting in the back with her group of friends, looking like a star athlete. Matt went to sit in the front seat, and I sat next to him.
Just as we were settling in, one of the guys from Jr high football, Ryan Peterson, hit a football at Matt, saying, "Can't believe we got 'Butterball' in our class."
Matt rolled his eyes, saying, "At least I don't have a father who cheats and spreads gonorrhea."
Ryan's friend, Warren, said, "Ohhh sick burn,"
Ryan huffed, whispering to Matt, "Just because you're special doesn't mean everybody likes you."
I got mad, flipping Ryan the finger, which made him laugh. "You're lucky I ain't telling the teacher, because I don't want any issues with your old man!" Ryan walked away with Warren, leaving me feeling annoyed.
The homeroom teacher arrived, a young guy in his 20s with cedar brown hair and a pair of glasses. "Hello Students! Like that you are all sitting in neatly placed groups. My name's Mr. James and I'll be your homeroom teacher for Freshmen till Senior Year. Hope you excited as I am!"
Just as he was about to start writing on the white board, a beautifully dressed Karla emerged late, looking older and more mature with a lot of makeup on. I looked up, happy to see her, only for her to not notice me and sit down next to Alyssa's group.
Matt whispered to me, "Do you know that girl?"
I signed, "No."
Matt nodded, looking curious. "She looks familiar, but I don't know her name. Was it Kayla or Karly?"
"It's Karla," I shrugged, feeling a pang of disappointment. It seemed like Karla had moved on to a new group of friends, leaving me behind. I don't know how this change happened, since Karla and I went on a trip to Orlando, Florida, three weeks ago. I thought we had the best of our life's during that trip.
I was stumped, watching from afar as Karla chatted with Alyssa and her friends. I felt a twinge of jealousy and sadness as I realized how easily Karla had seemingly moved on and found a new group to hang out with. I mean, I thought we were best friends. It felt like Alyssa had stolen her from me.
I turned my attention elsewhere, not wanting to dwell on it. That's when I noticed a teenage boy sitting alone a few rows in front of me. He had jet black hair and there was something familiar about him, although I couldn't quite place it. I wondered who he was and why he was sitting alone.
"Hey, Lily," Matt said, following my gaze. "Do you know that guy? He looks kind of like a mini Detective Loomis."
I shook my head, signing that I had no idea who he was, but now I was curious too. Detective Loomis had been a family friend for years, and I knew he had a son, but I hadn't seen him in a while.
Matt chuckled nervously and waved his hand as if to dismiss his own question. "Just wondering. He kind of looks like him, that's all."
Just then, the boy turned around in his seat and our eyes met. He raised an eyebrow, clearly having overheard our conversation. "Yeah, that's my dad," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Why?"
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not expecting such a direct response. "Oh, um, no reason. Just curious, that's all."
The boy, Brandon Loomis, as I now knew him to be, nodded slowly, as if accepting Matt's explanation. Then, to my surprise, he introduced himself with a small smile. "Brandon Loomis. And you are...?"
"Lily Anderson. Nice to meet you, Brandon."
“I'm Matt by the way,” Matt chimed in.
A flash of something—was it pain?—crossed Brandon's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "Nice to meet you both. Your dad's a good man, Lily. He helped me out a lot."
I could only imagine what Brandon had been through. I remembered hearing snippets about his kidnapping a while back, but I had no idea what he must have endured. No wonder he hadn't been in school until now.
"Well, I hope the rest of the year goes well for you," I signed sincerely.
Brandon smiled at me again, and I felt a warm glow spread through my chest. "Thanks, Lily. I hope so too."
As the homeroom continued, Mr. James had us all introduce ourselves and played some icebreaker games to help us get to know each other better. It was actually kind of fun, and it took my mind off Karla and her new friends for a while.
One of the things we had to do was share a fun fact about ourselves. When it was Matt's turn, he revealed that he was the son of Mayor Weston and a great friend of my dad's. No wonder he seemed so familiar! I knew my dad would be thrilled to hear that Matt and I had become friends.
Before I knew it, the homeroom was over, and Matt, Brandon, and I headed out into the hallway together. I was relieved to find out that we all had B lunch, so I wouldn't have to eat alone.
"So, where do you guys usually eat?" Brandon asked as we made our way down the crowded hallway.
"I don't know about Lily, but I usually just grab something from the cafeteria and eat outside," Matt replied.
I signed, "That sounds good to me. I like being outdoors."
Brandon nodded. "Yeah, me too. Although, I usually eat my lunch at Dillard's Diner since I work there after school. You guys should come by sometime. The food's pretty great."
"Definitely!" Matt said enthusiastically. "I love diner food. And hey, maybe we can even help you out sometime if you're short-staffed."
Brandon laughed. "Sure, why not? It can get pretty crazy on the weekends, so any extra hands would be appreciated."
As we made our way to the cafeteria, Matt started talking about his favorite band, Deftones. I had to admit, their music was a little too heavy for my tastes, but Matt was so passionate about it that I found myself getting drawn in.
"You know, you should check out their album 'White Pony,'" Matt said. "It's a classic. My dad actually introduced me to them, and I've been hooked ever since."
I signed with a smile, "My dad's always trying to get me into his favorite bands too. He's a big fan of The Beatles and Queen."
"Oh, those are classics," Brandon chimed in. "My dad's more of a country music guy, but I've definitely grown to appreciate some of the older stuff."
While we ate lunch, I pulled out my sketchbook and started drawing, something I often did when I was feeling nervous or needed a distraction. Matt and Brandon were curious and asked to see my drawings. I showed them some of my anime-style sketches, and they both complimented my work.
"Wow, Lily, these are amazing!" Matt exclaimed. "You're gonna be like Picasso one day."
I signed, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. "Thanks, Matt. That's really nice of you to say."
Brandon nodded in agreement. "Seriously, you're really talented. I wish I could draw like that."
As lunch came to an end, Matt and Brandon suggested that they walk me to my next class. I was surprised but pleased that they wanted to stick together. My next class was Choir, and thankfully, it was just down the hall.
"So, Lily, do you sing?" Brandon asked as we walked.
I signed, feeling a little self-conscious. "A little. I mean, I really want to sing, but I'm not sure I'm any good."
"Don't be shy, Lily," Matt said with a grin. "I bet you have a great voice."
I felt my face flush again, but I was glad that Matt and Brandon seemed so supportive. As we reached the choir room, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for whatever the class might bring. I slowly pushed open the door to the choir room, unsure of what to expect. The room was dark, but as my eyes adjusted, I could make out the outlines of rows of chairs facing a small stage. The room had a strange beauty to it, with its blue and white color scheme and intricate design carvings. I made my way to an empty chair near the exit, wanting to keep a low profile.
Before long, a flood of girls began to pour into the room, chattering and laughing. I recognized many of them from the Meadows Dale Advanced Academic Program. My heart sank a little as I spotted Brianne Becker, one of the most popular girls in school, deep in conversation with Meg Peterson. They were giggling about some guy they both apparently liked. Brianne's eyes suddenly landed on me, and her smile faded. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling self-conscious under her gaze.
Alyssa entered the room, and the atmosphere seemed to brighten. Brianne's face lit up, and she rushed over to give Alyssa a hug. "I'm so happy you're in this class!" she exclaimed. Alyssa smiled back, her warm hazel eyes shining. I felt a small sense of relief seeing her friendly face.
Following Alyssa were Mandy, Fiona, Leslie, Hannah, Emma, and Karla. They all seemed to be deep in their own conversations, and I felt even more alone. Karla was telling Fiona about getting her nails done, and Fiona was expressing her dislike for acrylics. I stood up and waved at Karla, trying to get her attention. She had been one of my few friends in middle school, but something had changed between us lately.
Alyssa, however, made her way over to me and offered a genuine greeting. "Hi, Lily! It's so great to see you in this class," she said, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. I felt a small smile tug at my lips. At least there was one person here who didn't seem to mind my presence.
Entering through the red velvety curtains of the stage, a woman with brunette hair, who looked to be in her early 40s, emerged from behind the stage. She had an air of enthusiasm about her as she introduced herself as Mrs. Becker, Brianne's mother. I remembered hearing that they were related, and at the time, I had thought it was sweet that a mother and daughter shared the same class.
Mrs. Becker instructed us all to take our seats and explained that this class was for girls only. She then asked each of us to come up on stage and recite the Do-Mi-Re-Fa-So syllables so that she could group us into sections of eight. My heart sank as I realized I would have to sing in front of everyone.
One by one, Mrs. Becker called each girl up to the stage. Some of the girls had okay voices, while others were truly talented. Then it was Brianne's turn. Her voice was like an angel's, a beautiful soprano that filled the room. Fiona and Emma also impressed me with their deep, rich alto voices. Mandy, Leslie, and Hannah had high-pitched, yet well-controlled voices that blended beautifully.
Alyssa and Karla were the last to go, and they both had perfect voices. Alyssa's voice was like honey, smooth and warm. But it was Karla who really stood out. She sounded like a pop idol, her voice clear and powerful. I found myself getting lost in the music, forgetting my worries for a moment.
Then Mrs. Becker called my name, and my heart sank. I nervously made my way up the stairs to the stage, my hands trembling at my sides. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. As I opened my mouth to sing, an awful, screeching noise escaped. My throat instantly sting, as the aftertaste of metallic overwhelmed my mouth. It was so bad that Mrs. Becker immediately cut me off.
"Why are you in this class, Lily?" she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I looked at her sadly and signed, "I don't know. I didn't choose this class."
Mrs. Becker softened a little, seeing my dejected expression. "Well, you better discuss these matters with a counselor about switching, because there are better candidates out there who want a spot in this class," she said bluntly.
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I made my way back to my seat at the very back of the room. I could feel the eyes of the other girls on me, and I heard their stifled laughter. Karla's laughter rang out the loudest, stabbing me like a knife. Alyssa was the only one who didn't join in, her face a mask of disappointment. I wasn't sure if she was disappointed in me or in the other girls' behavior.
It was next week, I got out of my algebra class heading towards the office. I had to wait till Monday, since during the first few days, my assigned counselor was not available. I was already antsy of finally getting out of that Choir class, I couldn’t deal another day with a class I clearly didn’t fit in. My schedule in my hand, I pulled the door open, being greeted by the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins. Nervousness ran through me, wondering what type of counselor Dr. Wells would be.
The door was wide agape, leading me into the source of that muffin smell. Sitting there on a working desk, was a man typing on his laptop. He looked a bit exhausted, almost to the point that he slumped on his chair. Tilting my head, I nudged on his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. I couldn’t help but feel warmth radiating in my cheeks.
“Huh? Oh, hello there Lily. What brings you here?” Dr. Wells jolted up, probably noticing how close I was to his face. I backed away, sitting down on a red couch next to him.
“I want to change classes please.”
Mr. Wells nodded off, scooting his chair back towards his mahogany desk. He searched up my schedule, turning his laptop to my view. “Oh, I see. In what class do you want to change?”
I nervously let out a breath, as I finally let out what emotions I was holding. “I don’t know why you assigned me Choir, but everyone in that class hates me. I really need that class changed, Dr. Wells.”
I saw my counselor's lip repeatedly twitched a bit, before he gathered his composure. Dr. Wells looked up from his desk, his kind face softening as he saw me. "Lily, I want to apologize profusely for putting you in that situation."
I signed, feeling a little comforted by his words. "It's okay. I did want to be in that class, but I just... I felt so out of place with all the other girls laughing at me."
Dr. Wells sighed and rubbed his temple. "I'm truly sorry, Lily. I was told you loved music and thought you would enjoy the class. But it's clear that it wasn't a good fit. Do you have another class in mind that you'd like to take instead?"
I nodded and signed, "Art class. I heard my friend Brandon is taking that, and I've always loved drawing."
Dr. Wells typed something into his laptop. “Consider it done. I'll have the change processed by tomorrow, if not sooner. In the meantime, help yourself to a muffin. The library teacher made them for me, and they're delicious."
I smiled and took one of the muffins, taking a bite. "Are you and the library teacher... a thing?" I asked, feeling a little bold.
Dr. Wells laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room. "No, no, nothing like that. Just colleagues. She knows I have a sweet tooth, so she often shares her baking creations with me."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It was probably one of the few times I'd developed a crush on someone, and as usual, it was harmless and something I'd get over quickly. Dr. Wells was one of those crushes indeed. I stood up from my chair, feeling much better than when I arrived. "Well, thank you, Dr. Wells. I better head to class soon."
Dr. Wells smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Of course, Lily. And remember, if you ever need someone to chat with, my door is always open."
Later that day, during lunch, I made my way to our usual table with Brandon and Matt. They were already deep in conversation about their morning classes.
"PE is a nightmare," Matt was saying. "All the athletes make fun of me because I'm not as fast or strong as they are. It's frustrating."
Brandon nodded sympathetically. "I heard you beat Ryan on the pacer test, though. That's impressive."
Matt shrugged, taking a bite of his apple. "It was just luck, honestly. Ryan got too cocky and sprained his knee on the seventy-ninth lap. I just kept a steady pace.”
I signed to Matt, "You should still be proud. I bet your dad was happy."
Matt smiled. "He was. It's not every day I get to impress him, especially when it comes to sports. You know how Mayor Weston was a star athlete back in his day."
I laughed, and then took a bite of my sandwich. "Speaking of impressing people, I have some news. I'm switching out of choir class and into art elective. Hopefully, I'll be in the same class as you, Brandon."
Brandon's face lit up. "That's great! I'm so glad you'll be joining us. Art class is a lot of fun.”
Matt nodded in agreement. "I'm happy for you, Lily. But why are you leaving Choir? I thought you loved singing."
My smile faltered, and I looked down at my lap. "It's just... it's not the right fit for me," I signed.
Matt frowned, chewing on his apple. "Is Mrs. Becker too mean? I've heard she can be hard on students who aren't part of the popular crowd."
"No fair," I signed, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
Brandon nodded. "It really isn't fair, Matt. That's why I prefer to keep a low profile. Popularity contests aren't worth the hassle.”
Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Karla standing there, a sad look on her face. "Lily, can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
I hesitated, signing, "Why?”
With a strand of hair tucked behind her ear, she leaned in and whispered, "I want to talk to you in private."
I glanced at Matt and Brandon, signing, "I'll be back, okay?"
Matt nodded, his eyes curious. "We'll be here. Take your time."
I followed Karla to the girl's bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what this was about, but I sensed it was important to her. Once we were inside, Karla pulled out a juul vape from her pocket and took a hit. The sweet smell of watermelon filled the air.
"Want a hit?" she offered, holding it out to me.
I was curious, so I signed, "Sure."
I took a cautious drag, expecting to choke, but surprisingly, I didn't. Karla laughed, "I guess you already know how to smoke. Not so innocent after all, huh?"
I rolled my eyes. "I learned from watching Effy in Skins. It's not like I've never seen it before."
Karla laughed again, a genuine sound that seemed to break through the tension between us. "Look, Lily, I wanted to apologize for what happened in the choir. I shouldn't have laughed. It was mean, and I'm sorry."
I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. A part of me wanted to accept her apology, but another part was still hurt by her earlier behavior. Before I could say anything, Karla cut in, "I know it doesn't make up for it, but I want to make it up to you. How about I take you to the skating rink this evening? It's one of our favorite places, remember?"
I hesitated, considering her offer. Finally, I signed, "Okay, I guess."
Karla's face lit up, and she gave me a quick hug. "Great! I'll text you the details. See you later, okay?" And with that, she left the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I walked back to the cafeteria, my mind racing. Matt rushed over to me, his eyes full of questions. "How did it go? What did she want?" he asked.
"It went okay," I replied, signing as I continued. "Karla invited me to the skating rink this evening."
Brandon's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, Lily. Karla hangs out with those choir girls. I don't think we can trust her, especially after what happened."
I bit my lip, understanding his concern. "What if I sneak you and Matt in too? That way, if anything goes south, we'll be together."
Matt's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea! I'm in."
A small smile tugged at my lips. "It's settled, then. We're going skating."
That afternoon, I waited on the porch for Karla to pick me up. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow over everything. My dad emerged from the house, dressed in his sheriff's uniform. "Why are you wearing your uniform on your day off?" I asked, curious.
He chuckled, patting my back. "Got called into work. Something strange is going on. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
I signed, "Be safe, Dad."
“I will, honey. Have fun with Karla, okay.” He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before heading off. A minute later, a black Chevy pulled up, and I recognized it as Mrs. Becker's car. Karla leaned out the window and waved me over.
I took a deep breath and climbed into the back seat. Besides Karla, there were a few other girls from the choir class—Mandy, Hannah, Emma, Leslie, Fiona, and Brianne. Alyssa was noticeably absent.
Noticing my curious glance, Karla explained, "Alyssa had track practice. She couldn't make it."
I signed, "That's nice."
Brianne turned to Mrs. Becker and asked, "Can we get some McDonald's shakes? Please?"
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Of course, sweetie. Does anyone else want one?"
Everyone nodded eagerly, and Mrs. Becker placed an order for nine shakes. Emma and Leslie wanted vanilla, Brianne wanted the seasonal spice pumpkin flavor, Hannah and Fiona requested strawberry, Karla and Mandy chose chocolate, and Mrs. Becker asked about my preference.
"Mint, please," I said, making a gesture of a mint leaf.
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Mint it is. Anything for my girls."
I felt a warm glow spread through me. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to like me. I took a long sip of my mint shake, savoring the cool, refreshing taste.
"Chocolate is definitely the best flavor," Mandy declared, taking a sip from her own shake. "Nothing beats the classic."
"Pumpkin spice is where it's at," Brianne interjected, taking a sip of her pumpkin spice shake. "It's got that perfect blend of sweet and spicy. It's like autumn in a bite."
"Are you kidding?" Mandy scoffed. "Chocolate is timeless. It's the ultimate comfort food. Pumpkin spice is just a fad.”
"Oh c'mon! Pumpkin spice is leagues better," Brianne retorted. "It's a limited edition for a reason."
The other girls joined in, each defending their favorite flavor. I snickered at their playful bickering, feeling a sense of warmth despite the earlier tension.
About ten minutes later, Mrs. Becker pulled into the parking lot of a magenta-colored building. The girls piled out of the car, and I followed them inside, curious about our destination. Mrs. Becker turned to Brianne and said, "I'll pick you girls up at 8 pm sharp. I need to head home and take care of your little sister."
Brianne gave her mom a quick hug and yelled out, "Okay! Love you, mom!" Then she joined the choir group, whispering something in Karla's ear that made her smile in an unsettling way.
Karla walked over to me and whispered, "Hey, Lily, I want to take you to our hiding spot. It's been a while since we hung out there."
I brightened at the idea, signing, "I've missed that place. We used to act like it was our studio booth."
“Uh-huh,” Karla led me to an abandoned janitor's closet that was blocked off with a "Do Not Enter" sign. She opened the door, and I slid inside, feeling a rush of nostalgia. I slid inside the small, dimly lit closet and sat criss-cross on the floor, my heart racing with anticipation. Karla joined me, and for a moment, we just sat there, our knees touching, the silence comfortable between us.
"I've missed you, Lily," Karla signed, her expression softening.
"I've missed you too," I signed back, my heart warming at the sentiment. "It feels like it's been ages since we really talked." I looked down, my smile fading slightly. "I've missed the old Karla. The one who was always on my side, no matter what."
Karla furrowed her eyebrows, her face a mask of confusion. "What do you mean? I haven't changed, Lily. I've just matured."
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Matured? Making fun of someone less popular than you isn't mature, Karla. It's just mean spirited."
Her eyes widened at my words, and I could see the hurt flash across her face. "I haven't been making fun of you, Lily. I—"
"Yes, you have," I interrupted, my anger bubbling to the surface. "I know exactly what you and your new friends have been trying to do. You've been pretending I don't exist, like I'm not even worth acknowledging.”
Karla's face contorted with frustration. "That's not true, Lily! You always have to make everything about your disability. If anyone's changed, it's you. You used to be so happy, always laughing and joking around. Now, you just cry and complain when things don't go your way."
I signed angrily, my hands moving frantically. "How can you say that, Karla? I don't mind if you want to be more popular, but you're acting like you don't even know me. You're trying to pretend we're not friends."
Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice shook. "Maybe I don't want to be friends with you anymore, Lily. Maybe you're too held up in the past, too stuck in your own little world. You're a sad, pathetic sap, and I—"
Before she could finish her sentence, I punched her squarely in the face. The force of the blow knocked her back, and she stumbled, her hand flying to her nose.
"I wish I'd never met you, Karla!" I angrily figured my fingers around, my breathing being audible in the small space. "I wish you'd never been my friend! I wouldn't care if you dropped dead right now!"
Karla's eyes widened in shock, and tears began to stream down her face. Without another word, she turned and ran out of the janitor's closet, leaving me alone in the dimly lit space. I trembled as I crouched down in the corner, my heart pounding in my chest. I had never hit anyone before, and now I wished I could take it back. It was rather immature of me to end that way with Karla. Especially when this was the last memory I had of her alive.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence, freezing me in place. It was Karla. My eyes widened in horror as I realized what I had done. I rose to my feet and ran out of the closet, my heart pounding in my chest. As I turned the corner, I came face to face with a masked man. He was tall and imposing, his mask was painted like a 1940s woman with green eyeshadow, vibrant red blush, and blood-red lips. His copper-blonde wig fell in sleek waves, contrasting with his all-black suit.
The man walked slowly towards me, his gloved hand reaching out. I kicked him in the abdomen, my fear fueling my strength. But he was too strong. He grabbed me by the waist, his gloved finger pressing against my lips.
"My little flower, I am so happy to see you." he whispered, his voice deep and gravelly.
Before I could scream or struggle, he covered my mouth with a rag. It took a while for the chloroform to finally take effect, as I remembered my last thoughts were about Karla. Sometimes I wished this encounter was just an elaborate prank played by Brianne. However it is never the case.
When I woke up, I woke up to the sound of a girl's voice, soft and melodic. My eyes felt heavy, my body sluggish as I tried to lift my head. The singing was familiar, reminding me of Karla. My heart stirred at the memory of my friend, and I tried to shake off the grogginess that clouded my mind.
As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized I was restrained to a bed, my wrists and ankles bound. Panic surged through me, and I struggled against my bonds, my heart racing.
The singing continued, and I finally located the source—a television mounted on the wall across the room. My eyes widened as I recognized the singer. It was Karla, her face bruised and beaten, her eyes closed as she sang "Once Upon a December" from the animated movie "Anastasia." Her voice was shaky but serene, and tears pricked my eyes as I watched her performance.
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a weakened screech escaped my throat. I tugged at my restraints, desperation fueling my strength. I had to get out of here. I had to help Karla.
Catching me off guard, the door swung open, and the masked man from my encounter at the janitor's closet stepped into the room. My heart sank at the sight of him, and I shrunk back against the bed, my breath coming in short gasps.
He carried a plate of applesauce, his gloved hands setting it down on a table by the bed. "Good morning, my little flower," he said, his voice deep and distorted by the mask. "Your friend has a lovely voice," he remarked. "Have you ever wanted to sing like that?”
I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his face. I mouthed the words, "Let her go.”
The Masked Man smiled sadly. "Your friend has been let go. Don't worry, she's no longer suffering.”
I wanted to scream, to demand that he release me, but my voice failed me. The masked man approached the bed, his eyes cold and unfeeling. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the applesauce, then brought it to my mouth.
"Open up, sweetie," he cooed. "You need to keep up your strength."
I turned my head away, my body rigid with fear. I didn't want his help, I didn't want anything to do with him.
"Now, now, none of that," he chided, his gloved hand gently tilting my chin back towards him. "You need to eat. And one day, my little flower, you will sing too. And it will be the most beautiful voice anyone has ever heard."
Tears slipped down my cheeks as he forced the spoon into my mouth, the applesauce tasting bitter on my tongue. I choked down the food, my throat constricting with fear and anger.
The masked man set the plate down and pulled me into a tight embrace, his gloved hands stroking my hair. "Shh, my little flower. Everything will be alright. I'm here to take care of you."
I sobbed into his chest, my body shaking with grief and terror. I had no idea where I was, no concept of how much time had passed since I had been taken. All I knew was that Karla was in danger, and I was powerless to help her. The masked man held me until my sobs subsided, then gently laid me back down on the bed. "Rest now. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I closed my eyes, my mind reeling. The next time I woke, it was to the sound of my mother's sobs. I blinked groggily, my vision blurry as I tried to focus. I was in a hospital room, my mother sitting by my bedside, her face wet with tears. Matt and Brandon, my closest friends, were also there, their faces etched with concern.
"Mom?" I raised one of my hands, my fingers weak and stiff.
My mother's head snapped up, and she rushed to my side, her hands grasping mine. "Lily, oh, Lily, you're awake!" She smiled through her tears, her voice shaking. "I thought I'd lost you.”
I placed my palm to touch her cheek, my throat too dry to speak. Matt and Brandon stood by silently, their eyes filled with relief.
I then asked the big question, signing, "What... happened?"
Matt nervously stuttered, "We... We found you inside an old shed near the skating rink. You were... you were unconscious, and we called for help right away."
Brandon added, "Before that, you were missing for roughly 33 hours. We searched everywhere for you.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, unable to meet my gaze.
"You're safe now, Lily," my mother said, stroking my hair. "That's all that matters. There's nothing to worry about anymore."
I shook my head, my eyes flying open. Where was Karla? I signed, "Where's Karla?”
My mother's face crumpled, and fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "She's... she's still missing, Lily. We don't know where she is."
I closed my eyes, the weight of my guilt crushing me. If I hadn't fought with Karla, none of this would have happened. It was my fault she was still out there, alone and in danger.
The days turned into weeks, and Karla remained missing. The police conducted an extensive search, but there were no leads, no clues as to her whereabouts. I blamed myself, replaying the events of that fateful day over and over in my mind.
Three weeks after my rescue, the news channel delivered a devastating blow. Karla Reyes, aged 15, had been found dead, her body buried near the Yellow Rock River. She had suffered multiple bone fractures, and the unsettling detail—she had been missing her vocal cords and larynx.
I recalled the day vividly, the sun shining brightly through my hospital window as the news anchor delivered the grim update. I had broken down, sobbing uncontrollably, the reality of what had happened hitting me like a ton of bricks. I remember wanting to just die, to pay for what I have done. If I hadn't had my friends Matt and Brandon, I wouldn't have been alive writing this. And yet, I never told anyone about The Masked Man or what had transpired that day—until now. Sometimes I wonder if Karla could hear my prayers, wishing that she deserved better than this, and I'm sorry for causing her death. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I needed to say next.
Karla Reyes may have been the first victim, but she certainly wasn't the last. There were 7 more Choirs Girls left.

“You’re fired.”
Those two dreaded words are the last thing anyone wants to hear. As the manager of a small coffee shop, they’re the last words I ever wanted to say. But, unfortunately, I did have to say them, and the employee on the receiving end was less than pleased.
“Seriously, Calla? Robby comes in twenty minutes late every shift, and I’m the one getting canned? It’s not fair. I won’t accept that.”
“Claire, Robby has one leg. He gets a pass. You took cash from the register. That’s not something we can turn a blind eye to,” I said, crossing my arms.
Claire pursed her lips, shifting her gaze to the ground momentarily, before scowling at me once again. “It was only fifty bucks. I needed the money for rent, and I said I’d pay it back! Please, Calla. I need this job. I’ll put a hundred dollars back in the register on pay day. Just give me a second chance.”
I let out a deep sigh. She wasn’t taking this well. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Aftermath has a zero-tolerance policy for theft. Even if you were to pay it back, the big boss still wouldn’t excuse it. I would be putting my own job in jeopardy by looking the other way, and that’s just not something I can afford to do. Your actions have consequences, Claire. You brought this on yourself.”
She glanced up at me with teary eyes. Though Claire was entirely in the wrong, my heart shattered for her all the same. She was a good kid. Just a little misguided… Or so I thought.
“I won’t forget this, Calla. Mark my words, I will make you pay,” she spat, before dramatically stomping out the door.
My eyes grew wide, and my heart began to race. If any normal human being had said that, I would have blown it off entirely. But, there’s a little oddity about my job that I may have (purposely) forgotten to mention. You see, I’m a clairvoyant of sorts. I work at a coffee shop for the dead - And they tend to take things a lot more personally than the living.
A gruff-looking man with a leather jacket and ripped jeans leaned against the counter, snapping my attention away from the door. He had an unkept beard and a nasty road rash seared into his face. The shades obscuring his eyes exuded an air of confidence that he had no business possessing. Even so, his appearance didn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
“Don’t worry about her, Calla. She’s talking out her ass.”
“I appreciate the reassurance, Frank. I know she probably just needs to blow off some steam, but it always freaks me out when shit like that happens. No offense to all you dead folk, but I don’t wanna kick the bucket any time soon, ya know?”
“That’s fair. Purgatory ain’t that bad, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the land of the living. By the way, if you get a chance, can you whip me up my regular? I could use a boost.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up. Is there anything else I can get for y-” I tried my best to stop myself, but it was too late. I knew better than to ask that question to Frank.
“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning in closer.
“Don’t you say it. Frank, I swear, if you-”
“I’ll take your soul!”
I glowered at him as he roared with laughter. “Come on, Calla. Have a sense of humor!” he wheezed, tears welling in his eyes.
“Frank. You have told me that same joke every chance you get for the entire time I’ve been working here. It wasn’t funny the first time you said it, and it’s definitely not funny now. I oughta charge you double every time you tell it.”
He frowned at me, before turning to his normal booth. “Geez, would it kill ya to lighten up a bit? Buzzkill…”
As I was beginning to prepare Frank’s blonde espresso, I heard the familiar chime of the door opening. A kid with disheveled blonde hair and scratches across his face hobbled inside, leaning on a crutch.
“Hey Robby! Nice of you to show up,” I beamed, flashing him a warm smile. I glanced down at my watch. Twenty minutes late, right on the nose.
“Always gotta give me shit, huh Mrs. Calla? You try hoppin’ to work one day, then we’ll talk,” he quipped, returning a grin.
“Ya know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. I do-” I froze, mid-sentence. All the color drained from my face, and I suddenly found myself unable to speak. I clutched at my side, barely able to breathe. A random, searing pain shot through my torso. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Calla? Calla, are you okay? Say something.” Robby rushed over to me, his face contorted with worry. I weakly returned his gaze. The agony was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It was as if someone had stabbed me with a white-hot fire poker and decided to twist it a couple times for good measure. Excruciating was an understatement.
Just as my vision was starting to go fuzzy, the pain began to dissipate. I gasped for air, leaning heavily on the counter for support. What the hell was that?
“I’m all right,” I said, turning my head. Frank had joined Robby behind the counter. The pair of them both had a look of deep concern etched into their features. If I wasn’t dying, I probably would have found it endearing.
“Are you sure? You look like shit, Calla.”
That’s it. I’m definitely charging him double.
“Gee, thanks a lot, Frank. You’re such a gentleman.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, never giving any indication that he was joking. Robby and I both glared at him.
“Go sit down, Frank. You too, Mrs. Calla. You should probably take the rest of the day off. Don’t worry, I can handle the shop,” Robby said, helping me to a chair.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I could go for a nap.”
After resting for a little while longer, I went home. Robby wasn’t a professional by any means, but I trusted him to keep Aftermath running smoothly, at least until I recovered. He really was a good kid. I always thought it was such a shame that he’d died in such a tragic manner. IEDs are no joke.
I made sure to take it easy and get plenty of rest. I didn’t experience any more phantom pains for the remainder of the day, but I knew that I would need to get a good night’s sleep. With Claire gone, I’d be stuck on opening shifts for the foreseeable future. Yuck.
I was almost done running through my tasks for the morning, when it happened. A man approached the counter, his face obscured by a brown fedora. A sickly, yellowing newspaper was tucked beneath his arm as he placed a gloved hand onto the countertop. His aura alone was sinister enough to make me want to turn and run.
Beware.
His gravelly voice sounded like his diet consisted solely of rusty nails and asphalt. I’d only heard that voice a handful of times before. And each instance made me sick to my stomach.
“Wh-why? What’s coming?”
The girl.
With no further elaboration, he turned and reclaimed his regular seat at the back of the shop.
I was shaking in my boots. Why, you might ask? Well, I told you a little white lie earlier. That thing that approached the counter is no man. He’s been coming in nearly every day for as long as anyone can remember, but that’s about all we know about him. No one knows what he is. No one knows how, or if, he died. No one even knows his name.
We call him Nona (short for no name), and the only things I’m completely certain of in regards to him are: one - that he’s benevolent towards the employees of Aftermath and its patrons. And two - that whenever he decides to speak, a terrible tragedy usually follows. There’s no denying it. Nona is a bonafide, real-deal harbinger of death.
I locked eyes with Frank, who wore the same bewildered expression that I did. His pallid features and wide eyes mirrored exactly how I felt in that moment.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Frank murmured, never breaking eye contact.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
“You got that right. Maybe it’d be safer to call in some backup on this one. I know Ivan’s hopping between a couple different locations after landing the regional manager gig, but he’d be here at the drop of a hat if he caught wind of this, right?”
“Yeah… Normally, I’d try to avoid getting Ivan involved, but I think this is warranted. You remember what happened last time Nona spoke,” I said, a shiver rippling down my spine.
Frank averted his gaze, the corners of his lips drooping into a frown. “I wish I could forget. That whole ordeal sent- Calla? Calla, are you okay??”
It had returned tenfold. My lower back throbbed with intense, pounding pain. It felt as if someone was hacking away at my spinal column with an ice pick. I was paralyzed. If I moved even an inch, I would be met with another agonizing shockwave of hurt searing through my system. This time was even worse than before.
Before I could even grasp what was going on, everything started to get fuzzy around the edges of my vision. I could feel myself fading, and fast. The last thing I could remember before losing consciousness was Frank’s husky voice shouting for someone to call for help. Then, my mental fortitude finally crumbled, sending me spiraling into an inky, black void.
I awoke in a hospital bed. Frank was snoozing in a chair beside a burly, hulking figure. I was so shocked that I had to do a double take.
Ivan’s chair looked comically small beneath his gargantuan frame. Those things were not made to accommodate seven-foot-tall giants like him. I honestly hadn’t expected him to show up. Commuting is a bit more of a hassle for the dead, after all. But whatever the case, Ivan’s eyes lit up upon noticing that I was awake.
“Calla, you are okay, yes? I made trip as soon as possible,” Ivan said, shuffling up to my bedside. I couldn’t help but smile. He might’ve looked intimidating, but at heart, Ivan was just a big, Russian teddy bear.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine now. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I keep getting this really strong, crippling pain out of nowhere. Thanks for coming. But… How did you get here so fast? It’s only been a few hours.”
A devious grin crept across Ivan’s face. I pursed my lips. I knew that look. “I hitch ride on top of car. Is efficient way to travel.”
My mouth fell open. Ivan’s bulky ass clinging to the roof of a speeding car going God knows how far over the legal limit? That’s something I’d pay to see.
“Uh, do you get everywhere like that?”
“Everywhere subway does not go, yes.”
I opened my mouth, ready to scold him for being reckless, but thought better of it. Ivan was already dead. It’s not like he could die again.
“Okay Evel Knievel, let’s step outside for a smoke break and let Calla grab a nurse, yeah? We want to get her back on her feet as soon as possible,” Frank intervened, appearing at the foot on my bed. Ivan’s mountainous body was so large that I hadn’t even noticed him wake up.
“Yes. You have cigarette?” Ivan asked, that mischievous grin returning to his lips.
“Yep. Got one calling your name, buddy. Calla, we’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? I’d offer to catch someone’s attention for you, but ya know. Kinda hard when no one can see us,” Frank said, ushering Ivan out the door.
“That’s very thoughtful. I should be able to manage. Don’t take too long out there,” I replied, flashing the pair of them a weak smile as they disappeared from view.
I collapsed back into my bed. Why was this happening? I was beginning to think that I had pissed off some ancient, forlorn deity, when the dots suddenly connected. How had I not realized it sooner? The person responsible for all this was… standing in the doorway?
All the color drained from my face, and my eyes grew wide as saucers. With a slight tremble in my voice, I called out to her. “Claire?”
The pale girl with jet-black hair loitering in the entryway smiled. A wicked, demented smile that I can’t erase from my nightmares. In addition, she was carrying a voodoo doll. One that looked eerily similar to me.
“Miss me yet?” Claire asked, slinking closer.
“Of course! Claire, you know that I had no other option. It was-”
“SHUT. UP,” she shouted, producing a scalpel from her pocket and holding it to the doll’s neck. It was there. I could feel the cold metal blade against my flesh. Claire wasn’t playing around.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Calla. You had your chance,” she said, playfully wisping the scalpel back and forth. I wanted to scream. It was as if tiny razor blades were dancing across my throat.
“When you kicked me to the curb, you told me that my actions had consequences. Well, so do yours,” Claire spat, leering down at me. This was it. I was convinced that I was going to die.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her enraged demeanor shifting, “I’m not going to kill you yet. No, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s to come. I’m going to stay true to my word, Calla. I’ll make you pay for what you did to me for a long, long time.”
Claire giggled, removing the blade from the doll’s throat. I gasped for air, coming to the realization that I’d been stifling my breathing. I trembled, turning to my psychotic ex-employee. She was smiling wider than ever.
“I really must be going now. It was great to see you again! Oh, and remember, I’ll be watching you,” Claire said, punctuating her statement by plunging the blade into the doll’s leg, before skipping out the door.
I shrieked in agony, desperately clutching at my throbbing calf. A couple of nurses rushed in and calmed me down, assuring me that everything would be okay. But honestly, I don’t know if it will be. Because Claire is still out there. And she knows how to hold a grudge.
NS Post

“You’re fired.”
Those two dreaded words are the last thing anyone wants to hear. As the manager of a small coffee shop, they’re the last words I ever wanted to say. But, unfortunately, I did have to say them, and the employee on the receiving end was less than pleased.
“Seriously, Calla? Robby comes in twenty minutes late every shift, and I’m the one getting canned? It’s not fair. I won’t accept that.”
“Claire, Robby has one leg. He gets a pass. You took cash from the register. That’s not something we can turn a blind eye to,” I said, crossing my arms.
Claire pursed her lips, shifting her gaze to the ground momentarily, before scowling at me once again. “It was only fifty bucks. I needed the money for rent, and I said I’d pay it back! Please, Calla. I need this job. I’ll put a hundred dollars back in the register on pay day. Just give me a second chance.”
I let out a deep sigh. She wasn’t taking this well. “I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Aftermath has a zero-tolerance policy for theft. Even if you were to pay it back, the big boss still wouldn’t excuse it. I would be putting my own job in jeopardy by looking the other way, and that’s just not something I can afford to do. Your actions have consequences, Claire. You brought this on yourself.”
She glanced up at me with teary eyes. Though Claire was entirely in the wrong, my heart shattered for her all the same. She was a good kid. Just a little misguided… Or so I thought.
“I won’t forget this, Calla. Mark my words, I will make you pay,” she spat, before dramatically stomping out the door.
My eyes grew wide, and my heart began to race. If any normal human being had said that, I would have blown it off entirely. But, there’s a little oddity about my job that I may have (purposely) forgotten to mention. You see, I’m a clairvoyant of sorts. I work at a coffee shop for the dead - And they tend to take things a lot more personally than the living.
A gruff-looking man with a leather jacket and ripped jeans leaned against the counter, snapping my attention away from the door. He had an unkept beard and a nasty road rash seared into his face. The shades obscuring his eyes exuded an air of confidence that he had no business possessing. Even so, his appearance didn’t intimidate me in the slightest.
“Don’t worry about her, Calla. She’s talking out her ass.”
“I appreciate the reassurance, Frank. I know she probably just needs to blow off some steam, but it always freaks me out when shit like that happens. No offense to all you dead folk, but I don’t wanna kick the bucket any time soon, ya know?”
“That’s fair. Purgatory ain’t that bad, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the land of the living. By the way, if you get a chance, can you whip me up my regular? I could use a boost.”
“Sure thing. Coming right up. Is there anything else I can get for y-” I tried my best to stop myself, but it was too late. I knew better than to ask that question to Frank.
“Yeah,” he grinned, leaning in closer.
“Don’t you say it. Frank, I swear, if you-”
“I’ll take your soul!”
I glowered at him as he roared with laughter. “Come on, Calla. Have a sense of humor!” he wheezed, tears welling in his eyes.
“Frank. You have told me that same joke every chance you get for the entire time I’ve been working here. It wasn’t funny the first time you said it, and it’s definitely not funny now. I oughta charge you double every time you tell it.”
He frowned at me, before turning to his normal booth. “Geez, would it kill ya to lighten up a bit? Buzzkill…”
As I was beginning to prepare Frank’s blonde espresso, I heard the familiar chime of the door opening. A kid with disheveled blonde hair and scratches across his face hobbled inside, leaning on a crutch.
“Hey Robby! Nice of you to show up,” I beamed, flashing him a warm smile. I glanced down at my watch. Twenty minutes late, right on the nose.
“Always gotta give me shit, huh Mrs. Calla? You try hoppin’ to work one day, then we’ll talk,” he quipped, returning a grin.
“Ya know what? Maybe I’ll take you up on that offer. I do-” I froze, mid-sentence. All the color drained from my face, and I suddenly found myself unable to speak. I clutched at my side, barely able to breathe. A random, searing pain shot through my torso. I felt like I was going to pass out.
“Calla? Calla, are you okay? Say something.” Robby rushed over to me, his face contorted with worry. I weakly returned his gaze. The agony was beyond anything I had ever felt before. It was as if someone had stabbed me with a white-hot fire poker and decided to twist it a couple times for good measure. Excruciating was an understatement.
Just as my vision was starting to go fuzzy, the pain began to dissipate. I gasped for air, leaning heavily on the counter for support. What the hell was that?
“I’m all right,” I said, turning my head. Frank had joined Robby behind the counter. The pair of them both had a look of deep concern etched into their features. If I wasn’t dying, I probably would have found it endearing.
“Are you sure? You look like shit, Calla.”
That’s it. I’m definitely charging him double.
“Gee, thanks a lot, Frank. You’re such a gentleman.”
“Don’t mention it,” he said, never giving any indication that he was joking. Robby and I both glared at him.
“Go sit down, Frank. You too, Mrs. Calla. You should probably take the rest of the day off. Don’t worry, I can handle the shop,” Robby said, helping me to a chair.
“You know what? I think you’re right. I could go for a nap.”
After resting for a little while longer, I went home. Robby wasn’t a professional by any means, but I trusted him to keep Aftermath running smoothly, at least until I recovered. He really was a good kid. I always thought it was such a shame that he’d died in such a tragic manner. IEDs are no joke.
I made sure to take it easy and get plenty of rest. I didn’t experience any more phantom pains for the remainder of the day, but I knew that I would need to get a good night’s sleep. With Claire gone, I’d be stuck on opening shifts for the foreseeable future. Yuck.
I was almost done running through my tasks for the morning, when it happened. A man approached the counter, his face obscured by a brown fedora. A sickly, yellowing newspaper was tucked beneath his arm as he placed a gloved hand onto the countertop. His aura alone was sinister enough to make me want to turn and run.
Beware.
His gravelly voice sounded like his diet consisted solely of rusty nails and asphalt. I’d only heard that voice a handful of times before. And each instance made me sick to my stomach.
“Wh-why? What’s coming?”
The girl.
With no further elaboration, he turned and reclaimed his regular seat at the back of the shop.
I was shaking in my boots. Why, you might ask? Well, I told you a little white lie earlier. That thing that approached the counter is no man. He’s been coming in nearly every day for as long as anyone can remember, but that’s about all we know about him. No one knows what he is. No one knows how, or if, he died. No one even knows his name.
We call him Nona (short for no name), and the only things I’m completely certain of in regard to him are: one - that he’s benevolent towards the employees of Aftermath and its patrons. And two - that whenever he decides to speak, a terrible tragedy usually follows. There’s no denying it. Nona is a bonafide, real-deal harbinger of death.
I locked eyes with Frank, who wore the same bewildered expression that I did. His pallid features and wide eyes mirrored exactly how I felt in that moment.
“What do you think he meant by that?” Frank murmured, never breaking eye contact.
“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it can’t be good.”
“You got that right. Maybe it’d be safer to call in some backup on this one. I know Ivan’s hopping between a couple different locations after landing the regional manager gig, but he’d be here at the drop of a hat if he caught wind of this, right?”
“Yeah… Normally, I’d try to avoid getting Ivan involved, but I think this is warranted. You remember what happened last time Nona spoke,” I said, a shiver rippling down my spine.
Frank averted his gaze, the corners of his lips drooping into a frown. “I wish I could forget. That whole ordeal sent- Calla? Calla, are you okay??”
It had returned tenfold. My lower back throbbed with intense, pounding pain. It felt as if someone was hacking away at my spinal column with an ice pick. I was paralyzed. If I moved even an inch, I would be met with another agonizing shockwave of hurt searing through my system. This time was even worse than before.
Before I could even grasp what was going on, everything started to get fuzzy around the edges of my vision. I could feel myself fading, and fast. The last thing I could remember before losing consciousness was Frank’s husky voice shouting for someone to call for help. Then, my mental fortitude finally crumbled, sending me spiraling into an inky, black void.
I awoke in a hospital bed. Frank was snoozing in a chair beside a burly, hulking figure. I was so shocked that I had to do a double take.
Ivan’s chair looked comically small beneath his gargantuan frame. Those things were not made to accommodate seven-foot-tall giants like him. I honestly hadn’t expected him to show up. Commuting is a bit more of a hassle for the dead, after all. But whatever the case, Ivan’s eyes lit up upon noticing that I was awake.
“Calla, you are okay, yes? I made trip as soon as possible,” Ivan said, shuffling up to my bedside. I couldn’t help but smile. He might’ve looked intimidating, but at heart, Ivan was just a big, Russian teddy bear.
“Yeah, I think I’m fine now. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I keep getting this really strong, crippling pain out of nowhere. Thanks for coming. But… How did you get here so fast? It’s only been a few hours.”
A devious grin crept across Ivan’s face. I pursed my lips. I knew that look. “I hitch ride on top of car. Is efficient way to travel.”
My mouth fell open. Ivan’s bulky ass clinging to the roof of a speeding car going God knows how far over the legal limit? That’s something I’d pay to see.
“Uh, do you get everywhere like that?”
“Everywhere subway does not go, yes.”
I opened my mouth, ready to scold him for being reckless, but thought better of it. Ivan was already dead. It’s not like he could die again.
“Okay Evel Knievel, let’s step outside for a smoke break and let Calla grab a nurse, yeah? We want to get her back on her feet as soon as possible,” Frank intervened, appearing at the foot on my bed. Ivan’s mountainous body was so large that I hadn’t even noticed him wake up.
“Yes. You have cigarette?” Ivan asked, that mischievous grin returning to his lips.
“Yep. Got one calling your name, buddy. Calla, we’ll be back in a few minutes, okay? I’d offer to catch someone’s attention for you, but ya know. Kinda hard when no one can see us,” Frank said, ushering Ivan out the door.
“That’s very thoughtful. I should be able to manage. Don’t take too long out there,” I replied, flashing the pair of them a weak smile as they disappeared from view.
I collapsed back into my bed. Why was this happening? I was beginning to think that I had pissed off some ancient, forlorn deity, when the dots suddenly connected. How had I not realized it sooner? The person responsible for all this was… standing in the doorway?
All the color drained from my face, and my eyes grew wide as saucers. With a slight tremble in my voice, I called out to her. “Claire?”
The pale girl with jet-black hair loitering in the entryway smiled. A wicked, demented smile that I can’t erase from my nightmares. In addition, she was carrying a voodoo doll. One that looked eerily similar to me.
“Miss me yet?” Claire asked, slinking closer.
“Of course! Claire, you know that I had no other option. It was-”
“SHUT. UP,” she shouted, producing a scalpel from her pocket and holding it to the doll’s neck. It was there. I could feel the cold metal blade against my flesh. Claire wasn’t playing around.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Calla. You had your chance,” she said, playfully wisping the scalpel back and forth. I wanted to scream. It was as if tiny razor blades were dancing across my throat.
“When you kicked me to the curb, you told me that my actions had consequences. Well, so do yours,” Claire spat, leering down at me. This was it. I was convinced that I was going to die.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her enraged demeanor shifting, “I’m not going to kill you yet. No, I just wanted to fill you in on what’s to come. I’m going to stay true to my word, Calla. I’ll make you pay for what you did to me for a long, long time.”
Claire giggled, removing the blade from the doll’s throat. I gasped for air, coming to the realization that I’d been stifling my breathing. I trembled, turning to my psychotic ex-employee. She was smiling wider than ever.
“I really must be going now. It was great to see you again! Oh, and remember, I’ll be watching you,” Claire said, punctuating her statement by plunging the blade into the doll’s leg, before skipping out the door.
I shrieked in agony, desperately clutching at my throbbing calf. A couple of nurses rushed in and calmed me down, assuring me that everything would be okay. But honestly, I don’t know if it will be. Because Claire is still out there. And she knows how to hold a grudge.

Here's my Smuggler's Run Part 2/ aircraft related update idea
VEHICLES

• Cargobob. Always a reliable workhorse even after several nerfs. I think it deserves the first mention above all.
  • Restore its day 1 capability. Lift strength, speed, no invisible walls
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. The standard 3, plus "motorhome" styles. more agencies.
  • Weapon positions. Copilot nose, pilot winglets, side door, rear door (Rear door, due to sacrificing cargo ability, would be unique ultra heavy weapons, such as explosive bullets, tier 3 missiles, flak trailer gun, or utility upgrade such as jammer, emp railgun, etc.
  • Cargo hook upgrades. Standard, extended, magnet. And add bomber view for lining up targets despite having no bombs.
  • Base speed is increased to be fastest heli in game. (aka, realistic)
  • Add ability to float on its pontoons
  • Add rappel ability
  • Add pickup functionality to other vehicles. Aircrafts, mission vehicles, etc. Unlock the fun for the last year!
  • Price increase to incentivize Rockstar. 5 million
• Annihilator. My personal favorite. Of course I have to mention it because it doesn't annihilate and the Stealth Annihilator was... bad.
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Standard stripe (now secondary color). more agencies (police, fire, coast guard, army) "motorhome" styles, etc.
  • Weapon positions. Copilot nose, extra pilot winglet mounts, doors
  • One of the winglet gun options is explosive ammo (but weak)
  • One of the missile pod options is tier 3 (the only aircraft with them
  • Add cargo hook. (Can only lift small vehicles like current Cargobob)
  • Add pontoon landing gear option to land on water.
  • NOOSE uses the standard Annihilator at 5 stars instead.
  • Price increase to incentivize Rockstar. 7 million
• Cargo Jet. One of the most fun vehicles in the game, and we still can't normally use one in free mode.
  • For Rockstar's peace of mind and game stability, only 6 can be spawned at a time, (including taking into account ones that may be spawned from missions such as the 3 from Smuggler's Run air mission) and they can only spawn at the ends of the big runways at LSIA (4 positions). When destroyed, parts lose collision after several seconds and immediately despawn after falling to the void.
  • Add proper enteexit animation. (climbing into the side door, then up the ladder into the seat, or just up the ladder to the seat if already standing inside)
  • Liveries. Go crazy. Including adding glowing effect options like the blimp. All aboard the party plane!
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Dynamic interior extras. Pallets of crates, barrels, etc, vehicle props
  • Price to incentivize Rockstar. 20 million. End game goal.
  • Exclusive glittering gold, money rain and shark card livery for players that buy a shark card after this update
• Sparrow. Probably most player's most used aircraft other than... that thing. It doesn't need much.
  • Functioning landing skids. Someone at Rockstar flubbed when making this thing and forgot to separate the skids from the body and add suspension, so it takes direct body damage from every landing, even the most delicate of them.
  • Merge the sea sparrow with this one. Pontoons as an upgrade
• Skylift. The ultimate transport chopper.
  • Functioning magnet (on a cable)
  • Extremely strong lift capability. Can lift anything with ease
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Not much room to work with. FD, various stripes, etc.
  • Price to incentivize Rockstar. 4 million
• Titan. A legend that gathers dust
  • Expand cargo area to full proportions, window textures become real see through windows. Can see back of cockpit from inside
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Coast guard, fire, more military, go crazy.
  • "Rainbringer" weapon suite. Adds various weapons to the side which can be operated by passengers
  • Current price is fine. The upgrade costs cover it.
• New vehicle. Based on Mil MI-26. Russia's ultra heavy lift chopper. (Savage's big bro). An absolute gigantic beast of a heli
  • Hook and magnet upgrade. Can easily lift anything like Skylift.
  • Complete cargo area which can see cockpit from inside
  • Typical aircraft upgrades, engine, armor, countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Go crazy.
  • Weapons. Copilot nose, pilot winglets, doors, heavy rear door
  • Price to incentivize Rockstar. 12 million
• Frogger and Maverick. The neglected day 1 helis
  • Liveries. Update standard liveries. (They're a horrible pixel mess). Add more liveries. Agencies, civilian stuff, etc.
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. engine, armor, countermeasures, etc.
  • Basic winglet weapon, jammer, or stealth upgrade options.
  • Add pontoon or retractable wheel landing gear (for more speed).
  • Increase base speed to that of the Akula
• General aircraft changes and/or Aircrafts not specifically mentioned
  • More liveries, weapon options, performance upgrades, etc. and all aircraft now have access to them. Mammatus, Velum, Dodo, etc.
  • New heli handling upgrade option. "Junk Energy Jailbreak" which completely removes auto stabilization so you can do flips n shit.
  • Helis can lose their tail boom/rotor without exploding or getting locked into the "spinout" crash. Like in GTA IV when you could still somewhat control where you were going while spinning via well timed throttle inputs and gentle tilting inputs.
  • Turbulence is now based on vehicle weight and base effect is decreased by 25%. Small aircraft still get rocked around a bit, while big aircraft almost completely ignore it.
  • All vehicles with side doors, whether locked in place or as a texture, now become fully functioning doors. Annihilator, Titan, etc.
  • All helicopters with wheels can now roll/taxi around on them.
  • Engine thrust backblast physics returned, added, and increased for all planes so they can launch stuff around for fun! Cargo jet, etc.
  • Parts can be knocked off easier without the aircraft exploding. Such as wings, weapon winglets, tail boom, etc. For vehicles that can take multiple explosive hits, multiple explosions on some parts can knock them off. Example, 3 shots on a Cargo Jet left wing snaps it.
  • Aircraft customization is now accessible at any airport while stationary, and instead of being done in your own hangar, is now done in a new massive empty hangar interior zone which can fit any aircraft and allow full camera movement all around it. (this way you can park stuff like the cargo jet or blimp on a runway and customize them). Can still customize aircrafts in your hangar as usual, but yeah, that's really only useful for smaller aircraft. The new hangar doesn't need to be crazy detailed. Just a few relevant props dotted around. It's all about the upgrading after all.
  • Can now own 2 hangars. Because we've been asking forever.

Missions/Jobs

• Add more of them to hangars, bunkers, warehouses, nightclub, etc.
• Dynamic cargo storage based on vehicle weight. vehicles weighing up to 2k can "store" 1 cargo item in them. 4k can "store" 2, etc. So a solo player can collect a full cargo run on their own without other players helping or making multiple grueling trips.
• Hangar cargo now spawns like other businesses, not based on how many are in the organization.
• You can now order 4 packages in all businesses instead of only 3.
• New moving vehicle freemode events to steal cargo from a train, cargo jet, cargo ship, and semi convoy
• All mission vehicles can now be blown up to pickup their cargo and transport your own way. However, due to "blowing your cover" npc's such as cops or gangs will come and take it if you leave it unguarded. So you can finally be free of the dreadful post op vans and such, but you should still have a buddy to guard it for you if you don't have a big (heavy enough) vehicle to carry them all at once.

Other changes

• Transport vehicles now have a "lockdown" feature which locks other vehicle in place on them for transport in/on their dedicated transport surfaces and works on as many vehicles as you can fit in/on them. A new "vehicle cargo" mesh will have to be made for relevant vehicle models where they would be expected to hold a vehicle. Locking down a vehicle is controlled by holding the exit button when parking a vehicle. Releasing the vehicle is done by entering it or blowing up either the transport vehicle, or the vehicle being transported. Examples, the cargo bay of the cargo jet, titan, cargobob, etc. the beds of trucks such as pickups, cargo vans, flatbed tow trucks/trailers, etc. car hauler trailer, etc. Some vehicles gain features/functionality to accommodate this new feature. such as the flatbed tow truck bed sliding back and down to the ground for cars to drive up on. car hauler trailer ramp and upper deck going up and down. etc. This can be incentivized for Rockstar by making players want to buy more transport vehicles they normally wouldn't, and taking the time to load/unload vehicles would expose players to pvp opportunities.
• DLC traffic and police variety
• Adding randomizer checkpoints to the content creator
• Adding boat customization zones to docks around the map to park at.
• As many vehicles as possible now spawn as close as possible. Spawn system now looks at nearby road nodes, takes the average, and spawns the vehicle in the middle of them instead of on the side of the road. This grants more room to spawn things like planes and helis. If no roads or any path nodes at all are detected near the player, it'll just spawn right next to them. No more getting trapped on mountains. It'll be up to players to determine if an area is big or flat enough to spawn stuff. Boats are included. They now spawn on trailers if called away from water (could add a new larger boat trailer for bigger boats too, and make the single player semi boat trailer functional for the biggest boats)
• Boats can now be reattached to boat trailers, or locked down to other transport vehicles.
• EMP effect lasts far longer, and can carry far more ammo.
• Bring back GTA V's version of the swingset of death. The gate launch.

That's it from me for now. Let's see what you guys got!

Original flight was supposed to land at CLT at 9:45pm with my connecting flight departing at 10:46pm. Flight out of SAT was delayed and we did not get to the gate at CLT till 10:20pm.
I got the notification that my flight was boarding before we even landed. I was sitting in 9F. It was madness deplaning as most people on my flight were trying to make connections. FAs made an announcement instructing anyone on the flight that had more than 30 mins to stay in their seats so others could get off first. No one listened.
The guy in the middle seat next to me was actually nice and said he had an hour and let me get out ahead of him. The guy on the aisle was clueless and didn't have the app and didn't know what gate he was departing from. I looked up his flight and it was delayed an hour and was departing from D6 so I told him he would be fine.
I got off the plane quickly, with my backpack and roller suitcase. I was surprised at how many people were still at the airport so late. Made a made a mad dash to the E gates.
Protip going from D to E, cut through the food court area to save 30 seconds. It's CLT so 75% of the moving walkways don't work and the ones that do don't seem to move very fast. I used some anyway and squeezed by some larger travelers that had no spatial awareness.
I made it to the gate at 10:25. Someone walked on just before me. I had gotten a rare upgrade so I wasn't going to let my 2D seat go to waste. I got my yellow valet tag. Sat in my seat. With an empty seat next to me. Sorry to the next person in line that should have got upgraded. The shut the boarding door at 10:36pm. I was winded so when the FA asked me what I wanted for a PFB I just asked for water. I got my warm water in a plastic cup and drank it quickly. I was still breathing heavy but happy I made it and didn't have to spend the night in Charlotte. With the boarding gate closed I thought we might have an on time flight but nope we sat at the gate for 20 mins before taxing and took off at 11:15pm.
Arrived at my home regional airport of GNV. Such a small airport. The door was open but the jet bridge wasn't connected. There was only one guy working so he unloaded all the valet checked bags first, put them on the jet bridge, then connected the jet bridge to plane. Took about 25 mins to finally get off the plane at 12:24 pm, which was exactly on-time.
Am I hero? no. Am I proud of myself? Very much. Why did I post this? As a humble brag? Maybe. But also to all those post about people worried about tight connections at CLT. You can do it to. Just be sure you're at the front of the plane and you hustle.

Hey all, I know that there are a million posts about slow ruckuses, but I have genuinely tried everything I can think of to get mine up to speed with no luck. What’s happening is that 1) on a cold start the idle pulsates between revving up and about to die until it warms up then runs fine, and 2) I can’t get past a top speed of about 32mph. It’s a 2018 with only 700 miles, I’ve barely modified it at all, and I weigh 170lbs.
Mods: -Polini Variator -5.5g Dr. pulley Sliders -Daytona Drive Belt
What I’ve checked/replaced: -New air filter, triple checked to make sure it was seated properly and all hoses were intact. -Disassembled Carb and cleaned it twice making sure that everything was seated and connected properly. -Flushed old gas and put new ethanol free gas in. -New fuel filter. -Checked brakes to make sure they weren’t dragging. -Inflated tires to around 28 psi (they were low, around 15, but I still was getting around 32mph). -Checked wheel bearings to make sure they were still good. -Oil change, making sure to only get it halfway up the dipstick. -Cleaned and checked the clutch. -Tested new belt. -Tested different roller weights (6.9g was slow and no higher than before. 5.4g rollers were quicker, but again no top speed difference). -The battery seems fine, bought it new last year. -Starter is good, starts up first time every time (weird cold start idle is the only issue). -Fuel pump seems to be working because I can hear it going and the power delivery is always smooth, just capped on the top end.
What I’m planning to do this weekend (hoping it fixes the issue): -New iridium spark plug. -Checking and adjusting valves. -Re-jetting main jet to 72 (I’m at 4500ft elevation, so decently high altitude. I don’t think that going from a 75 to 72 main jet will make that big of a difference, but who knows)
I know this was a long list, but if anyone has any ideas on what the issue could be that’s keeping me topped at 32 when others with just a variator are seeing around 40, I would love to hear them. I feel like at this point I have basically gone through everything on the bike, and I still can’t figure out why my top speed is so low. Thanks!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
It blanched as I probed its bland expression. I blanched as it probed my morbid curiosity. The imp of the perverse, the death drive, the call of the void. My head. Carved into her snout, Hornet’s bottomless eyes beckoned. I couldn’t pull away. I couldn’t breathe. My reflection hypnotically mimicked my every attempt at breaking out of the non-existent cage whence seethed my last dram of denial. Alluring in its cruelest facade. ‘Such is the most pristine quality of humans.’ What am I then. Was it the only surviving echo of my nature? Is this what I am. There has to be something beneath its foul head. Curiosity? I say, that he is exactly like the busts of Silenus, that are made to open in the middle, and have images of gods inside them. Why.
I examined my impossible anatomy, unsure on how I was even able to do so having no eyeballs. I repelled the imagery of sticking my fingers in my eye sockets. I timidly raised my hands, my gown hanging from my arms and inflating into a tide of carmine drapery. My fingers trembling. I patted my cheeks, if so they could be called, with circumspection. Smooth and cold as marble. I didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disturbed by the unreadability of my forcibly motionless expression. I let out a sterile sigh. Still, my voice unnerved me the most. The one hint at my humanity in that labyrinth of unknown chitin, and yet diametrically opposed to what I was. Its tender quality. Once soothing, now funereal.
Before I could divert my inquiry as to how I could speak or breathe without a mouth I was interrupted by a gurgling groan behind me. I turned to Leth, slumped on his back like a pile of rags. He was holding his neck with his left hand and fiddling with a slim object with his other. He started fidgeting with it even more frantically upon locking eyes with me. I approached him, wooly and still uncoordinated in my gait. Once I’d taken a few steps closer, I realized it was a cellphone. I attempted to sprint at him only to expectedly topple to the ground. We both whimpered, I exasperated and he condemned. I got up and tottered my way to him. He twisted on his side to shelter his last resort. I chucked myself onto him and brawled for the phone. He let go of his neck to shove my head away as I sank my sharp fingers into his right arm. Blood was squirting from a tiny slit in his jugular. He was smearing it all over my face. Gasping, mewling. I hunched over him, still clenching his arm, and pressed my foot onto his crotch. He curled up howling in pain and loosened the grip on the phone. I snatched it and stumbled away, panting. His cry bubbled sickeningly.
I looked at the screen. 3 AM. Leth was dialing an unknown number. As numb as I was from all that happened, it was clear who he was trying to call. I glanced back at him. Huddled and bleeding. Cuddled and bleating. An unforeseen sense of pride unfolded to eradicate the forest of fear and pain where I’d wandered that night, and everything that had mangled my soul up until then flapped into the darkness. An adrenaline aflame intimated me to dial that number and face Ari and William, standing tall over their broken pawn. An adrenaline blazing brighter than the rudimentary survival instincts that I’d foolishly let take over during the shootout. A winner against all odds, the winner of a game so unfair its own players can’t stay but oblivious of its existence. So I believed myself to be until my gaze crossed a humbling Hornet, slouching and smothered in crimson handprints in the glass door. So I believed myself to be until my gaze crossed the maimed corpses resting on the impious grounds of a convenience store. I looked at my reflection. And I realized I’d died in there with them.
That death is a leveler, I already experienced. Then why was I denied to lie in that stench of flesh and metal. By what facility could I have been affranchised from the end. The end in which those maimed corpses and Leth would’ve wayfared while their vestiges attest their toll. By what facility could I have been pruned from the branches that furcate from one, ubiquitous uterus into the fronds that wither back to their roots. Why. A rage unspeakable. An envy palpable. Why can’t myself open that door and lunge at me with his eyes bulging and foam at the mouth and flay me alive or tear my skull out to dig into the most chasmic pulp and eviscerate me and phagocytize me whole and wear my hardened skin as his rich spoils and point his neck and hands at the sky and split it apart and then be expunged by the silence and lie with those maimed corpses and Leth. Why can he not do this instead of rippling in a pool of blood a few feet away. Why is he there, while I stare at a foreboding being in a red robe and its horns far too long. Where are you. Come and take me. You’re dead. Why am I not.
I pulled myself together. The wind was still humming. Leth was yieldingly ceasing to gasp for air. I examined my surroundings. Not a soul. I spotted my gun laying by the curb. I walked towards it, and to my dismay I noticed I was starting to steer my new weight and proportions more confidently. It is it. My shadow swayed on the pavement like a dark banner waved by surrendering gales. I picked up the gun and returned to the 7-11. Do I embrace it. What point to rebel. Back at the glass door, I looked at my dress. Its mundanity and prettiness disgustingly clashed with the insect-esque head towering from the collar. I felt the same embarrassment I derived from my voice. It is it. I laid Leth’s phone and my gun on the floor, I peeled the gown off and tossed it to my side. My body jet black, no discernible features whatsoever other than a sylphlike, symmetrical exoskeleton shimmering in the light of the lamp post. And yet, I already felt less naked.
I made my way back to Leth. His eyes were almost as opaque as when he was the one standing over me. Only this time they were sincere. Bits of flesh were caught in his beard. His jacket was drenched in blood. I stared at it. It is it. Might as well make it my own. I’d never really cared about my attire, and yet in that jacket I saw a faint glimmer of deliverance. Masculine. Human. I bent over and unzipped it. He was wearing a light vest beneath, covered in swollen buckshot marks. Leth’s final fervor was reduced to a few listless scratches on my torso in an instinctual attempt to push me away. I painstakingly turned him over to slip off his arms from the sleeves. I wore it only to realize it was about the same size as the dress. My legs barely peeked from the bottom, my arms swallowed in the sleeves. Better than nothing.
I picked the phone and the gun back up and returned to my car. The door was still wide open, the keys in the ignition. I hopped onto the driver’s seat. I couldn’t reach the pedal. I paused for a moment before slamming my hands against the wheel in frustration. I immediately regretted it, as the honk traveled far into the night without caring to warn me whether it alerted anyone or not. I stepped out and sourly prepared to walk all the way home before planning what I would’ve done if somebody saw me like this. I glanced at Leth. Motionless. I stared at his phone. Daring. I tried to dial 911, but the touch screen didn’t react to my fingertips. I sighed and approached Leth. I lifted his hand and used it to tap the numbers. His arm flumped to the ground. Then rang the phone.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“An armed man has shot two people to death at the 7-11 where I’m currently at.” My throat ached. It was the first time I’d spoken a full sentence with that set of vocal chords.
“What’s the address of your emergency?”
“There is no emergency. He’s dead.”
“Ma’am, where are you? Are you injured?”
“He’s associated with two men living in Adelaide, Australia. Their names are Ari Gibson and William Pellen. Could you connect me to the South Australia Police?”
“Ma’am, I first need to know where you are. If there’s been a murder, we will dispatch an operator to your location.”
“I believe they may have murdered a man I know.”
“Okay. What’s your name, ma’am?”
“It was me.”
I hung up. I dropped the phone on Leth’s body. He didn’t wince. I walked back to my car and picked up the gun from the seat. I took the deserted road stretching far into the fields, and one final look at the gas station and 7-11.
TO BE CONTINUED

Hey, I'm planning to travel this summer and I want to have gymnastics rings with me. This includes wooden rings, the textile straps and metal adjusters on the straps. I will be flying with Wizz Air, Ryanair and Easy Jet mostly, trough Italy, Spain, Portuga, Serbia. I want to bring them in my Under seat carriage aka backpack on the plane. Has anyone had experiences with this? Have you had any problems? Please share.
PS: I know there are past posts on the same topic but they are pre covid and maybe even earlier and I don't think they're applicable because the rules for air traffic are changing all the time.