I Accepted a Job to Film on the Dark Web
Man, I am pumped to tell you chronically online content addicts my story. Wait is that too mean of an intro? Will this get taken down for harassment since I painted too accurate a picture of the people on this site? Sorry, everyone, I’m sure you all smell like an expensive bakery and have touched grass this morning. Anyway, I promise I have something interesting. It even involves the dark web you uncreative writers cream yourselves over! I mean, totally real people speaking about their strangely similar experiences. Okay, fine I’ll stop bullying you through the screen before you click off.
This all started when I was seven years old and my parents were killed in front of me in an anti-indigenous hate crime, but let's be real you don’t care. I’m just some annoying Cherokee kid with dead parents so I’ll skip to the good parts. I spent years in an orphanage, gradually becoming more interested in death and violence. As bad as it is, I went out of my way to expose myself to that content in the hopes of desensitizing myself. Which ended up working too well, since now I’m obsessed with causing and viewing pain, though I don’t find any joy in hurting myself.
I got adopted at twelve and after a few months of staying at my new family’s home on the reservation, I went with them to a state sweatier than the average Reddit user, California. Long story short, both of my caretakers, whom I referred to as Uncle and Auntie because they could never be my parents, died. Leaving me in the care of their older son, who I call cousin. I’m not stupid enough to give up any real names, so I’ll call him Brick, cause he’s as dumb as one. He was in his early 20s when he was tasked with taking care of me and is the world’s worst excuse for a babysitter.
I’m almost always alone at the apartment, with him only coming by to drop off supplies and stay for a few hours so the neighbors don’t get too worried. Unless I get in trouble at school, then he’d suddenly give a shit. It's useful because he doesn't about the gory stuff I look at, but some display of interest would be nice. Oh well, ninety percent of the population sucks so he’s just part of the majority. Now, with that said, you’ll be able to understand the perfect storm that led me here. During my time on the deep web, I found a particular website that caught my eye. They had new footage relatively consistently and they were the easiest for me to access since I didn't go too far into the dark web, especially with all the honey pots lying around.
I even bought a couple of files for myself to study and admire. One thing irritated me though, the cameraman. He was always sobbing, breathing, shaking, or some combination of those. It seriously killed the vibe of the killings. Something I commented on under many videos, often saying I would do a better job filming. A choice that in hindsight was me asking to end up in one of those recordings. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was mostly the only one who commented but I was sure they wouldn't care. I was embarrassingly wrong.
I was staying up like usual, but it was past one AM on a school night, and back then that was a lot so I tried to sleep. Closing my eyes, tossing and turning, the works. I had just started drifting off when I heard the front door open. I remained calm but immediately found it weird since Brick never showed up this late. The thuds of the individual's feet grew louder as they got closer to my bedroom. I tried to convince myself it wasn't a stranger, especially since they got in with ease, but I knew that was wishful thinking.
They hummed as they opened my door. My dumbass had left it unlocked. I remained on my side, trying to look like I was asleep. They turned on the flashlight of their phone, shining it in my face. It was hard but I stayed still while they traced it over my features. I could tell they were smiling as they clicked their tongue.
“Heh, I knew it was a brat,” they whispered to themselves, pulling tangles out of my hair. Something I struggled not to groan from. They pulled up the hair over my ear and got so close spit got on my ear lobe.
“I know you’re awake kid,” they murmured, putting a blade to my neck. I let them grab my shoulder and move me onto my back, I knew how to fight but I wasn't about to take that big a risk with the position they had me in.
“You think you’re so cool saying you can do better than our guy.” they snickered, kneeling, their flashlight still shining in my face.
“Do you seriously believe that?” they questioned, moving the light away.
“Yeah, I do.” I stood my ground, they might have been intimidating but I wasn't gonna let that stop me from being honest.
“I wouldn't sound like I’m gonna piss myself every time it gets gory. I’m confident I could get better footage too, getting up close is something I’ve fantasized about.”
They clicked their tongue again and ran their finger over the bridge of my nose.
”Well, I know you’re a big fan of what we do, and you’re confidence makes me think you got something to back those claims up, so how’d you like a deal?”
I was surprised by how civil they were being aside from the touching and weapon against my throat.
“What kind of deal?” I asked, for all I knew this guy wanted me to lick their feet or some weird shit like that. They placed a finger underneath my eye, tracing a half moon with their nail.
“You have till this Friday to film a video of you killing an animal and put it on a flash drive that I’ll pick up here. If it impresses me and the crew we’ll hire ya with a handsome salary.” They began, moving their hand down to my cheek.
“But if you don't show, or it doesn't meet our standards, then I’m fucking up one of the parts of your face.” They warned, pinching my skin harshly.
“And if I say no to this deal?”
They put their hand over my mouth, scratching my lips.
“That’s cute, if you say no I’ll just slit your throat.” they grinned.
“Or rip it open with my teeth if you got a preference,” they smirked, before running their tongue across their sharp teeth.
“Okay, since I have no choice I’ll go with it, but I’m telling you now I can give you something way better than what you likely expect of me.” I prefaced, looking into their sunken eyes. They scratched my scalp, including the side of my head that was shaved.
“Good choice, I’ll be back to pick it up and if you're not here I’ll assume you don’t have the video. I genuinely wish you luck, because you’ll need it.” they removed the blade from my neck and walked away. I sat still for a few minutes in the dark, processing what had happened and wondering how they got into my apartment with such ease. I was confident I could blow their sniveling excuse of a cameraman out of the water, but I was worried about the people I was getting caught up with.
Sure, I had been on a lot of gore sites over the years but I was always just watching and occasionally commenting. Compared to most in the scene I wasn't much of a threat. I could defend myself and have contemplated killing for years but I hadn't murdered anyone or worse. Plus, I am part of way too many targeted groups to not be constantly at risk. Teenage, fem-leaning, two-spirit, indigenous kid with trauma? Yeah, I might as well be walking sign screaming “Hate crime me”.
So yeah, there was a lot to worry about. Regardless, I couldn't let that fear hold me back. I had a job to do and a group of sickos to appease. The next morning was rough, I got no sleep cause I’d spent all night brainstorming. I barely mustered the energy to change and drank straight mouthwash instead of brushing my teeth. Slogging onto the bus with drool on my cheek, I went to the back like usual. No one sat there cause, the seats were extra worn down, and I scared off anyone who attempted to with my active, rabies-infected bitch face. That day was different though.
I blanked on his name and where I knew him from, but I recognized his wavy hair and prominent curved nose. He glanced at each seat on the bus, before somehow settling on my area. He tried to give me space but ultimately seated himself beside me after realizing it was the only spot that didn't look like it would give him cancer. I glared at him as I did with everyone, but it didn't phase him.
“You know you could pick anywhere else right?” I murmured. He stared at the floor, then at me.
“I’m aware, but a few months ago I started a mission to sit on every part of this bus, and this is the last place.” he smiled, his lips softly curving at the sides.
“What’s the point of that?”
His mouth moved into a more neutral position, but his eyes kept smiling.
“I just thought it would be neat to see the same place from a bunch of different perspectives.” he took out his phone and snapped a photo from the point of view where he was sitting. Maybe my sleepiness made my bitch face less effective, cause he hadn't shown a hint of fear, which kind of annoyed me.
“That’s cool I guess, but I wouldn't do that if I were you. I’ve done some back here alone that would make your skin crawl.” in hindsight my attempt at unnerving him just made me sound like a pervert, which is probably why he held back laughter. Trying to hide a chuckle by clearing his throat.
“Hey, it's not my business what you do, no matter how Haram it is. It’s your life so that’s between you and whatever you believe in. Just don’t shake hands with me.” he joked, playfully putting his hands up. Strangely, I remembered his name at that moment.
“Oh shit, you’re Abdul! We have art together.” I sat up, haphazardly slamming my hand down on my leg.
“Uh yeah, I’ve seen some of your paintings, they’re pretty cool. I like the way you texture them, I’m trying to work on that.” he complimented, seeming more weirded out by my sudden energy than my accidental insinuation. I felt a little stupid for yelling his name but decided not to dwell on it.
“Thanks, you’re stuff is nice, and you’re good at shading.”
He stretched his arms while thanking me. We talked for a few more minutes, taking jabs at each other throughout. Turns out he was better at being an asshole than his artsy charismatic appearance made me think. The thing setting our insults apart being that you could tell he was a loving person underneath. It was the nicest conversation I had with anyone in a while. Though he could tell I was tired so he quieted down, letting me sleep, waking me when we got to school. We went our separate ways until the last two periods we shared. All that time, I spent my remaining energy plotting how I was going to handle the video. What I’d kill, record with, and how to dispose of the evidence. It was a lot to consider, but through three classes I devised a plan.
I’d find a stray around my apartment complex and take it out in my room. Record it on a portable camera since I broke the ones on my phone, no, I will not be answering how that happened. Then once I had my footage I’d put the body in a trash bag, throw it in the complex’s garbage, and clean the blood off my floor. It didn't seem like Brick would come by so he wasn't a factor I thought I’d have to consider. The plan was almost too easy, but I decided to believe in Occam’s razor. I got so lost in thought that by the time I reached Art, which was my second-to-last period, I didn't process that we were moving seats.
“She called your name,” Abdul reminded me. Our teacher placed us next to each other at our four-person table. The two girls sitting with us were already friends, so I didn't bother to say anything, but I was interested in talking to him more.
“So, what do you think of this assignment?” He shrugged, taking out his sketchbook.
“I’m not that good at drawing people, but the idea of combining two people’s faces into a portrait seems interesting. Any ideas on who you’ll pick?”
“Probably the members of the music duo Brain Tumor, they’re my favorite artists and they both look weird as hell.”
“Wow way to talk about your favorites, if that’s what you say about them I can‘t imagine what you have to say about me.” he joked, pulling up reference pictures.
“First, it’s not an insult, second I don’t have anything to say about you. Brain and Tumor have features and styles that make them stand out. Sure they’re ugly, but it just adds to their visual charm. Hot people are boring, there’s nothing to pick at.” I explained, unzipping my bag.
“Oh, so you’re saying you think I’m hot.”
His comment wasn’t serious but it kind of got to me.
“Shit, that’s not what I meant, I was trying to say you’re boring. All hot people are boring, but not all boring people are hot, okay?” I explained, flipping to a clean page.
“Alright, but if I’m so bland then why talk to me?”
I hesitated, contemplating how much of a dick I was gonna be.
“Because it means you probably need some spice in your life, which I can provide.”
He began sketching a head on his paper.
“I like spices, but I feel like you’re the kind of person to dump a cabinet’s worth onto me.”
I flicked my pencil over to his side of the desk, putting on a mocking grin.
“Aww, you scared I’m gonna get you into trouble?”
He picked up the pencil and started using it, putting his on my side.
“No, ‘cause I’m good at setting boundaries. I’m more concerned that you’ll get annoyed with how unafraid of you I am.”
I stared at him for a moment, I hadn't expected to hear that.
“Jeez, man you didn't have to read me like that.”
He shrugged, observing the red paint from past projects that lay on my pencil.
“It's not hard to figure out, just this morning you were trying to push me away on the bus. Lucky, or unlucky, for you I want you to have a friend and you seem like a fun person.”
“Wait are you saying I have no friends?” I squinted at him.
“Well, do you?”
I didn't answer.
“If your response is silence I suggest you take up my offer.”
I was stunned, to be honest. No one had offered to be my friend since 6th grade, and that didn't last long. Of course, I accepted it, but for the rest of the period, there was an awkwardness in my mind. As pathetic as it sounds I wasn't used to others genuinely enjoying my company like he did. Which was partly by design cause I get joy out of scaring people away, but still. I forgot how it felt to have conversations about normal things like art. He had such a nice smile too, usually when I see a grin I want to slap it off, but I liked his. His voice was also nice, it’s hard to describe what in particular but it was easy on the ears.
Okay, I’m starting to get off-topic. I’ll skip to the important part. Toward the end of class, he started talking about how he was interested in filmmaking and got a portable video camera as a gift at last year’s Eid. He didn't have it on him, but he showed me a picture.
“Heh, that’s funny, I bought the same one a month ago.” I pointed out.
“Yeah, it's a popular model, I’m still getting the hang of it though cause I’m so used to using my phone.”
“Well, maybe I could bring you over to my place or vice versa after school and I can help you out.” I suggested.
He smiled, putting his phone back in his pocket.
“I thought you said you’ve only had it for a month? You know I can always look up tutorials from trained professionals.” he reminded me with a notable smugness that I'd used with him before.
“Well those guys are stuffy and I’m a fast learner.”
He redirected his attention back to his page, picking his pencil up.
“Alright, I suggest we go somewhere public instead. You’re not exactly the kind of person I want to bring home to my parents right away. Plus they always need to meet my friends and their guardians before I hang out at their home.”
I gave an exaggerated sigh, stretching my back.
“Aw man, looks like we can’t get high in my murder pit during our first hangout.”
He didn't respond for a solid few seconds.
“Wait, you do know I'm joking right?”
He shrugged, the smile in his eyes appearing again.
“I mean, one of those things is a little less believable than the other.” he snickered, and I laughed with him.
We set up a time and a date, which is where I screwed myself. He ended up being busy with projects from his other classes and family which just left us with Friday, the same day I had to submit the video. Now, did I tell him I wouldn't be able to make it? No, of course not, because I decided to be stupid and even more overconfident. I said that I’d one hundred percent be able to hang out with him after school like I didn't have a mutilator who was going to drop by my place at an unknown time.
The rest of the day went over fine but that bad timing led me to feel like a dick later. When I got home I was able to write out my plan, even sketching a few specifics of what I’d do. It was more exciting than when I’d been brainstorming, but this is when the gravity of the situation began to set in. When I said I’d fantasized about killings I meant it. I mean my teddy with twenty-five stab wounds should say enough. Regardless this would be the first time real blood was on my hands.
It made me feel powerful, but a little afraid. I’ve heard stories of people thinking that it would be an awesome experience and then feeling like shit. I doubted I’d be one of those people but still. Plus, I didn't exactly trust the guy who gave me this job. There was a good chance that this whole situation was rigged and they’d kill me no matter how good the video was. Or worse turn me into the feds and expose my collection. Honestly, if that happened I’d probably eat a shot to avoid going to jail. Wait, can I say that on this platform? Okay to the mods, that was a joke, I want to live a long life. Ugh, I’m doing a terrible job of staying on track. The point is there was a lot up in the air despite it being a matter of life or death.
I knew I’d go through with it but it was still a lot less straightforward than it initially seemed. I wracked my brain to remember where most of the cats stayed and tried to come up with a good way to lure one without raising suspicion. This also proved harder than first thought because I didn't think to account for the cat man, an old guy who lived alone and fed all the cats in our dingy complex while also housing a few. Knowing how obsessive he was he’d probably notice if one of them disappeared. Then again not all the cats return consistently or at all. It makes more sense that he’d think one of them was run over rather than slaughtered. It was getting late again so I rested my head for a moment, a bad move cause I ended up falling asleep at my desk. Not even changing out of the clothes I’d worn before, I woke up late and barely caught the bus the next morning.
I went to my usual spot but Abdul had already taken it. He patted the area next to it, which he’d covered in a towel, a smart move knowing how nasty it was. People gave me a few dirty looks as normal, which I smiled at. I stretched, my mind slightly less out of it than the previous morning.
“Uh, you do realize that-”
“Yeah, I know I’m wearing the same clothes.”
Abdul looked me up and down, his eyes remaining soft, but with a mix of concern and judgment. He set his backpack down and took off his sweater handing it to me.
“Dude what are you-”
“Look I don't know what led to you not being able to change but I think you should at least have a fresh top.”
I was surprised he was offering me something to wear but I took it.
“Uh, thanks, I’ll change into it later.”
He nodded as I put it in my backpack.
“You know you didn't have to do that.” I reminded him.
“Well there’s a lot of stuff I don’t have to do, but I do it because I want to, and I wanted to help you out.”
He smiled, his face still warmer than an Arizona summer. I got a strange feeling in my chest at that moment, I still can’t tell if it was good or bad.
“Well, thanks, I'll give it back to you tomorrow.”
We talked a little more and he mentioned something that caught my attention.
“Have you heard about all the animals that have been turning up dead?”
My eyes widened with surprise.
“No, I haven't, when did you hear about that?”
He pulled on his long-sleeve shirt.
“My sister said her friend who works at a shelter noticed a bunch of animals were getting adopted by people around the same time, and since then gore videos with them have been showing up. She found out through her co-worker who was emailed it by some random creep.”
I covered my mouth and looked away to hide the smile growing on my face. He had just given me the perfect cover-up without knowing. Now if I killed an animal people had an entire violent ring to connect it to instead of me! I stayed quiet for a minute because I could tell he’d likely see through any phony sad sounds I made.
“Oh wow, that’s awful, do you think they’ll ever find out the people behind it?”
He sighed, running his hand through his wavy hair.
“I hope so, for now, all we can do is pray that no more animals get hurt.”
I couldn't contain my grin as he said that so sincerely like animals and people didn't die constantly and that taking down one group would somehow stop the issue.
“Is there some joke I don’t get?” he furrowed his brow.
“Uh, no, sorry I smile when nervous.”
His gaze softened again, and he didn't press further.
His bringing up the animal killings ended up being the exact push I needed to get my hands dirty. I’d spent the entire day before planning so it was time to put that plan into action. I stole some cat treats that the cat man had laid out and spread them around my apartment which was on the bottom floor. Waiting for one of them to take the bate outside my window was pretty boring but one of them came after a few minutes. A scraggly brown and black cat with a tuft of fur missing on one side of his head. It's messed up but I felt like a little less of an asshole for taking him in since he looked like he was already struggling. I scooped him up and he didn't attempt to fight back.
“Hey there buddy” I waved, feeding him some more food. His eyes had a lot of crust on them, it was kinda gross but I don’t have the right to say with how often I wash my jeans. After a minute or two he let me pet him. I knew making any kind of attachment was bad but I thought it was the right thing to do so he’d fall into a sense of security. I was just about to take him into my room when the door opened.
“Hey, I’m back with groceries!” my shithead cousin announced with two plastic bags in his hands. He looked down to see me with the cat, his eyebrows raising.
“Aw come on, you know we can’t afford a pet.”
He groaned placing the bags on a table and unloading them.
“I know, but he doesn't look like he’s got a lot of life in him I at least want to help him feel better before he kicks the bucket!”
Brick rolled his eyes, putting the cereal box on top of the fridge
“Jeez, did you even think about what diseases he might have? His eyes look puffy what if he has something that can get you sick?”
He had valid concerns which was surprising since he’s usually stupid, but I was still annoyed with him.
“I’m sure he’s fine, I’ll even try to wash him, just please let me hold onto him for a little.”
He folded his arms looking down at us.
“Have you even named him?”
I froze for a second, before using the first thing that came to mind, which ended up being pretty awful knowing my plans.
“Cash cow.” I blurted, awkwardly patting his head.
“Honestly that’s better than what I was expecting. I was sure you’d pick ‘Hellspawn Mcgee’ or something else corny.”
He meant to make fun of me but honestly, I would have named him that if I had more time.
“Ugh, anyway I got those dumb chips you like.”
He then pulled out a bag of the wrong chips.
“Dude those are the wrong ones, this is the third time you’ve mixed up the flavors.”
He threw them at me, scaring the cat slightly.
“Well, I pay for it so you shouldn't be so picky. Anyway, while I was in line I picked up something you might be into.”
He then tossed me a trashy teen magazine. One of my least favorite sorry excuses for an influencer on the cover.
“This is a joke, right?”
I couldn't believe my own adopted brother gave such little shit in my interests.
“I don't know, you decided to start being a girl for real this time so I thought the makeup tips on page ten would help you out.”
I scrunched my face at his comment.
“Dude I’ve been this way for years, just because I started wearing more makeup and dresses doesn't mean I’m more of a girl than when I didn't. I know you won’t get the two-spirit thing but come on.”
He shrugged, seeing me done with me even though he’d just shown up.
“Yeah well hey I’m trying. Anyway, just so you know a friend of mine is coming here Friday.”
My heart stopped.
“Wait why here? You live elsewhere why can’t you assholes go there or their place!”
He slammed his fist on the table.
“Will you shut the fuck up!”
He screamed with a phrase I’d grown numb to.
“I don't know, to be honest, something about wanting to move into this complex and this being a way to scout it out. I’m just letting you know now so you don’t act like a complete freak.”
“Jokes on you I’ll piss in whatever shitty beer you bring just cause you said that!”
I yelled back raising my voice higher than his. He face-palmed before putting the plastic bags in the drawer under the sink.
“Whatever, you and your ketamine-addict-looking cat have fun,” he told me while seating himself on the couch. I picked up the cat and walked into the bathroom to clean it. I closed the door and placed him in the dry tub. Using a small disposable mouthwash cup I got a little bit of water. I hadn't had a pet before so I wasn't sure how to approach the task. I dipped my fingers in the water and carefully pet it while pouring s small bit down his back. Any other cat would fight back but he just made pissed-off noises without doing anything.
I scrapped my old shampoo bottle and kneaded it into his thin fur. His skin was bumpy and dry beneath the hair so scrubbing it was uncomfortable. I made sure to avoid getting soap in its eyes but I did pull away some of the crust on its lids. His pupils were so clouded I was surprised that he could see at all, making me feel even more sure that he would be on its way out with or without me.
After drying him I set him on a beat-up shirt I wore when modifying clothes. He sunk his claws into it a few times, playing with a loose string. I ignored him for the rest of the night, hopping into the shower and changing for bed. His meows woke me up a few times but I tuned it out after a while, reminding myself that he wouldn’t be my cat for long.
The next day was Thursday and there wasn't a second that passed by where the weight of the murder I’d have to commit didn't weigh on me. I seriously shot myself in the foot by taking care of that scruffy, pubic hair pile. I was supposed to be hyped about killing it, after all, I’d dreamed and seen way worse than what I was going to do. Yet once I got home and started setting up I felt grosser with each step. I decided to record it in my bathroom instead of my bedroom so it would be harder to connect to me. I set down a few fabric scraps and a worn-out beach towel, placing it all inside a tub for easier cleanup later.
“Okay, I guess it's time,” I mumbled to myself. I brought the cat in and placed it down, setting up my camera once it was comfortable. I also wore my most generic clothes in addition to a mask, putting my hair in a bun for sanitation. When I saw the flicker of red showing that the camera was on I felt I was dreaming. I smiled, excited that I’d get to live out my violent desires. Yet, when I looked down at its pathetic frame and confused expression those urges left me.
I rationalized what I was doing, reminding myself how many animals die all the time and that I’d been forced into this, but it didn't help much in the end. I won’t get into it but under the pressure of impressing the group Cash Cow didn't go out as fast as I would have liked for a first task. Getting rid of the evidence was especially rough, the textures were pretty nasty, to put it mildly. It was surreal watching the blood go down the tub drain and gradually drip off my hands as I rinsed them. I couldn't conjure a single thought the entire time I cleaned it up.
Whether I was wringing out the clothes or putting the remains in plastic bags, it didn't matter. All I could focus on was the task at hand, with hints of disgust along the way. I ended up finishing at three AM. My hands were wrinkled and shook once I settled. I won’t deny that during the murder I didn't hate it. Slashing into something was fun and it made me feel strong. Still, it wasn't nearly as fulfilling as I expected it to be. Part of it was guilt, but it was mostly disappointment. I’d built it up for years and it wasn't earth shatteringly good or bad.
Overall, I expected to feel more, but it just left me hollow with an uncomfortable itch. There was no way I’d ever be able to see the tub the same way, hell I don’t think I’ll ever use it again. Luckily I almost always shower anyway so it's not too big of a deal. I watched a few horror game videos, trashed everything, changed and went to bed.
My scalp hurt like a bitch the morning since I kept my hair in that stupid bun. Despite getting less sleep than the past two days I held myself together a bit better in the morning. I brushed my teeth, changed, and had some fried bread before getting on the bus. Regardless I looked like complete shit and struggled to slump into my seat.
“Rough night?” Abdul asked
“Uh, yeah.” I quietly responded looking to the floor.
He frowned, looking at me with concern.
“You can talk about it if you're comfortable,” he assured me. I contemplated giving him a thinly veiled metaphor or vague explanation so he'd comfort me but stopped myself before my mouth could run a muck. He wouldn't be able to do much of anything and I don’t like opening up.
“Uhm, thanks but it's something I have to deal with alone.”
He nodded, respecting my boundaries.
“You know, I understand if you can’t hang out today it seems like you have a lot going on.”
I avoided eye contact with him as he spoke. For once I was feeling hints of guilt toward a person. I wanted to spend time with him, but I knew that I wasn't in the state to do that.
“Yeah, I think it’ll have to wait, I’m-” I cut myself off before apologizing. A fact about me that should surprise no one is that I hate apologizing. Even when I do feel kinda bad the act fills me with embarrassment.
“You what?” he asked, his eyes telling me that he knew what I was going to say.
“I’m emotionally not great.” I spat out in an admittedly poor attempt to get out of saying sorry. As always he remained calm but I could tell he saw through me.
“Okay, like I said I understand, whatever it is I hope you feel better.”
I told him thank you and we didn't speak for the rest of the day. At home I changed into more comfortable clothes and brushed my teeth. Unfortunately, I wasn't bouncing back from killing nearly as much as I expected.
“It wasn't even that bad! That thing was on its last legs anyway.” I grumbled to myself, smacking my forehead. I was feeling worse than when I did it which is weird. I ended up spontaneously decorating a ratty tie from the bottom of an accessory drawer to distract myself. It helped me get my mind off things, for a little. I had zero plan, just wanting to make something needlessly complex. Hours that felt like minutes passed and soon it was covered in patches, frills, and beads. I just tried it on when I heard the front door open.
“Man, that shit was wild!” I heard Brick laugh groggily. I didn't have to see or smell him to know he’d gotten lit. I rolled my eyes, closing my bedroom door.
“Hey, who’s there?” his friend asked, seemingly referring to me.
“Oh, that’s my little sis, don’t mind her she’s just on her emo shit!” he joked, which pissed me off for the petty reason that I didn't even listen or dress emo.
“Hey, that’s alright with me, I went through one of those phases,” they responded, their words less slurred than my cousin’s.
I fucked up and forgot to lock it when I closed it so they were able to swing it open, almost smacking my desk.
“Hey emo girl!” they waved as Brick haphazardly pulled them back.
“Okay, man, seriously I think she wants to be left alone.”
The way his friend looked at me made me uncomfortable. Like they’d snap my neck if I pissed them off. They clicked their tongue while stepping through the door frame.
“Alright, but I gotta say calling her an emo is inaccurate, they look like they watch gore and most emos just say they do.” they flashed a sharp toothy grin. At that moment I began to connect the dots.
“Easy, she’ll get pissy with you dude, now come on.” Brick warned tugging their opened button pushed him away. They looked me dead in the eyes.
“I don’t think she minds, in truth, I feel like we’ll have a lot to discuss later.” they smiled again, finally walking back into the living room. A chill ran up my spine when I saw them. The sharp teeth, New York accent, unsettling gaze, that motherfucker was the person who recruited me! They were able to get into my place so easily cause my dumbass cousin probably gave them a spare key or the opportunity to make one, and now they were a room away from me!
I dug my hands into my pillow as I contemplated what to do, no matter what happened next, I knew it was gonna be a rough visit.

Decided to get out of the house before the madness of Bay 2 Breakers (which is on Sunday) and visited Japantown, by taking a LONG stroll.
Stop 1: Browser Books, 2195 Fillmore
A bookshop that was taken over by Green Apple Books a while back, it does have a collection of notebooks and journals... at MSRP. Went in, browsed, came back out.
Stop 2: Paper Source, 1925 Fillmore
Not really a pen place, but I was looking for some "thank you" cards too.
Found a damaged NOTEM Uma Notebook, Large - Dark Blue for $5. The back cover is slightly torn. MSRP is well over $25. I am looking for different notebooks to try anyway, and $5 is irresistable.
https://i.imgur.com/fvmlXhc.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/ouAO9As.jpeg
I also bought the thank you cards and matching envelopes, all blank, so I can handwrite some thank you notes.
https://i.imgur.com/MNDSFGk.jpeg
Stop 3: Goodwill Store, 1669 Fillmore
I originally was not going to go in, then I remembered one can occasionally find some interesting stationeries inside. Well, got 2 hits and 1 half-miss. Not bad for less than $10 spent.
The "leather" notebook was the half-miss. The binding was torn, but the rest was clean. Turns out the paper does bleedthrough slightly, and my Jinhao X850 is not even a particularly wet pen. Hmmm...
https://i.imgur.com/MAhDDsK.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/y73f0jJ.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/z77MgI4.jpeg
The other notebook was a genuine hit. Completely blank pages, tried 3 different ink and none bled through including genuine Lamy. Though it "almost" did. And the cover design is pretty cool.
https://i.imgur.com/lCXogTB.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/RwNaVTW.jpeg
https://i.imgur.com/mipWo4v.jpeg
Oh, and picked up a little glass jar for pen washing/flushing. That's definitely going to be a useful item.
Now into the Kinokuniya we go...
Stop 4: Kinokuniya Building, 1581 Webster
This is basically the Japantown mall, with restaurants and Japanese knick-knacks, bookstores, and so on. My main target here is going to be Maido, the stationery store, and specifically, the 2nd floor unit, where they stock the fountain pen and stationery stuff.
Got in, and found the prices to be... expected, but at least the selection is good on all the notebooks, notepads, journals, and so on. They have all the Japanese brands on the shelves, but one should probably order online if one do not need the stuff in a hurry. Your dollars just go further online. They sell Lamy at full price ($37 for a Safari, same as Lamy flagship store on Market) but at least the Kaweco Sport is reasonable at $28.
However, by this time I am pretty determined to buy SOMETHING, so I went back to browsing... and finally decided I have enough notebooks and I should just buy a Kaweco Sport, and I want a B nib, since I don't have a B nib (they are all M, F, and EF). That's how I ended up with that Apricot Kaweco Sport B-nib with a converter. It's just over $40 out the door.
https://i.imgur.com/UgnWIkq.jpeg
I did notice they have a cheap brand I never heard of that offers a build-a-pen by buying 3 kits. Buy a body (choose from fountain pen, rollerball, and mech pencil?), a cap, and a clip/finial kit to assemble one that's pretty customized? Or did I read that wrong? Anyway, I barely glanced at it, and as I've spent all I could today, I'm out of there. The place was getting crowded anyway.
So, haven't loaded any ink into the Kaweco Sport yet. Still thinking about the inks I own and all that.
Maybe tomorrow I'll show you all my Temu pen and stationery haul, or perhaps my Jetpens order?

I'm pretty much in love with the idea of this new Orzhov Blink deck. Note that the sideboard is some cards to consider for later, not an actual sideboard.
The idea is to get as many synergistic ETB creatures onto the field as possible and then exile/return them multiple times with [[Another Round]] and [[Yorion, Sky Nomad]]. Another Round is particularly cool cuz if I pump it, I can blink them three times (with 7 mana). It's fairly easy go 6 ETC damage amongst the creatures I've got in there.
I'm winning a little over half my games on Arena. About to hit diamond. But there are some fundamental flaws.
1) No card draw. There are some great white card draw creatures, but they don't synergize with [[Gray Merchant of Asphodel]] and I'd have to remove creatures which do.
2) The list requires you to get multiple creatures down and then blink them. It's surprising how aggro-ish it feels and then Another Round, in particular, finishes hard--especially when you have 7 mana with it so you can blink them three times. If I have a Gray Merchant, [[Avara, First of Locthwain]], and [[Corpse Knight]] down, it's a total of 24 life lost for opponent with one cast of Another Round.
3) I should probably add more creatures. Any thoughts? What would be biggest payoffs for the blink actions?
4) If they remove a few creatures it just sputters a bit and you end up petering out. Based on the Orzhov thread a couple back, I'm thinking about adding [[Aven Interrupter]]. I also kind of want to get [[Citywide Burst]] in there. But I just don't know what to remove because I need enough creatures on the field for the blink effect.
I have [[Flicker of Fate]] in there to save creatures if they're trying to remove or to get a couple of turns with Gary in.
I've toying with the idea of making Yorion a companion and going to 80 cards, but that's intimidating to me. I'm still pretty new to Magic. I have a ton of ETB cards I could add, though. Discard effects. Draw effects. Life effects.
Would love y'all's thoughts, both on the current list, but also an 80 card list.
I've created a discord if anyone wants to go deeper.

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

1330 Terran Front Fleet Time
On the Turinika homeworld, the first signs of unrest began to manifest like a wave, The broadcast of the most esteemed Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata, Taratanti of the roost Kazatalak, openly performing the act of Kavsa had been met with shock. The last Taratanti who had voluntarily performed Kavsa had done so in protest of the treatment of the Kulorn caste, nearly two thousand years prior. It was an ancient rite, one that signified rejection of the greatest shame. Even more shocking than the act itself was the evidence that had followed it. Visuals of species, brought into the Conclave, not as migrant workers as had been believed, but as slaves, was met with an almost immediate attempt at censorship. This attempt failed spectacularly, mostly due to those who had been tasked to censor the information not only refusing to follow the command, but openly declaring that they had been ordered to do so. A situation that was already, as the humans would say, out of hand, spiraled completely out of control. Within only twenty minutes of the ending of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s broadcast entire cities entered a state of absolute anarchy. Two planetary capitals were stormed and taken by the furious civilian population, demanding the location of those who had been enslaved. The Turinika Armada, which even then was in the middle of a training session meant to prepare the fleet to withstand the Terran Front’s assault, began to cease operations. Within the hour, the entire armada would be recalled to the turnika homeworld. Those who did not take to the streets simply stopped whatever work they were doing and went to their homes to be around their brood. Images of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata with his stripped wings spread wide in front of the human fleet commander were on every news fed of the Conclave, as was the sound of his thunderous voice, and the wails of despair from a turinika female that couldn’t be seen. Close ups of the human fleet commander’s face were shown, with analysts remarking on the shock, horror, and sympathy. Since the outbreak of the Seventh Orion War, the female human known as Simmons had been reported to have made several threats towards the turinika, she had quickly become seen as a warmonger, ready to take revenge against the turinika for refusing to go to war and violate their principles of pacifism. Now the images of her lunging forward to stop the violation of Tizikikoonazikiakakiatkata’s plumage, the agonized expression of her face, and the true reason for her threats against the turinika were rapidly reversing her image. On far flung deep core mining stations and agricultural stations, on deep space stations dedicated to material processing, and in other areas hidden from the sight of the normal turinikan population, overseers and taskmasters felt their hearts run cold at the knowledge that very soon, their part to play in the willful enslavement of another species would be known to the wider Conclave. As the data package transmitted alongside the broadcast were fully decompressed and the scale of the Conclave’s government’s involvement was revealed, the entirety of the Conclave itself was teetering on the verge of absolute pandemonium. The image of a member of the kolra species, from the look of it barely a hatchling, quickly was becoming the face of the entire incident. The picture was absolutely damning, and the sight of the image had sent any who saw it instantly into contorting and painful displays of shame. The young kolra was sprawled on it’s stomach, looking to the one taking it’s picture with eyes that had no life in them. It’s shell covered it’s back, and despite the age of the kolra it was already dulled and scuffed. The foot pressing down on the shell was unmistakably familiar to those who saw it, the clawed feet of a turinika. Within the hour, billions of winged figures stood in streets, the normally soft spoken and passive species demanding action, demanding justice, on the hundred worlds of the Turinika Conclave. The bulk of the Taratanti caste, most of whom had been left in the dark of the truth of the situation, quickly went public with their own declaration of outrage, and the eyes of the entire species turned inwards to the mountainous homeworld of their species.
Hakuri Watanabe looked down at his helmet before putting it on his bed, the stylized SEVEN seeming to stare at him. He sat down in his chair and picked up a small cloth from his buffing kit. No one knocked on his door, in fact, mostly he and the rest of his squad were left alone before a major operation. They were just given their time, time to mentally prepare. Some of his squad would go over their mission briefing, some, like him, would spend their time doing something to relax themselves. Hakuri always found that taking care of his suit calmed him considerably. Granted he could simply turn it over to the squads armorers to be tended to and they would do as good of a job as he could, but he preferred it to be done by his own hand. The symbol of a triangle was on his form fitting shirt, the symbol of his special operations command unit. He was known as a Myrmidon, but the official title of his unit was Section Three. He knew this, his superiors knew this, and as far as Hakuri knew, most of the Terran Front was aware of his unit’s existence, but past that, they knew very little about what he actually did. As far as his mother knew, Hakuri was a pencil pusher onboard the TFS Berlin, the troop mothership that all of his letters were sent from. He thought about writing her, but then again, he only liked to do that when he returned from a mission, not when he was expecting to go to one. If he tried to write her when he was waiting, he would just get anxious, and homesick. That wouldn’t do when he was dropping into a combat zone. That wouldn’t do at all. Hakuri instead started to buff his helmet, waiting for the word to come down which meant they were prepared to jump. A glance at the clock made him pause in his circular rotations. The clock said 1330. Operation Naked Sun was about to begin.
Tika was on his side, Kzia standing at the end of the medical bed that had been adjusted for his turinikan physiology. He felt cold in more ways than one. For his people, clothing was more of a decoration than a necessity, but without his protective plumage he felt the cold stabbing him through to his hollow bones. His diplomatic access was already gone, his privilege access revoked. He heard the broadcast for a preparation to jump, but he wasn’t truly listening. There was no question in his mind he had made the right decision. There was no question at all. One of the humans, a nurse, came to his side and gently laid a heavy blanket over him. The human’s hand lingered on his trembling body for a few moments before it was removed, and Tika glanced in their direction. The female was one of the ones who had responded first to the call for medical service for him, had heard what had happened and why. Tika had gotten very used to being glared at on this ship. He was hated, and he knew it. He knew he had deserved it. He was a party to the vral’s enslavement of the humans, the chua, and far too many others. When he had come to Thermopylae station, he had not even given that fact a single thought. He was born into power, being of the Taratanti. He belonged to the most powerful species and government in the entire quadrant of the galaxy. His people, while mighty, did not seek to use it. To him, they had simply been above it all. When the vral had approached him with the offer to sell captured species at first TIka had wanted to reject it out of hand, but a few had told him to go through with the sale. Such was the nature of this galaxy, or so he had believed. The weak were at the whims of the strong, and one’s place in the galaxy was determined only by the power they could wield. The turinika were not nearly the first to have taken a species and used it for slave labor, and while Tika did not approve of the deal, he had not fought it either. As he looked back to the wall, he remembered what the humans had taught him these last days. When he had arrived in Thermopylae he had assumed he would find the chua species to have been at the very least regulated to a subservient role, if not outright enslaved. Finding them sharing power was a curiosity. He had expected to be treated with all the honor and dignity that his station demanded, that the power of his government demanded. Fleet Marshal Simmons had disabused him of that, and had left him humiliated and shamed. As he had laid in the dark as Simmons had declared the Seventh Orion War, covered in his own filth, feeling as if at any moment he was going to be killed he knew true fear and horrific uncertainty for the first time in his life. He had never faced these emotions, these sensations before. He had always been in power. He had stood with the full might of the Turinika Conclave behind him. He had never known anything other than the superior position. Now, as he lay in the hospital bed, staring at the wall, he was ashamed of how arrogant, how blind, and how short sighted he had been. After he had risen from his own filth, he had desperately tried to convince his leadership of the strength of the Terran Front, how it matched or eclipsed their own. The Conclave was not the unchallenged power in the quadrant anymore. The terrans, the human and chua, had somehow defied fate. They had not fallen to the vral after ninety years of near constant conflict, and now if Tika was right they had come out of it nightmarishly stronger than before. Tika had actually begged to be heard by his superiors, and he had never come close to that once in his life. The chua homeworld however, had fully broken him. If he had not been on the Antares, had not been humbled beforehand, he knew that he would have just clapped his hands together and said that it was delightful. As the transmission from the chua homeworld had come in, and the rescue effort had begun, he could only wallow in his own shame. He had profited directly from the chua’s suffering, the human’s suffering. Again he had tried, and failed, to convince his people, and again he had failed. Being on the Antares, for him, was torture. The lights were too dim, every human and chua looked at him with nothing more than loathing and contempt, his entire worldview had been shattered from the way he viewed the galaxy to his own place in it. Every time he closed his eyes he saw the shadow of Simmons standing over him, her voice cold with a lethal rage, hearing her voice echo in his mind, seeing the glint from flashes of light shining in her eyes. ‘We Know.’ echoed in his mind in his sleep, the voice of the terrifying Fleet Marshal transforming into the sound of a vengeful god demanding compliance and promising retribution. Then he had watched the humans and chua, who he knew were preparing to go to war with his people, celebrating the return of the shesvie. Once more he had expected them to be integrated into the Terran Front, but as soon as he learned Simmons offer to them, and what it had entailed, he had been called to his room to answer the latest message from his people. Once again, his people had doubled down, the knowledge of the enslavement of the humans had been suppressed, and once more Tika found himself, and his people, standing against a Terran Front that had every justification to declare war, to right the wrongs that had been done to them. All the while, he knew something else. He knew that, after everything he had seen, that his people would lose. The turinika had not been to war for nearly two thousand years. His people were not ready for what the Terran Front could do, and after seeing what they had done to the vral so far, he knew his people were not ready for what the Terran Front would do. He was afraid of the dark. Tika was absolutely terrified of it now, because now he knew the monsters were real. Simmons had shown him that, but the humans, the chua, they were not the monsters. He was. He had refused to be one any more. He had announced his intentions to his staff, who had squalled in rejection, all but three. Kzia was the first to step to his side, Kikumot and Tziki had stepped forward as well. Never, in his most nightmarish dreams, did he ever think that he would stand in front of Simmons and voluntarily have his plumage stripped from him, performing the act of Kasva. He never thought that his staff would have ever compiled and transmitted the data package they had sent. He had never thought that he would betray his people, if only to save them. Simmons had changed that, the humans had changed that. He knew the terror of the dark, he knew fear for his people’s safety, he understood the horror of war, and for the first time in his long life he could truly look back at every interaction he had had, with every species, that had asked for help in their struggle for survival against the vral and truly understand their fear and desperation. Now he lay, his plumage stripped from him, his station revoked, his status removed, surrounded by a people who despised him. He wouldn’t have it any other way now. He knew that they would listen now, if not to him, then to the civilian masses of the Conclave that would not stand for what they had done. He prayed to the Great Mother often now, shivering in the dim light, hoping that it would be enough. He had been wrong, and in his error he had sullied his own people. He had made them complicit. Even now, he did not know how they would ever be forgiven, because right now he wasn’t quite sure he could ever forgive himself. As he heard the broadcast calling out on the ship, announcing one minute to jump, he felt a hand on his side, and looked up to the human nurse. She was smiling at him. Not a smile born of malice, or anger, but a genuine smile. She patted his side lightly, then turned to walk out of the room. For not even the twentieth time since he had come onboard Thermopylae, he was mystified by these people.
The bridge of the Dhampir was thrumming with music and the vibrations of the reactor and Conrad leaned forward in his chair mount, his eyes almost feral as he looked at the empty space that was the mandeville point. He was positively chomping at the bit. Batz was positively roaring the lyrics to the song that was blaring over the ships speakers. Rev and Dev sat side by side in their mounts, throwing their hands up in time with the pounding bass beat of the sound. Towns was the only one besides Conrad that was quiet, both of them looking towards the mandeville point with complete impatience. Conrad felt like jumping from his skin. Fidget, well, fidgetted, holding his hands over his headset and listening as if he were trying to hear secret messages in the music. They were ready, their pulses were racing. The crew of the Dhampir was positively vibrating. Conrad looked to the shipboard clock, seeing 1330 displayed, and his head snapped to Fidget, waiting for the word. They were going to run, they were going to chase, they were going to hunt.
Vicky sat back, looking towards Jess and Kukat as they slept. Jess was in her chair, Kukat in her medical bed. Vicky glanced back at the block print on the paper and read it for the fifth time. She read the individual lines, one at a time, cursing their existence. After reading through the message printed she let her hand hang again. Kukat would be released from medical tomorrow, and both her and Jess still thought they would be boarding the Thumper to join the Vellacore once more. Jess had talked non-stop about her quarters on the Vellacore the past few days, how she just wanted to be back in her room. Kukat was equally excited. Only Vicky didn’t share their excitement. They didn’t know yet. They didn’t know about their battlefield promotions, they didn’t know about their reassignments, they didn’t know the days of them working together were functionally over. Vicky looked down at her hand holding the paper again, and felt like crumpling it. She had lost her crew. She had lost them not due to negligence, or time, she had lost them to fame. Kukat was to be promoted to ensign, and was to be the sensor officer on the destroyer Hadrian, Jess was getting the same promotion, her station on the cruiser Victorious. Vicky? She was the sparkling new commanding officer of a destroyer that was arriving at Thermopylae in two days, the Quarrel. She never wanted this. She had turned down promotion after promotion that would take her from the cockpit of the Thumper, away from Kukat, away from Jess. She wanted to serve in this war in her own way, as a pilot, with the two who had made her life so enjoyable. Now though, they were to be split up, and there was nothing she could do about it. These promotions hadn’t come from simple seniority, they had come from High Command, as had the orders. Tomorrow, when Kukat was released, they would be ushered into the hanger bay of the Barrowmore. They would all three be awarded the Star of Terra, then they would be reassigned. Tonight was the last night they would all be together. Vicky wanted to wake them up, she wanted to tell them, to give them a chance to process it. As she looked to Kukat and Jess she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She held up the letter again, reading the first few lines, then she felt the sting of tears in the corners of her eyes. She looked away, her heart panging with sadness, and stared at the wall. The clock read 1330.
Corporal Brandy was sitting on the small rack, with Janet Shippen sitting between his legs using his thighs as armrests. They were both dressed for the first time in the last few hours, both of them staring at the clock. This close to the reactors they could feel them beginning to spool up for the trip through hyperspace. When the news of the operation had come down they had elected to spend as much time together as possible, which Brandy had enjoyed to no end, and he had made sure Janet had as well. Brandy had even taken some time to reach out to his sister Victoria, a rarity for them both, as since they were children they were often barely able to speak to each other simply due to schedules. He had even told her about Janet, and although he hadn’t gotten a response from his sister yet he already knew what she would say. Janet nestled back against him, but he could feel her body was stiff. Neither of them knew what the next few months were going to hold. Their time together might be constricted, in fact, this might be the last few moments they were together for quite awhile. Brandy’s Ghouls were specialists, ship boarders. Chances are he was going to be extremely busy, as was she. He didn’t quite know how he felt about Janet, but he did know that beyond a shadow of a doubt he didn’t want to be away from her. Judging from how she was acting, she felt the same as him, conflicted about her relationship with him, but not wanting to be apart. He knew what he needed to tell her, that he had to get up, that he had to leave. The Ghouls were going to be assembled at 1345, ready to board. Her unit was going to be prepared at the same time, to begin taking on salvage. Her hands were like clamps on his legs, and from how tense she was, he wasn’t going to get up until she was good and ready. The clock on the wall switched to 1330. He stared at the clock, feeling like the clock was mocking him, when suddenly Janet leaned up and turned. Her hands took hold of his shoulders and she threw her body against his, her lips finding his own. Her arms wrapped around her frame and he tightened his grasp on her.
Simmons spread her hands over the panel in front of her, looking at the table. Seven points connected the recently reclaimed chua space to what was former Shesvie territory, and beyond that, the heart of the Vral Empire. Her lip curled in a wicked smile, On the digital display of the table the hyperspace lanes, and more importantly, the avenues of attack her fleet was preparing to take. She held out her hand, all five fingers splayed over the lanes, envisioning the war as it stood now. The war to come. Seven hyperspace lanes, seven systems, branching out into sixteen, branching out again to another twenty. The Antares herself was going to link up with the Barraki, and was set to simply plough through the next five systems to do so. Slowly she tightened her hand into a fist as she looked along the hyperspace lanes, seeing task forces lined up and ready to jump. Drones had already been sent through. The vral had forces along the border, but nothing that could withstand what was to come. Her fleet was ready. She was ready. The Seventh Orion War was at the end of it’s first month, and had taken back six systems. The first moves of Operation Naked Sun would double that and exceed it, then double it again. She had already given her speech, her task force commanders were ready. High Command had taken it’s time making this decision, and while she had railed against the delay that didn’t matter now. All along the front, individual task forces were joined into larger fleets, ready to jump into the next system and eliminate any vral defenses, but unlike now, they simply would not wait. Naked Sun was to be a lightning strike to cut off as much of the Vral Empire as possible, to deny them their own space, to imprison them on their own worlds. Task Forces were designed around three types of vessels combinations, Lighthammer Task Forces were comprised of corvettes and fast destroyers, the fastest vessels in the fleet, meant to take systems quickly, to devastate unprotected infrastructure, and to eliminate light resistance. Simply put, they were going to swarm into vral space, determine pockets of resistance, and move on. They were going to rip entire sections of vral space from them, calling in other task groups if needed. Thunder task groups were the primary capital fleets, meant to be sent into those pockets of resistance, and neutralizing them, joining with the Lighthammer groups if needed. The cruisers, carriers, battleships, they all belonged to these task forces. Her own task force was called the Nova task force, and it comprised only the Antares and it’s sizable fleet escort. Simmons glanced up at the clock, the time was 1329. She breathed in slowly, then unbidden the thought came to her head and she looked to the report from the two habitable planets that had been scanned by the drone cutters, the information having been relayed to her almost twenty minutes prior. She was not worried about the ground campaign, in fact a reserve fleet from Thermopylae would be the ones to escort the landing ships from planet to planet that her fleet left behind in it’s wake, isolated and defenseless from the wider Vral Empire. Fleet escorting was no longer her job, protecting ground invasions were no longer her job. Simmons was positively growling now, as her only job was to take her fleet and use it to rip the vral out of the stars. Still, the thought nagged at her. On both of the planets that her fleet was set to overrun, there were Vral ships in orbit. On the first, there was evidence that the Vral had been bombarding a small area of the surface, extremely similar in size to the hole that now existed on Zvitia, the planet that even now was being integrated into the Terran Front. In the second system it showed Vral ships in orbit, but whatever they were doing during the time they had taken the scans, whatever they were covering up, they didn’t seem to have gotten to it yet. On the radiological scan of the planet a massive bloom of electromagnetic energy painted a broad region of the planet blistering white. She had sent the images back to Earth, back to High Command, but no one seemed to know what was happening. The one thing that every analyst agreed on so far that was that whatever the blooms represented, it meant nothing good. She took another long look at the radiological scan, seeing the intensity of the radiation, and her lip curled in a snarl. She couldn’t think about that right now, but orders had already been given to notify her the moment that they had taken a planet that still bore the radiation signal. The vral were being damned fastidious about it though. She pulled her thoughts away from it, looking back to the hyperspace lanes. The slow grin entered her features again. She glanced at the clock. 1330. Her hand took hold of the receiver next to her station and she pressed the transmission stud, knowing that Hazard had already opened a channel to the wider fleet.
“Commence.”

First / Previous
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Suzanne thought it was absolutely brilliant of me to put books on a flash drive for Sun. She explained that Sun wasn’t as sophant (her word, not mine) as she might seem, more of a repository of information, but she was fairly intelligent. It was how she was able to connect Andrew being in pain to the fact that I was friends with Andrew, and that I would want to know that he was in trouble. Apparently some of Sun’s species had given some ‘wisdom’ to others in the past and it had made its way into mythology.
The key fact was that she was not smart enough to protect herself and her kind from the clever, organized poachers. With that information in mind, it was fascinating for me to think of how Sun took in and organized what she learned. It was almost as if she was a walking, talking library.
On the topic of tours, my first one went wonderfully, and I’m almost hoping Suzanne lets me do more of them. I know not all the tourists are going to be as awesome as these people were, but Suzanne gave me a lot of slack when it comes to dealing with them. She actually said that being a smartass is not grounds for dismissal, and that if I’m sarcastic or facetious to guests who are being ‘daft’ and they complain, she really doesn’t care. Is this the perfect job for me or what?
There were four guests in this party, two adults who were sisters and two children of one of the women, brothers aged thirteen and seventeen. The tour was a birthday gift for the older of the boys from his aunt, since apparently he was passionate about animal protection and conservation.
When they arrived at the front gate, I was sitting at Andrew’s desk, going over the booklet of information one last time. When the visitors pressed the button that sounded the alert buzzer, I tucked away in a drawer and let them in. I did have a cheat sheet with information about the animals on my phone just in case, a brief notation of each of them and which enclosure they were in, but I really didn’t need to use it.
Exiting through the front door, I saw them walk up the path toward me. “Hi, I’m Ripley,” I said, holding out a hand toward the woman closest to me.
She shook it firmly. “I’m Denise. This is my sister Carla and my nephews, Wesley and Jason,” she said, motioning to each of them in turn.
“I heard it’s your birthday,” I said to Wesley, giving him a smile. “You’re interested in animal conversation?”
“Back where we live, yeah,” he said, nodding. “The animals that you’ve got here are incredible. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Well, I can’t wait to show them to you,” I said. “Right this way.”
I led them on the path around the building, toward enclosure one. Despite the horrific memories of the animal killing Stanley’s friends, I knew it was just an animal, and I had to push past my feelings on what had happened. Keeping a small smile on my face, I motioned to the enclosure. “Fiercely territorial and amazing hunters, despite their large size, they’re arboreal and known to dart from tree to tree with barely a sound. This is one of only about two thousand left in existence.”
“Two thousand, three hundred and fifty six at last count,” spoke Wesley, his eyes on the trees.
I blinked, surprised and impressed. “Well that was fantastic. Do you plan on stealing my job when you graduate?”
Wesley looked at me with a grin. “Nah, everyone knows Suzanne only offers humans this gig. And I want to help animals like this one get off the endangered species list. The zoos are great for awareness and fundraising, but then the money has to go somewhere. I want to be doing the real work.”
“That’s really great,” I told him. “I wish you all the best in that career path.” At that, we saw the animal climb down from the tree, wandering a few yards from the tree line. This was because 90% of the time, when humans were at their enclosure and making noise, whether it was speaking to each other or calling out to the animal, it was someone bringing them prey to eat. Or, in my case, enrichment toys to play with.
“Whoa,” Wesley whispered.
“How close can we get?” spoke up Jason.
“The warding starts at the fence,” I told him with a small gesture. “So, just there.”
Both boys wandered closer and I glanced at their parents. It seemed that Suzanne’s zoo had a serious reputation for high quality invisible walls, because they didn’t look worried in the slightest about the boys being hurt or killed.
“They prefer dense forest as their home and have been known to make their nests in trees up to twenty meter in the air,” I continued. “And when hunting, they’ve been seen dropping eight meters straight down. They have incredibly dense yet flexible musculature, which allows them to tackle their prey without injuring themselves.”
There was more information about the animal that I continued to rattle off, though Wesley chimed in at certain points with the info I was about to convey. That was highly entertaining and very cool. When I’d been in school, I’d never met anyone who had my level of passion about endangered animals. I wondered if things were better where these folks came from, but realized that considering there were so few of these animals left, I guessed not.
The animal paced a little bit, seemingly waiting to see if we were the kind of humans that came bearing food, before deciding we weren’t and climbing back up into the trees as easily as I would climb some stairs.
As we moved onto enclosure two, Jason spoke up. “Are there any animals here we can touch or feed or something?”
I sighed inwardly before slowing to a stop. “Well, can you show me your hands?” Jason looked bemused, holding out his hands. “I mean…they both look like they’re in great shape. You can stand to lose one.”
The two women chuckled and Wesley smirked as Jason shoved his hands into his pockets. “Very funny.”
Grinning, I started walking again. “The animals here are all carnivores and all predators. You get to see them, but that’s it.”
“Alright.”
When we reached enclosure two, I started on my next spiel. “We’ve got three reanimated dead in this enclosure,” I spoke. They were just coming out from the trees as we arrived, presumably having heard our approach. “Marissa, Connor, and Bradley. They were donated by families who knew where they would be exhibited. Their next of kin, whoever they are, can’t stand the idea of putting them down. But we need to make sure they don’t have access to corpses, because one of them plus one corpse equals two of them.”
“They eat flesh though, don’t they?” Wesley asked.
I nodded. “Oh, yeah, but it’s from bodies that have already been dismembered. There’s no chance of them being affected by the transformation because it’s all parts.”
“Oh, got it.”
The creatures with blueish-white skin had superhuman strength, which is why they qualified for the security of Suzanne’s zoo. They also were likely the source of any Earth tales of people being brought back to life as zombies, specifically draugr, according to my research. They smelled like rotting flesh, so even as I kept talking about them and giving a background to the people they used to be, we were quick to move on once Wesley had gotten a good, long look at them.
“Enclosure four’s animal is a vampiric spirit. He’s a small, hairy humanoid creature with pointed ears. He wears a hat, and if he somehow loses it, he freaks out,” I said.
“They eat horses,” Wesley noted. “Also anything that gives them the chance to sit on it, usually catching them by surprise while they’re sleeping.”
The creature came out from the brush, giving us a suspicious look. He wasn’t in his humanoid form though; for some reason, he’d chosen to shapeshift to a dog.
I nodded. “Yep, indeed. Once the prey is dead, then he’ll eat it, and he has a voracious appetite. We have two wolves and two bears in the forest, which is one of the reasons I’ve got some self-defense items,” I said, patting my belt where my pepper spray (rated for bear) and my taser. “But the wards keep them out of this area of the zoo, so it’s really not much of a worry. It’s also a known shapeshifter, preferring the form of a dog, as you can see, as well as a cat, a snake, or even white butterflies, though the last one is rare.”
“The white butterflies are supposed to be a sign of good luck,” Wesley said, glancing to me. “Too bad we got the dog.”
“Yeah, otherwise you might be able to talk your mom into getting scratch-offs on your way home, huh?”
Wesley smirked at me.
The next enclosure was Spike, and he was waiting for us, dripping wet from having just emerged from the lake. I gave the introductory information about him, which included his propensity for eating animal eyes, nails, and teeth. “Recently, I’ve given him some enrichment activities, and I learned he likes artichokes, pecans, and hazelnuts,” I said, taking a bag out from my cargo shorts. “Wesley, do you want to toss this bag into the enclosure?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded excitedly. He took a look into the paper bag before wrapping down the top to make sure nothing would fly out. Then he chucked it underhand past the fence. It landed a few yards from Spike, who waddled over to it quickly and tearing the bag open, spilling out the prizes inside. As the animal ate the pecans and hazelnuts, Wesley asked, “How’d you figure out he likes those?”
“It’s not all about taste,” I told him. “It’s mainly the difficulty of getting them out of the shells. He’s used to having to work for the parts of his prey he likes the most, so this mimics that activity, and he enjoys the process. I tried a bunch of different foods to find a few he liked.”
“Cool,” Wesley murmured, staring at him.
We watched Spike eat until he’d finished and then he went back into the woods, leaving us to move onto enclosure five. Japanese camellia were plentiful here, a type of pink flower, and that was because they grew anywhere near one of his species made their den. “This girl spends most of her time in the lake also,” I said, as the creature made its way toward the fence separating us from it. “But as you can see, she’s just as curious as the rest about what we’re doing here and whether we have food for her. She eats fish mostly, but she also regularly gets live prey.”
This creature was a spider-like monster, having six legs with long claws on each, and the head of an ox with two sharp horns. She was capable of shapeshifting to look like a human, but I guessed that she wasn’t fond of it, since I hadn’t yet seen her in that form.
“She prefers the easy way of catching prey, so to speak, by hiding in the lake and pouncing when something comes for a drink of water,” I explained. “Apparently humans are some of her favorite prey. She has an advantage of being able to spit poison, which often hits her prey in the eyes. But it’s usually used in defense rather than offense, since it secretes a limited amount.”
“What kind of animal would even go after something like this?” Jason asked, staring at her.
“Never discount one of its own species when you’re thinking about what might attack an animal,” I replied. “There are places that are breeding all of the animals here, but competition for mates is common. That means an advantage in a fight, like poison or venom, can make or break who the winner is.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
“It can’t spit past the warding, right?” Carla suddenly asked.
“Oh, no,” I assured her. “We’re fine. The wards wouldn’t let anything cross over.” She nodded, appeased.
The animal in enclosure six was the ginormous seal-hippo, Fiona, and she was looking at us as if she was imagining sprinkling us with herbs and spices and stuffing us in an oven. “This girl is one animal I’m going to work on enrichment activities for next,” I told them. “She prefers to feed on crayfish, though she’s happy to eat any humans that wander into her territory. She’ll even make a sound like a baby crying to reel us in. I’ve heard it a bunch of times.”
“Can you get her to make the sound?” Jason asked, perking up.
I grinned. “Not on command, sorry.”
“What enrichment are you thinking of trying?” Wesley asked.
“Possibly food placed in puzzle feeders,” I told him, “since she has claws that are pretty dexterous. Maybe a piñata made out of newspaper with flour inside, or a scarecrow that mimics a human.”
“Awesome,” he muttered.
After a little more educational tidbits, we moved onto Yui’s enclosure. “What is that?” Wesley asked, smiling.
“I got Yui the closest thing I could to a ping-pong ball,” I replied. “She quite likes it.”
“That’s so funny,” he said as she came out of the trees in her spider form. “I mean, the idea of her being a bloodthirsty hunter who seduces men to their deaths and eats them alive, but then on the other hand, she likes playing with something like this.”
“It is a little funny,” I agreed. “But when it comes down to it, all the animals here enjoy activities besides hunting.”
“She can shapeshift to look human, right?” asked Jason, trying to be casual about knowing something factual like his nerdy brother.
I nodded. “She looks like a woman from a region of Earth called Japan. And she’ll use strategies like holding out a hand to shake to get you closer. She tried that on me when I first got here but, as you can see,” I said, holding up my hands and waving them, “I didn’t fall for it.”
The boys both laughed as they got closer to the fence, watching her slowly pace near the trees.
Next was Sun, but she didn’t make an appearance as I spoke about her species. “Well…unfortunately we can’t guarantee that every animal comes out to say hi,” I sighed. “But…oh wait, here she is.”
The green lion with several horns and many eyes along her flank came out from the forest. “Hello,” she spoke.
“Hi, Sun,” I replied. “We have visitors.”
“What’s that?” Wesley asked suddenly, pointing at the small plastic bag that was still where I’d left it.
“Oh! That is Sun’s enrichment,” I said with a smile. “I put dozens of books on a flash drive and found that she can read them just like she’d read a shelf of books.”
Wesley’s eyes widened. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve read about anyone trying that before. That’s really cool.”
“The books are new and interesting,” Sun spoke, drawing our attention. “I’m grateful for them.”
I nodded to her. “You’re quite welcome.”
The next animal, unfortunately, wasn’t there, and we waited around for ten minutes as we discussed him. He was large and reptile-like with red eyes, with its hind legs and tail making him look vaguely like a kangaroo. Then, enclosure ten was a terrifyingly disturbing creature, the not-a-centaur with no skin, that I’d only seen a few times while walking my route. It gave a good demonstration of its ferocity, showing its sharp teeth and snapping at us a few times.
“I’m thinking of trying salt licks and other horse enrichment like a big bouncy ball,” I told Wesley, whose eyebrows went up at that. “Maybe give him more things to forage like scattered grains or a box filled with pinecones and seeds. Foraging is a huge part of a horse’s life in the wild, and humans have to do a lot of activities like that to keep pet horses busy. Of course, he also loves the little salt-water lake that was built for him.”
We spent some time looking at the animal before moving past our last stop, the empty enclosure of the animal was stolen. Carla glanced at me with a sad smile, knowing what had happened, it seemed. I gave her a nod as we continued on our way, walking into the office. “So, I hope everyone enjoyed themselves!” I said with a smile.
“That was the coolest birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” Wesley said, looking to Denise. “Thanks so much, seriously.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said with a nod. “I’d never been here before, and knew I’d find it fascinating. Thank you for the educational aspect,” Denise said, glancing at me. “I learned quite a lot.”
“Happy to hear it,” I said, returning the nod.
As I escorted the guests out of the zoo and locked the door behind them, I reflected on how much I’d changed. The first time I’d seen Yui’s tarantula form, I’d nearly passed out from fear. Now here I was, walking tourists around like it was no big deal. Humans really can adapt to anything, it seems.
That afternoon, Suzanne had texted me that she was coming by after my shift, and I met her in Andrew’s office, shutting the door to the security room behind me. “How’s Andrew?” I asked first thing.
“He’s doing well,” she said with a wide smile. “Back on non-hospital food. He’s allowed to order food on his phone, and to hear it from him, that’s the best news he’d received in a long time.”
I chuckled. “I guess some clichés are true for a reason.”
“Indeed.” She took a breath. “All right. Ripley…I would like to discuss something with you.”
My face went slack at the serious tone in her voice. “I’m not… Am I being fired?”
“What? No!” she exclaimed. Then she chuckled softly. “No, it’s nothing like that. Just, here, let’s have a seat.” Suzanne walked over to the couch and sat at one end, and I took the other. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve kept from you, that I wanted to keep from you until you found your sea legs here.”
“Well…I have,” I said with a nod. “So, what is it?”
Suzanne took a breath. “I knew your mother.”
The words hung in the air for a moment before making their way to my ears. It was a perfectly logical sentence, and yet it didn’t make any sense. “What?” I finally managed.
“When you graduated college, I decided to move the zoo from Italy to within driving distance of your home,” she said softly. “Near enough to your town that you’d see the advert. We ignored any other applicants and I hoped you’d apply. Actually, I expected you’d apply. Not just for the money, but considering the field you wanted to go into. As soon as I’d found out your major, I knew.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How do you know Patricia?”
“She owned the zoo before I did,” Susan explained. “Fourteen years ago…she was working to track an injured animal that we could bring into the zoo and she was killed by poachers.”
My heart calcified in my chest and a lump lodged in my throat. As my breaths became shaky, I stared at her in shock. “She…she’s really dead?”
“You suspected?” she asked softly.
“It…” I swallowed hard. “We had her declared legally dead after…I don’t know, seven years I think. My dad wanted to go after her for child support, but the police said…they said they couldn’t find…” Tears came to my eyes and I blinked them back before I met Suzanne’s gaze. “She owned the zoo?”
Suzanne nodded. “It was her baby, you’d say. When Patricia passed, I inherited it, which we’d discussed beforehand, a legal just-in-case that I never expected her to need. I’m under the impression that you were told she went to Africa for her photography career, but she was in fact going to remote areas back in my home world almost every time.”
“But I-I saw the photos,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me she put on a show of getting pictures that someone else took for us to see every time she visited? Did my dad even know?”
“I suppose that’s an accurate way to put it, putting on a show. And no, your father was never told. It’s not the way of things to tell humans unless it’s necessary. I won’t bore you with the details, but us and humans, we’re distant relatives, so we can still have children. But it wasn’t planned. Your mother fell in love with your father despite herself; she hadn’t meant to find love. Then she became pregnant with you and…well, the rest is history.”
“I think she had a different definition of love than the one I have,” I said tightly. “You’d think she’d have put her survival as more of a priority. Put being with the man she ‘loved’ as a priority. Her kids needed her. I needed her. She signed up when she became a mom. She could’ve screwed up all the time but she couldn’t even manage that one job: be there. When I was in the hospital, I kept thinking, ‘Where is she?’ and now you’re telling me that she put these animals above being there for her kids, and this whole time she’s been dead.”
“The hospital?” she asked, furrowing her brows.
“Never mind,” I said tersely, averting my gaze.
Suzanne hesitated before she nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for your loss, and not just for her death, Ripley,” she told me. “Patricia was…well, a ‘free spirit’ would be putting it gently. She always assumed the world would be there for her whenever she needed it.”
Staring at her for a long moment, I shook my head. “Why? Why come here and hire me?”
“I thought that would be obvious,” she said, smiling. “Your mother was so passionate about this place and once I found out your college major, I figured you would be as well.”
“Did you know that I hate her?” At that, Suzanne’s expression froze on the edge of shock. “She…she left us,” I whispered. “Didn’t tell us who she was or what she really did for a living and gave us no closure. And even when she was here, it was just visiting. Her real home was her work. She could give me all the presents she wanted, but even when she was here, half the time she was still on her computer doing work. It’s not like that stereotype of never making it to my tennis practice or something; it’s that it always felt like she was only partially here, even when I was sitting next to her. I don’t even know if I appreciate her turning me into a wildlife fanatic because it…it…makes me feel like I’m close to her in a way that’s just infuriating. She loved the animals more than she loved us.”
“Oh, Ripley-”
“Don’t,” I said, shoving myself to my feet. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
“I wasn’t going to,” she said quietly. I pursed my lips. “I was going to say that I’m sorry that was the case. Your mother was…flawed, just like any other person. She had two loves in this world: her family and her work. And often, her work overcame her, her zeal for environmentalism getting in the way of being a good mum. She left your father trying to fill the role of two parents, holding your family together. You and your brother and your father, you all deserved better than that.”
My lower lip quivered but I bit down on it hard. It would’ve been a lot easier for me if she’d been speaking from a place of clueless reassurance about all this. But everything she said was making sense and that meant I didn’t have someone in front of me to be angry with.
“Why didn’t you tell me when Andrew hired me?” I sighed, sitting back down on the couch.
“Well, like I said, I wanted you to find your sea legs,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t want the truth affecting whether or not you wanted to work here, whether you wanted to stay here after finding out about what the animals are. It would’ve complicated things, the emotions you’ll have to work through now that you know the truth. Whether or not you decide to give another tour, you also know what they’re like. That’s the benchmark I wanted you to reach before you found out about who you are.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who I-” My face went slack. “Wait.”
Suzanne nodded slowly. “You’re only half human. Your brother too.”
The room seemed to tilt on an axis for a moment. “That means I’m also half…what?”
“We call ourselves Eldritch, these days,” she replied.
My eyes bugged out. “What?” I exclaimed. “So you’re all, like, gods or something?”
Suzanne burst out laughing. “Oh no, goodness, no,” she chuckled. “It’s just a word. We live in a very different world from this one, and a few generations ago we discovered the word and it made its way into our lexicon. But it does mean you can see all the animals. Indeed you did, on the tour you gave.”
“Wait, no, I had the glasses that…” I stopped. “Did those glasses do anything?”
She gave a sly smile and shook her head. “Not a thing. You made incredibly quick progress, and then when it came time for the tour, all you needed was to expect to see the animals, and you did.”
Genetics. That’s what Andrew had said during our interview, that part of how many animals you could see was determined by genetics. I guess having a mother who was originally from the other dimension gave me all the genes I needed to see everything here. “Could I…visit your world?” I asked tentatively. “You said that my mom took photos of the animals there. Could I…” My voice trailed off, not even sure if or how I wanted to finish that sentence.
“Those who are half human, especially those who are raised on Earth, don’t come visit,” she said gently. “I could show you some photos of other animals, and I could loan you as many books as you’d like, but it’s simply not a place where you’d be safe.”
“Oh,” I said, leaning into the couch cushion as I pictured the animals in the zoo. “Yeah, actually that…makes sense.” I paused. “So, what now?”
“It’s up to you,” she said. “I wanted to wait until I was sure you were comfortable with your position here, and then put the ball in your court. And so it is. What do you want to do now?”
What did I want to do? It wasn’t that difficult a question, just a deep, serious one.
I wanted to thrive, as the animals did. This is my enrichment now, working at an incredible, wonderful, terrifying zoo. The experience so far hasn’t been perfect, and I know there are risks, but life isn’t about staying safe. It’s about learning new things and making a difference in the world. And, if you’re lucky, having a job that’s something really special.
​
THE END
​
First / Previous
***
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We see a magical monster jump around a bloody building happily. It seemed extremely happy as it found the manager of the building who threw things like pencils, papers, and a chair at it but nothing in the office could harm this creature.
Creature: Nehehe! Kahahahahahaha!
Manager: HELP! HELP MEEEEE! HELP ME NOW!
The creature went to grab the man but its arm was cut off at impossible speeds. It gasped in shock. Even the man couldn’t tell what happened as he looked around the room and saw an older woman.
Woman: Heh… monsters like this have been popping up a lot. Tell me assassin what might be the cause?
The creature would regrow its arm and send a raw blast of pure mana at the woman who would easily step out of the way. A woman in a white multi-layered kimono with black hair appeared behind the monster and stabbed it through the throat.
Creature: NEGHEGharajafa!
It turned into dust being easily killed by the black haired assassin.
Assassin: I presume it’s the work of a servant and or master.
Woman: That’s correct! Good job!
Assassin: So you already know the cause behind this?
Woman: Correct! I even know the servant and master responsible!
Assassin: Alright then…
Manager: What’s going on?! What’s happening?!
Woman: Assassin.
Assassin: Yes master.
She threw her dagger into the manager's skull killing him in an instant. Assassin sighed at her order and the kill. She picked up the dagger before placing it back within the scroll she normally used to conceal the small blade.
Assassin: Master who did this?
Woman: I'm not telling~
Assassin: Ugh… fine then master.
The two women walked out of the office building the master smiling brightly.
Woman: Hmm… I wonder what Saber’s master is doing?
Assassin: Is he of interest?
Woman: I knew his father! Would you be a dear and spy on him for me assassin?
Assassin: As you wish master…
Assassin bowed and quickly disappeared leaving the woman all alone as she laughed to herself.

Leo was reading a comic book while lying on his busted-up blue couch. He didn't have a single thought on his mind aside from the words and the images placed on each page.
Just then Ky walked into the room with an immaculate keychain in his hand. He held it up and passed it towards Leo who grabbed it as it flew above his head.
Ky: Here it was made back in Japan’s Heien Era.
Leo: What is it?
Ky: A cursed chain. While you have low mana it converts the lack of mana you have into physical strength. Therefore-
Leo: I can be super strong!
Ky: Basically. Just keep it in your pockets. I had the pull a lot of strings to get this from my sensei.

Elegant: You want it? Beat Shine in hand to hand! No powers just skills!
Ky: HOW AM I MEANT TO DO THAT?!

Ky: Ugh…
Leo would shove the chain back into his hoodie pocket. He gave a bright smile and placed his comic book down crossing his arms and leaning over the back of his couch.
Leo: So! What is the plan to win this war?
Ky: We need to get you trained up preferably. And we need to exterminate every master in the war.
Leo: Can’t we just… let them all kill one another and pick the last guy off?
Ky: Nope. Most likely they'll come for you while you try this strategy anyway. Even worse is the possibility the final master and servant standing could be an extremely bad matchup for Saber.
Leo: I guess you're right…
Ky: Now then… GUNPOWDER!
Guns appeared behind Ky who shot at a wall next to the bullet manifested the black-haired assassin servant.
Ky: Assassin!
Leo: Oh shit!
Ky’s technique is “Mental Recreation” This powerful ability has him use up his mana to create objects based on certain topics. These topics are gunpowder, transportation, death, nature, and war. These objects are limited to what Ky subconsciously associates with these words whenever he hears them. He can summon these objects with a hand sign or by saying the topic of origin. However, he can not create actual life. But his technique is based on his own interpretation. So if learns to interpret his limits differently his technique will respond in kind!
Ky: Death!
Skeletons appear from the floor but Assassin cuts both their heads off in a moment using her scroll.
Leo: Woah… she's fast…
Ky: If I had to wager a guess… I would say she's faster than Saber and closer in speed to Lancer.
Leo: You can tell that just by her attacking once?!
Ky: I am good with my eyes…
Leo: Saber!
Saber from the front porch came rushing into the living room switching from her casual clothes to her armor and pulling out her misty blade ready to fight.
Assassin: It would seem I'm outnumbered.
Ky: Wow she can even count!
Leo: Why are you even hear?
Assassin: I am here solely on orders from my master. I have no intention of fighting but if you force me to…
Leo: Oh fuck that!
Leo went to punch her in the face and Assassin ducked under grabbing him by the throat and personally slamming him through a wall the sunlight now radiating through the hole made within the wall.
Ky: Gunpowered!
A canon ball appeared a mere 2 inches from Assassin’s face and the second the canon shot she managed to dodge out of the way within an instant. She ran up and shoved the scroll into Ky’s shoulder stabbing through and making him bleed as she jumped onto the coffee table.
Ky: Damn it… some kind of concealed blade…
Saber: I don't wish to destroy Leo’s home… but I want to take out Assassin as soon as possible!
Saber sighed and rushed forward at incredible speeds that still were outmatched by Assassin who managed to dodge each slice of her blade before kicking Saber in the gut before roundhouse kicking her in the face sending her into another wall and cracking it.
Assassin: Strong as you all are I'm simply too fast for you all.
Leo then just grabbed a potted plant in the corner of his room as she wasn't paying him any attention and hit her in the back of the head with it stunning her so Saber could get back up, run, and stab Assassin in the shoulder.
Assassin: AHHHH!
Assassin cut Saber’s arm and elbowed Leo in the face before running out of the hole in the wall she made earlier.
Saber: Master!
Leo: What did I say about calling- actually I do not care…
Saber ran towards Leo who'd been sent to the ground on his ass. He seemed fine as he stood up holding onto Saber.
Leo: I am fine don't worry ok?
Saber: If you insist master! But should I give chase to Assassin?
Ky: Would not recommend it. She's clearly highly skilled. Even if you are probably stronger than her chasing her down might be a bad idea.
Leo: Yeah what Ky said! But what am I gonna do? Am I not safe in my own home now?
Saber: I'm afraid it seems you are not Leo…

Assassin walked into a large mansion on top of a hill and entered a bedroom.
Assassin: Master!
The woman turned to her with a sly grin pasted upon her face. She was currently sitting on her wooden chair while writing something in a notebook.
Woman: Assassin!
Assassin: I am afraid they spotted me rather quickly.
Woman: Did you kill any?
Assassin: No master…
Woman: Perfect! I don't want them to die before they know my name… Isda!
Assassin: Why?
Isda: That is for me to know Assassin! Me and me alone!

Gilgamesh sat upon his throne. Among all masters and servants in the holy grail war, he alone stood as the honored one. He viewed through on of Pat’s crystal balls the events that transpired between Assassin and Leo’s group.
Gilgamesh: That Saber… she's quite strong. Even with the master holding her down. And the Assassin is quite boring to me.
Pat: A-Archer-
Gilgamesh: You know nobody is watching us use my true name peasant!
Pat: Forgive me Gilgamesh! But why are we sitting in this pocket dimension?!
Gilgamesh: Simply to protect you from getting killed. You are quite weak and well I won't have any fun if you die. Even I can't sustain myself without a master!
Pat: O-oh I see…
Gilgamesh truly was a king!

Chapter 3
Hurricane Georg.
Our first contact with the new world was a colossal hurricane. Veins of lightning shattered through the black, swirling clouds. I had just tried to calm the nerves of the ship when I saw Suri sitting in the hall beneath the control room.
She was in a lounge corner with her suitcase opened and her supplies scattered across the small table. The little light from the window illuminated her drawing for me to see over her shoulder.
The black and white sketch began at the bow of the ship. The figure of a man in facing the open ocean. Ahead of him, the familiar despair of Hurricane Georg. The man had his back towards the artist, but his stature sailed through the fierce storm without worry. His gaze only in the beautiful sight of home on the other side.
Her pencil began to etch the details of his crewmans jacket, "You have a gift, Suri. Truly, you do."
She was ahead of me, she did not jump or gasp as I had expected, "Thank you, Capi. I saw you in the reflection. Im hard to get the jump on."
"Then this shouldnt surprise you," I smiled and approached her table. "My capi stars are on the right side, "I stepped back and tapped my shoulder."
Disappointment inked her face, darkening her mood, "Dam."
I laughed and pulled up a chair. She had captured the view from the window perfectly and I made a point to tell her. As we talked the storm outside began to fade. The world around us was healed and the worries of yesterday had never existed.
Her eyes were near black, in color, and her skin was incredibly warm. Physical characteristic were useless to determine where a person was from, but 500 years ago, she would have fit at home with the people of the Middle East. Had I been a different man, her beauty and brain would make a perfect partner.
The longer I stared, the darker the world around us became. Until she broke my gaze and looked shocked at something through the window.
"Did you see that?"
"No, what was it?"
"I-Im not sure..." her face drained of color as the harsh rocking of the storm was interrupted by something else. Suri and I were flung off our chairs onto the floor, her supplies pelting us as they flew through the air. I tried to stand, but my legs were too soft to make it easy.
I struggled to a kneel using the bolted-down desk. Suri gasped and I looked down. The longer I looked, the itchier it became. Once more the world grew darker and I only had enough energy for a simple joke.
"Mr. Morgs was right about those things."
"Gud morning, Capi!" Ennay cheered from the wall-mounted screen.
I struggled to sit myself up. I was in the infirmary, only Ennay was there to greet me. My jacket was gone. All I had on was a white t-shirt and grey shorts.
"Officer Angelhart had your attire taken to be cleaned," Ennay chimed in, "Today is Wednesday, sir, 4:13am. Its the morning after you lost consciousness."
I thanked him and asked him to catch me up on the happenings in the passed half day.
"The reality is unclear, Capi, but Helmsman Archer believes we were attacked by a... a sea monster, sir."
"Archer? Hes no storyteller. Why?" I swung my legs over the bed, "get him down here or tell him im on my way."
Ennay surprised me with his fast response, "No. Sir, We had a breach. Ms. Aziz told the Doctor you had severed and artery during a spell of turbulence. The New Horizon had actually made contact with something what breached the hull. Damage Control responded in 4 minutes and were quick to contain flooding. However, we sustained a second breach."
Before he could continue, I dropped back onto the bed, "Whats the status?"
"On the New Horizon? Operational. A few sections had to be permanently sealed until we are out of this storm."
"And Damage Control?"
Ennay did not respond as quickly as he had been. It felt like an eternity before he told me, "6 casualties," the room fell completely silent. I couldnt even hear my heart beating, "5 fatalities. Sergant Franccigo Blanco is recovering in Infirmary 4C. He is unconscious, but has sustained gruesome wounds. Officer Angelhart declared a S.O.E. to assume your position. Otherwise,..."
"Yes, yes, the prosthetics. I hate that system."
"Well, sir, you are able to disable it."
"What?"
"Its not a very common scenario, but since we are not in International Sea, the law requiring your presence does not necessarily need to be enforced."
I sat back and thought for a second, "Ill discuss it with Dr. Mally. Where are they all?"
"Dr. Mally is in Infirmary 4C with Sergant Blanco. Officer Angelhart is your office filling out an incident report for both your accident and the breaches."
"Thank you, Ennay. Tell Max I am on my way and then let Dr. Mally know I will meet her shortly."
"Of course, sir."
My office was silent except for the fan gently spinning from the ceiling. Across from me was a young man, mid-twenties, with dusty blond hair. His uniform was perfect, he has even removed his hat on the perfect beat upon entering the room.
The appearance and demeanor any ship captain would be beyond proud to accept on his ship. It had just been dumb luck that he had lost both of his eyes to shrapnel sealing off the lower corridors during the state of emergency yesterday.
I poured Mr. Blanco a drink, 2444 Geoff Russel - The Hearty Mans Drink. I needed to finish the incident report, but Id never ask a man to relive what he had without a bit of buzz to his bite.
"So, Sargent Blanco, I-"
"You can call me, Fran, Capi."
"And you can call me Santago, for tonight anyway," I continued my questions. I tried my best to stay shallow and not dive deep into the pain Fran had endures just hours ago.
We talked about the 5 fatalities.
"Did you... see... them die?"
The gauze replacing his eyes stared at me, blankly. His face was uncanny, unhuman. Like the man inside may actually have been a 6th dead body.
"No," he quickly took a drink, "I did hear them, though. They yelled and screamed for me to open the door. I- I couldnt see. I thought the sea water had poisoned me somehow. I kept rubbing and rubbing my eyes hoping to get whatever radioactive stuff out of my head..." He took a breath. He was remarkably calm. Agitated, of course. But calm.
He continued, "I looked through the window on the bulkhead and the last thing I saw was Aleks staring back at me. His eyes were... he was calling out for me, I am sure of it. But something got him and he was sucked out."
"I am so sorry, Fran," I tried to write as quietly as possible to not remind him of the formality, "Do you know what got him?"
He finished his glass. As he set it down, he missed the table. The cup did not shatter, but it had jolted Fran from his memory. He lost his composure.
He started yelling at me about a horrific beast he had seen. How Aleks, Private Aleksander Igorsen, had been encased in blood and black sludge. He swung his hands wildly at the table in a rage, but had only managed to knock over a lamp.
Pity does not begin to describe what I felt watching him. Like a bleeding animal continuing to run from the wolves despite not knowing he was already surrounded. In him, I saw death. I saw anger. I saw fear. I saw what he was feeling imaging the creature that killed his men.
I grappled with him, trying to make my location known and always talking to him. I was not some monster from the unknown blackness set on hunting him and he needed to know that. He continued to struggle until I had completely engulfed his whirlwind into a hug. The screams turned to cries and then to whimpers.
After some time, I dismissed him back to his room and instructed Ennay that he was on suicide watch. Sergant Franccigo Blanco had earned a promotion or a permanent dismissal, whichever he wanted, but I needed him to take time to himself before I reminded him where we are.
The storm was intense, but at least it was consistent. By Katzs reckoning, we are approaching the halfway point of this hurricane. We had entered it 51 hours ago and Katz had said we are another 50 away from clear skies.
Unfortunately for all of us, Katzs theory was not seen through.
It began with our solar panelling being severed from their operating power banks. That was not a major issue, hydropower was our primary source. The issue arose when the New Horizon began to spin.
I had radioed the Helmsman demanding why we are weighing anchor, but the anchor was still resting above water. He said no one dropped the anchor. Something else entirely had us. We rushed to every window, every pane of glass to search for whatever it was that was stopping us.
Ennay spoke out, "Capi, Major Gorlammi has spotted our snag at 129 degrees. Nearest viewpoint is Residential Room L3D, assigned to L-"
I ignored the rest, I needed to see what was in that window. Luckily for me, Lucy Partridge was not home. I burst through the door and, for the first time, I saw a behemoth of a serpent-like creature sticking out of the water. I could not see a head, nor tail. I also had no idea if what I saw was the body or an appendage connected to some inconceivably large beast.
After enough time, I manage to figure out one of the ships heavy guns had pierced the creature and was holding us together. Our best bet was to either rotate the gun and hope its dislodged or to remove the gun entirely.
I relayed this information to Ennay to alerted the Gunner Teams and Damage Control. Yet, none of them would be given the chance. In the distance, silhouetted by sparks of lightning the size of the ship, I saw the head of the creature. It must have been miles away, but the size was unparalleled. Its head leaped from the water and swiveled back towards us. It was like a colossal eel. Flashes of light showed through its skin like veins until it sent a surge into the gun and into the ship.
The lights went out across the boat. The only light was the occasional flash from outside. It was completely dark, but I knew it was still coming for us.
I ran out of the quarters as emergency lights slowly burned. The hallway must have been 100 feet long before Id reach the staircase, but when I was halfway through, my feet left the ground.
I felt weightless for a moment. The lights burned out and all around me was darkness. My heart was incredibly slow or maybe time had slowed. I felt the doorframe to Mrs. Partridges room snap against my elbow. There was no pain. I didnt even feel pain when glass cut across my back as I was hurled through the shattered window.
I crashed into the water, it must have been hundreds of feet below me. I was in shock. I looked around and all I saw was darkness. Then, suddenly, all I saw was light. The eel sent a pulse through its body and for the first time I saw the monster entirely. It surrounded the ship above water, coiled all about the waves, and entangled the entire ocean as deep as I could see.
This is not a colossal eel surviving a hurricane.
This colossal eel is the very being causing the hurricane.
A cosmic terror named Hurricane Georg.

The concept of blue zones is usually distorted by carnivore advocates who claim all the blue zones were based on diets high in animal fats and proteins or nonsense from keto quacks like Steven Gundry who claim it is because the old people in these zones were smoking or drinking sheep's milk.
The truth is, there isn't any scientific evidence to support the blue zones concept, the idea has never been embraced by the medical and scientific communities. The blue zones was a research project not a scientific study, modern diet influencers promoting this idea on social media are unaware about how the concept was developed. If you read the original papers, the idea of diet hardly came up.
There are no controlled studies, no long-term epidemiological studies. Much of the evidence is anecdotal due to lack of records and is second-hand taken from interviews of relatives.

The problem with trying to determine how many very old people are alive in an area is that the further back you look to verify ages, the worse the records get. It’s reasonably easy to figure out where and when a person was born if they are 80. But when we’re talking about 110-year-olds, the records are decidedly patchier. (The supercentenarians at the start of the Blue Zones study were born in the late 1800s.)

https://slate.com/technology/2023/11/centenarian-blue-zone-health-long-life-netflix.html
In regard to alleged supercentenarians in these zones, there is a recent article that notes the likelihood of fraud

These pockets of extreme longevity seem to occur in areas with “greater poverty, higher illiteracy, higher crime rates, and worse population health” than the norm, according to Oxford scientist Saul Newman. Data from the United Nations even suggests that Cambodia was a blue zone of sorts during the genocide of the Khmer Rouge. These hotspots can be chiefly explained by welfare fraud, identity theft, name-saking and criminal abuse of the pension system, or by genuine confusion over dates or lack of birth certificates. Some are banal in any case.

https://archive.is/d9beK
Another issue is the abuse of the pension system

“Whenever you get an investigation of the pensions system, the rate of centenarians suddenly collapses. That is what happened in Greece after the financial crisis,” said Dr Newman, now at Oxford University’s Leverhulme Centre for Demographic Science.
The Greek labour ministry concluded that 200,000 pensions were being paid to fraudulent claimants. Most of the country’s 9,000 centenarians were dead. The same happened in Japan in 2010 after the mummified corpse of Tokyo’s “oldest” man was discovered. His family had been drawing the pension from his bank account for 32 years. The inquiry discovered that 238,000 people listed as aged 100 or more were unaccounted for. Some had died in the Second World War.

https://www.rnz.co.nz/national/programmes/sunday/audio/2018708179/dr-saul-newman-debunking-the-blue-zone-longevity-myth

Only 18% of ‘exhaustively’ validated supercentenarians have a birth certificate, falling to zero percent in the USA, and supercentenarian birthdates are concentrated on days divisible by five: a pattern indicative of widespread fraud and error. Finally, the designated ‘blue zones’ of Sardinia, Okinawa, and Ikaria corresponded to regions with low incomes, low literacy, high crime rate and short life expectancy relative to their national average. As such, relative poverty and short lifespan constitute unexpected predictors of centenarian and supercentenarian status and support a primary role of fraud and error in generating remarkable human age records.

https://www.biorxiv.org/content/10.1101/704080v3
Saul Newman who wrote the above received a lot of abuse for questioning the blue zones.
The blue zones concept is mostly a marketing myth to sells books and ideas about diets. Dan Buettner is most well known for this. There was a recent series on Netflix about the blue zones.
Michel Poulain who originally proposed the blue zones published a paper in 2011 in which he was unable to verify the claims of longevity in Okinawa due to lack of records surviving WW2.
https://www.demographic-research.org/articles/volume/25/7/
Since 2011 no new evidence has come to light.
If we actually look at the oldest people in the world right now whose birth certificates have been validated
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_oldest_living_people
They are mostly from Japan, Spain and Brazil. None of these are blue zones.
I realise that all sorts of diet gurus promote the blue zones online but if you go looking there isn't any good scientific evidence to support this concept. The concept has now just become a marketing myth to promote diets.
If you read Michel Poulain's original research he hardly mentions diet, it's literally mentioned twice in passing yet online influencers only talk about this topic.
https://web.archive.org/web/20200302043123/http://austriaca.at/0xc1aa500e_0x00307bb6.pdf
Interestingly if you read Poulain's work, he says

In Okinawa, as elsewhere in Japan, the individual validation of age is based on the koseki, a family register containing records of all members of a family, including gender, dates and places of birth, names of parents, dates of marriage and divorce if any, date and place of death. Unfortunately, for privacy reasons, data extracted from the koseki such as birth and death records are only accessible by directly asking the relatives of the concerned persons or for official legal proceedings.

In conclusion the blue zones lacks scientific evidence. The concept is best explained through welfare fraud, pension abuse, identity theft and confusion due to lack of birth records.

This drawing was Commissioned By Michael Jackson. Drawn on high quality art paper, unframed, measuring 18 x 24. After meeting Michael Jackson in the 1980's and with Michael purchasing Greg's original painting for the cover of a Peter Pan book, Greg decided to do a piece of art that presented the visage of Michael AS Peter Pan. This was a concept sketch for that piece. Greg carefully rendered Michael’s figure while surrounding him with loosely sketched, energetic pencil strokes. Greg captures the playful and curious attitude that is reminiscent of both Peter Pan and Michael Jackson’s personalities.

I'm finishing up my first year. I didn't try to be the friendly doormat type of teacher--it just sort of happened. And I really try to look at my students in the best possible light, I try to be stoic about things, and I tried really, really hard to make my classes almost impossible to fail (alas). I greet every student with good morning and good afternoon. I say the same things every day every five minutes. I nag and remind and wax poetic about how one must crawl before they walk and walk before they run. I remind people to keep their feet on the floor. I talk to students about their gambling (phone) addictions, using the DSM-5 criteria. I blocked Google on GoGuardian. I talk about how the human brain is a quintillion times faster than punching out-of-context questions into Google or ChatGPT or whatever. I ask people to put their phones away and somehow they text their friends the pencil and paper assignments anyway and I get duplicate answers from the quietly failing friends who have my classes at different times throughout the day. I get Snapchat AI a lot on anything that involves chromebooks, or anything that uses logical cognitive processes. I ran out of copy machine money. I made four versions of the upcoming final exam and printed them at the public library (I ran out of copy machine money).
So--what's worth fighting for? Cell phones? In-class discussion? Drafts and revision? Cold calling? Reading aloud?
For cellphones: My department is mostly brand new, with a couple of burnt out veterans. One idea everyone is floating is collecting cell phones at the beginning of every class. I'm not sure about it, but right now reified as a sliced-bread solution.
For in-class discussion: One idea that might actually be worth it for me is to make porpsicle storcks (tongue depressors) and enforce participation. I figured, because I was new, that people simply enjoyed silence (and darkness) in the classroom. I've discovered, though, that I had to do a zillion little things every day because I excised discussion from my slate of options.
Because High School is not college, I'm okay with making participation part of the grade next year. I little birdie told me that only work ought to be graded, but there's no other place on Earth where people can finish their work and then just sit there for 40 minutes waiting for a bell to ring. Colleges don't do it. Workplaces don't do it. So I figure the environment dictates the activity, and participation needs to be graded, otherwise people are going to pretend that using their phone under their desk with their heads on the desk makes them invisible.
For drafts and revision: Early in the year I asked students to write a paragraph and I remember clearly a student saying "I ain't writing a goddamn fucking paragraph." And they didn't. So I made my classroom anti-reading and pro-stupid-videos-all-the-time. And students complained about watching 5-10 minute chunks of not-so-High-Quality-Instructional-Materials. I walked the class through EdPuzzles and asked open-ended questions, and I got the selected responses and blanks. I handed papers back and got blanks again. My content area is one where writing across the curriculum is more than a stupid idea--it could actually work in a school where people write goddamn fucking paragraphs.
For cold calling: I was informed that students of low SES/academic achievement would experience pants-shittingly-bad anxiety if I asked them a question. So I would ask the whole group a question and count to 270 slowly in my head. Then I would move on to the next thing. So next year, I'm going to have a lot of people with shit all up in their pants.
For reading aloud: I was informed that the majority of the students at the High School are aliterate and illiterate, and that asking them to read aloud is like duct taping their hands and feet together and throwing them in a kidnap van. So I read everything. But I think my informants were wrong about a lot of things.
Also: My school doesn't have a phone policy. It's up to me to put on an iron coat and run my own gauntlets. I think they want to wait 5-10 years for national momentum to build. Maybe it won't. Maybe it will.
So, all that to say: Which battles do you fight? Do you win? If not, is it worth it for you to be Sisyphus, and where in the 180 or so days does it pay off for you.
Thanks for noticing me.

I have the M4 13 Inch iPad Pro, and I've been looking for the perfect screen protector.
I use my iPad mainly for Art, but I don't like the paper screen protectors because of how much they ruin the beautiful screen. and because I care about the pencil performance, I don't want any tempered glass because of how thick they are (I heard tempered glass protectors mess with the pencil performance because of the thickness).
I'm currently trying out a Clear film self healing one from ArmorSuit, but I'm not a fan of the plastic feel when using the pencil. feels sticky and disgusting to draw on it.
I've gotten used to how the bare screen feels with the pencil, but it still feels wrong to leave the screen naked and I find myself constantly cleaning the screen because of the fingerprints.
any suggestions on the perfect screen protector? should i try out tempered glass? TLDR Im looking for a screen protector that doesn't mess with the screen, feels like glass and doesn't ruin the pencil performance.

I've Been Doing a Lot of Whatever the Fuck I Want Lately and I Like It
It's the day of Ayonna's Zoom court hearing so she's thinking about survivalist jailhouse makeup hacks. They've improved since women used to use scraped paint chips off their cell walls as face powder, dampened red paper as rouge, permanent markers for eyebrow pencils, Kool-Aid doubling as hair dye and blush, and M&Ms as lipstick because deprivation causes innovation for self-preservation. That and Jamahl's excruciatingly murky explanation of his 2-year wedding day gap even though he's as open a book as a text at a class final that provides no specific answers to a general essay question. It's not that he wants to delay a ceremony displaying his love for Shellfish publicly; it's about financing a befittingly royal wedding for the ghetto version of Prince Charles and the late Diana Spencer to whom the masses must bow down, and that includes the judge who simply doesn't understand the trials and tribulations of a multi-tasking single mother with behavioral problems negotiating her child's breakfast.
Court: . . . will continue matter until she can show up in court next week since we are clearly inconveniencing her. 🙄
Ayonna: I'm just a single mother with no help. You're not going to tell me I can't feed my daughter; that's never going to happen. Is it ok if I give my daughter breakfast?
Court: We are in court here. This is a court proceeding. ⚖️
Ayonna: Ok. Just be hungry. 😏
Four years probation because the judge's gnarly attitude is taking it out on me? Girl, what are you talking about? Bitch, you're gonna' tell me I can't feed my daughter? She can kiss my ass! I'm livid. Livid! 🤬
Jamahl: At the end of the day filled with dickheads, we still gotta' bite our tongues.
I'm not selfish; I've just decided that taking your feelings into consideration is too much damn work.
Keep Your Head High and Your Middle Finger Higher
For someone more accustomed to being abused than amused, Candice has said "I love you" to Andrew more times than the repetitive phrase, turn down for what, in the party anthem by DJ Snake and Lil Jon of the same name. While Andrew, true to his word, kneels and immediately proposes, Candice hesitates, and in that moment, resembles a raw double-chinned Pillsbury dough girl with an unnatural sheen, a face too sunken in its gravity to show happiness, and sad raisin eyes reflecting physical distress. But Andrew doesn't clock any of this; he's carrying out his promise to Candice's mom in a dream he made up though she has more eyes on her truck as she doubtless recalls her fond days of street racing, driving without a license, attempted stolen vehicle, felony burglary and constantly running from the police. If she were wearing cargo pants, she could stuff them with the faux Louis Vuitton handbag contents to savor as she completes her halfway house program so she can change addresses. If he could see past his own needs, he'd notice she was trying to figure where the hell he got the idea she cared. If I've cut you, it's because you handed me the scissors.
Patience: What You Have When There Are Too Many Witnesses
Joey is taking advice from Minerva, a sex columnist who looks like Chris Farley in drag who was super stoned and wandered into the backrooms of "Saturday Night Live" for a costume change and makeup refresh before rehearsing his Fellatio 101 sketch outlined on a chalkboard: Watch amateur porn for tips. Practice dirty talk. Get excited about being excited. Use both hands simultaneously and don't bogart that spit. Don't forget, steady wins the race. Freshen up before getting online and spending money for a rented motel room far away from your parents so you can have 15 minutes of precious sexy time before your monogamous lover warns you to deactivate your online profile that his friend saw. Hey, I found your nose; it was in my business.
The King Eats First
Once again, the kids are savvier than their parents. A striking Cheyenne and Nehemiah adjust their schedules to Rob's extended sentence that Tennie tries to embroider in her naïveté while every family member is worried about their displacement when Rob physically enters the picture even though he's already there in camera spirit. It's a which-came-first-the-chicken-or-the-egg question - is it a good thing the alpha male has streams-of-revenue for Tennie's shopping jones or is she shopping because she's worried about getting with an alpha male? He's a poker king like Marcelino making 6-7K a month in jail even though online playing for real money is prohibited, and I doubt his pod mates have that kind of extra cash regularly available. Any man in this day and age who can tell a woman to "sit down and be cute" must have it figured out as a lion doesn't care about a sheep's opinion. I bring too much to the table to be treated like a napkin.
Does One of Your Balls Hang Lower Than the Other?
Rick looks like a twig the wind blew off a tree or a stranded lost lamb in a field surrounded by hungry landlocked predators looking for a banquet. Sandy is sending him pictures of the reunion to remind him of her existence while 4x-married Samantha is positioning herself to long-distance bullrope and hog tie her bachelor into a ball-and-chain before he has time to think about how he's going to stretch a rigorously set pension into providing her commissary and visitation requests. His pickleball buddy, Dan, doesn't really give a damn; it's only his nieces who are rightfully tut-tutting her dictatorial attitude and snarking, "Fifth time is a charm." "Maybe I do have options," Rick muses, but then turns around and crows, "She builds me up." Sure, right after she shakes him up - like a snow globe. It ain't what you don't know that gets you in trouble; It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.

I have a 4 year old and a 2 year old. We have been jumping into homeschooling these last number of months to get a feel for things. My 2 year old just tags along for the most part, she already knows how to sing her ABCs and recognize quite a few letters too. She can count up to 12. She knows basic shapes, animal noises etc. She seems spot on in learning development imo. My 4 year old can write some letters, recognize a few more letters than my 2 year old, if She focuses really hard, she can write her name (I only really have her write it when she absolutely insists on being the one to write it). She can almost count to 20 on her own, recognize some numbers, and draw simple shapes. We do a bunch of hands on learning activities, we do a ton of free play time, and some age friendly boardgames. I do a little paper work with them. They are both amazing at tracing lines and love doing it. I'm trying to write down educational goals for the 24/25 school year. I'm just not sure what those goals should be? Especially for my 4 year old. What sorts of things should a 4 (will be 5 mid school year) year old understand by the end of the school year?

This is my in-depth notes while watching the full length dfv meme video compilation by roaring pika this morning.
https://x.com/roaringpika/status/1791834694704591155?s=46
It’s an hour long and way easier to understand all together like this.
These notes come from watching every ppshow this week and taking my favorite bits of tinfoil from the community into one fairly simple look into the story dfv is telling us without getting too deep on possible tinfoil, it’s just laid out plain and simple here.
Tldr; this is a very long post. I think it starts with dfv’s final yolo update (fine I’ll do it myself) and what’s been going on since then, how he’s been feeling, and all the battles over the last couple years for the first 30 minutes of the memes.
Then in the last half it switches to: I’ll fuckin do it again and full of straight confirmation foil that we’ve been right about the bear trap, bbby, Teddy, and baby all along. Then he says we’re all good, be zen and says goodbye for now.
Here goes:
Fine I’ll do it myself, Cat heartbeat, Wolverine mad. (I think this marks his Final yolo update and of course doubled as the hype to start this week off with a bang.)
I think the first half of the movies are all about the first squeeze and how he was both dfv and kitty, how they were talking trash about him, how we found out about the baskets “you move I move” the battle scenes were all about price action up and down, everything was green and red, and the running memes are about the stock running up and sad memes are when the stock goes down.
About 30 minutes in someone asks, “where you been”, he says “waiting”, what about getting caught? “All part of the plan.”
Then there’s usual suspects movie with the goofy meme “I’ll fuckin do it again”.
——
Jake texting Keith, hilarious (is this about our Jake2b and the story PP had about accidentally going to a gay bar around the first pulte event? So funny with the guy with 600 memes and basically joking that he became a full blown psycho with the memes.
Tell me where the freaks at - epic pump up music. (Psyched on us? Finding other freaks to vibe with.)
Guy looks out the window, then the Teddy in a chair (might have just been a response to Cramer being a smartass). Then Hank (Jim Carrey) starts to lose it as the stock price keeps going down, his alter ego comes out.
Truman show, he’s trying to escape, they say “he’ll turn back he’s too afraid”. They hit him with everything they’ve got but he knows it’s all fake. He says, “is that the best you can do??” (I think this is clearly about fake price movement, trying to keep us trapped in the illusion)
“Fury is a game where every boss fight feels like the final boss. They taunt you, they demand you get back in your prison cell, they pound you into a pulp and they even make you doubt the righteousness of your own quest towards freedom. But the soundtrack man, it keeps egging you on. To whoop some ass!” PP theme music drops. Holy shit.
(This one is obviously talking about us, I cried because I was so happy when I heard this one)
——
The Bullet one talking about time, cause and effect, “don’t try to understand it, just feel it”. “Instinct, got it.”
Morpheus teaching neo it’s all fake. Just before that scene he says, “you think that’s air you’re breathing?” … “Again!”
Alice says “But I don’t want to go among mad people.” The cat replies, “Most everyone’s mad here. You may have noticed I’m not all there myself.” Neo waking up again in the 4th movie.
Alice going down a rabbit hole into wonderland.. psychedelic music and dancing. (That’s us going down the rabbit hole thinking we’ve gone mad but loving every minute of it.)
Next scene guy running and falls over, music says “I lost myself.”
Shawshank, they find the tunnel he made. In 2021 Kitty escaped prison. All they found of him was some Reddit posts, tweets, and an old live stream. Investing is the study of pressure and time. That’s all it takes really, pressure and time. That and a keen goddamn activist.
A man will do anything to keep his mind busy in prison. Turns out kittys favorite activity was handing out memes, a handful at a time (the dirt for the tunnel and the tinfoil that’s helped us dig our way to freedom). Kitty did as he was told, buffed that financial education to a high mirror shine. (I think he’s been getting ready for something big and these memes are just a countdown.)
Bruce Willis. “No, THIS is the Kansas City shuffle.” (An advanced form of confidence trick where the mark is aware of being involved in a swindle and believes that he or she can outsmart the swindler; however, this is all part of the trick, and by attempting to retaliate, the mark unwittingly assists the con artist.) Hedge funds are the mark and dfv/rc are playing a con, the bear trap?
——
Pay attention to what I say, I choose my words carefully and I never repeat myself. The cat looks at the camera.
Michael from the office - It’s Britney bitch. And I am back. Cut to Britney Spears - I must confess I still believe. When I’m not with you I lose my mind. Give me a sign (like how we’re always asking for a sign?? (with the alien g from signs all red like a gme logo giving birth). Hit me BABY one more time!
Goosebumps all the papers fly out of the briefcase right when we get like 200 new dockets clawing back money from 90 days before bbby bk. Bear beware… you’re in for a scare…
Then it’s Abbi from Broad city dancing all over the place and she’s obsessed with bed bath and beyond in the show. There’s also the scene where the other girl is dancing behind a colored blanket with the same logo as HBC and then the next scene she’s tied up. Then they’re dancing again.. and naked then then only in shorts. Naked shorts?
We’ll never survive unless we’re a little crazy. The modern investor unleashes the animal within to take on the big city - that’s gotta be us apes?
What kind of person are you? The kind that sees signs, sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Is it possible that there are no coincidences? The kid holds up a baby monitor. They find a crop circle and it’s two GameStop logos turned in different directions (maybe rc turned GameStop around) and then another one with a long line and a baby gme logo (is gme about to have a baby?!)
Why make something disposable like an investment thesis when you can make something that lasts forever, like a GameStop meme? (It says “Reality” at the bottom of this clip, lol)
Jack Nicholson in the shining (music playing it’s just a matter of time before I lose my mind it’s also a place in ready player one where they have to take the leap not taken, the leap of faith, a kiss). “Make a lot of memes today?” Lol
Can’t stop what’s coming. Kicks some ass.
——
I got both hands off the wheel, the cops are coming. I listen to the music with no fear, you can hear it too if you’re sincere. Cuz I’m a punk rocker yes I am. (song: punkrocker by the teddybears)
Rock ain’t about doing things prefect! Who can tell me what it’s really about? Sticking it to the man! If you wanna rock, you gotta break the rules.
Two cars racing, one plays chicken with a truck and then cut to bojack horseman talking on stage right before they almost crash (stalking horse? Looks just like he horse from 1, 2 switch that GameStop tweeted the minute the stalking horse deadline was up.)
Now you may only see a pile of boring forms and numbers, but I see a story (us going through the dd and maybe holly etlin talking about there’s a story here but it’s not mine to tell)
Listen to this song, it’ll change your life.
(Song is don’t fear the reaper - so don’t be afraid of death, funny because of the cowbell, maybe cowbell is involved in the tinfoil but at the end of the song lyrics not shown in the clip they say: don't be afraid, Come on, baby (and she had no fear) And she ran to him (then they started to fly) They looked backward and said goodbye)
Big Lebowski dude is investigating and finds the drawing of Jackie tree horn and it’s just a guy with a raging erection with the name cohen at the top of the paper. (I think this means rc is ready to fuck)
Jason borne is telling the run Lola run chick he can’t run with her, he has to be careful because people are after him. He says I gotta figure it out. She says well then figure it out. They drive into a parking garage through the wrong way (where it should say exit it says exit strategy and he enters through the exit, parks and walks away, as in “what’s an exit strategy”)
Then it looks like maybe him and rc just waiting and dealing with some bs.
Then there’s the Backstage roaring cat perhaps. The girl says ima stick beside him.
Not sure about everyone shooting each other but someone said maybe because he wrote it and manifested it?
——
Then the dress one “this is art, get it?” Was apparently two minutes after hey Ross and some others were talking about that dress on a space call.
I’m a United States gamestop memer. Aren’t those the guys that go crazy and come back with an arsenal of memes and blast everybody? Sometimes. Price action keeps coming and coming… and then it’s GameStop earnings week! (6/5 aftermarket)
Always sunny scene maybe like a peek into how crazy he’s been feeling not being able to talk to anyone for three years?
He can’t speak or he’ll get in trouble.
Alladin scene (alladin name of trading algo. He also says next time I’ll use a nom de plume - pen name) all I gotta do is jump! (The theme of taking a leap of faith again)
Dreyfus billionaire family (no idea but she’s dancing having a great time)
You can’t handle the truth (code red has to do with a worm/virus, maybe they’re about to unleash something that destroys several companies that are short? And it’s pretty funny)
Beavis and butthead sex for dummies (to me it says rc and dfv are ready to fuck but also cex means centralized exchanges which are also for dummies)
Oceans 11, (theme is a heist. We’re all looking at each other like what’s about to happen and then the last guy is just looking at boobs, seems to describe a group like us lol)
Bernard from westworld can’t see the bear thesis (because in the movie he’s programmed not to but irl it’s because there isn’t a thesis!)
“That’s not a thesis,” pulls out huge knife, “that’s a thesis.”
The gme galaxy on the cat collar says deepfuckingvalue so I think he’s saying it’s still deep value and we often made memes about the black hole of gme absorbing the rest of the market into it so maybe that’s it.
Whats in the box? What’s in the box??? (What’s the plan??? RC not telegraphing his plans)
Guy looks at all the memes - she asks “is it not good?” “It is miraculous.” (That’s us loving every second of this. Thank you dfv.)
And so.. you just RAN. Forest gump runnin’ (gme gonna just keep runnin’)
you go backwards but then you go forwards again… you go backwards… then he walks out of the woods.. (are we out of the woods now? Done going backwards?)
We’ll see. The Zen philosophy story - kid breaks leg, oh that’s bad, can’t go to war, oh now it’s good etc - (I think he’s saying to be zen, we’re gonna win, but this message goes deeper:
We don’t always know what is good or bad. Breaking your leg isn’t good or bad, those are just judgements in our mind. We don’t know what the future holds. Almost anything can be a good thing or a bad thing, all we can do is accept life and how things play out without judgement.)
We’ll see.
Then the boy is saying bye to ET, the music says I’ve really enjoyed my stay, but I must be movin on. (DFV going silent again until this all plays out.)
——
——
He’s saying “we fuckin won fellas! Be zen, and we’ll see this all play out soon enough.”
I think the heavy use of good movies and music and video games may also be hinting at gamestops nft marketplace May reopen to sell those 3 things as NFTs by partnering with blockbuster and some musicians.
LFG 🚀 I’ll see you regards on the moon.

I am tired.
No sense in making this one complex.
I feel an invisible yet very tangible fogginess overtaking me each day.
“It takes more muscles to frown than to smile.”
Who the heck did the research on that one?
I feel like I exert every muscle in my body just to not come off as dead.
But yet I can still feel myself wasting and rotting away.
Moving one foot in front of the other feels like a marathon.
Spacing out in front of a streaming service show just feels empty.
Singing feels short of breath and dry.
My fingers slide on my keyboard, sticky with sweat.
My eyes cross and burn from staring at paper drawings.
Words in books blur together in clumps.
Sleep interrupted by nightmares or spurts of random anxiety.
My stomach is bottomless but also spins like a rollercoaster.
I am so hungry.
Is it food I’m craving or just a way to fill this void inside of me?
Is it actual hunger or just a desire to distract from nothing?
I am stuck in a cycle of wanting to lose weight but being too weak willed to cook.
And I’m also too broke to afford decent, healthy food.
So I order takeout.
Burger grease and salted fries surge me with short bursts of energy.
Like the spark of a fire lacking kindling to keep it burning.
I usually make these poems deep.
I toss in a metaphor, a connection to nature,
A thesaurus worth of adjectives and a million different words to say the same thing.
I don’t even have the energy to do that.
The fact that you’re reading this right now at all is a small miracle.
I dunno how to end this.
I guess I’ll just say it again.
I’m tired.