Hello All,
Brief summary about my current vocal status: I'm used to singing everyday, currently in a band, and started noticing some vocal trouble over a month ago during rehearsals (voice wasn't easily reaching notes and felt strained after rehearsals). After that, I went on a Vegas trip with some friends, and after attending some concerts, my voice was pretty much gone for a day or two. After I came back from the trip, decided to give some vocal rest and let it heal, but never noticed such a feeling in my throat (hard to describe but its almost like a Sore Throat, but I can feel pain on the left side of my neck). A week ago, I decided to go to the doctor to see why it hasn't healed, and I was told its probably just a cold and he wrote me down for 'Acute Pharyngitis'. I was told to reach out a week later if symptoms didn't resolve. Well its been a week later, and I went to the Dr. today because my symptoms haven't improved, my voice hurts from talking and I have not been able to sing my usual range at all (I can sing within the normal register but trying anything a bit higher is not possible).
At the Dr. today, I was prescribed Pantoprazole (Proton Pump Inhibitor) and methylPREDNISolone (steroid). The thought process behind the Pantoprazole is that acid reflux may be swelling my throat, so I will start taking that tomorrow. For the methylPREDNISolone I was told to give it a few more days, and if still no improvement, to give it a shot. I was also referred to an E.N.T to get in touch and schedule a possible appointment for a Laryngscopy if symptoms do not heal.
I'm making this post to share my symptoms and see if anyone shared something similar because I initially thought this may be related to Vocal Nodules/Polyps, but based on my symptoms now I feel like they still fall under the category of a Flu/Cold thats just lasting a while and not letting my voice heal. I'm currently trying to do vocal rest, drink lots of fluids (including tea with honey), but its difficult as I do have to talk quite a bit at work.
Symptom List: (First 2 symptoms have been going on for about 2 1/2 - 3 weeks currently)

• Vocal Fatigue (From just talking. Singing obviously aggravates it more)
• Pain in Neck (I feel pain on my left (mostly left side), and sometimes on the right side, the middle area and under the jaw sometimes as well)
• Phlegm - Started noticing green and yellow phlegm for 2 days (started 2 days ago), but that has now subsided
• Vocal Hoarseness - Interestingly, people around me do not notice my voice being hoarse when I talk, but I can feel that it is not as smooth as before, and there is some gravely quality there.

I am really hoping this isn't a vocal nodule/polyp and is related to coming off a cold, but if symptoms do not get better I'll definitely be going to the E.N.T to get a scope done and check any other causes for these symptoms.

Can anyone tell me if I am the only one . Is it me am I the problem? I don’t know what to believe anymore I wanna know someone give me a reason an explanation fuck give me an excuse for all the moments in my life that pain so white hot and intense has wracked my body and brought me to my knees when my will to live has been brought face to face with my darkest fear. Where the only words i can hear as death whispers in my ear is my name sweetly spoken in promises of a quiet mind and peace. Can anyone hear me is this thing on. My fear is fading out and I know I should be scared at this but I don’t feel fear the same anymore. it is blurring around the edges and starts to look a lot like comfort something I just can’t seem to find or hold in my grasp, and I tell myself I should be scared at this but my soul is battered and bruised and I am running on fumes.I honestly don’t know how many more days I can wake up to this bleakness of my uncomfterably painful existence. Is my pain all in my head. Did I do something that has led the People i love to mishandle me. Do I deserve to be wrecked every day the minute consciousness returns to this weapon that is my brain. Ive torn myself apart so many times ive made myself BLEED. ive let my pain soak into me till I no longer existed in space, gone without a trace. I try so hard to do no harm. As I am falling apart. I pour and pour from my empty cup. Its been empty from my fucking start. My dad was the first to mishandle my fragle new heart. He is where my cracks did start. Home was a battle field amd my skin was where my father’s anger would wage war. I grew up being told I held the golden cup full of my father’s favor. It never would save my skin from his anger. And I was told, no reminded often, how wicked I had been to the first being my heart ever truly let in. I grew up feeling every blow they took wrapped in guilt savagely placed on my heart to go along with my skins own marks. I was Twice whipped but only one would ever heal the other would bleed me every day even till today. At 8 is when death would first whisper my name to me . I never knew never would he ever depart from my mind and heart. At 9 so small and yet already my soul felt so heavy. My wounded little family grew by one. And traveled miles back to where my first cry had taken place. Where I would be born again and die more than one time. 9 taking on a little one. The second soul who would come to know my heart. Cherished and so loved even before air would give raise to his own challenging start. My mother would finish the killing of me without stopping my heart. The tiny soul I had hoped for was ripped away from me unexpectedly. Given away to have a chance, a brand new start , Or so that is what was said. 17 years I would mourn this everyday feeling like a piece of me was lost. By 11 melancholy would already call me home. School the escape from the war at home had become a battlefield of its own. And wounds would be added to the collection that had started. My first brush with a razor and a mans warped desires would fall in this timeframe not too far apart. Ill never know why my mother would make guilt and not love in me grow. Love for my parents I have felt from the start and still with each mark on my heart they would leave on me, the only thing I would ever bleed is my desire that they would want me.that they would love me. Can a child grow up too young? I don’t think I grew up tho. Ive been trapped in the tiny body that never had a real chance to start. By 15 I had lost both parents and one sibling already I was torn apart and bleeding. My wounded heart festering as it began to rot. The razor blades became my closest friends. At least when they marked my skin, I had wanted it then. They always stayed and helped me cradle my already too heavy pain. They knew what I would feel and that it was real. They went in deeper,beneath my surface on purpose. Something no one else wanted to do or so it would seem to me that no one really wanted me. My first love found in a man would be one that would feel much like my dad. Hands too rough and words never in the only shape Ive ever really wanted L O V E He Left more torn up marks on my heart. Heartbreak at 16, you would think i would have welcomed it like an old friend . that I would have tucked it up besides my heart hidden beneath my ribs, where pain was already rattling around in. pain makes us seek out comfort wrapped in deceit. I looked to the arms that made me weep for comfort. I never would find comfort there. for me there all I found are things that broke me. 16 I was 16 when the first piece of me truly died. I watched it die in her eyes. as the words scorching up my throat and heart left my lips. I watched as they connected the dots of things that mothers should not behind her eyes as the piece of me died. I was a daughter never cherished by my father, pain the only thing he gave for me to gain. I was a daughter never loved by my Mother given to men and left to defend alone the monsters my mother let in. Pain separated me from bonds that should have been. I would later see that the monsters I fought inside of me had always really been me . I grew up lonely both on the battlefield I was forced to Fight to survive in real life and inside the prison bar confides of my own mind. I fought and waged war constantly never knowing the enemy I had been fighting the whole time was always me. I don’t know who I am I died before I got the chance to even begin . Love is supposed to fill up your heart and shape you into the person you are. Teach you to swim in the depths of our own emotions. I never learned how to swim in the oceans I hold within. Ive been slowly drowning since I was a kid. Told that the validation I would grow to need like a drug, heroin to a fiend just so that I could feel something good inside the depths of MY being, a liferaft to keep me afloat was wrong of me to ever have a need. But How do I save myself from drowning beneath each giant wave my emotions bring crashing down around me. I cant swim in the ocean beneath my skin. Waves constantly crashing in and dragging me under. My air is running out and the only thing I hear people shout is SWIM!. as water replaces my lungs empty spaces. Blood hurts more than water its true but let love boil the water and it will still hurt you just as much too. Never feeling loved by my makers I searched for it in other spaces. Except the only place it should have been. My children you will never know of the force of love I hold for them. But I am still only a human. Trapped and stunted in the child that has been calling out in pain. So many lessons I have gained I see them now neatly wrapped up in my pain. I have been told by the ones I love both with and without blood, that I am too much because of my pain. Yet when I agree and try to erase me I am told to stay as they then walk away. Why. Why. Why Do I have to stay and everyone else gets to walk away from the darkness that takes my light away. Happiness feels almost like a myth a conjured up dream to dangle just out of my reach. And I have been told that its happiness I thieve from those around me. What kind of monster does that make me. That I would take the thing I so desperately need from someone that I love. It has been told to me that I am the creator of my own misery. That I should be a better human being and stop claiming to be the victim to the things that have brought death to my mind so many times. When I reach for help. Water rushing in as my screams are ripped out. Never a hand has been held out. Only the boots of blame and shame to push me further down. My pleas have begun to fade out. my voice is weakened by the consistent beacon, the sos hanging above my head running down my eyes and out my wrists that everyone claims to miss. No one will hear me if they don’t believe me. How do I convince them my pain is real. it means its me I have to kill. Then everyone will say I had been real and not the ghost I thought I had been when i was drowning and didn’t know how to swim.

After the Khumans had settled down somewhat, Alex let out a rather shaky breath. "I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't that."
"What were you expecting?" Kirell didn't understand, and it bothered him, but he was suddenly also extremely curious. It should be safe to learn more about this, right?
"Well... something more along the lines of swearing."
"Um... Karyces, Alex, did you get browner?" Kirell asked tentatively, which apparently set off the Khumans again.
"Woah there, spaceman." Sleepy didn't seem thrilled to hear him say that one; Kirell felt a guilty flush of purple around the edges of his frills. He didn't know Sleepy knew what it meant. "That's a strong word around the little one, huh?"
"Oh." He looked down at Nryxə guiltily, but she didn't seem to have noticed. At least he hoped she hadn't noticed. She was staring at the glassteel wall with her seven eyes wide open. Kirell didn't need his shiny new translator to know that her expression was curiosity. She probably didn't notice.
"You'll have to tell me what it means later. I mean it, Sleepy." Alex took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and closed her eyes. "I mean, I guess I got browner, but it's not.... Well. It's a scar."
Kirell's frills flashed open with a little pop, the whole width stained a deep red. "A scar? The whole thing?"
"Yep." Come to think of it, Alex's voice was a little lower than he remembered, a little raspier. "I– Captain, could you? It's sore."
"Sure. Poke me if I say something bad." The Captain cleared his throat as Alex sat down, crossing her legs under her, on the floor. "So, you know we burned a lot of atmosphere on Kzrkn, right?"
"Yes." Of course Kirell remembered that; he'd been scared out of his wits at the time. It seemed so silly now, to be afraid of something on the ground while he was safe in orbit.
"Well, the gate they took you through... yeah, atmospheres started mixing up, and then they closed it on Hook's electric prosthetic and–" The Captain broke off as Alex grabbed his leg; the deep red from Kirell's frills grew even darker. She was shaking a little. "Sorry Hook. Anyway, Squishy, I bet you saw it from your end too, but Hook was real close. Doc fixed what was mission-critical and did a bunch of patching, but it's still rough, and she's.... I bet she'll be mad for telling you, but she's still pretty spooked. Most folks'd already be shipped home with a Heart for this kinda thing, but damn if Hook hasn't made us proud. Well, prouder."
"What's that got to do with being browner? Did you not fix the scars?"
"Not mission-critical." Sleepy broke in on the conversation. "Don't get us wrong, Spaceman, he wanted to, but Hook said to focus on gettin' ya back."
"I think her exact words were 'Being pretty can wait.' Gotta love Hook, huh Squishy?"
Kirell felt his eyes itching, as if he wanted to cry again. "I'm sorry, Alex. I'm really sorry. I shouldn't ha–"
Alex slammed her synthetic hand into the floor with a bang; Nryxə jumped in Kirell's arms. Alex was shaking again, but this time she didn't look scared at all. She looked angry, and her eyes were a bit wet. That felt wrong, somehow, and conflicting, but Kirell could remember being scared and happy at the same time while wandering with Nryxə; it was probably similar.
"Shut it kid. Don't say that; don't you dare say that. I went after you 'cause I wanted to get to you. Don't ever say differently." Alex's voice seemed to squeak and thin out at the end of the last syllable; she pressed her lips together, looking frustrated.
"Easy there Hook. You've talked a lot more'n usual today. It's OK." The Captain reached down and patted Alex's artificial hand awkwardly. "You're doing good."
Alex swatted his hand away. Kirell's hearts abruptly thumped in his chest; he'd never seen that kind of expression on a Khuman face before. It was some mixture of ones he'd seen before; some kind of anger, sadness, coupled with a strange sick look he didn't recognize.
"Cap, ya aren't helping. If ya don't shut up I'd say it's about three seconds 'till ya get socked."
"Shi... crap. Sorry Hook. Didn't mean to– Uh, think I'll stop talking." Kirell didn't know what this situation had to do with closed tubes of fabric, or why the Captain had glanced at him and fixed his language, but he was too tired and confused to question it.
"Wait. So, Alex got burned, and Doc put her back together?" Kirell felt his own voice squeaking, not because he was injured but because the magnitude of Alex's injuries seemed to be stealing some of his air, along with much of the space in his stomach and most of his knees' strength.
"Burn care and puttin' someone back together aren't the same thing. Doc does both, but not the same way. Some parts, sure; it's why her vocal cords are weak right now. It's like a surgery; gotta be gentle with it."
Kirell's translator helpfully reminded him that Khumans were in the habit of cutting themselves open to deal with internal problems. He hadn't wanted to remember that.
"Anyway, Hook had to get most of her lungs and voice box rebuilt, so she's not got much voice to use right now. Still gettin' stronger. Her lungs are doin' great, but the voice is takin' a bit longer. It usually does."
Kirell's frills stained a deep blue. "Alex.... I wish you hadn't. I wish you weren't hurt."
Alex looked sideways awkwardly; she didn't look angry any more, which Kirell hoped was an improvement.
"I think what Hook wants to say is that she couldn't not come for you. And I'd agree with that."
Kirell didn't think that was right, but he couldn't figure out how to say so. Surely Hook had a choice, right? He wasn't somehow making a Khuman– a Khuman, of all things– do anything they weren't already going to do. Surely not. The idea of a Khuman being controlled by anything but their own wild Khuman-ness was laughable. Or, he acknowledged at the sight of the glassteel walls, by another Khuman.
"So you're in here because....?"
"Well, essentially we, uh... we were doing it again, huh Hook? We were just running in again like there was nothing there to stop us. Guess that's what we do." The Captain grimaced, one hand brushing the back of his head. "Right up until Sleepy showed up and said 'Hey stop that' with a bit more'n words."
A loud amusement sound made both Kirell and Nryxə jump; Sleepy was apparently very amused by this rephrasing of his actions. The Captain bared his teeth, too, with a look on his face that the translator told Kirell was [embarrassed] and [slightly regretful].
"Well, ya saw him now, and ya see that he's picked up someone of his own."
"Does that make you a granddad, Sleepy?"
Sleepy shrugged, looking at Nryxə, who looked back with seven wide eyes. "Dunno. I guess it depends on what the spaceman wants, right? And what'd be best for the kid. Whaddya think, Spaceman?"
"I, um... I don't know if I know what's best for Nryxə, but I don't want her to be upset. Can we talk about this later?"
The Khumans froze for a moment before the Captain whistled long and low. "Right. Not exactly good practice, is it? Talking custody with a kid in the room. Sorry 'bout that, Squishy."
"Hey, speaking of which." Sleepy reached out and gave Kirell a gentle, very reassuring head pat. Oh, he'd missed those. "I'm not sure he should be 'Squishy.' He didn't like it before, and now... don't ya think?"
"Yeah, agreed, it doesn't fit any more. Blue? No, don't like that one. Zim?"
"Absolutely not, Cap. Nor Dent, nor Ford Prefect. Gonna cut you off at the pass on that one."
Alex made a strange noise in her throat; with more patience than Kirell remembered them having, the Captain and Sleepy waited for her to be able to speak. When she did, it was a single word.
"Ripley."
First
Previous
Collected Chapters
Chapters voiced by A Good Bean
Support me on Patreon!
No music for this chapter, surprisingly.

"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.

I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

Title. Graduating 2nd year at an M7, been struggling to recruit for a full time role ever since I didn't get a return offer from my internship (corporate strategy at a F100). Pre-MBA background in healthcare consulting.
I cast a wide net, across a variety of different roles and industry, initially targeting tech Strategy & Ops, MBB & T2 consulting, and similar mainstream roles. However, I got completely rejected from them.
So I started throwing my apps into my 2nd, 3rd, and 4th tier options.
It was my last choice, but I got an interview callback from Philip Morris International, a Big Tobacco company, which owns extremely famous cigarette brands like Marlboro. They recruit on my campus. It was a strategy oriented role, and after a few rounds, I landed it! And what's crazy is that the pay is straight up a godsend in this horrible job market - it's MBB level pay, $210k+ in total compensation.
The issue, however, is that my role is genuinely a blatant, net negative to society. My role will contribute to strategies on getting more people hooked on tobacco, cigarettes, and nicotine products, which will directly contribute to lung cancer, second hand smoking, deaths etc.
I am worried because on my campus, this type of company and industry is completely against what's socially acceptable. Most people talk about how they want to be equity oriented business leaders, be pro DEI, be pro ESG and try to balance capitalism with giving back to society. Yes, industries like MBB or investment banking or even Big Tech have their demons and societal ills. But while McKinsey helped fuel the opioid crisis and prop up dictators, most of its projects are relatively "benign" and mundane where the people going into consulting have "plausible deniability" that McKinsey isn't completely evil.
That's why you have incoming McKinsey consultants post very pro liberal and progressive political comments on Instagram while not viewing that as cognitive dissonance. Most of my classmates are outwardly liberal, at least on social issues.
Big Tech, investment banking, and consulting is popular on my campus. I have seen people go into Oil & Gas companies like Chevron (they also have a major MBA program) and they've gotten socially ostracized for doing so. Same with someone going to work for a controversial defense or military contractor. CPG Brand Management is an option, with the reception being more mixed. People don't love PepsiCo but are neutral on say deodorant owned by Unilever.
From Wikipedia itself: "With tobacco being addictive and the single greatest cause of preventable death globally, the company is highly controversial, not least because of its history of obfuscating scientific evidence around the health effects of smoking. It has been the subject of litigation and restrictive legislation from governments."
The company claims it supports a long-term vision of a "smoke free future" where cigarettes are replaced with non-smoking tobacco products such as e-cigarettes, vapes, nicotine pouches, and heated cigarettes. But this seems like smoke and mirrors and for the here and now, cigarettes are an essential part of the company's sales strategy & revenue. And even non-smoking tobacco products are extremely addicting with net health negatives. It's the same as Big Oil companies saying they have a clean energy division.
I have a wife and and incoming baby. I need to pay back near $200k in MBA student debt. I didn't have a job lined up, and financially this is a no brainer for me. I don't like that it's unethical, but it doesn't bother me too much.
But people say the biggest long term ROI of the MBA is not just the initial job pivot, but the network. And I feel deliberately joining a Big Tobacco company in a role where I am essentially pro cigarettes and nicotine, would put a Scarlet Letter on my back. I fear people will be reluctant to refer me to future roles, and I could also lose many MBA friendships.
What are your thoughts?

So, all the talk right now is FFIE, CRKN, and GWAV. I'm actually in all three and encourage you to stay in for AS LONG AS IT IS GOOD FOR YOU. But I want to talk about the importance of not going full port, and diamond-handing to a loss. There is ALWAYS a next FFIE. In all my years, I've seen so many I can't begin to estimate how many I've seen. As you play this game, you NEED to have stop losses set. You need to remember not to get greedy. Bank your profits, and be getting excited for your next play. Keeping an eye on what is coming up really helps keep you detached from the stock, so you don't get burned and left holding the bag.
Since what has brought most of you to these stocks is the thought of a MOASS, I’m gonna write up some other short stock opportunities. Full disclosure upfront: I’m heavy in two of these, and would love nothing more than 1/100th of the volume ya’ll have generated to come to those stocks.
This list is ranked top to bottom in percentage of short float, and ranked at the bottom in my interest level and my positions.
So, some of the most shorted stocks currently, and my thoughts on each:
Sunpower SPWR
On this list because it is the most shorted (non-penny) stock with 95% short interest. At sub $3 and only 45 million shares, this is as squeezable as it gets. Any sort of squeeze would have to be from meme value as the financials of this company aren’t great. They haven’t met expected earnings in the past 5 quarters, and have actually done worse quarter after quarter.
If this found volume and a rabid community I’d be in… but I’m not touching this thing otherwise. This is a real “all or nothing” stock.
MicroCloud Hologram HOLO
Spend anytime on squeeze forums and youre gonna see this one. Another stock with insane (75%) short interest This company has shown multiple times over that it is capable of a run. Part of that is that the product that they are making is quite intriguing… the other part is that this stock has left a lot of bagholders in its wake. If there were call options available, I’d be buying far dated OTMs hand over fist, because at some point, this thing will explode again.
Childrens Place PLCE
Okay, so this has some fundamentals that could be interesting to some. Heavily in debt, with historically bad gross margins, and a panic sell off when they announced they had breached debt covenants, this stock has gone from over $100 post-pandemic, to roughly $12 today.
Why could it be intriguing? Mithaq capital purchased 7 million shares recently. Backed by the Saudis, and capable of offering better terms on back debt, this could be a takeoveturnaround story. Purely speculative, and high risk, I don't see a squeeze happening here anytime soon, but if messageboard chatter picked up, I’d be grabbing a lot more calls… when this goes, it’ll go fast.
B. Riley Financial RILY
At 56% shorted this is one of my top picks (#2), the one most primed for a squeeze, and I'm heavily in it.
This is also the first company on this list that has a clear path to an increase in stock price. For me personally, this is what I look for in an investment. I love a good squeeze, as it accelerates my profits, but I like betting on companies that are going to get me there regardless of the squeeze.
This company has many facets and if you want backstory, there are several good write ups/DDs available on Reddit. As it stands, despite turning around their slow quarters, and doing better as a business, short sellers have ramped up their positions? Why? Because there is an actual villain in this story. Marc Cahodes. He is an infamous short seller, with a personal grudge against this company, and the short sellers are not running off a functioning thesis. This is about destroying a company to soothe a slighted ego. Soon, short sellers will unwind their position, as the stock has pretty much found its base. A short squeeze in the near future could send this stock up into the $90 range.
Trupanion TRUP
39% short sold, this pet insurance company has recently come under attack by…it’s Marc Cahodes again. Marc did his usual tactic, doxing and harassing supporters, and accusing everybody in the business (down to the janitor) of fraud. However, despite these attacks, the company itself has mostly “Buy” ratings. The share price has slumped, due to bad Q1 earnings and the short attacks, but there is a new CEO and she is intent on increasing profitability, and decent quarterly results could pop this back up to historic $60 levels (+100%).
Cutera CUTR
This company makes hardware for treating acne and other dermatologic issues. 39% shorted this should be on your radar in early JULY. Listening to their earnings call was a lot to be excited about, if you could stand to listen to their hopium bullshit. Clearing up inventory, and debt, they have a lot of potential to have a strong Q2 showing. At $2 a share, I’ve gone ahead and made a small position, as this is might be the bottom.
Immunity Bio IBRX
OH. MY. GOD. I LOVE THIS STOCK. By far my #1 right now. Sitting at 39% shorted, I wouldn't be surprised to find that Merck is behind the shorting; trying to keep the stock price down so they can buy it out. This is a life saving cancer treatment. With recent FDA approval, this company sold 400 million in product ITS FIRST WEEK. With trials ongoing for multiple other uses, and a meeting with the FDA scheduled in June to get it fast tracked as a treatment for lung cancer. I have a $20 price target set for July. $40 by September.
There is honestly so much to say about this company, that I will write up a separate, in depth DD.
Novavax NVAX
If you were paying attention, you just watched this thing pop (260%) Is it done? Actually, yeah, Probably. I’ve read a lot of chatter about how it has a historic high of $300 without people factoring in its 20:1 reverse split. Robinhood needs to fix the UI, because a lot of people are tossing out good money. That said, with 33% short interest, a mild squeeze may happen for a few bucks.
Lucid LCID
A DPAC luxury EV maker on the most shorted list? Who would have thought?! Ok, so, I’ve had a chance now to drive a couple of these… and HOLY SHIT. I want this company to survive. I want one of these cars.
That said, yeah, I’m not putting more money into this. I’m putting it on this list because sometimes, great products fail. This is a prime example. Since first being wow’d by this car, the stock price has fallen 80%. Truthfully, if the Saudis walk away from Lucid, they're done. Don't fall in love with a stock.
AST Spacemobile ASTS
The lowest short interest on this list (28.3% which is still high as fuck!!!) is my #3 pick. And I’m in this bigly. This tech is so good, it’s literally going to change your life. Imagine, no place on Earth being without cell service. Why is it shorted? Delays, and Delays, and Delays. Go on over to the subreddit, and feel the general relief that everyone feels as launch is FINALLY nearing. If you are thinking of getting into this stock, do so before early July, as it nears major catalysts.
There it is. My list.
I’m gonna order them now in the rank that I view them, with my positions.
IBRX (3000 shares and 402 call options)
RILY (2700 shares and 17 call options)
ASTS (5000 shares and 103 call options)
HOLO (1500 shares)
PLCE (25 shares and 10 call options)
CUTR (1000 shares and 20 call options)
TRUP (10 call options)
LCID (No position, sold off at a loss)
NVAX (no position, sold off at a loss)
SPWR (10 call options) - lowest position currently, but if chatter starts happening this goes to #4

So, all the talk right now is FFIE, CRKN, and GWAV. I'm actually in all three and encourage you to stay in for AS LONG AS IT IS GOOD FOR YOU. But I want to talk about the importance of not going full port, and diamond-handing to a loss. There is ALWAYS a next FFIE. In all my years, I've seen so many I can't begin to estimate how many I've seen. As you play this game, you NEED to have stop losses set. You need to remember not to get greedy. Bank your profits, and be getting excited for your next play. Keeping an eye on what is coming up really helps keep you detached from the stock, so you don't get burned and left holding the bag.
Since what has brought most of you to these stocks is the thought of a MOASS, I’m gonna write up some other short stock opportunities. Full disclosure upfront: I’m heavy in two of these, and would love nothing more than 1/100th of the volume ya’ll have generated to come to those stocks.
This list is ranked top to bottom in percentage of short float, and ranked at the bottom in my interest level and my positions.
So, some of the most shorted stocks currently, and my thoughts on each:
Sunpower SPWR
On this list because it is the most shorted (non-penny) stock with 95% short interest. At sub $3 and only 45 million shares, this is as squeezable as it gets. Any sort of squeeze would have to be from meme value as the financials of this company aren’t great. They haven’t met expected earnings in the past 5 quarters, and have actually done worse quarter after quarter.
If this found volume and a rabid community I’d be in… but I’m not touching this thing otherwise. This is a real “all or nothing” stock.
MicroCloud Hologram HOLO
Spend anytime on squeeze forums and youre gonna see this one. Another stock with insane (75%) short interest This company has shown multiple times over that it is capable of a run. Part of that is that the product that they are making is quite intriguing… the other part is that this stock has left a lot of bagholders in its wake. If there were call options available, I’d be buying far dated OTMs hand over fist, because at some point, this thing will explode again.
Childrens Place PLCE
Okay, so this has some fundamentals that could be interesting to some. Heavily in debt, with historically bad gross margins, and a panic sell off when they announced they had breached debt covenants, this stock has gone from over $100 post-pandemic, to roughly $12 today.
Why could it be intriguing? Mithaq capital purchased 7 million shares recently. Backed by the Saudis, and capable of offering better terms on back debt, this could be a takeoveturnaround story. Purely speculative, and high risk, I don't see a squeeze happening here anytime soon, but if messageboard chatter picked up, I’d be grabbing a lot more calls… when this goes, it’ll go fast.
B. Riley Financial RILY
At 56% shorted this is one of my top picks (#2), the one most primed for a squeeze, and I'm heavily in it.
This is also the first company on this list that has a clear path to an increase in stock price. For me personally, this is what I look for in an investment. I love a good squeeze, as it accelerates my profits, but I like betting on companies that are going to get me there regardless of the squeeze.
This company has many facets and if you want backstory, there are several good write ups/DDs available on Reddit. As it stands, despite turning around their slow quarters, and doing better as a business, short sellers have ramped up their positions? Why? Because there is an actual villain in this story. Marc Cahodes. He is an infamous short seller, with a personal grudge against this company, and the short sellers are not running off a functioning thesis. This is about destroying a company to soothe a slighted ego. Soon, short sellers will unwind their position, as the stock has pretty much found its base. A short squeeze in the near future could send this stock up into the $90 range.
Trupanion TRUP
39% short sold, this pet insurance company has recently come under attack by…it’s Marc Cahodes again. Marc did his usual tactic, doxing and harassing supporters, and accusing everybody in the business (down to the janitor) of fraud. However, despite these attacks, the company itself has mostly “Buy” ratings. The share price has slumped, due to bad Q1 earnings and the short attacks, but there is a new CEO and she is intent on increasing profitability, and decent quarterly results could pop this back up to historic $60 levels (+100%).
Cutera CUTR
This company makes hardware for treating acne and other dermatologic issues. 39% shorted this should be on your radar in early JULY. Listening to their earnings call was a lot to be excited about, if you could stand to listen to their hopium bullshit. Clearing up inventory, and debt, they have a lot of potential to have a strong Q2 showing. At $2 a share, I’ve gone ahead and made a small position, as this is might be the bottom.
Immunity Bio IBRX
OH. MY. GOD. I LOVE THIS STOCK. By far my #1 right now. Sitting at 39% shorted, I wouldn't be surprised to find that Merck is behind the shorting; trying to keep the stock price down so they can buy it out. This is a life saving cancer treatment. With recent FDA approval, this company sold 400 million in product ITS FIRST WEEK. With trials ongoing for multiple other uses, and a meeting with the FDA scheduled in June to get it fast tracked as a treatment for lung cancer. I have a $20 price target set for July. $40 by September.
There is honestly so much to say about this company, that I will write up a separate, in depth DD.
Novavax NVAX
If you were paying attention, you just watched this thing pop (260%) Is it done? Actually, yeah, Probably. I’ve read a lot of chatter about how it has a historic high of $300 without people factoring in its 20:1 reverse split. Robinhood needs to fix the UI, because a lot of people are tossing out good money. That said, with 33% short interest, a mild squeeze may happen for a few bucks.
Lucid LCID
A DPAC luxury EV maker on the most shorted list? Who would have thought?! Ok, so, I’ve had a chance now to drive a couple of these… and HOLY SHIT. I want this company to survive. I want one of these cars.
That said, yeah, I’m not putting more money into this. I’m putting it on this list because sometimes, great products fail. This is a prime example. Since first being wow’d by this car, the stock price has fallen 80%. Truthfully, if the Saudis walk away from Lucid, they're done. Don't fall in love with a stock.
AST Spacemobile ASTS
The lowest short interest on this list (28.3% which is still high as fuck!!!) is my #3 pick. And I’m in this bigly. This tech is so good, it’s literally going to change your life. Imagine, no place on Earth being without cell service. Why is it shorted? Delays, and Delays, and Delays. Go on over to the subreddit, and feel the general relief that everyone feels as launch is FINALLY nearing. If you are thinking of getting into this stock, do so before early July, as it nears major catalysts.
There it is. My list.
I’m gonna order them now in the rank that I view them, with my positions.
IBRX (3000 shares and 402 call options)
RILY (2700 shares and 17 call options)
ASTS (5000 shares and 103 call options)
HOLO (1500 shares)
PLCE (25 shares and 10 call options)
CUTR (1000 shares and 20 call options)
TRUP (10 call options)
LCID (No position, sold off at a loss)
NVAX (no position, sold off at a loss)
SPWR (10 call options) - lowest position currently, but if chatter starts happening this goes to #4

I am one of the youngest in my family and I have always felt like I struggled fitting in with my siblings until I hit my teen years. When I was a kid, I was treated like I was nothing; always ignored or yelled at whenever I tried to be friendly with my older siblings because I really liked them. There is a 5 year age gap between me and my brother so it is understandable he didn’t want to hang out with me very much when we were younger but it does not excuse his other behaviors. He was best friends with my sister but with me he would take all of his aggression out for no reason. Whenever my parents were out of sight, he would turn into a monster almost and punch, slap, kick, choke, with legit intention of serious harm. He would curse at me when I tried to get away and tell me he was going to kill me. He would only let go when I screamed at the top of my lungs and my dad would come. This may sound like normal sibling things but this was actually quite traumatizing for me and I would be injured from this often. Mind you, he was around 13/14 doing this to an 8 year old girl. I was scared but my parents would tell me I was being dramatic and my brother would tell them I was lying. Right around the time I was like 13/14, I got guts enough to just ignore my brother and be fine with who I was but for some reason my siblings wanted to be best buds with me. My brother (who is white) would always say slurs and just be a bad person overall whenever my parents weren’t around which is something my parents are highly against but when I would tell on him, my parents always believed him when he said I was a liar. I tried to be nice and talk to him and explain why I didn’t like him anymore (bc he was a dick to my whole childhood) he tried gaslighting me into thinking I was crazy. My sister had even told my parents multiple times about what my brother used to do to me and they don’t care. Even now as a full grown adult, I try to get along with him and he will have temper tantrums where is psychotic side when I was kid will come out and he will try to attack me again. I’m sick of him, he genuinely disgusts me for even more reasons than I explained and I want to cut him off as soon as I can but I fear my brother will convince my parents once again that I’m the crazy one.

Age: 3 Months
Sex: Male
Height: Unsure
Weight: 7lbs
Race: Black ———————
hello all .
i am looking for some advice, some questions to ask the doctors caring for him, just help in general.
my son is a twin (Baby B). they were born 27w0d on Feb 9 2024 but they were due May 10th 2024. they both graduated from the NICU and came home. Baby A came home doing fine and still is, but Baby B almost died and he’s now in the PICU on a ventilator not able to breathe on his own.
so here’s a quick backstory on Baby B- they were both on track, just growing and maturing as much as they could while in the NICU. they both had Grade 2 brain bleeds in NICU, but that is common for babies born extremely premature. we were told that it would absorb on its own, and they wouldn’t suffer from any disabilities stemming from that. Baby B was on a conventional ventilator for 12hrs in the NICU one time. even on the High Flow machine, he would desat, Baby A hardly had this problem. Baby A came home a week before Baby B, because B would constantly desat. B wasn’t even home for a week when tragedy struck. The morning of his first Pediatric Appointment, I noticed he was grayish, but he was still breathing. Days leading up to that he slowly stopped eating as much, but I didn’t stress to bad because I knew he was going to the Dr. The pediatrician said he was “fine”, clearly he wasn’t. But immediately after that appointment they had an Eye Dr Follow Up to go to. There is when their dad noticed something terrible was coming about, he was visibly GRAY with a blue nose & lips. The Eye Dr brought over a different doctor who he said could help, but even that doctor said he was “fine”. Their dad brought them home and I picked B up out of his car seat and he was limp, blue, with a heart beat so faint I thought he was going to leave us.
Ambulance came and he’s been at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital for almost a month now. They’ve found some things but everything they have found they said it isn’t why he can not breathe on his own. Brain Bleed went to another spot, but they said that’s not why. Found Pneumonia, but they said that’s not why. Both of his lungs partially collapsed, but they said that’s not why either. They took him off of the ventilator, but they just called me and said that his heart rate dropped very low and they had to do CPR to get it back up. They still don’t know what could be wrong, I even requested a Pulmonologist like a reddit user told me to do. They said it’s nothing they can see that’s causing his apnea.
At this point I’m LOST. What does this sound like to you all ? What could this be ?? Every question I asked, every question Dad has asked just seems sugarcoated. They talk to us like dummies. Please someone, direct me somewhere.

SYNOPSIS: Walking your OP monster girlfriend home is easy. No one messes with you. Getting back to your house on your own? That's the tricky part.
What's worse than an eldritch building? How 'bout a bigger one?
First Previous (See NEXT>> in comments)
Chapter Cover Art (From Mood Writing Sample)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Norman took one look at the towering building to his left. Then he took off.
.
.

“̷̵̵̷̶̷̶̶̸̶̶̸̴̡̛̮͉̹̪̼̙̤̲̤͔̗̮̥̣̜͓̟̞̃̔̈́̑̈̍͌̂̂̐̋͛̉̓G̵̶̸̷̴̸̵̵̴̶̸̷̸̴̶̨̢̧̞͈̠̜̳̪͎̬̜̱̫͚̝̩̑̒͐́͆̃̿̉̆̉̃̓̀̎̐͂̎̒̕̕͘͝͝Ǵ̷̷̷̴̸̸̷̷̷̷̵̨̢̞̥͓̰͖͙̰̝͖̩̺͍͎͉͌̽̂́͐̓̀͒̐͗́M̴̷̶̵̴̷̵̶̵̴̷̷̢̡̧̢̛̫̲͕͇̗̯͚̥͙͓͓̀̒͑͒̂̊̅̐͛̂̄͌̈̚͝M̴̷̶̵̴̷̷̶̷̬̼̭̗͍̺̳̩̱͍̂̄̾͂̔̽̇̀͝͝͝͠M̶̯̙̥͕̞̰̗̗͐̔!̸̞̞̬̼̖̩̈́̇͊͐̾͑͋̉!̷̧͈̘̬̆͑͝!̶̤̜̔̓̆̅̔͆͘͝”̸̨̧̼̭̫̒͜

.
The new hunting cry boomed through his body. It was much louder than the first building’s, albeit shorter, like a tap on the shoulder from a titan proclaiming its presence to the world.
Of course, the tap of a titan could flatten a man.
Norman fell. His legs had simply stopped working. Jaws clenched, he forced his will into wobbly muscles. His palms slammed into the waterlogged street, stopping the fall. With a sharp push, he sprang back to his feet and ran on.
Norman yanked out the remaining two flash grenades on the go, strung them together, armed and drew back for a throw.
.
.

“̷̬̳̙̍̎̆G̴̥͇̥͔͕̫̈̀M̵̛͇̜͙͇̫͔̭̩̝̜̓̈̏̓̓̀͛̚͜͝͝M̷̩͈͉̘͙̿͌̃̽͂̃̏̏̓̾̈́͌̈́̉̅̄̉͘!̷̢̧̢̤͓̭̖̝̏̏̄̓̾̉̆͋͘͝!̵͍̱̼̮̯̺̲͙̖̮̗͓̻̓̊͂̒̔͐̎͘͘̚!̵̙͍̟̌͒̃͂̎͠”̶̡̛̠̱̭̞̹̟͉̒̎̎̂͂̐̈́̓̄̚̕

.
.
That quick boom pounded through him. His fingers faltered. The flash grenades slipped from his grip and fell. He was still recovering from the sound when they went off at his feet. The nightsight filtered the flash, so he didn’t go blind. He’d gutted the flash grenade’s speakers, so he didn’t go deaf. The peeping building could deafen him all on its own … no, this wasn’t a peeping building. He’d slew a peeping building. They were small fries by comparison.
This was an eyescraper.
Tentacles the width of busses unsheathed from its sides. Even if he’d managed to launch the grenades and bathe it in smitelight, he suspected that wouldn’t be enough.
Norman sliced at its eyes with a focused beam. It barely flinched. Maybe if it got close enough, he could affect it a bit. By then, it would be too late.
Throbbing chuffs thundered from the monster. It sounded like a laugh.
Norman shot it a defiant glare. He bolted. Not fast enough. He could feel the giant closing in. So, he moved faster. Then faster, and still faster. His muscles blared their warnings. Rain lashed his face. He felt the air begin to resist his movements as he reached a speed at which it mattered. It was in his way, so he pushed through it too. No one was there to tell him he was moving far faster than any human known to history. All he cared about was hearing that thing fall behind him, and so it did. The tremours of its tremendous movements grew fainter.
At the end of the street, an apartment building came into view. Norman threw himself against it, climbing with the reckless abandon of a madman. He was halfway to the top.
.
.

“̷̧̨̭̹̘̥̮͖̤̻̥̬̌̀͒̔͌̊̀̚͜͜͠Ǧ̶̨̨̧̺̘̰̗̘̥̝̗̦̩͖͎͋̈͑͐̒̽̉̔͛̾̒́̕ͅM̴̨̉́̾̉͂͆̔̿̀̃̇̎̍͆̂̽͗̔͘͠ͅM̷̝̻̱̆̍͜!̴̮̬̯̮̦̖́͂̆͋̿̇̎̄̄̅̂͑̎̀̕͘͝͝͝!̸̲͎̲̼̠̮̱͖̥̭̤̩͓̘̜͈̟̖̮̰̦͖̀̂͗͂̽̈́̋͌͂̐̓̈̕!̸̜̆̿̋̔̽̕”̷̢̦̜̰̼̳̝͓̆͗̈́̆̆̑̃̾͑̀͗͒͆́͐͒̈́̿̽̕̕͜

.
.
His grip went limp. He fell. Struck the ground. His head bounced. The world grew fu...z z y.
.
.
.
W
h
y
.
.
.
w
a
s
.
h
e
.
r
u
n
n
i
n
g
.
a
g
a
i
n
?
.
.
.
.
.
.

_CHAT

• LEMMY.OUTA.HERE: (Stupse) Well, he ded.
• BAJANETTE11: ARN74, JUST GO AND FIND HIM!!!
• ARN74: HE DIDN’T SEND ME DE PIN! DIS BAAARE STRESS! NORMAN, YOU PUNK! YOU EMOTIONALLY INVESTED ME IN THIS CHANNEL! IF YOU DIE NOW I’M GONNA KILL YOU!

Something was yapping in the background, but it wasn’t important. He felt fine. Everything was fine. Why not rest? Why was he even-?

_CHAT

• ARN74: YOU PROMISED ME YOU WOULDN’T LEAVE AMY!!

What? No he didn’t! Promises weren’t for trolls! Why would he leave Amy anyway?
.
.
“̸̼͔̖̜̫͍͚̊́̽͆̓̂̋̋͐̕Ģ̴̢͕͉̯̺̗̖͔͙̪͓̻̯̫̭̙̱͕̠̭̩̌M̸̨̧̘̟̹̖̻̲͍̭͓͉̰͙̦̣̜͉̻̎̅͗̇̈́̈̏͌̓̾̀̈̈́͜M̵̢̢̖̯̦͍͕̝̯̥̹̪̠̥̰̝̖̊͛̀̇͜!̵̢̡̡͚͕̘̟͕̥̦̪͆̈́̿͆!̴̛̹͈̜̥͔̬͎̪̩͚̦̯̟̘̩̰̳̍̑̂́̌͌̎́̒͋̽̿̑͌͝͝!̴̛̥͕̪͂̂̂̈̓͆͗̇̄̈́̌̅̎͂̕̚̕͝͠”̷̧̧̛̠̝̰̞̘͙̥̖͎̭̞̜̳̟̓͆̌̊̃̔́͒͋̇̈́͘̚͠͝ͅ
.
.
Oh, right. There was a skyscraper running him down. To think he lived in a world where that made any sense. He rubbed his throbbing head. It was hard to think, though.

_CHAT

• ARN74: TRY AN CLIMB DE TING OPPA!

Brain fog would have to wait.
In two twos he jumped onto the side of the building and kept going up and up without breaking the momentum of the leap. Adrenaline had challenged gravity. Gravity lost. There was no pause to assess handholds. There was no rain stinging his face. In his mind, there was only ‘CLIMB, CLIMB, CLIMB!’ Crest the rooftop. ‘RUN, RUN, RUN!’ Descend the other side ‘JUMP!’ Gravity greedily reclaimed Norman, dragging him 4 storeys down at breakneck speed. He hit the ground in a parkour roll. Bruised a bone. Nearly fractured a shoulder. Wrenched his spine. Joints, muscle, ligaments almost popped. They didn’t.
He was running again.
Norman had never heard a building shred like paper. He’d never thought to wonder what it sounded like.
*( ( BMMM! ) ) ( ( BMM! ) ) ( ( BOOM! ) ) \*

SHHHHHRRRRRRMMMM!

Now he knew.
Those booms … was it the eyescraper’s tentacles breaking the sound barrier, or punching holes through the apartment building? Maybe both. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was tearing the building in two with the ease of one parting curtains. Buildings were not designed to be parted. Two became legions as the sundered building collapsed.
Norman rushed for an abandoned truck, slid beneath the trailer. Not quite fast enough. Most of the rubble didn’t reach him directly, but upon hitting the ground? It pulverised into a blast of cloud like a sandstorm. Hissing beneath the trailer, the dust stung at his ankles. He ignored it, racing for the truck’s cabin at the front. Perched on the step beneath the door, he braced as the dust raced beneath, around and above him. The cabin was his shield. He flinched to a duck when its windows shattered as the dust cloud blasted straight through them. The truck rocked and slid slightly, bombarded by wind and dust. It lurched as a chunk of debris finally reached it, crumpling the trailer like cheap foil.
Time to move.
Particles prickled Norman’s eyes, finding their way through the nightsight. He took a fresh glimpse of the path ahead before clouds of grey engulfed it all.
Memorised.
He dashed on. A split second later, the cabin was levelled under a larger slab of concrete. More sporadically thundered down around him. His eyes were squeezed shut, denying entry to any more particles. He scrambled through the street, dodging obstacles from memory. As for the concrete rainfall that couldn’t be seen? He had some prayers about that, but it probably came out like half-baked gibberish.
Norman chanced opening his eyes. They watered like crazy. At least most of the dust was gone. Behind him, the eyescraper’s menacing silhouette was picking through the rubble. Finally, an unblocked street was in sight. He rounded the corner.
.
“̵̨̢̮͕̻̲̺́͠G̵̣̒́̓̽̅̊͘͝Ọ̷̝̣͓͙͔̀ͅͅǪ̷̜̺͚̲̯̭̈́̍͂͑̋̋̅͂̅́M̷̨̤̭͈̯̤͋̾̏̈̅̉̀̏͘M̵̡̢̙̱͌̊̓͒́͌Ḿ̸̳͗̀̀͐͒͗́͠ͅ!̷͍͉̣̪̫͙̳̲̤̎̀̾̅̈́̔̎̑͘͜͝͝!̴̨͈͖̘̖̅͛̋̽͠!̸͎̩͓̫̥̼̫̊”̵̫̗̞̣̝̃̅̕͘͜͜͝ͅ
.
Another peeping building, rumbling in from the new street. Alright. Straight it was.
.
“̷̢̧̻̹͚͔̾G̵̳̭̾̃̎̍̌̂̈́̂͛͘M̶̧̠͇͔͚͉̮͈̰͒͊́̏̔̄̾̊͐̒͂͜M̸̳͓̋͋̔͑̔̔̕͝Ő̷͓̟̱̮͓̍̂̾̽̇͘͠Ô̸̧̫͉̮͚̥̥̯̈̾͋̅͂͘̚M̶̢̫̥̰̮̪͙̬̙̗̺̽͒͐͌̋̈̄͆͝M̴̢̧̧̛̗͔͓̫̭̳̱͑̉!̵̡̛̛͍̲̓̅̑̈́̿̏͘̕͠!̸̧̖͔̣̩̏́͋̀͛͂̏̀̇̑͐!̴̧͕̝̮̤̱͈̬͋”̸͓̉̈́̑̎͊̌
.
Maybe not. A third building emerged from the rainfall ahead. All streets blocked. He glanced about. All alleys still blocked. This really was a hunting net, but this much energy for a tiny human? Predators weren’t usually like this.
He ran for the nearest building that wasn’t occupied by eldritch calamari.

( ( BOOMM! ) )

The eyescraper’s tentacle crossed his path. Its supersonic shockwave sent him flying.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Norman came to. Rain poured against his face as he lay on his back. How long was he out? Why was it so cold? The atmosphere didn’t quite feel right. It didn’t look right either. Something about the colours, or subtle lack thereof. Everything seemed a bit desaturated. Norman sat up and coughed his lungs out, evicting a mix of dust and rain water collected in his slackly gaping mouth. Buildings towered above him on every side, a bit too close for comfort.
.

“̸̮̼͍̻̯̲̹͓̬̻̓̍G̷̛̖̙̰̰̟̓Ḿ̸̧̨͊̊̔͒͌̆͆͘͠͝M̷̧̺̏̿̆͑͆͋̅͌̕͝G̵̰̺͇̺̯̲͇̠͖͂͜M̸̡̨͕̹̗̥̎͑́̾!̸͇͙͚̝̩͕̙̒!̵͙̬̮̪̏̍!̶͔̪͉̙̘̃̐̄͝”̶̡̡̥̫̻̝̜̫͙̩͛ͅ

.
Oh, right, those weren’t just buildings.
Norman raised a finger, gesturing to wait. “Could you *kaff!* quit subwoofin’ at me for, like, ten seconds!”
“Plucky.̵͚͐͝ for all seasons I .̵̦̺͐̅see,” came a skin-crawling voice from behind him.
Norman swung back his smitelight. It barely moved half a foot, then it stopped. Rather, something stopped it. That ‘something’ was cold. So cold. His wrist felt the chill without even touching it.
Norman turned, slowly, so as not to trigger further attacks. He found himself looking up.
Eight feet tall. Dark grey skin. A grin that went a little too wide. Dagger teeth. An open-chested jacket, revealing sinewy muscles with luminous markings like tattoos. His ebony eyes bore penetrating white pupils. Of all his traits, the dreadlocks stood out most. They belonged in a nightmare, dancing through the air with a life of their own. Somehow, they looked blacker than black, absorbing every ray of light or heat that came their way. That icy chill in the air shifted with the movements of his dreadlocks. They seemed to drink life from the air itself. Norman almost found it hard to breathe. One dreadlock clutched Norman’s smitelight, only by the tip, but its grip was iron.
Norman stared the tall man down.
The nyctal’s grin grew by a smidgeon.
Taking a calculated risk, Norman released the smitelight. Perhaps a peace offering would do good.
“Good.̷̧͋͌̎̿ boy,” the tall man nodded, admiring the smitelight as the dreadlock rotated it. “Clever.̴̧̤̩͈͓̖͂ͅ toy.”
Norman noted an understated Jamaican accent in his voice.
More dreadlocks slithered across the smitelight, as if tasting its every nook and cranny.
Norman did his best to look casual as he scanned for an escape route. The eyescraper’s tentacles had wrapped around the street, fencing him in.

_CHAT

• BAJANETTE11: 😳
• DARCIE222: okay, i’m back
• HARD-BACK-M8N: who you is again?
• DARCIE222: i left after the twilight angel sleep paralysis
• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: And you’re back for more?
• DARCIE222: wonna know it impossible to stay away from a channel like dis

Norman looked at the tall nyctal again.

_CHAT

• DARCIE222: 😲 WHO IS THAT?!? AND WHY IS HE KIND OF …??? 😍
• MUNSTER-VERSER: I KNOW!!!
• BAJANETTE11: HE LIKE A VAMPIRE RASTA MAN! ❤❤❤
• ENTO_MOLLY: MOVE OVER MIGUEL O’HARA!! 😍🥰😘
• BAJANETTE11: NORMAN ASK FOR HE NUMBER!!!
• NORMAN: I HERE ABOUT TO DIE AND WONNA WANT HE PHONE NUMBER!?!

The nyctal’s eyes shifted to Norman inquisitively. He frowned, raising an eyebrow as the comments piled up. Finally, he smirked mischievously.
“Your fanbase has peculiar tastes,” purred the tall man.

_CHAT

• ENTO_MOLLY: 😳 Is … he talking about us? HE CAN SEE THE CHAT???
• DARCIE222: THE WAY HE SAID IT!!!
• DARCIE222: HBVJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJKL;K''
• LEMMY_OUTA_HERE: Did she just pass out on the keyboard?
• LIKKLE-BOY: lol!
• ARN74: you’re simping. Norman’s about to die, and you’re simping

The tall man handed Norman his smitelight.
Norman’s suspicious gaze flicked between the nyctal and the weapon. Finally, he reached out and took hold of the smitelight.
It crumbled in his fingers like ice-cold ashes. If not for the insulation gloves, he might have gotten frostbite.
The nyctal laughed.
Norman didn’t find it particularly amusing.
The tall man sauntered towards the eyescraper. Beyond it was a darkness even the nightsight had difficulty piercing. He beckoned Norman as if it were an afterthought.
“Please come in, .̵̭̻͌̓̂Norman.̶̲͕͇̅̑̚,” the nyctal instructed.
Norman stared stubbornly, hands in his pockets as he rocked on his heels. He felt for his smartphone. It wasn’t there. When had he lost it?
Without looking back, the nyctal held up Norman’s phone. It disintegrated between his fingers as he rubbed them together.
Norman glared. At least the guy hadn’t pickpocketed deeply enough to find other things.
“Hey. To whom do I owe the … pleasure?” Norman almost had to push the last word through his teeth.
The nyctal stopped in the eyescraper’s doorframe. Shrouded in shadow, little could be seen of him, save the piercing white pupils peering out. Then the glint of his Cheshire grin.
“.̴̜͓̭̻̤̍̈́̆͑͑John Crow.̸̻̮̓̈́̏̓͘,” he answered, before receding into the darkness.
The eyescraper’s tentacles dragged in across the street, corralling Norman towards the building. With an exasperated groan, he trudged towards the main entrance.
“I want my bed,” grumbled Norman.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Become a free member on Patreon to read Part 14, 'Sleeping Giant', early! It will be released there today or tomorrow. For the visual 'mood writing' version (previously called 'artitext') and more Caribbean sci-fi, become a paid member for only $3! See links in comments.
First Previous (See NEXT>> in comments)

Swordlances and Shield Bros (that actually attack) have gotten a lot of criticism in the BB community, but how bad are they really?
I wanted to find out, so I did a run where I banned most of the meta builds, as well as throwing weapons and close range two handers. I also banned gunners, qatal duelists, mace duelists and cleaver duelists. I also banned berserk and killing frenzy as I wanted to experience the stamina system without relying on berserk recover.
Reach weapons were allowed as their damage is more in line with other weapons. Possibly a mistake though, as they circumvent the weirdness of the stamina system.
Standard pure defense tank builds and normal banner builds were allowed, in order to keep the test focused on the performance of the other builds. Sword duelists were allowed as a filler option for bros without the stamina to do anything else, flail duelists were allowed for guys with bad melee skill.
This started off as a challenge run but it turned into more of a build testing experiment as the off meta builds turned out to be strong enough that it wasn't really much harder than a normal run (until the end). So I fought certain battles multiple times for testing purposes, but still let bros die normally.
Team composition:
4 Attacking Shield Bros, 4-6 frontline Swordlances, 1 Normal Banner, 1 Normal Tank, rest filler in the form of sword duelists & flail duelists. One Shield Bro was also a spearman. Two Swordlances were semi ranged units with around 46 ranged skill and carried crossbows so enemy parties with weak ranged would advance normally. Exact builds in pics.
Team Part 1
.
Team Part 2
Results:
This team actually had a relatively easy time with most fights, getting in ~215 fights by day 149 and finding / buying 33 famed items while only finding a few champions and only buying a few good items. Core bros from early in the game hit level 15. I am not a speed runner or super high fight density player, so that's a decent result for me, which indicates the team was actually surprisingly strong.
Builds:
Frontline Swordlance:
This made up the bulk of my damage. While swordlance has gotten a lot of criticism, frontline swordlance just seems like a good tempo build for most of the game. Aside from gunners, it's simply the easiest way to AOE without requiring high stats or good armor. You can use a daytaler with mediocre starting stats for swordlance, while AOEing with a two hander requires a much better recruit who can survive a fair amount of enemy contact.
Winning against large numbers of humanoid enemies in early high tier camps is largely based on morale checks and getting fearsome procs. Using AOE abilities is a good way to get fearsome procs. Obviously it clears out weaker enemies and that lowers the morale of stronger enemies. But the damage doesn't really fall off too badly until you get to the most heavily armored enemies. It's even fine vs Chosen as you can use the increased reach and mobility to focus fire and get in multiple AOEs and stay out of trouble. Maybe vs later Chosen camps past day 150 that would become more difficult.
In general, with pathfinder + polearm you almost always get at least one attack in and you can focus fire very easily, while keeping your damage bros safe, which goes a long way in terms of tempo compared to other builds that have more dead turns.
Swordlance is also good against beasts like Lindwurms as many beast fights seems to favor the strategy of walk forward, hit with reach weapon, walk out of attack range. You can just AOE the lindwurms down while your damage bros are perfectly safe.
Is it better than Javelins? Probably not, javelins are OP, but it uses a much easier to obtain recruit type and it does have advantages in some fights compared to javelins, as in many of the more risky mid game camps the enemy likely has more range than you, forcing you to advance. Swordlance can simply walk right up to the walls and reap away, while throwers have trouble setting up throwing lanes and one range attackers get clogged up and can't attack.
Swordlance can also invest in a full set of defenses and survivability perks. (That's why it's "Frontline Swordlance".) It doesn't have to waste a scarce backline spot but can safely take contact from even Chosen temporarily, as long as it's not getting swarmed by them. So the more relevant comparison is Swordlance vs Dodge Quickhands. In that comparison Swordlance seems to have a lot of advantages while the disadvantages are minor (especially since in a normal run you can just keep a two handed axe as backup.)
Swordlance damage only really became a problem vs masses of uncontrolled, heavy armor enemies, like if you fight all the Ancient Undead at the same time in Monolith (more on that later). However, in normal fights Ancient Honor Guards aren't challenging due to predictable AI and by day 150 Orc Warriors are still in relatively small numbers and are easily controlled and their morale is easily broken. I guess if you played super late swordlance might start to struggle in some larger camps.
Swordlance build: Poleshield:
Stole this build from this subreddit, thanks! Most of the time he plays as a normal swordlance, but he has the option to swap to a heater shield when he gets stuck in melee and needs the defense. Start with swordlance out, swing (5 ap), swap to shield (4 ap). End turn. Next turn, wait with relentless as shield stays out, swap to swordlance at the end and swing (4 ap + 5 ap). Next turn you will go before slower enemies so you can swing again and put your shield up for the rest of the turn. Most swings hit while shield is up. For most of the game this wasn't needed very often and he instead used a 4 ap weapon as a sidearm so he could dump his stamina into damage as quickly as possible. He tries to stay out of trouble so he doesn't need the shield. However on Monolith or in dangerous situations the shield option did come in handy. One polearm swing per turn isn't great damage, but with AOE it's not horrible and the shield does a lot to keep them alive until they can get out of trouble (can reach 50 defense with dodge). It's also helpful to have the shield out when you use recover.
Swordlance build: Fake Ranged Tempo Poleshield:
If you aren't going to build ranged units, you probably want a couple of fake ranged units, otherwise enemies with minor ranged abilities (like orc young with javelins) won't walk up to you as they normally do. Just take a mediocre ranged recruit with high based ranged skill and get him up to 46 ranged skill, then put the rest of the stats in melee. Start the fight with a crossbow in hand so it's loaded. The AI treats it as a normal ranged unit and will advance normally. You still have to advance if they have a lot of ranged so it's the same as normal runs. He can actually hit quite often with his crossbow vs certain enemies. Bags and belts performed great on these guys but duelist was for a specific weapon and probably shouldn't be taken normally. One died but he had similar stats.
Shield Bros:
While four shield bros that attack plus a tank and a tank banner (who usually just stands there holding the banner) is overkill (or uhh underkill) in terms of low damage defensive units, the shield bros performed surprisingly well in terms of tempo, even though I was never able to find an ideal candidate for a battleforged hammer + shield bro.
In a normal run it often takes a quite a long time to find candidates who can hit a stat line like 85/35 at level 11 to qualify as fatigue neutrals, which means that you can end up with a team full of nimble damage dealers with few defense bros aside from the tanks. That delays your ability to shift to optimal tactics, where the front line is made up of high defense high armor bros who take most of the enemy attacks, while the damage dealers stand in safer positions and try to only get attacked by one enemy at a time.
A unit who wouldn't quite measure up as a fatigue neutral can be made into a Shield Bro instead and he'll have plenty of defense to fill a front line spot and stand up against 3 enemies or more, while still contributing some damage over time.
Probably the most desirable attacking shield bro is a battleforged hammer shield bro, but that only works with high fatigue backgrounds, I didn't get the right recruits for that so I was forced to compromise on my shield bro builds.
Shield Bro Build: Fatigue Neutral Iron Lungs:
Stamina management is a huge problem without access to two handed weapons. Getting attacked by a lot of enemies quickly uses up a lot of stamina and only a small percentage of recruits can have enough stamina to tank in battleforged armor and still swing two times per turn. I never really found many skilled recruits with a high stamina pool like that.
Battleforged is still essential though. Bros with iron lungs can be fatigue neutral and swing certain weapons twice per turn, every turn. Normally that's limited to cleavers and swords, but if you get famed weapons you can expand the list of one handed fatigue neutral weapons. I was lucky enough to get famed weapons for these two, although they were not great ones.
Defensively, these guys performed better than the numbers indicate as they didn't take any bleeds, injuries or fearsome checks. And while their defense is only in the mid 50s with shield, that still makes them significantly tankier than a normal fatigue neutral. Their damage is pretty bad but it adds up in the course of long fights, so I think you'd lose tempo in most fights if you substituted pure defensive tanks. In Monolith they could survive for many rounds tanking up to 7 ancient undead at a time, which nimble or nimbleforged bros could not handle.
With recruiter retinue it makes sense to check a lot of guys for traits anyway and this can be a high impact way to use some guys with iron lungs and mediocre stats. It's a bit niche but I would consider using this build in a normal run, especially if I got an appropriate famed weapon and didn't need a duelist. One of these guys started as a 55*/2* Iron Lungs Daytaler, his performance as a damage sponge + damage over time was solid in this build, but as a duelist he'd have been mediocre and used up a lot of tools. In this run more damage was needed, but in a normal run there is usually a shortage of high defense forged units.
Shield Bro Build: Hammer Shield
One handed Hammer still performs well even without double grip or duelist. Destroy armor still does a lot of armor damage on the appropriate enemies and the regular attack will always proc fearsome, which often means he can simply walk up to an orc warrior or chosen and rout him with a couple hits, while having 60 defense.
This run didn't really maximize the strengths of the hammer shield bro, ideally he'd be a high stamina background in forged armor and he'd be paired with high damage teammates like a barbarian two handed axe that just need a little armor softening.
Nimble and nimbleforged are definitely fine for large camps at 150 days of scaling and earlier but if the late game camps scale to the point where he has no choice but to be focus fired by many high damage enemies, then you'd want a forged bro instead. Mine started to run out of steam when fighting both undead groups at once in Monolith. Still, this is a build I would routinely consider adding to the line up. Another great reason to build this is that Nimble Hammer Shield combines well with Spear + Shield, which is great for mid game tempo.
Shield Bro Build: Spear Specialist
Spear specialist performs a similar role to the indomitable tank, but becomes available earlier. Due to the way the AI works he can often hold off as many as 4-6 enemies for several turns. The spear specialization perk is very valuable as you can continue to refresh spearwall even while tanking another enemy, often you can arrange it so the only available spot for an enemy to attack is next to the spearman, causing several enemies to waste their turns trying to move in. Two handed enemies like chosen and berserkers are particularly crippled as they can only move one tile and attack, so you either force them to waste their turn by moving, or if they walk into spearwall they lose their turn if the spearman hits even once. The spearman singlehandedly increases the number of camps that will be profitable for your team. Spear combines well with shield and hammer in the classic Spear Hammer Shield Build from early BB, giving you something to do when you are done spearwalling. Will build again.
Weaknesses and Monolith:
I did multiple Black Monolith fights for testing purposes.
https://preview.redd.it/tgvvrj14881d1.png?width=1779&format=png&auto=webp&s=a58156df46337efd136bccea6564799c81e2abf2
I'm aware of two strategies for Monolith, with one being significantly easier than the other.
The "Speedrun" strategy (seen in Shringshring's video here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ayh35O9mLUw&t=8429s) involves splitting the undead into two groups by running the tank to the top left corner of the map, while the rest of the team retreats towards the bottom left corner of the map. The fight plays out as two separate fights with a break in between. It is reliable if you move like he does, the necrosavants may attack if your team spreads out too much though. Even if you only move a little bit though, it's enough to split the undead as long as the tank makes it to the corner.
The other strategy is the "Normal" or "Hard Mode" strategy for Monolith, where the tank runs approximately 4 hexes towards the top of the map and the team retreats approximately two hexes to the left. The fight starts sooner and it is possible for the tank to die relatively quickly. You need either a good tank to last a long time or a good amount of damage, otherwise you can end up facing both undead groups at the same time. This is the more difficult strategy but high damage late game teams with good tanks can handle it fine.
The Shield Bro + Swordlance team doesn't have any problem with Monolith with the speedrun strategy. It's true that the swordlances feel a bit weak against the ancient honor guards, but there isn't excessive pressure on the team so it can take the time to set up good AOEs with swordlances, weaken armor with hammer bros and focus fire. It plays out like two normal fights back to back.
However, when trying to brute force both Ancient Dead groups with the "Hard Mode" strategy, the team finally starts to show its weakness. The team takes 20 to 21 rounds to beat Monolith using this strategy. That's much slower than normal for Monolith. The Battleforged fatigue neutral shield bros performed well, surviving for many rounds while getting hit by up to 7 ancient honor guards at a time, but having the fight take so long leaves more time for things to go wrong and win rate on Monolith was probably only about 60% with this strategy, as there was a risk of the tank going down early. This could have been reduced with a better tank and/or more potions. Fighting both undead groups + necrosavants all at once was too much for the team to overcome reliably. Swordlances ran out of stamina and got stuck in non optimal positions for AOE, hammers were not able to eliminate Honor Guards quickly enough on their own. It may also have been a mistake to go from 5-6 Swordlances in most normal fights to only 4 in the Monolith, by benching the faked ranged for newly trained high defense bros, as there was a real lack of damage for the "Hard Mode" strategy.
While there isn't much reason to do the "Hard Mode" strategy instead of the "Speedrun" strategy, this still hints at a weakness that might show up in certain extremely highly scaled camps late in the game, like very late sea of tents. Just not enough damage vs armor, plus tons and tons of armored enemies pushing in too fast, getting in contact with vulnerable nimble units. However the amount of orc warriors that spawned in early game Sea of Tents were no problem at all, swordlance guys could just keep a tier 2 hammer in the pocket and easily rout them with fearsome after routing the young and berserkers.
Finally, fighting both undead groups at once illustrated some problems with the stamina system in this game as it relates to 4ap weapons. I left the sword duelist option available for filler bros with lower stamina who couldn't do anything else. Normally the build performed fine, however when there was an extremely high density of enemies and the sword duelist was getting attacked a lot he quickly ran out of stamina and could rarely regain enough to swing twice. He could either use recover, which was never needed in any other fight, or he could stand there and swing only once like an idiot. I gave them reach weapons for just this reason, but it was kind of a crutch to play around this imbalance of the stamina system, that's why two handed weapons are so good after all. In the Speedrun strategy when the undead were split into two groups, the sword duelists had no problems as they could take positions where only small numbers of enemies could swing at them.
Conclusion:
The meta builds exist for a reason of course, but the Devs generally did a great job balancing this game and you can definitely make a lot of non-meta builds work. Sometimes they even feel quite strong. However, when designing your non-meta builds keep in mind the imbalances with the stamina system. For a tanky character with a high stamina pool who uses high stamina cost moves, like the Hammer Shield Bro, taking a turn to recover doesn't feel too bad. But pathfinder based 4 ap builds that don't use much stamina in normal fights can find their offense shut down if they let a lot of enemies swing at them. That kind of limits the value of high defense and high durability on this kind of unit and makes me want to avoid putting 4 ap weapons on them, even though it seems more thematic than giant two handed weapons.

Hello,
Names JCEE.
Like many individuals on this page, we are fans of a wrestling company known as All Elite Wrestling. As a long-time lurker, this fandom comes within many shapes, sizes and sorts. From my time here, there were many highs, All Out 2021 or Wembley Stadium, to the lowest lows, Brawl Out, and whether there were people that have been here since day 1 or just joined recently, we come together due to one simple fact:
WE LOVE AEW.
My origin into this fandom wasn't at the every start, I didn't watch All Out 1 or watched when AEW started weekly TV in its first year.
I was a waning WWE fan and the only weekly stuff I watched was NXT Takeovers and NXT UK because being in a part of Europe where I couldn't watch weekly the main roster stuff so just kept up to date with podcasts or highlights.
(Shoutout OG Whatculture with Pacitti, Jack and King Ross).
Like many fans of the E, I came in as a fan throughout the early 2000's and dropped off and came in again every so often.
The height of my fandom will always be going to Youtube in the old days and watching the Shield vs The Wyatt Family in Elimination Chamber.
Even back then, Mox to me was the leader of the Shield and still salty that they made Roman the leader towards the end. (haha)
Man it was wild to think that the main reason the E gave so much shine to Black and Gold NXT at Survivor series was mostly due to AEW gaining momentum.
NXT Black and Gold/UK will always hold a special place in my heart for two main reasons
1) it was the place where I showed my partner her first proper wrestling match: Adam Cole (Bay Bay) vs Keith Lee Champ for both their belts.
She was sad she coudn't get me the shirt for that match cause it was only available in US
2) Ilja Dragunov vs Walter. NXT UK Pandemic Era
Still to this day, my favourite series of matches that made me realise "man I love professional wrestling".
If any of you still have the old network go out of your way to watch this and their Takeover match, I remember being part of that journey where Ilja basically had to break himself down and build himself up to get another shot at Walter had to be something special to get me to watch a weekly show where only piped in crowd noise was the only response to the action.
However, even though I say these things and had those memories I don't watch the product anymore since my Membership expired. I recently went to a live event a while ago in Germany with my sister to see WWE.
Standout moments were:
a) The Miz cut a promo, in German, about how big his balls are. He faced Cody Rhodes and not gonna lie. Favorite match of the night.
b) Introduction to Main event Jey Uso live and the Yeet chants. Tag match with Sami Zayn that spiraled from an NXT North American Title Match that ended when Dom and JD got the DQ on the FIRST MATCH to set up a tag match.
c) New Day are still great
d) Imperium vs Alpha Academy was great home town goodness.
e) Gunther vs Bronson was easily a slapper. Both figuratively and literally. I was in seats high up in the Arena. I have a feeling most of us would die if Gunther were to chop any of us. It was LOUD.
f) Seth Rollins vs Shinsuke for the World title in a Berlin Street Fight. Gunther should have main evented and that table spot SUCKED BALLS.
After the event, My sister and I chatted, she had a great time. Told her I did too, I still would not watch the product again.
Alright, the preamble is now out the way. I know alot of you guys would consider the above excessive but I feel like I had to paint a picture to get you into the frame of my mind as a fan of wrestling. I'm not coming from a WWE hater but as someone who did love the things they did but, unlike some who dropped out after a multitude of BS wrestling bollocks from E, for myself, I just could'nt find a way to enjoy a company that seemed so.....two-faced.
AEW will always be the company that proved to me that there is a company that would do right by wrestlers who felt they could've been more.
The moment that made me into an avid AEW fan.
Jon Moxley beating Chris Jericho to win the AEW title for the first time.
The guy whose last run involved a gas mask was able to be crowned a champion as HIMSELF in front of an adoring crowd.
Then the Elite/Hangman saga. Eddie Kingston. Darby. Orange. AEW Dark hangouts.
I went into the deep end of this new company and wanting to know more about these new characters and people I was introduced to.
It still feels nostalgic thinking about how the Elite created the BTE title or the Bucks asking Eddie to cut a promo on a pack of cookies.
God that was some good times.
Then the Punk stuff happened.
With the preamble being as long as it was, this section is going to be brief. In summary:
-Exciting when he came in. Loved his match with Darby.
-Brawl Out was a situation where if you go back and just tweak things a little, I have a feeling we would have a different timeline that what we have today.
-Regardless, everyone shoulders blame and things could have been handled better. That said, CM Punk is an entitled baby who realised that just because TK loved him, the rest of the locker room had different opinions.
-Him being fired was probably the best to occur and regardless of what you feel about the video, still not cool to lunge at your boss cause you feel slighted. Leave your "oh it wasnt even that bad, TK got thin skin" bs out the door.
The above point is why Youtube personality Just Alyx soured on me.
"Come on, CM Punk Tony. LIke look at him"
That was the phrase that just made me sad about one of the people I loved to get his views on with the product.
Also JDfromNY. Loved his WWE rants. They were hilarious. With Papa H pretty much running the show, he and Alyx, two dudes I could just listen to and just kinda vibe with became insufferable.
I think the line where one posted "With Triple H finally getting these backstage hands in order and the Rock being one of the board members, I can confidently say that I can just enjoy and not backseat" was the push I needed to get those two off my timeline.
AEW as a five year old company has made mistakes, jesus christ Wardlow I'm so sorry, but it has shown it can grow and it's still a place where wrestlers can call home.
The recent thread on SQ is over 1.5k comments about the low ratings and I didn't click onto it cause I enjoy my mental health but I feel people forgot that Sting had his retirement match two months ago and that was arguably one of AEW's best PPV's. Then Dynasty happened and so on and so on.
There are alot of things that AEW needs to fix but I'm confident that all of us can admit, they have made great strides compared to its start and they will continue to improve without, hopefully, resorting to childish BS in the future
I feel like this post was therapeutic in the sense that I needed to vent about the recent online discourse. So I leave you guy's a question:
What is the one thing you can say that makes you love AEW
I'm JCEE. Thanks for the Ted Talk

Location: Defense Line Husky, Datsot-3

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

Location: Atlas Naval Command, Luna

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

Meta

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

Around Thanksgiving last year, my 22 year old daughter Izzy started complaining about her back hurting. We just assumed she pulled a muscle or had a pinched nerve. After a couple weeks, the pain seemed to be getting worse. She went to urgent care on a Friday and they confirmed she probably had a pinched nerve. They gave her some meds. That following Monday (Dec. 18) she was in a lot of pain, so I rushed her to the hospital. It was her back and her left arm now bothering her. They blew her off and said that she was fine. I insisted that she get an MRI or cat scan done. Finally at my request they did a cat scan on her back and said they didn't see anything wrong. They said it's probably a pinched nerve, gave her more meds and sent us home.
The week of Christmas everything changed. She woke up each night covered in sweat. On the 28th, her heart was beating fast, she was extremely pale, and had two knots appear on the left side of her neck and one under her left underarm. I brought her to a different hospital.
When we got to the ER, they immediately took her to a room. Her vitals were extremely high (170 heart rate) from the pain she was in. They were considering that she could have meningitis or mono. They wanted to get tests ran right away. They admitted her, and did a spinal tap and MRI. 2 days later (Saturday) the doc said they found a large tumor on her spine. Can't say if it's cancer yet, she would need a biopsy first. They informed us that she would be moved that day to their sister hospital that specializes in cancer.
When we arrived, she was put on the neurology ward in a regular room. They immediately put her on a lot of meds. She was on so many pain drugs, (Oxy, Dilaudid, muscle relaxers, Morphine, Xanax, etc.) that I kept asking, "Is this end of life? Can she overdose from all these drugs?" They would respond with, "no, it's just to keep her comfortable and we're trying to get her heart rate down." On New years day they gave her Ativan. She responded horribly to it. It was a rough day. She was hallucinating and freaking out all day and night. The next day she told them to NEVER give her that again. They told her when we first arrived that anything she didn't want to take, they would respect and not put it in her charts to receive. They would put it under allergies. We assumed they would do so as they said they would.
They finally did the biopsy on Wednesday the 3rd. When she came back from surgery, she wouldn't wake up. She slept all day Wednesday and most of Thursday. I was really concerned.They kept adding more pain meds to her chart. I again was scared she would forget to breathe. That night she wasn't breathing properly and her vitals were going down. She had to be rushed to NeuroICU. They got her stable and explained it was from all the different drugs. They explained that it's trial and error. They're trying to figure out what works for her and they decided to put her on a drip line of Dilaudid. They still gave her other drugs but Dilaudid seemed to help her pain somewhat. They also said she had a spot on her lungs what looked like pneumonia starting.
All week she was constantly telling us that she was losing feeling in her legs and her left arm. By Saturday of that week she was paralyzed. They finally took her for an MRI and saw that the tumor had spread up and down her spine and to her ovaries, and it was stealing her blood supply. She would need emergency surgery asap. They of course came to explain what was happening and the surgeon informed me that Ativan would be used during surgery. I immediately told him no, and that she is allergic to it and it was supposed to be on her allergy list. I explained to him what happened when she received it before. On Sunday they rushed her into surgery and cut the blood supply to the tumor. It was too dangerous to try and remove any of the tumor. They didn't know if the paralysis was permanent, but they were hopeful that the surgery would work. It didn't we would later find out.
When she returned from surgery, she was out of control. She was violent and cursing at me. In 22 years I had never heard her curse, but she was fluent! She was hallucinating bad and kept freaking out. It was scary to watch. They decided to give her some meds to make her to sleep, to help her heal. For 2 straight days my baby screamed blood curdling screams, she would cry out "mommy, mommy" while she slept. She screamed so much and so loud that anyone in ear shot were questioning what was going on. It was heartbreaking to witness. I thought she was having a bad reaction to the anesthesia. I later found out that they were giving her Ativan anyway. They NEVER put it in her chart as an allergy the week before, and the doctor disregarded what I said about not giving her that. They had other options they could have used but he still chose to do what he wanted. I only found out because the nurse mentioned that she would be right back with her Ativan. The nurse had no knowledge that my daughter refused that medication previously. I informed her not to give that drug to her. She went and spoke with the attending physician who changed it to haldol and ketemine. That was Monday night. By Wednesday she finally calmed down from screaming, so they decided to try and wake her up.
When she woke up she could no longer speak properly, use her left arm, or move her legs. Her fingers and toes were turning black. They said it was from a certain med she was on. That it's normal. A lay person could see something was horribly wrong.
Everyday we would see up to 30 doctors. I say we, because I never left her side. One would say one thing while another would say something else. It was confusing and scary. We still didn't have a diagnosis. We just knew she had cancer. They suspected stage 4 but couldn't say until pathology came back. It was traumatic and a nightmare. It went from a diagnosis of a pinched nerve to stage 4 cancer in a matter of a week. WTF?
We finally got the diagnosis on Tuesday the 9th.. Stage 4 anaplastic large cell lymphoma. Very rare and aggressive. They said they were starting chemo immediately. They gave her the first dose that Wednesday night. We had hope. It was a rollercoaster of terror, but the doctors kept saying that she could beat this. I googled everything I could and prayed for a miracle. It's always been my girl and I, so I was desperate for her to live through this. She wasn't just my daughter, she was literally my everything.
By week 2, she needed blood on a daily basis. She couldn't eat or drink. She couldn't relieve herself. She couldn't move. She couldn't speak clearly to explain her needs or wants. Her breathing was shallow. Her vitals were not normal. They would go down and then jump extremely high. She was so out of it, that they had to come to me concerning everything. Her oxygen was dropping significantly and they had to keep changing out the masks and oxygen levels to help her breathe. They kept changing her meds and she had multiple complications from that. They couldn't find any good spots on her arms to put her IVs anymore, and her legs were so swollen that they couldn't locate a useable spot anywhere. They put it on her right side of the neck. During all this she had multiple medical emergencies. One example is they said that spot on her lungs wasn't pneumonia but they now suspected a small blood clot. That medicine she was given would hopefully help, the only problem was that medication was causing problems for her back surgery. A few days later we found out it was blood and it was completely filled up in her chest. She was drowning in her own blood. They couldn't do surgery right away because she would bleed out since her platelets were so low even while receiving blood transfusions. That blood was somehow going into her lungs. I was floored. Everyday I would ask about it and I was told it was getting better, nothing to worry about. In fact the doctor said that very morning it had cleared up significantly. Imagine my shock when the critical team comes rushing in that evening to do ultrasounds on her and tells me they suspect it's why her breathing was going downhill.
On Monday she was transferred to a MICU room on a different floor. This floor felt uneasy to me. There was death all around and you could see it. They said that this floor was where her main doctors were, so that she would get the best care. Now they introduce fentanyl to her med regimen. They explained it that it would help with her pain. She would be allowed so much every hour if needed.
The next day they decided to do the surgery to put a tube in her chest to drain the blood. She now had an extremely dangerous back surgery, staples running up her entire back with tubes, a huge scar under her arm from the biopsy with tubes, and now a huge tube coming out her chest. Her fingers and toes at this point were in a stage of necropsy. But they couldn't do anything about it. They would just have to fall off in time. It was devastating. My daughter was a trooper through out this whole time. She never complained or was negative. She was just scared when she understood what was going on. Honestly I've never seen so much courage in my life.
When it came to her pain meds she was only on fentanyl and Dilaudid drip. She would only receive it when she asked. That was her rule. She was scared she would overdose or become hooked on it and didn't want that monster on her back. She would be in so much pain but would just sit through it. Her vitals were better, but when the pain would become to much to bare, her heart rate would go into the 150 to 170 range. As soon as she got some meds it would go down to the teens to low twenty's.
On Thursday night she had a new nurse. He would administer pain meds even when she didn't request it. I saw him give her shot when she was sleeping. I walked in on him. I asked him if she requested it as I saw she was asleep and he said no. He stated he was trying to keep her comfortable. I asked him not to unless she asks. He didn't listen.Throughout the night as we slept, he would give her meds that she didn't even need. He gave her haldol. She only received that for two days after her back surgery. No one had given her that since. He would give her a shot of fentanyl behind it. I later found this out while talking with her doctors and from her records.
That Friday morning she started having these weird episodes, what later looked like seizures to me. Her vitals would drop and she would go into a deep stare. They blamed the meds. It was constant apologies for her being over medicated again. Even the doctor didn't understand why he gave her so much.She had 4 separate episodes before they (at my constant request) sent her to get a MRI done.
She had a blood clot in her brain. Again they said nothing to worry about. But after experiencing what we went through already, I was highly concerned. As I should have been. They kept apologizing and said they would change her medication up again. I told them it wasn't the medicine it was the nurse. I couldn't understand why he would give her two doses of haldol when she didn't need it. The nurse said my daughter was anxious and thought it would help. My daughter was sleeping so how could she have been anxious. I went off. Something in my spirit was telling me to get her out of there. But how could I when she was hooked up to all these tubes. She was suffering and I couldn't help her. The only thing I could do was use my voice to try and protect her and be her advocate. The next day Jan. 20th, I woke up after a couple hours of sleep, and I knew something was wrong. She was awake and trying to talk. Her vitals were back at a steady 170 with high blood pressure and a low oxygen number so I knew she was in pain. I could feel it in every bone of my body something was different that day. I felt my baby didn't have long as I thought cancer was winning. I called all of our family to come see her. I can't explain it. At one point I pulled one of her doctors out of her room and begged him to tell me what was happening. Shoot it to me straight. He kept saying she's always been critical but she would pull through. He had so much hope.
They gave her some meds to help bring her vitals down and it started to work again. Her vitals started going from 160 to 150. At this point she was having a brain scan done in her room to see what the episodes were exactly. She was awake but could no longer move from her neck down. Which had just started the 2 days before. She had a blood infection and they had to move the pic line from the right side of her neck to the left side but we're unsuccessful because she had obstructions there (2 huge tumors) They had to put the new line back on the right side in the back of the neck. I don't know what happened since I wasn't allowed in the room. I do know my daughter said after they finished, she wasn't able to feel anything but her face. She never turned her head again.
During that day she kept having flem and spit from the congestion she had due to the chest infection and surgery. I would sit there and suck it out for her. No problem, I had been doing it for days with no complaints on my end. The doctors were coming in and out constantly all day to check her brain test and at one point the doctor seeing me and my nephew take shifts suctioning her out said he wanted to try a new medicine she had never received. My daughters nurse interrupted him and said that she didn't think that it was a good idea. They went back and forth for a few minutes and I stepped in and said, it was fine, I would sit there and suction out forever if I had to. Something felt different in this exchange as well. In all of 24 days of being in the hospital, I never saw a nurse challenge a doctor. I immediately went to the computer, where the nurse had typed in the order for this drug, and googled it. The first thing that popped up, was not to give this drug to someone with high blood pressure or high heart rate. It causes a person's heart rate to shoot up high quickly. It was too late. They already administered it to her. Since her heart rate was already high it caused her to go into cardiac arrest. I just stood there in shock screaming is she in cardiac arrest? To which the doctor finally responded "I'm sorry, yes"
They ushered me and my nephew out of the room so they could work on her. After about 30 minutes they called my phone and told me she flatlined but they got her heart beating again. I went flying back in that room screaming at them. I refused to leave the room. She was now on life support, but there was no hope for her to ever wake up again. After consulting with my family and her doctors, and looking at where her vitals were, I decided to pull the plug. She passed within seconds. I feel like the doctor should have listened to the nurse, but his ego would not allow him to. I feel like he's somehow responsible, but at the same time I saw what was happening to her on a daily basis and what cancer was doing to her body. I also witnessed a lot of negligence too on their part. I've been going back and forth since January 20th, about contacting an attorney and seeing if I have a case. I requested an autopsy to be performed, because I wanted to know what all was wrong with her. They informed me they normally don't do that because of the cancer. I argued with them and said I wanted one anyway. I wanted to know what happened. I was trying to understand this whole situation. 25 days prior it was just supposed to be a pinched nerve, but it wasn't. They explained I would have to pay for the autopsy, and I was okay with that. The next day after she passed away, I received the phone call to give my permission for an autopsy. They said it would take a couple days and would let me know when it was finished so the funeral home could pick up her body.
I've been calling for months about the autopsy report with no luck. Here we are in May, I go to the hospital to get the autopsy results and it's all of five pages. It's not even an autopsy report. It doesn't even state her cause of death. It's just bullshit paperwork. All it mentions is the necropsy to her fingers and toes and her basic info like height and weight. I'm so angry right now. I have her medical records, and I noticed on the 19th of January they finally put she was allergic to Ativan. There's a lot wrong with this situation. I even asked for a CD of all her images, from pathology. What I received only two images come up. Everything else is blocked from opening. I know my daughter took multiple MRIs, ultrasounds,and CAT scans in those three and a half weeks. There's no way it's only two images.
I counted all the times the nurse gave my daughter pain meds that Thursday night and it was double what any other nurse had given her at any other time plus with other drugs she didn't need at that time. I found out that haldol and fentanyl is something they give to patients that's in end of life care. Which I was constantly told my daughter was not. Her death certificate states she passed from lymphoma related cardiac arrest. I'm just so confused on what to do. I feel like I'm letting my daughter down if I don't look into this further.
I'm sorry this a novel. I couldn't just ask a simple question with out the back story for you to understand. It was so much more believe me, this was the short version!
Do I have a case or should I just move on and accept my daughter died from cancer related complications? Thank you....

Kokichi and Himiko hurried over to Himiko's secret magic room. Once there, Himiko threw open the pages of "Inside the Magical Mind" over to the "Build the Perfect Dream" chapter. She flipped through the pages until she found what she was looking for.
"A-ha!" she squeaked with excitement, placing her finger on the horror section. Kokichi grinned at her.
"Nee-heehee...I know we're supposed to be serious, and all, but that 'a-ha!' was super cute, Monkey Buns!" Kokichi said, giving Himiko a squeeze.
"Nyeh...that's because I'm super cute...thank you very much," Himiko said, sassily flipping her hair.
"Yes, you are," Kokichi murmured in a low, flirty voice, leaning his head against Himiko's. "I wuv my cute, wittle Monkey Buns." He gave Himiko a few soft kisses on her lips. Himiko giggled in delight.
"Okay, okay, it's back to being serious," she said suddenly, clapping her hands with a purpose.
"Yup, yup! It's go time!" Kokichi said, nodding enthusiastically. Himiko studied the horror section of the book:
~HORROR:~
Want a more terrifying experience in your dreams? No? Would you like to give your enemies nightmares, then? If that's the case, try filling up your enemy's mind with the most horrific thing they could ever imagine! Or, use a more lighthearted, yet creepy, potion to prank a friend! That works, too! Take them on a night filled with monsterific fright!
Himiko skimmed the first two potions, "Thriller Night dream," and the "Goosebumps dream." She stopped straight at the "Nightmare Fuel dream."
"Nyeh...this is the one that we need," she said, grinning deviously. Kokichi grinned along with her.
"Oooo...I love when my Supreme Lady gets all mischievous," he said with a ghoulish giggle as he kissed her cheek. Himiko giggled with him, as well, before reading on:
Nightmare Fuel dream: Want your enemies to experience the ultimate nightmare? Then, the Nightmare Fuel dream is the perfect one for you...or should I say, your enemy. Huhuhu! Give them them a night full of what they fear the most, whether it's a bunch of wriggly spiders, or a terrifying ghost!
Kokichi and Himiko grinned at each other impishly.
"Perfect!" they murmured in unison, and giggled deviously as Himiko poured in the ingredients. As she stirred the potion, eerie wisps of green and purple mist emanated from the cauldron. Himiko waved her hands mysteriously over her cauldron to part the mists away. Kokichi was mesmerized by her movements. Her face glowed bright in beautiful shades of shimmering green and purple. Kokichi felt his heart beat faster. If they weren't making cookies, this could be the perfect romantic setting. He couldn't resist her mischievous grin as she continued to pour and mix the ingredients. He felt as if he were falling in love all over again. Himiko looked up at him, catching him staring. She batted her eyelashes seductively at him, beckoning him closer. Finding her alluring and completely irresistible, Kokichi moved closer to her. He placed his hands on her waist and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. He then wrapped his arms tightly around Himiko. He couldn't resist. Heart raging against his chest, he reached up her shirt, caressing her back with his hands. His hand slowly moved up towards her bra to unhook it.
Snoozydoodle, my ass, he thought to himself. All my dreams are coming true right here! Suddenly, he moved his lips down to her neck. Himiko gasped softly and smiled. She placed her lips next to Kokichi's ear.

"Kokichi," she whispered seductively.
"Mmmm...yes...my Supreme Lady...?" Kokichi murmured in response, using his lips to move Himiko's shirt collar to gently bite Himiko's shoulder.
"The cookies, Kokichi..." Himiko reminded him in a sultry whisper. Kokichi's hands froze right as he was about to unhook her bra. He squeezed her longingly, but in the end, reluctantly released her.
"Right..." he mumbled. "Sorry..." He sighed, feeling dizzy. He had to admit that he loved the way Himiko made him feel. He shook his head to clear his mind. His breathing slowed back to a steady pace, as well as his heart. Now wasn't the time for feelings. They had to focus on the task at hand. Himiko smiled and bit her lip flirtatiously at him. He could tell she wanted him just as badly in that moment. But, she continued mixing the potion. He turned away from her, as if to block out any lustful temptations.
"Nyeh...it's finally done," Himiko said, breaking the silence. She poured the potion into a potion bottle.
"Ready to go?" Kokichi asked, trying to overcome the spell he was just under. Himiko nodded. Once they left the room, Kokichi grabbed Himiko's wrist. "Himiko...what happened back there...you didn't...do that to me, right?" Himiko smiled as she blushed bright red and shook her head.
"Nope," she replied. Kokichi nodded slowly.
"I thought so," he said. They both took deep breaths. "Pheeew! That was something, huh?" he said, scratching his head with a sheepish blush splashed onto his face.
"Nyeh...it was probably just a heat-of-the-moment type thing," Himiko said.
"Yeah, er, um...sorry about...y'know...reaching up your shirt and..." Kokichi began. Himiko looked at him with a seductive gleam in her eye and smiled naughtily as she placed her hand on his chest.
"You can do whatever you want to me..." she murmured in a low voice. "...and that's the truth." She bit her lip and winked flirtatiously at him before turning and walking away without another word. Kokichi stared after her, stunned, as she walked along the train tracks leading to the abandoned train station. Suddenly, a devilish grin crossed his face as he ran to catch up to her. He wrapped an arm around her waist and gave her a kiss on the lips before both breaking off into a run with mischievous giggling to D.I.C.E. headquarters to bake cookies for the final time.
End
"Don't go chasin' waterfalls. Listen to the rivers and the lakes that you're uuused to," Four sang, holding a broom handle like a microphone. Five paused from polishing some furniture and turned to him with a scoff.
"Ugh...dummy! Hello! It's 'Please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to,'" she corrected.
"Well...whatever," Four grumbled. "I don't like that dumb song anyway."
"Hahaha...why, cuz you got the words wrong?" Six cackled.
"N-No!" Four stammered, going back to sweeping the floor. Two held the dustpan out so Four could sweep the dirt into it. "I just...think it's dumb! How can someone chase a waterfall when it doesn't even move?!"
"Pffft! I don't know, I didn't come up with the lyrics! Why don't you ask DLC?" Six answered. Five rolled her eyes.
"TLC!! " she corrected.
"Whaaaateveeeerrrrr!!" Six shouted back. Suddenly, the front doors of the headquarters burst open, and in walked Kokichi and Himiko.
"Boss! You're here!" Four said, blocking Kokichi's way. "Can I ask you something?"
"Not now, Ichiro, Himiko and I have some business in the kitchen," Kokichi replied urgently. He swerved around Four, but Four ran up to block his way again. "Ugh! What, Ichiro?!" Kokichi exclaimed testily.
"Um...is it 'Don't go chasing waterfalls, listen to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to,' or is it, 'please stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to?'" Four asked timidly.
"The latter," Kokichi replied briefly, then dashed away quickly to the kitchen.
"DAMMMIIIIIT!!" Four cried, falling to his knees in defeat. Five grinned smugly at him.
"Told ya!" she said before continuing her polishing.
In the kitchen, Kokichi and Himiko got to work on the last batches of the Snoozydoodles. Kokichi preheated the oven. Himiko poured the ingredients, including some of her potion, inside, and Kokichi mixed afterwards. Right after sticking one batch into the oven, they immediately got started on a second batch. After a few hours of baking, they had finally come up with enough batches for the entire school.
"Nyeh...that was exhausting," Himiko sighed, leaning against the wall.
"Well, that was only half the battle, HimiCocoa Bean," Kokichi said, pulling her up. "We gotta get these cookies to Hope's Peak."
"Ooo! Can I have one?" Four asked, reaching for a cookie.
"No!" Kokichi said, slapping his hand away.
"Nyeh...Kokichi? How are going to carry all these cookies?" Himiko asked, gesturing to the stacks upon stacks of cookies on the counter.
"Kazuki!" Kokichi called to Eight. Eight silently walked in and saluted. "Bring the confetti cannon."
"Yes, boss," Eight replied, then hurried away. He came back a few minutes later lugging a large, black, tubular contraption with a long, black hose with ridges similar to a one on a vacuum cleaner.
"Thank you!" Kokichi replied. Eight saluted in response. "It's clear of confetti, right?"
"Yes, sir," Eight replied.
"Great!" Kokichi said. "Takehiko!" Ten now appeared in the kitchen, taking his place next to Eight.
"You rang, boss?" he asked.
"Yup! Fire up the Happycopter and wait there for us," Kokichi ordered.
"On it like a bonnet!" Ten promised and scurried off.
"Monkey Buns, help me pour the cookies into this hole right here," Kokichi said, opening up a lid on top of the cannon similar to a fuel cap on a car.
"Nyeh...got it, boss," Himiko replied with a smile. Kokichi smiled back at her and stroked her cheek affectionately. They both began pouring the cookies inside the confetti cannon. Once all the cookies were inside, Kokichi closed the lid.
"Alright, babe, we're ready to roll!" he said to Himiko. Himiko nodded firmly in response. Kokichi turned to Eight. "Kazuki, give us a hand." Eight saluted and helped Kokichi and Himiko carry the cannon up the stairs all the way to the rooftop, where Ten was waiting for them in the Happycopter. The three hoisted the cannon inside. Kokichi hopped in and helped Himiko inside.
"Where to, boss?" Ten asked.
"Drop us down on the roof of Hope's Peak," Kokichi replied.
"Caaaan do!" Ten said, then took off. He landed the Happycopter on the roof of the academy, and helped Kokichi lug the cannon out.
"Alright, Ten! We'll take it from here!" Kokichi shouted over the blades of the Happycopter. Ten answered with a salute, then flew the Happycopter back to D.I.C.E. headquarters. The final bell to Hope's Peak rang, and the students began pouring out of the front entrance far below. Kokichi pulled out a megaphone.
"He-eeeey, everyoooone!" he sang, his voice ringing loud and clear. The students looked up at him.
"Hey! It's Kokichi!" Kaito said, pointing up at the roof.
"And Himiko's with him!" Ibuki added. Himiko felt dizzy from such a great height.
"Nyeeeh...I feel woozy," she muttered. "I'm glad I'm only 4' 11." I don't think I could stand being taller than that."
"That's alright, HimiCocoa Bean, I'll do all the talking," Kokichi said. "Just get ready to flip that switch when I tell you to." Himiko went to the cannon and waited by a tiny, black lever.
"Hey, Kokichi!! Tell Himiko to give us more cookies!" Kazuichi cried.
"You guys want Snoozydoodles?" Kokichi asked through the megaphone. Everyone cheered. "I saaiiid...do you guys want Snoozydoodles?" Kokichi repeated louder, increasing suspense. Everyone cheered louder.
"Hurry up and give us the damn cookies!!" Miu screamed at the top of her lungs. Kokichi turned to Himiko.
"Flip the switch, Monkey Buns!" he said. Himiko flipped the tiny lever, activating the confetti cannon. Kokichi held up the ridged hose, and out flew dozens of cookies. The students below cheered and clamored for the cookies. Everyone grabbed a cookie and headed home. Kokichi turned to Himiko and gave her a high five.
"Well done, Himiko!" he said. "Now all we gotta do is wait!"
***
The next morning, Himiko woke up to see Tenko sitting on the edge of her bed in horror. Her eyes were wide and she was pale as if she had seen a ghost. Himiko crept slowly over to her.
"Nyeh...Tenko? Are you okay?" Himiko asked worriedly. Tenko jumped back in fear.
"WAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!" she screamed, jumping back under her blanket.
"Nyeh! T-Tenko! It's just me!" Himiko said. Tenko peeked out from under her blanket.
"H-H-Himiko...?" she stammered.
"That's right. It's just me," Himiko said. Shivering violently, Tenko crawled out from under blanket again. "Tenko, what happened?"
"H-H-Had...nightmare..." Tenko stammered. "N-N-nothing b-b-but...darkness. And...c-c-creepy singing. I couldn't move! It's like I was trapped inside a...a...cage! The next thing I know...there was a sharp p-p-pain in my neck!"
"Oh, my!" Himiko exclaimed.
"Th-Th-That's when I w-w-woke up," Tenko said, holding her blanket up to her face. Then, she slowly lowered her blanket with an apologetic expression. "Himiko...i-i-if it's okay with you...I d-don't think I want another S-Snoozyd-d-doodle..."
"Yeah! Okay!" Himiko nodded. It was exactly what she wanted! She hurried to get dressed, then headed downstairs to the dining room to see the others' faces filled with woe and misery, as if their nightmares had drained every ounce of life from their bodies.
"Nee-heehee...looks like all their hopes and dreams got shattered, huh?" Kokichi whispered, suddenly appearing next to Himiko, leaning his elbow on her shoulder. Himiko grinned and nodded.
"But, I wanna make sure they don't crave my Snoozydoodles at all, anymore," she said. She walked into the dining room. "Nyeh...anyone in the mood for more Snoozydoodles?" Everyone snapped to attention with sheer horror in their eyes.
"NOOOOOOOO!!!" Kaito wailed.
"Keep those cookies from hell away from us!!" Miu cried, tears streaming from her eyes. "There was nothing but...t-t-toilet paper everywhere!! And some buff guy I couldn't identify was running after me with one of the rolls tryin' to strangle meeee!!"
"Gonta not wanna get stabbed by bug again!!" Gonta sobbed into his hands. "Bugs betray Gontaaaaaa!!"
"I...had boiled water thrown on me..." Kiyo said, his face pale and sweaty. "Then, to add salt to the wound, Sister threw salt on my wounds." He shuddered violently.
"I was surrounded by a bunch of piranhas," Ryoma said. "And then, they started biting me. I...could actually feel the biting." Everyone was holding themselves, rocking back and forth, trying to erase their nightmares from their minds.
"Himiko...if it's alright with you...I'm done with Snoozydoodles," Tsumugi said. Himiko pretended to appear despondent.
"I understand," she said. Then, she turned to Kokichi with a huge grin. Kokichi gave her a thumbs up.
"That's my Supreme Lady," he murmured in her ear and gave her a kiss.
***
Weeks later, the time finally came for the surprise field trip. Usami ushered the students onto the buses.
"Where do you think we're going, Monkey Buns?" Kokichi asked Himiko.
"Nyeh...I'm not sure," Himiko replied.
"Tuh...wherever it is, it better not have anything to do with cookies," Miu muttered bitterly. She was hanging over their seat from behind.
"Uh...this is a private conversation between me and my Supreme Lady," Kokichi said. "So, back off, bitch!"
"Eeeeeeee!!! Okay, okaaaayyyy!!" Miu whined, shriveling back down into her seat. The buses lurched forward, and drove a few hours, passing cities like Osaka and Kobe. From Kobe, they drove through Awaji island to one of Japan's main islands, Shikoku, to Ehime prefecture. From there, they took a ferry ride to a small island.
"Heeey, you're taking us to an island?!" Kazuichi asked in annoyance. "How annoying! What's so great about a damn island?! We live on one! Japan is made of a bunch of them!"
"Don't worry! You'll like this place, I'm sure!" Usami promised.
"Oh, my! If that island is what I think it is, we shall definitely have the best time of our lives!" Sonia cried.

"What is it?" Kaede asked.
"I...do not want to tell," Sonia said. "I do not want to get my hopes up." Himiko turned to Kokichi.
"Do you know what she's talking about, Kokichi?" she whispered. Kokichi shrugged.
"Beats me," he replied. "Honestly, I think it'll be fun to find out." Finally, the ferry pulled in to dock. The students climbed off the ferry, and were startled by Sonia's cry of pure joy.
"I KNEW IT!!!" she exclaimed. The students turned to see what she was so happy about, and gasped in delight. There before them, were a bunch of cats! Cats laying around, cats pouncing on birds, cats being petted by tourists. There were cats everywhere!
"Students...welcome to Aoshima Island!" Usami announced grandly. "Feel free to pet the kitties to your heart's content!" The students rushed over to them with glee.
"Awwww...hey, there, wittle kitty-wittyyyyy...!" Kaede gushed, holding a cat up to her nose. then, she held it to Shuichi. "Wanna pet him, Shuichi?" Shuichi patted the cat politely on his head.
"Fuhahahahaaaa!! I shall set up my feline army here!" Gundham said. Many cats surrounded him. "Behold, feline warriors! It is I, your king, Gundham Ta-nyah-kaaa!!"
"Huh...I didn't think someone like you was capable of making puns," Kazuichi said.
"I thought it was a wonderful pun!" Sonia said.
"Pretty cute, huh, Himiko?" Kokichi asked, holding up a black and white cat. Himiko held up a cat with ginger fur.
"Nyeh...this one, too!" she said with a nod.

"Heeeey...these two look like they'd make a great couple!" Kokichi said. They held their cats together. One black and white, and the other, with its fiery red-orange fur.
"I couldn't agree more, Kokichi," Himiko replied, batting her eyelashes at him. The black and white cat's green eyes twinkled with mischief, while the ginger cat just hung there lazily in Himiko's arms. The black and white cat playfully swiped at the ginger cat. The ginger cat made an annoyed noise and pawed at the black and white one. The black and white cat nuzzled its head against the ginger's, and the ginger cat seemed to smile. Kokichi and Himiko giggled and set the cats down. The black and white cat nudged the ginger. He ran a few feet ahead, then stopped, waiting for the ginger to follow. The ginger stood up and trotted after the black and white. The black and white hopped up and down excitedly and broke off into a run. Kokichi wrapped his arm around Himiko's waist as they watched the the ginger catching up to the black and white, running alongside each other off to another adventure, no doubt.

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

First Prev
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore
Memory Transcription Subject: Taylor Trench, Human Colonist
Date [standardized human time]: July 15, 2160
With boot camp completed, I was free to leave the base in my off-duty hours. My plan for the rest day was to wander the city with Gress, who was eager to see Lecca and Juvre after weeks separated. His daughter had loved the idea of staying on “the human planet,” so we were heading to a hotel room where his ex-wife had planned a faceless handoff. The Krev hadn’t let me out of his sight since my abduction, because we’d yet to receive any leads on Mafani’s hideout. Where could that former black ops prick even be hiding, and why couldn’t Gress’ contact locate him? My exchange partner was worried the Resket would come back for me, and honestly, I shared those fears. I was jumpy and worried about going anywhere nobody had eyes on me.
It was a waiting game to see my persecutors get their comeuppance, and my patience was waning. General Radai was meticulous with his planning, instead of pressing our advantage before they’d have a chance to send another round of ships into our space. On the subject of lingering fears, when an armada twenty-thousand-strong burst in Tellus’ space, it had brought back memories of how the exterminator fleet had come to Earth. The greatest insult was that the bastards had figured out drones, most likely from studying my own species, so they weren’t pushovers we could use psychological warfare against anymore. Despite the advancements, the Consortium vanquished them; my faith was restored.
It’s cause for celebration. The scales—pun intended—are tipped in our favor. Now, it’s just a matter of waiting for the threefold decapitation strike to make the month-long journey; fighting a war across great distances will require patience. Persistence, some might say.
We hadn’t found too many hints in the wreckage, as the drone parts began to disintegrate almost as soon as their seams were undone. In my mind, there was no doubt they’d used our technology to some extent. Why worry about feckless crews when computers could do their dirty work? What we knew for certain was that their trails led back toward the Federation’s border, which left me wondering if our first strike didn’t need to include the Sivkits. This all started with their arrival, so they must be at the root of this conflict. Whatever General Radai might’ve thought, this proved that destroying their fleet was the right decision—who knew what kind of intel they might’ve gotten, if we spoke to them or allowed them any closer to our new home?
As much as I loved spending time with my Krev friend, perhaps the only person I’d ever felt close to, my heart was right in the thick of the war. No day wandering Tellus with Lecca could have a guarantee of safety, not until we convinced those Feddie bastards not to come knocking on our doors.
“I heard Quana was going on a tour of the caverns. She wanted to see how you lived; told Cherise it was insightful to witness a species’ conditions with your own eyes,” Gress said, as we ascended in the hotel elevator.
I tilted my head. “You two talked, voluntarily? Quana’s been less hostile since she was given the clearance to take Mafani out, but…”
“I overheard her talking with Cherise. Your Jaslip friend was interested in seeing the vault of your keepsakes from Earth. My guess is she likes the idea of making one for Esquo.”
“Jaslips had time to safeguard their artifacts, and plan the transition. I’m not sure what they’d need a vault for; they have more than fucking pictures and empty memories.”
The Krev looked at me with sad eyes, as the doors opened. “If we win this war, or are able to stop by Sol, maybe we could save a few artifacts. There has to be something, even if it’s at the bottom of the ocean, that we can save. I want to help, Taylor; my heart breaks for you and your people.”
“I know. I’m just fucked up, and I don’t know what I believe, other than that I don’t deserve you. Our history is me turning on you, doubting you, assaulting you.”
“You gave me a chance to get it right, like I couldn’t all those years ago. I’m going to save you as many times as it takes, even if it’s from yourself. You can’t push me away, or hide how you really feel.”
“How do I really feel, Gress?”
“I, um…you turned on me because you trusted me and were willing to be vulnerable. Because you care…we care deeply about each other. You express pain by blowing up, so you don’t have to admit it to yourself.”
“It’s not blowing up. I want to do something with my feelings.”
“There are other ways.”
That’s a nice statement from Captain Obvious, though he made it sound quite cryptic. Is there something more he’s not saying?
Gress steered me down the hallway, as I continued on in silence. We unlocked the door to Lecca’s room, and my leg was immediately latched onto by the little Krev. Her claws tore the fabric of my jeans, which caused her father to wince. The kid didn’t notice at all, instead bouncing up and down with excitement. Juvre crawled back into his cage, and began shaking it from the inside; of course the obor was acting possessed at the mere sight of me. He was basically a Fed. If it hadn’t been for how distraught Gress told me he was putting his first obor down, I’d suggest he give this primate some night-night syrup. There were better pets out there.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Lecca finally released me, diving on top of her father’s tail. Who made her so hyper? “Tell me something cute about the humans.”
Gress cast a sly glance at me. “Let’s see. Their celebrities walked down red carpets at big events, and pranced right on down the ‘fancy’ color strip.”
“I wanna see! If I make one for Taylor, can he walk down it? He has to show me!”
“Taylor would love to, wouldn’t he?”
“Absolutely not,” I protested. “What next, do I have to get petted by you?”
“You don’t have to, but…I figured out a way that humans will pay me to pet them. I hear you like massages: if I ran a massage parlor on Tellus, work would just be petting humans for hours. Might go for it after the war.”
“You can’t be serious, Gress.”
“That sounds like a great job, Daddy!” Lecca cheered. “That’s what I wanna do. I can’t believe we used to be scared of them; they’re so squishy, and adorable.”
“Yeah, I think I’m done with that conversation. Call me back when you figure out where Lecca wants to go. I’ll occupy myself snooping through your things.”
Juvre poked his head out of the cage as I ambled away, baring his teeth while on all fours. I found myself imagining the obor painted in clown makeup; perhaps I could persuade Gress’ daughter to do that to him, not knowing the true meaning. I rolled my hands into fists, faked a sad expression, then flapped them around near my eyes in mock crying. The primate made the motions of lunging at me, and I leapt away with a hint of fright. My friend’s worthless pet settled back on his haunches, and snickered in his shrieking register.
Demon. Diabolical little shit; I’m gonna rattle his cage in the middle of the night, right when he’s sleeping.
I took a closer look around the hotel, checking out the accommodations that visitors to Tellus would have; we had more guests on our world than ark settlers. The obor backpack Gress mentioned was sitting out on the couch, revealing a popup book about us for kids. I tugged the print media out, but was too lazy to get a visual translator to read the simplistic words. One picture showed a human kid playing on a swing set, and the child appeared on the next slide wearing a triangular hat and blowing out birthday candles. I turned the page, finding images of jump rope and hopscotch.
My hands slammed the book shut, feeling a bit deflated. We’d never done those kinds of things when I was a child in the caverns; our circumstances robbed me of almost every fun experience I could’ve had. I supposed this hardcover was about how human kids played, so that sated my curiosity. Perhaps it would’ve been better if I hadn’t been reminded about certain parts of our culture that I missed out on. Then again, it was never too late to start playing around and having fun, right? Something on the floor caught my eye; I reached my hand beneath the couch, pulling out some kind of puzzle cube.
“Well, what do we have here?” I picked up a four-sided figure with a few movable L-shapes fitted on the outside. Noticing a faint aroma, I brought it to my nose; it smelled fruity, and I wondered if this was some inverse, puzzle version of a Ring Pop. I shook it, feeling and hearing something inside. “Gotcha. Let’s see how to get this open…it’s like a Rubik’s Cube with an actual incentive.”
I rotated the L pieces enough to free one side, working to shift the square underneath into an upper layer. Getting parts of the cube to flip into an outer shell was easy, but the gaps were only big enough to jam my pinky into; it made a bit of a lattice pattern. I tried attacking it from two sides, freeing part of each surface—the contraption still defied me. Growling in frustration, I placed it between my feet and tried to tug it open. The commotion drew Gress and Lecca over to see what I was up to, and my Krev friend immediately morphed into a melty face. He caught himself, eyes shifting back and forth in a conflicted dance.
Stupid thing. I can’t get it open. This is a time waster: you’d have to be Einsteinian to solve it.
“Um, Taylor?” Gress ventured. “I…it’s natural and totally okay, of course, if you would share interests with other primates, but, well…that’s one of Juvre’s toys.”
I threw the cube away like a hot potato, bringing about a collision with the obor’s cage. “It just looked fun. Like a Rubik’s Cube, but it’s not solvable. Shit, I didn’t know. Only Juvre would be stupid enough to keep working on this; it’s a hamster wheel, man.”
The red-furred obor chittered, picking up the unsolvable puzzle. Juvre began unscrewing the pieces, moving certain blocks upward in various intervals. The primate seemed to be making tangible progress on it, and tinkered with it in silent focus. He screeched happily as he made an incision wide enough to squeeze his hand through. The monkey-like creature waved a red, powdery substance in the air, likely the source of the sugary scent; Gress called out, “Good obor!” There was a triumphant glint in the animal’s binocular eyes, as I gestured to him in indignant outrage; he popped the cookie in his mouth, crunching it in his molars.
“That’s not fair!” I shouted. “The bastard critter cheated. How come Juvre could get it open like nothing? He knows some trick, or gimmick you trained him in. He’s mocking me, chomping away at his treat like he earned it. Circus animal. Food thief gremlin!”
“I…uhhh...” Gress seemed at a loss for words; his tongue hung out of his mouth, twitching. “I can give you an obor treat too?”
“What? I don’t want pet food. Who knows what Krev put in that: you guys eat literal rocks.”
“Because we don’t have teeth. This would be perfectly edible, if that’s what you worried about. I don’t want you feeling, um, left out. There’s enough to go around, and it’s not a competition.”
“If it’s a competition, Juvre would’ve won,” Lecca said unhelpfully.
I scowled at the child. “Did your father teach you to lie? I did most of the hard work for the damn obor. He took what I already did.”
“Which is what exactly?”
“You little—”
Gress retrieved a treat bag from the kitchen, jingling it at me. “Will one of these make you stop arguing with my daughter?”
Juvre curled his lips upward, taunting me as he scooped crumbs off the floor.
“Fine. Give me one, just so that no-good obor can watch me eat it. Show him his place,” I huffed.
Gress’ eyes lit up, though he quickly attempted to mask his happiness. The Krev placed one of the cookies in my palm, and I held it up with suspicion. Maybe I should’ve asked if they’d crushed any dried insects in with the fruit paste, since I knew that was what they fed Juvre quite often. However, not wanting the pet to relish his feeling of superiority, I popped the treat into my mouth while staring right at him. My immediate instinct was to brace myself for a retching sensation, trying to hide my disgust. However, I wasn’t expecting it to taste fucking amazing. It was lighter than flour, singing with the juicy flavors of fruit snacks, then full of sodium in the center, reminding me of salted caramel.
“Shit,” I managed through a mouthful of food, raising my eyebrows at the Krev. “That’s…actually pretty good.”
Lecca stomped her foot, pouting. “Why don’t I get to give Taylor a treat, Daddy? You have all the fun!”
“Well…you can if he wants more, I guess. Just don’t throw it on the floor; hand it to him,” Gress ordered.
I searched for a glass of water, before holding out my palm. “If you want something to hand out at Halloween, this would definitely do. Maybe keep what they are on the down low.”
The Krev kid pranced over to me, carrying the bag. “So you want one?”
“Unfortunately for my little remaining self-respect, yes.”
“Okay then. Taylor, sit!”
I gaped at her. “The fuck did you just say?”
Gress wagged a scolding claw. “Lecca! How would you feel, being given commands like an animal?”
“I get told, ‘do your homework,’ take a bath,’ ‘go to bed’ as my whole life. At least he’ll get something for listening.”
“It’s not acceptable to treat my friend—a sapient being who I care about and respect very much—like Juvre.”
“You don’t care about or respect Juvre?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m saying Taylor is capable of understanding much more than sit—as are you. Juvre couldn’t understand the concept of ‘do your homework,’ no matter the training he gets. Taylor can. It’s demeaning to the humans, and not how you treat someone as an equal, a friend.”
“I just wanna take care of them and be nice. I know he can talk, but look at him!”
“Lecca, what if there was someone out there who thought the same about Krev? Is it fair to disregard everything else about them?” Gress looked flustered, but walked over to me, placing a paw on my shoulder. “To another set of species, Taylor is a terrifying monster. He lost everyone he had in this universe, because they didn’t care about who he was—only what he was. How we treat people shouldn’t—must not be—based on how they look to us.”
I lowered my head. “Your father is right. I’m a primate, but I don’t want to be some caged animal that does tricks. I was that back in the cavern, going up to follow someone else’s commands. It hurt a part of my soul. Please don’t think of me as a pet. That’s not being nice.”
Lecca sighed, before setting the treat bag down. “I’m sorry. I don’t wanna hurt you, Taylor. Is it…mean that I think you’re reeeeeeally adorable?”
“No. It’s a welcome change after being treated like a monster that didn’t deserve to live, and having people cower at the mere sight of us.”
“Those aliens’ eyes are broken! I just wanted to see what you looked like sitting down, or rolling over.”
“You could’ve asked. I don’t need a treat. It’s enough to make you happy, as long as you don’t treat me like some object to gawk at.”
“Okay. Could you please sit on the floor? I like watching humans just walk around and do simple stuff, so it’d be cool…and I think everything you do is adorable, if that’s a reason?”
I chuckled. “Fine. After that, would you like to go to the playground with the human kids? I saw you liked swing sets, hopscotch, and some other things; if your dad is okay with it, maybe you could try it in real life.”
“Really? Yes! Please, Daddy, can we—can we?”
“Okay, but you’re going to be very careful on the swings. I don’t want you falling off,” Gress responded.
“Yay! Quick, Taylor, sit down so we can go to the playground! I wanna go right now…um, I mean, please do that because it’d be nice and I’m so excited!”
Deciding to humor Lecca since she was at least trying to make it a request, I flopped down on the floor. I didn’t think much about how I situated myself, bending my legs and placing one foot beneath each knee: the familiar diamond shape shown by children in a reading circle in an elementary school classroom. Gress’ expression changed to the annoying one, which meant I’d inadvertently done something cute to him; Lecca rushed to take a picture, and I made no attempt to stop her. The Krev child squealed, flailing her claws around in excitement at my mundane behavior.
Well, this is a new way to make a kid’s day. By…let me check my notes…sitting cross-legged on the ground.
“Is that a normal way that humans sit? Your legs are all folded up and overlapping,” Gress gushed. “And your feet are like little pedestals for your knees; it’d be even cuter if I could see your wiggly toes!”
I facepalmed, standing up in a hurry. “There’s nothing special about this. You can’t be serious. It’s called criss-cross applesauce.”
“Aw, even the name is the cutest thing. I heard that rhyme…and it mentions fruit mash, if ‘applesauce’ translated. I can imagine it smeared all over your face, replacing that fur you shave away, where you coat your chin in that white foam. That made you look more babyish and harmless! I can’t.”
“You’re horrible; and how can you say I’m harmless one sentence, then go ‘primates are violent’ in the next? You know I’m not harmless, because I literally whacked you over the head.”
“I don’t put continuity between one thought and the next, because I’ll think whatever is necessary to make you precious and pettable! You can’t stop me.”
“Precious? Nope, I can and will stop you; I’ll look really sad if you use that to describe me again. I know how to hurt you.”
“But I can hug you if you look sad.”
I scoffed. “Playground. Now.”
The Krev coaxed his daughter out of the hotel room, and I thought to myself that there were worse ways to be spending this limbo, waiting for news on Mafani and the Federation. Human kids playing together with aliens hadn’t been in my wildest imagination four months ago, but now, I could watch other children have the fun times that I never experienced. That was a reason to press on and keep fighting. It was wonderful to have people in my life who cared about me, no matter what happened, and who could explore the new and improved Tellus with me.
First Prev
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore

Have lost more games in the past week due to glitches or rubberbanding that the amount of people that are still even playing this wonky ass glitch filled piece of shit game.
There is no fixing this game, it can't be done. The power of all the killers is so insanely over the top that if you can type chat or voice chat with 1 person you'll team wipe every time and do it with ease.
Legit every single character has a glitch that will cost you the game.
Cook hearing glitch so im lit up the whole game.
Bubba hitting me with the big swing attack while he is a whole 10-12 feet away from me in game. Along with his boxes randomly not allowing you to jump over so you die.
Johnny swing is insanely broken and will kill you in 2 hits without no sell because if you run or well you bleed out or he just lunges faster than you can do anything else.
Sissy is probably the only balanced one but even with her she has the perk to drop powder after an encounter so fighting her could get you killed.
Nancy don't even get me started her traps constantly bug out and the animation is stupidly long to take it off without a scrap. Not to mention let's not forget she gets to instantly see your location for free and it's on a timer she doesn't have to earn it in any way. Sure she is slow but plenty of builds work around that plus she can poison to slow you down.
Hitch is insanely broken and runs at the speed of light along with being able to take 3/4 of your health bar with one trap and you can't get a perk to counter that other than the one that disabled it which isn't even offered to every character if you wanna use them effectively. Not to mention his traps bug out time to time also. Plus him being stunned has been broken a lot where he will just not be stunned and instant recover.
All of this is just each character not even the game broadly where each patch breaks something new. Whether it's valve glitch that makes you freak out, infinitely climbing a ladder, getting stuck in a ladder, door slams not working so you just get killed anyways, perks not working properly so they're wasted completely, grandpa stab hitbox being so ridiculously particular that you can mash the fuck out of it and it will still not do it, on top of that constant poor map design where a tool box or health item or whatever is directly next to a gap or crawl space so you pick it up instead of go through and die for it...
I could go on and on and on about how many bugs, glitches, and just overall poor design and choices this game has but what is the cherry on top is that the people who play the other side actually somehow believe the game is still too much in favor of victims when in reality it isn't at all even slightly.
Only bad family players complain about grappling it's actually a stupid easy counter... just feed grandpa. Victims get 2 item slots and they can't progress and stab you and the same time 🤷🏻‍♂️
I save every clip I get to my ps5 where a glitch happens and I basically have wayyyyyyyyy too much evidence of this game being trash. The difference with Danny for family and glitches for victims is you actually can fight back against Danny and at least you know what he is gonna try to do. Victims constantly get screwed by these glitches and it costs them game after game after game.
On a final note yea Danny should be modified and I'm glad they are working on lobbies but the fact it took them this long to even address the lobbies and take action is insane to me. I think if they tweak the stats a bit to where every killer isn't so stupidly insanely faster the game would be slightly better.
I will say though I don't know how they decide matchmaking but it's terrible. I swear it's designed to anger the player. I'm high level almost max and when I play family they give me brand new players who have never played and when I play victim I'm 9 times out of 10 going against a party of players. It got so bad I refuse to play family now without my buddy playing with me because otherwise it would just be repeatedly telling new players to lock doors and teach them to play while I rack up loses. By the way with just one person to communicate with we almost never ever let a single person out. Only time ever is when there is a Danny legit... it's actually why I usually play victim cause it's fairly boring it's so easy when I play family.
I know my opinion is gonna get shit on but I really could care less at this point I've realized this "fan base" can't be helped so I'll just keep speaking my mind and hope maybe eventually someone who matters will see it and make a change 🤷🏻‍♂️

Whats good buds. I hope I did not keep you all waiting too long for a new chapter. I am back with a new fun section of the interlude story between Human Trauma 2 and 3. This time we get a big peak into our leading man's mind and our leading ladies. one being a stuck-up spoiled brat, the other a gruff and too stubborn for his own good gunslinger.
Let's go save our bread
Conor slowly descended the stairs, muscling past a drunken pair of Purletric dancers loitering at the bottom. Once on the ground floor, he vanished into the crowd of undulating, grinding bodies.
None of the dancers paid him any mind as he weaved in and out of their groups. All were far too inebriated to note the predator stalking past or any weapons he carried beneath his jacket. Be it the knife on his hip, the pistol in hand, or the stun granades on his belt.
Clutching the pistol in his metallic hand, Conor wondered what the worn stippling was like to hold. It had been years since his right hand could feel, and the L1-JKL was nowhere near as sharp as when it was manufactured hundreds of standard years ago by Nekarilaqa arms.
At this point, the JKL was ancient, being over tenfold his age. But the Slug thrower was still effective and was integrally suppressed. Those who loved the weapon model would call it the Jackle; Conor was not one of those people.
He preferred to call it the Joker because the pistol was the perfect weapon for his needs or as helpful as breathing on someone. At least the suppressor would make it impossible to hear the weapons report beyond a few meters —-especially with loud base drums.
In an environment as ridiculously voluminous as the nightclub, Conor would not even be able to hear the weapon going off, much less the drunk and high partygoers keying their senses into the ear-splitting music.
Conor’s theory on the level of ignorance the inebriated attendees was given credence when he wrapped his hand on the slimy mouth of one of the Voodal mooks and sent four slugs through his back, blood and viscera showering a group of scantily clad dancers; all of them none the wiser that the warm liquid glowing neon in the club lights was the orange blood of the amphibian.
Instead of taking the time to hide the body in a trashcan like this was a B-rate hollow-flick, Conor shoved the limp body off to the side. the Voodal collapsed against the damp, durecrete wall with a dull thud.
Club security would find the body soon enough and toss it in the alleyway outback, likely assuming he passed out. Until then, the dancers would continue blissfully unaware of the cadaver in their midst. Conor just knew he would likely have to explain to Zyntle why he and Brakul were conducting business in his nightclub; that was in a way taboo for the duo.
“Good kill. Move to the right,” Brakul instructed through the radio. “Next target is lazed.”
“Copy,” Conor muttered coldly into his mask's communication device.
While he passed a pair of green-skinned Kubutals grinding hard against one another, Conor spotted Brakul's laser stock steady on the chest of the next Voodal. He moved quickly, distancing himself from the couple that was only two layers of cloth away from fucking on the dancefloor, needing to speed things up if he was going to win the bet
Once past them, Conor closed the gap between him and the next target, pulling her close. Before the woman registered that she now had a new and less-than-provocative dance partner, Conor slammed her against the wall, pushed his suppressed pistol into her groin, and stitched off four quick shots.
Usually, a bullet smashing your pelvic girdle would cause uncontrolled screaming, But with Conor's metallic elbow crushing the amphibian's trachea, she could only muster a weak croak.
As the Kyrail woman thrashed, her windpipe cracked and crackled; She struggled against Conor like an untamed Rehal: kicking, punching, clawing, all in a desperate animalistic desire to survive. But that could not last forever, and they both knew it; after half a minute, the fight in her amber eyes faded, having drained out with the blood coating her and Conor's boots.
“You better hurry it up; there are only four left,” Brakul mocked as Conor let the dead woman's corpse slump against the wall, and running her pockets.
“You could fucking help me, you Nurlik!” Conor flippantly replied while pulling a bag of visage from the woman's pocket.
“I am helping, just not too much; I still have crit riding on you failing—-remember,” Brakul sniggered.
“This was your idea,” Conor grumbled, leaving the woman gbehind and wafting past another dancer towards the next Kyrail.
Thankfully Brakul did not comment further while Conor was actively dealing with the next target; Brakul might be an asshole, but he was a professional and knew to let Conor work.
Conor covered the gang member's nose with the open bag and drove a swift knee into his grundle; the man’s autonomic functions did the rest. The strike caused them to gasp and breathe in a lungful of the acrid yellowish powder.
The amphibian coughed, bluckling over as his brain was forced to error code by the narcotic. Conor silently thanked Orphian Manufacturing that filters in his mask saved him from the zombifying cloud, unlike the other patrons within arms reach of his last target who also began to fall tot he deck.
“Do I have to remind you of our bet on the Driltol mining platform? Because last I checked, that was your idea,” Brakul commented, shifting his laser to the next target.
Conor huffed in annoyance, remembering that bet and horrible day all too well. He lost five thousand crit and his arm over the course of an hour. All because he was young, inexperienced, hot-headed, and not keeping keyed in on the task.
On top of the physical and financial damage, Conor also learned two important lessons about this line of work. Firstly, he had to stay focused on his current objective while being aware of what was happening nearby.
The second lesson he learned was to trust Brakul's wisdom and counsel. The older mercenary had a far better sense of business and an uncanny ability to tell when a gig would go bottoms up, and they needed to pop smoke.
Those lessons were things Conor still had to remind himself of regularly. He was far more reliable and wise than those days but could not hold a candle up to Brakul.
“Are there any updates on the others?” Conor questioned, slipped behind a pillar, pulling the trigger and splattering another Voodal ganger's brains on the bar, wall, and an unsepecting Farun’se.
“You better hurry up, conman. They just figured out something is going on and are starting to move,” Brakul said calmly.
Grunting to confirm he understood, Conor gave up on flowing like an unseen predator through the crowd and started to force the comparatively diminutive aliens out of the way. Sometimes speed was safety, and with his time hack being measured in seconds—now was one of those times.
Conor pushed through the last group of dancers, most falling to the ground with painful yelps. Once through, he finally had sight of the group of Kyrail. One of the Kyrail was bleeding out on the deck, and two were left standing.
One was a hulking brute with a beer gut, grey scales, and wore a tight tunic like cloth. The red scaled woman was using the older lizard like a shield, yelling something at the Voodal gangers, but the club's music drowned out her voice.
Conor had to give it to the old fool; he had some balls. Even though he was outnumbered and unarmed, he stood stalwart against the last three Voodal gangers, closing the short gap between them.
Balls or not, the Kyrail were not in a winning scenario and would be overwhelmed quickly. With their back-to-wall, Conor had to act fast; there was no way he would lose another bet. Brakul would never let him live that down.
—--
“Stay behind me,” Torkla hissed, pushing Eivaley back from the three aliens.
Eivaley clutched tightly to Torklas clothes and did what she was told. He was the champion appointed ot her by her father; and would fill most of the rolls of a champion until she found someone who could best him.
Her heart was slamming like a hammer and anvil in her chest while the three aliens cackled and kept getting closer. The only question running through her mind and body right now was, what was happening?
This was supposed to be an enjoyable trip, not whatever this nightmare was now.
Daddy had invited her to Heavalun and the COS to get a feeling for the city and the area of space his shipping company was expanding into.
Her father, Vuraley, handled all the tedious paperwork: setting up contacts, buying warehouses, hiring security, and setting up a private spaceport. All she was supposed to do was stay out of trouble, look pretty at a few meetings with clients, and stay close to her security detail.
Now Eivaley was cowering behind the back of one of her clans proudest warriors while three meter-and-a-half tall bipedal frogs brandished weapons and were threatening them. She could not imagine what Daddy would say about this when she got home. Would he cut her allowance? Not let her go out in town again? Or worst of all, not let her go out and see her friends anymore?
Either way, she was not looking forward to what he would do to her—it wasn’t like any of this was her fault.
“Oi, soljah, ‘and, ‘er ovah, and we hont ‘urt yah,” one of the grey-skinned toads croaked, pointing a pistol at Vuraley and flicking off the weapons safety.
“You had better get out of here,” Eivaley hissed reflexively, far to use to having others of her species following her everyword like gospel. “My daddy will have none of this; he will make you all regret this,”
“Stop talking,” Torkla yelled, keeping his eyes on the encroaching Voodal. “you’re not helping.”
What in the grand broods name? Torkla yelled at her. He never yelled at her, even though he had been guarding her since she was a little girl. Torkla was under Oath to obey her, and keep her safe; that includes listening to her. He should not be able to yell at her.
“Yah lil’ lady, yah should listen. We know yer daddy and don’t care, and you are worth too much to pass up,” The Voodal sniggered. “So soljah, yah gonna ‘and ‘er ovah?”
Torkla looked over the men who had paused, slinking closer, and were waiting for his answer. Then he glanced over his shoulder at Eivaley. The girl he might as well have helped raise was shaking like a leaf and needed him to be a rock right now.
“No deal,” Torkla replied, drawing a knife and readying to fight off the aliens or die trying.
The front toad clicked his tongue and languidly twirled the pistol while stepping off to the side. “Come on, no reason tah die fer ‘er. Be reasonable,”
“Torkla would never—” Eivaley started, but he yelled at her again.
“I said shut up,” Torkla barked. “You can get made at me later.”
Eivaley jumped then clutched his jacket and nodded silently, not wanting him to yell anymore. While yes she might be in charge of Torkla and the others her father assigned to her; until she found her own champion she would never have any true power.
“I said no deal,” Torkla affirmed.
The lead toad rolled his eyes and sighed while raising the weapon toward Torkla, readying to slump the stupid royal guardsman.
Once the pistol was full raised they nodded. Both accepting accepting that there was only one way this would go. One of them would end up in a body bag. While the Kyrail and Voodal had many differences this was one thing both accepted.
Neither group would detest giving someone a good death—even though both thought it would be others turn to hit the deck.
The next few seconds were some of the longest, most horrendous moments of Eivaley’s life.
Torkla roared like a beast dredged up from the bottomless dark pits of hell, shot forward, and tried to slip the pistol from the Kyrail’s grip; his fangs snapping as his potent venom trailed passed his lips.
But at his age, Torkla was not the young proud palace guard he was when he was first assigned to be Eivaley’s personal guard.
Now that he was pushing fifty, he was old, slow, and more willing than ever to lay it all on the line for the few people he was bound to protect. Right now, he regrettably could not meet the bill.
A deafening, unsuppressed shot cracked like thunder just as Torklas claws caressed the handgun. The round ripped through his palm and carved a deep canyon in the old warriors skull, showering Eivaley in blood, bone, and brain matter of the man who earlier was chuckling and asking her to dress more modestly.
The crack of the weapon turned the nightclub into pure bedlam. Drunken partygoers screamed while they shoved and trampled one another, desperately trying to get away. Their panic blaring overwhelmed the club's music and Eivaley’s screams.
As soon as the first Kyrail shot Torkla, the others tossed their bags of visage onto Eivaley, showering her in the drug that burned the image of Torkla’s canyoned skull and slumping body into her mind. An image she would remember until her dying breath.
Over her life she would se many more, and had seen hundreds if not thousands of commoners die so far. That one death meant something more to here; but how much it affected her would take many years for her to understand.
“Grab ‘er,” The lead croaker said just before the metallic hand of a massive beast grabbed his head and crushed it like an egg, blood glowing as it squirted between shining metallic fingers.
Whoever just killed the man who shot Torkla picked up the lead ganger and effortlessly tossed the corpse into another one of the gang members. As soon as he was done with that, he lifted his handgun and fired three rounds into the remaining mook, not even bothering to glance fully at them.
In her drug-induced stupor, Eivaley’s mind and body could not focus on anything beyond critical details. Sparse things that stood out so much she could never forget them.
One of the mans arms was covered in metal; whether it was armor or cybernetics, she did not know, nor could she care. At this moment, it was the shining armor of a night of yor: strong, valiant, and rescuing a damsel in distress.
The vissages causing her neurons to misfire, rocketed stories of strong brave men rushing to the rescue of the noble women when their homes were under siege. And as far as seh saw it, this situation was just that.
Her guards failed,and now as if summoned by the gods themselves a brave knight burst forth from nowhere and defied the darkness threatening the dainty princess. No it did not matter she was the 5th princess and would never be queen, just that she had her champion, and it seems that chose her.
Before the visage entirely took effect, Eivaley heard the man say a few words. It was difficult to listen to him through the skull art covered mask he wore, but her savior's voice was deep, reverberating, and filled with clear, driven intent.
“I got the girl; meet you at Stitches’s place,” the man said just as he tossed Eivaley’s now near limp body over his heavily muscled shoulder and rushed through the crowd.
The last thing Eivaley could remember before the visage sunk its fangs deep into her mind was the man kicking open the back door and rushing out into the Heavalun night, bright neon signs, and the dingy alley welcoming them into their midst.
So how did you like this one? nothing to bad right? we are just getting started, and have a fat chunk of chapters left. like my other stories, expect well-timed and thought-out violence and inter-character moments. I hope you give my new tale a chance.
Please do not forget to updoot and comment.
Your baking Buddy
-Pirate
Prev
Next
buy my novels

When I was looking through the finished chapter folder today, one was missing, and I got worried that I deleted it on accident. Turns out it was at the top of the folder instead of the bottom, because I put a space in the title that wasn't supposed to be there. So, crisis averted, I guess.
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
Enjoy.
Prev - First - Next
------------------------------------
Chapter 14: Hydrophobic
- Memory Transcription Subject: Meba, Venlil Computer Scientist
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 20th, 2136
It was comfy.
I wasn’t sure about the whole ‘scarf’ thing, but after finishing it, and putting it on, I actually liked it quite a bit. Finishing it wasn’t even hard, all I had to do was bring the end of the yarn through the last loop and weave in the end, which was a breeze with a little help from Arlene.
She helped me put it on. Apparently, there was a nearly infinite number of ways to wear the garment. Anything from braids, to knots, to wraps, to simply dangling from the neck. It was truly amazing how many ways humans managed to use a simple strip of fabric.
She showed me several different ways to tie it. First only draping it around my neck, then showing me how to do the ‘once around’, next tying a ‘Parisian’ knot, and finally showing me a braided one that was really just a modified version of the Parisian, where instead of bringing both ends through the loop, you only put one through, and then give it a half turn, put the other end in, and repeat until the ends are completely integrated into the braid.
Arlene made a weird squealing noise. “Okay hold on, I need to take a picture of this.” She pulled out her phone and took shots of me from several angles, even pulling the camera right up to my snout at one point, and causing me to flinch.
She turned the phone around to reveal an extremely distorted, and equally unflattering close up of my face. “Everybody loves a fish eye filter.”
I didn’t know what to say. The disrespect was palpable.
“Oh, let me show you a trick.” She undid the braid, taking the scarf and wrapping it around front to back, and bringing the ends back around and down through the loop at the front. Then she took the back part, and brought it over the back of my head in a hood, having a bit of trouble getting it past my wool, and pressing my ears down towards the front of my face. I liked the Parisian better.
“This is really uncomfortable.” My voice sounded muffled with the hood flattening my ears.
“Okay, okay. Just let me get one picture.” She pointed the phone at me again.
Once she was done with her ‘photoshoot’, I took off the scarf. “Is this really that enjoyable for you?”
“Extremely. You have no idea how cute this is. I’ll make one with ear holes for you so you can wear the hood comfortably next time.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever need that much insulation.”
“You never know. What if you go to the night for some reason?”
“Despite my heritage, I don’t have much of a thing for freezing temperatures.”
“Well, it’s up to you. Do you like it?”
I folded up the scarf and put it into my bag. “It’s comfy. Like a hug.”
She smiled. “It looks good on you too.”
My tail wagged of its own accord. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Hold on, let’s get one more picture.” She pulled out her phone again, and crouched next to me to match my height, pointing the camera towards us both. “Smile!”
Flustered, I struggled to make the foreign expression. Arlene put her arm around my shoulder, and took the picture.
“There we go, Dad’s gonna get a kick out of that… once I actually get a way to send it to him.” She tapped away at the screen for a moment. “How much time do we have before we need to leave for dinner?”
“A quarter claw or so.”
“Okay, perfect. Since we have some time…” She smiled. “You wanna learn how to spin thread?”
“Sure.”
Her smile deepened. “Okay okay, come on, let me show you how.” She nearly sprinted over to the spinning wheel.
I followed, though not nearly as eager.
“Sit down.” She ordered, bringing up a chair next to the contraption.
I obliged. Arlene loomed over me, looking even larger while I sat in the wooden seat. A pointless shiver went up my spine.
She brought a little bag of rolags next to the wheel, placing it on the ground, then turning to the wheel.
“It’s already set up, but I’ll redo it so you can see how.” She removed the bobbin from its spot. “Before you start, you need a bit of yarn to start off, so you can attach the new fibers to it.” She tied a loop in the end of the yarn, and slotted the bobbin back in with a clack. “It goes in like this. Then we set the tension, which is how much the bobbin will pull on your side of the yarn. You change it using this little knob down here.” She twisted the knob back and forth a few times for effect. “It should be fine for you, just tell me if it’s pulling too hard.”
I flicked an ear.
“Okay, so we bring the yarn along the hooks here, towards this hole, which is called the orifice. I have a little hook here to pull the yarn through.” She stuck it in, then pulled the yarn back through, and handed it to me.
The yarn was fine; a single strand of wool, though I knew it was actually a tangle of several. As I slid my paw pad along the yarn, it felt slightly fuzzy in my paws, with a few errant hairs struggling to escape.
“Don’t grab it so hard. Try to be firm, but gentle.”
I adjusted my grip. “Better?”
“I wont really know for sure until you start. Let’s try the treadle. You play an instrument?”
“No, why?”
What would music have to do with this?
“Well, just pretend that you do. You need to keep a steady beat so the speed stays constant. Put your foot on the treadle and give it a try.” She smiled.
“Okay then.” I put my paw down, and gave it a push. As the wheel turned, my paw was soon lifted back up from the floor, then reaching the apex of the turn. Instinctively, I pushed down again, and the wheel gained yet more speed. Then, I misplaced my next push, and sent the wheel turning the other way.
A pat on my shoulder. I didn’t realize I was so tense. “Relax, it’s hard at first. Just keep trying. You gotta be gentle with it; you don’t want it to go too fast. You had the right idea before, just let it move your foot, and give it a little tap when needed… oh, and be careful not to let go of the yarn.”
“Uh huh… thanks.” I tried again, paying more attention to my timing now. Keeping the speed consistent was harder than it looked. However, while I didn’t think of myself as more coordinated than the average venlil, I think I was getting the hang of it.
“There ya’ go. That’s pretty good. Can you try changing directions?”
How the brahk am I supposed to do that?
I looked up at her, then back to the wheel, when my concentration faltered.
“Just push down before it goes over the top of the spin. It’s basically what you’re doing now, but in reverse.”
Just keeping it spinning was hard enough. Turning it around? Nope, that wasn’t gonna happen.
“Come on, you can do it.”
Ugh.
I attempted to get it to turn in the other way, to no avail; when I pushed down, it still went over the apex of the turn, and I didn’t take the pressure off fast enough, so it sped up way more than before, throwing me off beat.
“Brahk.” I spat, claws from my free paw digging into my thigh. My face burned with bloom.
The wheel slowed to a crawl, then a stop, lifeless. My eyes fixed on it like hooks to meat.
“Hey, don’t worry, just give it another shot.”
“Y-yeah.” I gave it another push, repeating until it was up to speed. The machine made a gentle whirring as it turned.
I watched the treadle, and the plank that attached it to the wheel. After a few more rotations, I gave it a big push in the other direction, and it slowed greatly. The next rotation, I gave it another push, and it turned around.
“Woo! You did it!”
Arlene’s yelling startled me, and I stopped.
“Let’s get you spinning some thread now.” She gave me a big teeth bearing grin.
I tried not to look at her mouth too hard. “Okay.”
She grabbed a rolag from the pile. “It’s probably best if I just show you.”
“Alright.”
Arlene roughed up the end of the rolag, then she grabbed the yarn from my hand, and looped the fibers around the loop. “Could you start it up again?”
“Yeah.”
Once the wheel was spinning, she slid her fingers down the rolag; the whole thing constricted into a length of yarn, due to the twist.
After it twisted up, she fed it into the orifice, which promptly swallowed it up, and then she repeated the process: thinning out the rolag a bit, sliding the twist in, and feeding it into the machine. She did this 6 times before she ran out of fiber. But that didn’t stop her; she just grabbed another rolag and pressed the feathery end into the yarn, and continued. Three more times, and she stopped.
She motioned for me to stop pedaling. “You get all that?”
I blinked. “It doesn’t look too hard.”
“Let’s get to it then.” She handed me the fibers, and stood back, a thumb pointing up to the sky.
I took them in my paws, and held them in a firm grip, so they wouldn’t come out of my hands when I started pedaling. The wheel came up to speed, blurring slightly. My vision narrowed to the singular point in front of me: the fiber. Heartbeats felt like footsteps in my chest, my breathing slow. I felt the fiber; how it pulled against my paws, the roughness of the strands, the texture of the wool. Drafting a bit of the fibers out, I slid my paw pads along the fiber, to let a little twist into it. It strangled into a single line of yarn. Slowly, carefully, I fed it into the orifice, all while keeping the wheel turning at a reasonable speed. There were bits where the yarn was thicker, and thinner, where I failed to keep the fibers consistent. Particles of dust played in the corner of my vision.
Repeat.
The bumps slid against my paw pads like thorns, though I tried to squish them down. I didn’t know how you were supposed to get rid of them. I pulled along the fiber, feeling the twist rub against me. Another length into the bobbin.
Repeat.
My claws slid along the fibers, twist came in, I fed it into the orifice. Repeat. I drafted more fiber, slid along it, and fed it into the orifice. Repeat. I struggled to pull apart the fibers, so I slowed down the wheel’s speed. Repeat. When I untwisted part of the yarn in my paws, the fiber came apart easier. Repeat. Every now and then, I would grab more yarn from the pile, and attach it to the yarn. My leg burned from the constant motion. Repeat.
Repeat, repeat, repeat,
Instead of hitting wool, my paw struck air. I was out. I sopped pedaling, and the wheel came to a stop.
Arlene struck her hands together in a rhythmic motion. “Good job!” She had moved to the other side of the machine from her original place beside me, and I didn’t even notice. “I was going to show you how to feed the yarn evenly onto the bobbin, but you were so focused I just decided to change the hooks for you. Seriously, you’re a natural; I’ve never seen someone get it so fast.”
My mouth was dry from thirst. How long had I been spinning? I glanced around the room. “W-what time is it?”
Arlene grabbed the end of the fibers from my paws and tied it around an extrusion on the machine. “I think you started about forty minutes ago.” She scratched at her head. “Sorry, that’s uh…”
“So not long?” I asked. My perception of time was completely off. It felt like I had just sat down, though that was obviously not the case.
“Yeah.” She replied. “Wanna take a look at your yarn?”
An ear flick later, and she was humming some Earth tune while removing the bobbing from the spinning wheel, tying off the end of the fiber in an overhand knot to keep it from unraveling. After a moment of inspection, she passed the bobbin to me.
“It’s damn good work for your first time.” She said bluntly.
I ran a paw along the bundled yarn. “There’s a bunch of bumps.”
“Come on, I didn’t even show you how to control the thickness yet. You should be proud.” Arlene ordered, with a slap on the back that struck a cough out of me.
She was just being nice, I knew. Arlene was like that; she would probably praise me even if I somehow managed to destroy the wheel. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit happy about it. I made this. I was holding it in my own two paws.
“Thanks.” I tried to smile.
“Aw, you’re welcome.” Arlene smiled back. It was warm.
“We should get going, or we’ll be late.” I said, handing her the bobbin back.
“Sure, give me a sec.” She replied, grabbing a pocket umbrella from the other room. I considered the claim that humans could smell rain before it started dubious at best. Though, it might have been a good idea to check the weather report.
---
I should have listened.
So much rain, and that’s not even mentioning the wind. Anything that wasn’t blown away was pummeled, including us. We huddled under the singular human umbrella, which was wholly insufficient to shield us from the raindrops. We were shuffling towards the restaurant at a painfully slow pace, Arlene unbuttoning her coat to drape its hydrophobic veil around the both of us. From the outside, we probably looked like a horrid chimera of venlil and human, with tough stitched skin, stretching under powerful muscles. It’s a good thing we didn’t have to worry about other pedestrians. It was too late to go back now.
Arlene said something, but I couldn’t hear it over the rain and the wind.
“What?!” I asked.
“I said! Are we close!?” She yelled in response.
“What?!”
She brought the coat around our heads to shield from the wind. “Are we almost there?!”
“Almost!” I said, throat scratchy.
On the horizon—no, it wasn’t the horizon, it was just the edge of our vision in the wet hell we were trapped in—a spattering of warm neon lights shot through the endless layers of water like a photon cannon, while each speck of liquid reflected the shiny oasis, beckoning us closer with promises of warmth and comfort. Arlene slipped on a puddle, her boots caked thick with mud, the rubber treads no longer providing traction. I helped her to steady herself, and almost fell myself.
I saw movement in the window of the establishment, the details of which I couldn’t place. A drop of rain charged straight into my eye, and I lost focus.
There was a small awning above the door, but it didn’t do much to help against the rain, completely useless against the nearly sideways path of the water. Though, at least we weren’t completely soaked. Arlene’s coat was a boon I couldn’t have predicted. I was beginning to see the appeal of human apparel; I couldn’t imagine traveling through such weather with just my wool, or, stars forbid, nothing but skin. Though, that wouldn’t stop my brain from trying.
The rain like gunfire, wind stinging like nettles, piercing right through your insignificant form. Bones rattling with imminent death, breath frozen in the lungs.
We both wiped our feet on the doormat, which was as soaked as everything else. Arlene heaved the door open with excessive force, completely void of concern for the reaction of those inside the building, which was… sub-optimal, to say the least.
I had not yet noticed what an expensive place it was, but as soon as I spotted the two waitstaff near the entrance, I couldn’t help but say a prayer for my wallet, and our survival. Both of them nearly jumped out of their wool as soon as we entered, and almost immediately after, the more confident of the two stepped forward to shove us right back out the doors.
“Get out, get out! You’ll scare the patrons!” He hissed, below the chatter of the dining area.
“We’re not going back into the storm.” Arlene informed him.
“Oh yes you are, human.” The waitstaff corrected.
“We do not serve predators in this establishment.” The second educated further.
You’re not going to let them speak to her like that, are you?
I flicked my tail in disgust, and my voice bounded forth with unprecedented spirit. “Are you brahking dense? You can’t refuse service because she’s human.”
“What a farce. Do you seriously expect the exterminators to comply with that drivel?” The first questioned.
“Who in their right mind would let a blood thirsty animal into a place for eating? Do you want to get someone killed? Or are you just as mad?” Reiterated the second.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I inquired calmly.
Arlene grabbed me by the shoulders. “Hey, calm down. They’re just doing their jobs.”
Jobs? What do jobs have to do with this?
“You must be some sort of mad if you think we’re going back into that storm.” I explained.
The first waitstaff sighed. “Do you even have a reservation?”
“Of course we do!” I pulled my datapad out from its pocket. It wouldn’t turn on.
“What’s wrong?” Arlene asked.
“The rain killed it.” I replied.
“No reservation? I figured.” Said the first waitstaff, with an extremely punchable look on his face. “Then, if you please. Get. Out.”
“Now hold on just a second,” Arlene said, with palms raised in some sort of odd threat display. “it’s murder out there. Won’t you let us stay at least until the rain lets up?”
“Most certainly not.” Said the first.
“Not a chance.” Echoed the second.
“Look, I’m sorry about my friend, he’s on edge because of the storm. We won’t be long, just until it’s safe to leave.” She pleaded.
Some of the people dining noticed the commotion at the door, and more than a few shot sidelong glances at us. Gusts of wind blew against the door, shaking it against the little foyer we were standing in.
As the waitstaff were about to give their rebuttal, I spotted a familiar coat near the back of the dining room, ducking out from behind a covered booth. A small figure, with sandy fur, and a look of endless confidence on his face: Gram. He made his way towards the entrance, stopped a few paces from the foyer, rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, rubbed his eyes again, and then hid a deranged snicker behind his paw.
“H-hey Meba.” He let out a muffled giggle. “Doormen giving you trouble?”
I rolled my eyes.
Gram addressed the waitstaff. “Don’t worry, he’s with me.”