Chapter 1

Concept art for Sybil
Of Men and Ghost Ships, Book 1: Chapter 9, Part 2
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Reid was leading a flanking maneuver on some pirates assaulting a group of the crew "fortified" behind a bunch of upturned tables in the dining area when the captain's call came through. "Reid! We've got incoming on the bridge! We need backup, now!"
Reid wasn't the type to ignore commands, but he couldn't just leave these guys hanging. "Kinda busy here, captain. Can you hold them for a couple of minutes?"
The captain sounded a lot more worried than he usually did. "We can try, but you'll be in a whole world of trouble if they take the bridge and shut off life support!"
That would mean only the people in battle suits would survive, and the pirates had a lot more of those than the crew did. Reid cursed. "Alright, I'll be there in just a minute!"
Turning to Flanders, he instructed, "Take Jones and Mike and assault them from the side as we planned. I'll take the other two and reinforce the bridge!"
Flander's face was inscrutable inside the suit, but his concern was evident in his voice. "Is splitting the squad wise, sir?"
Reid could understand. "No, it's not. But we've got too many fights going on in too many places. We'll just have to make do. Remember, fight smart, fight dirty, fight safe. You can't collect a bounty if you die claiming the kill!"
Flanders saluted Reid, and they split up. For the first time in a long time, Reid debated whether this job was worth the headache. It had been a while since things had gone this badly. Usually, if pirates got anyone aboard the ship, it was via a shuttle into their lone docking bay. It was relatively easy for Reid's squad to lock them down while hidden gun emplacements made short work of the pirates, battle suits or not. But this nightmare scenario was quickly teaching him he'd gotten overconfident and lax in his training. Now he was just hoping they lived long enough to learn from this shitshow.
The thundering of heavy footfalls around the next corner told Reid that a group of pirates was about to assault their position. Reid shouted, "Gun's ready!" His old drill instructor would tear him a new one for referring to their rifles as "guns," but sometimes, in a firefight, an extra syllable just took too long.
Two pirates in battle suits rounded the corner, but one was already falling face-first. Ried and the two others with him made short work of the other, and then he noticed the one that had fallen had an actual axe buried in his back. A moment later, the strange alien named Erik, of all things, rounded the corner. "Awww, damn it! You took them out! Now I'm two behind Vanessa!"
Before Reid could say anything, the vitexrā herself appeared. "Not true, my lady. Only one of the pirates has been shot; the other was taken down by yourself, placing you only one behind me with a total of fourteen confirmed kills."
Reid quickly did some math. "Are you saying that the two of you took out five squads of pirates in battle suits?"
Erik grinned and spoke in that thick accent of his. "Well, not quite. You finished this group off!" The alien accentuated what he was saying by pulling the axe out of the dead pirate. He now had an axe in each hand and two more attached to quick-release holsters on his back.
Reid knew he should be moving, but he had to ask. "With Axes?"
Erik's smile widened, showing far more teeth than should be possible to fit in one mouth. "Aye! Trained with them back when I was a cage fighter, don't feel right in a fight without em! But these here are upgraded from the simple steel axes I used back then. When activated, they got a plasma-heated edge that'll cut through even battle suites with relative ease!"
Reid was familiar with plasma-heated edged weapons. Some pirates carried them from time to time, but it still took a lot of power to force those through a battle suit's armor, so they only worked with the augmented strength a suit offered. Evidently, the rumors of the alien's raw strength had not been exaggerated.
Realizing that these two were doing more than even his squad, Reid made a decision. "Listen, the bridge is under assault. Think you two can handle it if I go back and reinforce my squad?"
Erik's grin turned more predatory, somehow. "If pirates are there, I'll happily lend a hand cleaning them up! Sides, there's a kid up there I promised to keep an eye out for if things ever got bloody!"
Reid nodded and turned back the way he'd come, hoping his absence hadn't cost his squad too much. Also, if the two aliens managed to survive, he'd have to put them in for a bonus share.
-
The minutes it took the laser cutters to sever the last bolts holding the hatch in place seemed to pass like an eternity, leaving Alen wondering if he should have left a will before going off into space. Except, who would he have left anything to? His parents? Maybe, if anyone could find them. He hadn't formed any other attachments, which was kind of sad to think about.
Alen shook his head. It was too late now. Having severed through the last bold, everyone tensed. Things were silent for a moment, but then the door fell inward, and the hulking form of a pirate in assault armor filled the door.
Instantly, the bridge crew started unloading into the pirate, but rounds that would have easily pierced through the lighter battle suits only slowed down the much larger and thicker armored pirate, who wasted no time returning fire.
Instantly, one of the crew was shredded as a flechette round hit him, a favorite among pirates who want to do more damage to organic tissue while avoiding structural damage to the ship. There was a series of loud explosions as the pirate turned in place, firing round after round at the bridge crew, who were doing their best to return fire with as much ordinance as possible, racing to stop the assault suit before it could finish its grim butchery of the crew.
Alen couldn't help it. He knew his little sidearm was nothing more than a toy to the fight raging around him. All he could do was duck behind whatever cover he could find and hope.
A surprising amount of shouting was going on, especially when most of it seemed to be coming from voices augmented by battle suits. The first mate must have arrived with reinforcements!
Alen spared a glance over the console he was hiding behind, only to see the hulking form of the pirate in assault armor fall forward into the room. Ridden is from behind by Erik, of all people, with what looked like two axes buried into the back armor of the suit, hooting and hollering, putting on a show. "Did you see that? I got the big one! Do I get bonus points for that?"
Walking into view behind him was a much calmer Vanessa, wielding a rifle that looked a couple of sizes too big for her, probably taken from some pirates on the way. "No, because the suit was already heavily damaged, and he was distracted. However, that still puts you one up on me. Congratulations, my lady, you're in the lead for the first time." That was when one of the battle suits in the doorway behind the two of them started suddenly jerking a gun up toward Erik, but before he could get a proper shot lined up, Vanessa quickly and coldly gunned him down, seemingly without looking. "And now we're tied again. I hope you enjoyed your brief moment of supremacy, my lady."
Erik shook his head mournfully. "I swear you let him live just long enough to get a jab in at me!"
Then, turning and looking at what was left of the bridge, Erik's grin fell a couple of notches. "Ah, sorry we're a bit late. We didn't realize the bridge was under attack until Officer Reid told us, or we would have been here sooner..."
The captain got shakily to his feet. "Well, you still got here in time to keep them from taking the bridge. That's not nothing. Then, looking at the assault armor with two axes in its back, he added, "Not nothing at all..."
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Not as much action in the second half, but I think Erik had fun, and hope you did too!
My Wiki has all my chapters and stories, including the short series and stories that I write for an occasional change of pace or style!
As a reminder, "Of Men and Dragons" Books 1 and 2 are available to purchase in e-book or physical form. (Both softcover and hardcovers are available!) Book 3 is almost done being edited, so I'll just have to get the cover art and formatting done, and it will be available to purchase as well! Hopefully, in no more than a month or two! (Barring more Amazon drama like last time...finger's crossed!)
OMAD Book 1: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09NCPP3PP
OMAD Book 2: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0CQ7FQ1ZJ

Long post incoming!
If you don't wanna read everything, please scroll down to the last paragraphs and help me decide what's next :D
DISCLAIMER: I'm running a PF2 conversion made by myself with the help of contents found on this sub. Therefore, if during this read you find something unusual in the mechanics, you know why. The plot is somewhat based on DragnaCarta's work, even if some things went differently. This post is half telling a story and half asking for advice. It's my first long post, so please be gentle.
The PCs:

• Tijuana Mojito, a child of the forest: her arrows are deadly. She wants to bring balance in this unnatural land.
  
• Stitcher, a very smart rat-person: his medical knowledge saved many lives, but he is cursed to spread disease.
  
• Beccamorto Bray: a rough dwarven brawler, who is slowly rediscovering his faith; he is also a professional gravedigger.
  
• mookS: a former circus performer with a knack for alchemy; now he's dead, but his skeleton still delights children with his beautiful fireworks.
  

This story begins with a different party, who was spirited away by the mists of Ravenloft; they entered a dread place to help three children and fight the monster in the basement, but found inside a very different reality. They befriended the ghosts of Rosavalda and Spinazio, and two of them welcomed these spirits in their body. They smartly navigated the dungeon below and reached a wicked altar, but refused to sacrifice one of their own when the shadows claimed that "One must die"; therefore, the decree changed: "All must die". And darkness fell.
The monstruous body of what once was baby Walter was awakened, and our heroes faced it valiantly; when hope was all but lost, the monster hunter Trevor found the baby inside the beast, and his mind almost snapped in horror. He killed him, unable to find a better solution in such a dire circumstance.
Alas, their struggle was not over yet; other monsters lurked in the dungeon, and battle ensued. They bested many ravenous ghouls and even a powerful creature whose body was made of pure darkness, but in the end they succumbed to the maws and tentacles of a horror disguised as an innocent door. Of eight people, only three managed to run away, beaten, terrified and scarred for life. The House let them go so that they may lure others inside.
Two of them were Tijuana and Stitcher; the third, mookS, was left for dead but his bones were left untouched by the denizens of the House, who dismissed him as one of the many lifeless skeletons in the dungeon, so he had time to recover and then flee.
Fast forward to six months later. Tijuana and Stitcher survived in the woods, too far from Barovia to draw Strahd's (or anyone else's) attention. On the other hand, a wandering mookS somehow had previously managed to leave the valley, but his fervent desire has ever since been to reunite with his friends and to save the kids' ghosts from the House. He gathered two more adventurers: one of them is Beccamorto, a childhood friend of one of his dead companions. Following the tales of a spectral house, appearing out of nowhere in shrouds of mist, they eventually managed to track it down. Meanwhile, on the other side, Tijuana and Stitcher had a dream in which they were told to go again to the house, if they wanted to set things right; but Stitcher was too afraid, and Tijuana went alone, though hopeful: the dream promised help and a reunion.
Tijuana was overjoyed to find mookS still alive undead and welcomed their new allies. Together they vanquished the House, once and for all, destroying Mrs. Durst herself and the undead remnants of their former friend Trevor. Then they traveled to the woods to reunite with Stitcher, whose force of will was reignited by his companions' success.
Together they vowed to bury dear Spinazio's and poor Rosavalda's remnants near their old family windmill (the kids had a fond memory of it, so the party decided it could be a good resting place).
They met Ismark and agreed to help Irina in her travel to Vallaki;
They helped Doru find himself, therefore renewing Father Donavič's faith;
They met Strahd and wisely decided not to overtly show hostility;
They accepted madame Eva's reading, and won an old Du Stomp bottle in a tale contest with the Vistani;
They beated and killed a werewolf, sent by a curious Strahd, who merely wanted to test their mettle; unfortunately, during the fight the werewolf accidentally wounded Irina; nonetheless, they brought his corpse with them to properly bury it in Vallaki;
During the night, Tijuana decided to remain out of the wall and defend the poor Barovian refugees camped there; Irina was so amazed at her courage that stayed with her and fought by her side (later that night, Tijuana almost died against a direwolf and Irina actually saved her life).
The day after, the corpse they brought into town had been violated, mangled and destroyed. A short sentence had been engraved on its face with a dagger: "NOBODY HURTS IRINA". They also found some coin and a "thank you" note. This treatment was delivered by Volenta on Strahd's order, to punish even in death the servant who dared lay a finger on Irina.
The party had other plans for the day, but was swift in devising a way to conceal the ravaged body: they successfully smuggled it back out of town and buried it in the woods; I have a half idea to have Strahd's minions exhume it just to impale the head somewhere. But anyway, they managed to not to get accidentally framed for murder.
In the afternoon, after witnessing the Baron mistreating a poor woman in the streets, they payed a visit to Father Lucian, who asked them to recover the reliquary containing St. Andral's bones; they immediately set out to do some detective work, and we know where the trail leads them.
Which brings me to the matter at hand. After bursting through Van Der Voort's door, they send him to Father Petrovič, asking for help (but that will require several minutes). Then they go upstairs and try the stealthy way (it's still daytime and Henrik told them the vampires were probably resting), but one of them rolls really bad and steps on a Blinsky's toy who start singing "If it's not Blinsky, you won't have fun!". Two vampire spawn immediately wake up from their slumber and the battle begins. After a few rounds, Tijuana and mookS finally put a wooden stake in the chest of one of them; the other, low on hp, decides to flee through the door...
...but a moment later, the party hears a wet noise and a gurgle. Tijuana and Beccamorto decides to go and see what happened, while mookS and Stitcher try to open the chest containing the reliquary, only to find that it's trapped.
T and B exit the door and look down the stairs:
A female figure is slowly ascending, step by step; she wears golden armor, the masterpiece of an artist, rather than an armorer. The design is refined and some of the metal filaments are so thin that they seem like they could break at any moment. The neckline is very low, as if protecting the chest from blows was not a priority for the craftsman. Long black hair, wild and shiny, falls on her shoulders, framing a face hidden by a demonic mask: it is made of platinum and gold, modeled by an expert hand in the shape of a skull with long curved horns. Some, at the sight of this woman, might admire her sensual forms or perhaps laugh at her eccentric choices... if it weren't for the vampire's body hanging impaled on her arm; from the other side of the ribcage, a hand appears with a long knife in its fist. But the lady in gold doesn't even tremble from the effort.
Tijuana is surprised; the tension is high, is this friend or foe? She goes: "Well, we didn't expect any help, but you catched him".
With a violent jerk the woman frees herself from the encumbrance, throwing the body down the stairs; in a single, fluid movement she brings the blade to her mouth, which can be partially seen under the mask, and licks it. It's hard to say, but she seems to be smiling. “Look, my lord's new toys! I really wasn't expecting this. Were you not satisfied with our thank you card?”.
Beccamorto and Tijuana can't really tell if she's a vampire too, but don't like the blood-licking, nor her words. They don't want to stay around long enough to understand what she means (Volenta is referring to the body they had to conceal, but in the heat of the moment they don't make this connection).
"Of course we were satisfied!", Tijuana says, "we were just leaving, in fact!".
In that exact moment, mookS and Stitcher spring the trap, whose noise turns off Volenta's smile; before she can react (we are still going in initiative order) Tijuana and Beccamorto go back in the room and slams the door. While Beccamorto uses his powerful build to hold it, the others open the windows and prepare to jump down. Volenta is smart and has a good knowledge of the building: she knows there's no other exits, apart from the windows; so instead of bashing the door, she decides to go outside. But she is not omniscient and can't imagine that Tijuana is capable of wildshaping into an ape, grab the reliquary and climbing on the roof. Beccamorto waits for everyone to have left before jumping down himself, so he sees Volenta who just got out of the building... and heroically decides to land directly on her. Apparently, nobody tosses a dwarf, but a dwarf may toss himself. Very cool, I awarded him a hero point (a concept similar to DnD inspiration, for those not familiar with PF2).
Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to affect the woman in gold very much. Beccamorto was already in a rough shape, and goes down in one hit. Volenta go around the corner and sees mookS and Stitcher trying to flee; in the meantime, Tijuana is rolling quite good for stealth on the roof, and manage to hide the reliquary in the chimney. MookS runs but use his cloak to fool Volenta and let her think that he is carrying something (another good roll here). Volenta chases him but is unable to run faster than him, so she throws a knife: it's a critical hit that would fell him, but the skeleton (who, up until now, was very careful in keeping his true nature a secret, in fact only his companions knew about it) collapses in a pile of bones to avoid the brunt of the attack.
People in the streets are now screaming in horror.
Volenta understands the trick and turns back, while mookS shouts to call the guards, since a vampire is on the loose; then he chases her back.
Volenta is back outside Van Der Voort's place and she looks around to find the others; Stitcher wants to revive Beccamorto, but has already expended his respurces against the first two vampires and dares not approach Volenta. MookS reaches her and tells her to surrender and flee:
"The guards are coming, they know you are here! And the bones will be safe in the church by now: your machinations failed!"
Volenta laughs and stabs him, knocking him unconscious; but she didn't expect any of this, what can she do now? She wonders whether taking these two as hostages might be useful or not.
She keeps looking around, and find Tijuana (who, in the meantime, shifted back in her human form and updated Stitcher on the bones' hiding place).
Tijuana can easily outrun Volenta, who tries a different approach and shout:
"Come here and fight, or I'll just go back and slit your friends' throat!".
Tijuana decides to slow down just enough to fight while doing what she can to keep her distance, and Volenta seems satisfied: during these few rounds, she almost manage to grab her, but the dice decreed that it was not to be. After that, Tijuana decides she tried her luck enough and flees; she has indeed bought enough time for her friends: Stitcher has patched Beccamorto up and stabilized mookS. Beccamorto picks mookS up and he and Stitcher run away.
Volenta is back, finds nobody and is probably quite enraged.
That's where last session ended. It has been a good run so far, but this is the first time I genuinely wonder what should happen next and I'd like to hear your opinions on the matter.
The bones have not been recovered, the cathedral is not safe: but Volenta reasonably believes otherwise.
The two vampire spawns are actually alive, they just need some rest.
The players would like to find a good spot, maybe in a nearby building, to observe Van Der Voort's house and await the right moment to retake the bones.
Any advice is welcome, and if you have questions feel free to ask.

Chapter CXCVII
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Room 37.
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"Do it." The weedy man commanded.
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"I don't want to." The other said as he held a vial of discolored liquid.
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Another man marched up to him and smacked him over the head before barking at him.
"Down it, meat, or we'll force it down!"
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The man whined pitifully, gulped as he eyed the mixture within the vial, and then chugged it in one go. The others seated around watched him for a moment. He hacked and coughed but managed to keep it down. They all waited in the dark and run-down room, the only sounds being the boiling of jury-rigged alchemy equipment made from half rusted pipes and whatever else they could scrounge together for their little operation.
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"Well? Anythin'?" Rickie asked as he and the others kept watching.
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The sampler made to speak before his body shuddered. His face turned a sickly color and he fell down to the nearest bucket and expelled the contents into the rusty soiled thing. Rickie groaned and kicked a nearby rusty bedframe in frustration. Why wasn't anything working, he thought with irritation and worry.
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Barnaby gave this racket to him and his boys to run after the last boss went tide up. Probably from drinking his own supply, Rickie thought. Which just meant seagull shit. They still had to pay up to the boss or risk their operation getting caught and them all snagged by the guards. The only difference between before and now was that they hauled up to Barnaby instead of Lord Myrle. He and his boys didn't know the details, just that the elf had run afoul of something, or someone, that wasn't so easy to roll-over and now the Thieves Guild was cast to the depths.
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"Or where ever folk dispose of shite 'round here." Rickie muttered as he went over to his twitchy alchemist and snatched the next potion from his hands.
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The sampler went wide-eyed and fought weakly as Rickie's meatier boys held him still and made a cut along his hand that wept crimson. The poor dredge of society whined and pleaded before the potion, which was a foamy off-red color, was forced down his gullet. Half of it was choked up but enough went down for them to get what they needed to.
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Then they waited. But just like before, the bum that they nabbed to be their little taste tester soon threw up the potion, a quick glance at his hand confirmed that the health potion did jack all. Again. Rickie cursed in frustration once again. A simple health potion was the first thing you're taught in alchemy! It was so simple that a child could do it! Even the ingredients weren't that hard to acquire either!
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Yet even simple potions were little better than sewage. Potions weren't exactly the best tasting things, but when done right they shouldn't be THAT bad and their effects should still work. But nothing was! They tasted like piss and did fuck all save for making the drinker sicker than a sloshed sailor!
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Maybe it was their alcohol, Rickie thought. It wasn't exactly "pure", but even then it should've done SOMETHING! It shouldn't be failing this badly! He growled and got in the face of their twitchy alchemist.
"Why isn't it workin'?!"
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The alchemist stumbled and jumbled through his words that Rickie had to smack him just to get a straight answer from him.
"I don't know! I followed everything in the books!"
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"Well apparently not because none of it is workin'! Find out why or we'll find someone who can!" Rickie threatened before leaving the alchemy lab to check in on his other racket.
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He marched up a floor, his steps causing the wooden steps to creak and groan. He thought being given not just one but TWO rackets would mean he didn't have to slum it in some worthless crumbling ruin like before. But about the only difference was who he worked for and the fact it didn't smell like the sea and fish guts anymore.
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Oh, and the guards carried some kind of "thunderstick" he heard Barnaby call 'em. Seven hells, he could still hear the sounds they made the other day as clear as sunshine! Thunderstick was right, and the guards ALL carried them! He didn't exactly like keeping his head down. Especially as he was the boss of their little operation now, even if they kicked up to Barnaby. But even he wasn't dumb enough to risk all those things being pointed his way.
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He stomped over to a door and pushed it open. A voice shouted out as he did so.
"THUNDER!!!"
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Rickie immediately fell to the splintered floor to avoid whatever was thrown at him. Except the only thing he could hear was the snickering laughter of his scratchers. They were called such because of their constant scratching away as they made counterfeit spell scrolls. He cracked his eyes open and glared at the group of four that laughed like gulls on the docks!
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He got up and marched to the head of the lot and grabbed him by his grimy robes.
"You think that was funny?!"
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"Yeah, I do!" The boy said with a manic grin as he continued to chuckle.
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Rickie snarled and pushed the boy back into his chair. If he made an example of him then he'd have to make an example out of every one of them. Scratchers were madder than haberdashers. Something about inking and enchanting the scrolls drove them bonkers. Potion chemists were about the same, but working with potentially volatile potions made sense. All these bunch of jackdaws did was scribbling on scrolls!
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"Have you made anythin' at least?!" Rickie hissed.
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"Yeah. We made scrolls." One of the other scratchers commented and held up a piece of parchment with a colorful set of paints on it.
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"And?" Rickie asked.
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The scratcher held the scroll out towards the wall and shouted out the name of the spell.
"LIGHT!"
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Nothing.
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"I though you said you made scrolls?!" Rickie asked heatedly.
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"We did. They just aren't 'magic' scrolls." The lead scratcher said that caused them all to begin cackling like gulls once more.
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Rickie groaned and rubbed his face.
"Well why not?!"
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"Because we can't." One of the scratchers stated as if it was obvious.
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"And why, pray tell, can't you?"
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"Don't know." The lead scratcher said with a shrug as if it was supposed to be obvious.
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"Well then tell me what you DO know!" Rickie growled.
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"We can't make magic scrolls. All we can make are pretty pieces of paper." The lead scratcher stated.
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The difference between a real magic scroll and an "imitation" was down to the fact that a fake scroll lasted only long enough to fool a potential buyer. So a spell of light would last a few minutes before dissipating rather than about an hour like a normal scroll. Both were only one-offs. But a decent forgery could net them plenty of coin long enough for them to relocate before the guard came down on them.
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IF they could make them that is, Rickie thought with mounting frustration. Neither racket wasn't without its risks, but the payoff should've been worth it. But at this rate it wasn't going to amount to anything!
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"Well figure out WHY and get back to work!" Rickie yelled before departing.
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"WILL DO CAPTAIN!" The lead scratcher called out with a chorus of laughter from the others.
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He made his way to his own room. Which was about the only room that didn't look rundown. He crashed down on the moldy mattress with a groan. He thought being the boss was supposed to make his life easier. Instead it looked like all it did was make his neck the first on the block when things got bad.
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Which is what it looked to be becoming, he thought. The potions weren't being mixed right for some reason and the scrolls weren't holding an enchantment either. The latter he couldn't do much other than hope and pray to whatever being there was that looked out for him, if there even was one, that those mad loons could figure it out before Barnaby's men came to collect what he didn't have.
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The former he could at least assist with. But the idea of potentially ending up like his predecessor wasn't an appealing one, Rickie thought. Especially not long after the guards stormed up the mountain with those thundersticks. He didn't want to know what was up there that drove the last man briny or what needed so many guards with thundersticks for.
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But it was either be productive and MAYBE have a possible excuse for Barnaby, or sit here and hope that his boys could figure something out. He groaned and got back up knowing that at least if he did what he could he MIGHT be able to save his neck for a little longer.
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He stomped down the steps and left the crumbling brick building and out into the cold air of their new "home". It was just as busy as the markets back home, but there was an air of tension and dread in the air that wasn't felt back in Daele until the siege started. But it was different somehow. Like it was almost suffocating. A feeling like every breath he took was potentially going to be his last.
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Which was something he wasn't entirely unaccustomed to. He didn't exactly grow up in the best of areas back in Daele. But you expected it in that life. Here though? It was like something hung over their heads like the headman's axe. The only ones that didn't seem affected by whatever foulness was in the air were the guards in green. They strolled around with a sense of boredom that he couldn't fathom why. Especially after that business not long ago!
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He turned his gaze up at the mountain. Even this far away felt FAR too close. Something about it made his skin crawl and his hair stand straight. Like the mountain was gazing back at him. He shook his head. That kind of thinking is how the last man got chummed, he thought.
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But he couldn't help but notice his pace slowed as he continued towards the mountain. Like his own body wanted to go anywhere but there. He found himself at the edge of the area where the goblins controlled. If he continued he'd need to keep his head down even more if he didn't want to end up swinging from a pole.
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The more he thought about it, the more he was preferring the idea of watching over the rackets. So he turned on his heel and headed back with a quickened pace. The further he went from that looming hunk of rock the better he felt. As he opened the door to their hideout, he cast a one last glance at the dark mountain.
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Maybe that loon wasn't so mad after all, Rickie thought as he went inside.
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-----
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Barnaby's Brothel/Casino
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"So what is this worth?" Barnaby asked the little girl that say on his knee as he pointed towards the sets of green bills arrayed along his desk.
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"That's a five dollar bill. It's worth five one dollars." She said simply.
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"But what is worth five dollars? And what is worth one dollar?" He asked.
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The little girl thought to herself, scrunching up her face as she did.
"You can buy a chocolate bar for a dollar. But you can buy a bag of candy for five!"
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"Can you now?" Barnaby asked with measured interest.
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The kids that "Lord" Myrle had enslaved had come to Barnaby and took him up on his offer of showing them how the world truly worked. In exchange though, he wanted to know what they did about this world. Mainly how the money worked. He had started taking the local currency, but it wasn't an exact rate as he couldn't figure out what was worth how much.
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Did a night with a pretty lady amount to five of these dollars? Or was it worth more? So far he's hadn't needed to answer that question as it seemed like the locals weren't interested in his business. So he's been forced to accept what pitiful coinage from the other refugees. But with an influx of new blood he wanted to know the answer to that for when they came looking for comfort or a game of chance.
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The little girl's answer wasn't entirely helpful. But it wasn't as worthless as he would've initially thought either. Sweets weren't usually available to the common folk. So it was rather pricy to get them. But from the way the girl said it that wasn't the case in this world.
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"So five is better?" Barnaby asked.
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"Yup! But a hundred is the best!" She said cheerfully.
​
Barnaby looked at the assorted bills he's gathered so far. The highest he had was a what she called a fifty. It wasn't much. But at least she gave him a good idea of what to rate his services for. If a hundred was the highest currency available then he'd have to adjust to make things a bit.
​
If he wanted to assimilate into this world it was paramount that he knew how the currency worked. Especially as it seemed like the coins from Daele wouldn't last long if what he's learned about the country he was in from the kids was somewhat accurate. It was massive and had access to goods he's never even heard of! Things that only a noble or even royalty could afford was fairly affordable to the common folk. Things that even seemed magical were treated as disposable commodities.
​
Communicating over vast distances was easy. Travelling was also easy. Getting food or healing was even easier. Back in Daele he would've had to resort to seeing a back alley sawbones to fix anything. But there were several pills here that he could get for dirt cheap that would do the trick!
​
From the sounds of it he could live better than any king or even emperor with little effort! All he had to do now was make sure to do things carefully and he could live a long life with little trouble or worry! If he could figure out how that is.
​
He turned his attention from the little girl and towards her brother over in the corner as one of his goons played with him.
"Alright boy. Arms up."
​
The boy raised his fists feebly. His goon knocked them to the side with ease.
"No! Like this!"
​
His goon showed him how and he tried to mimic it as best he could.
"There we go!"
​
He held up a hand.
"Now hit me."
​
"What?"
​
"You deaf boy?! I said hit me!" The goon ordered.
​
The boy threw a punch towards the open hand.
"I'm sorry? I didn't feel nothin'. Try again boy!"
​
The boy threw a punch again, this time with obviously more force. But the goon didn't look impressed.
"Birds shite harder than that!"
​
Barnaby watched as the process continued. The boy would hit and the goon would push him on. Rinse repeat. At least he was being taught something useful, Barnaby thought as he returned his attention to his lesson on currency when the door opened and his other henchman entered.
"Some guards are here!"
​
The other goon turned his head, and moved his hand out of the way. Allowing the boy to send his small fist into his cheek. The boy yelped and began to tear up at the slip. He started warbling apologies. The goon turned back around and gave him a pat on the head with a laugh.
"That's how you do it boy!"
​
"What?" He asked tearfully.
​
"When your opponent has his back turned, you take the chance to shiv him good and proper!" The goon said with a cruel smile.
​
"But my pa said you should fight with honor." The boy said uncertainly.
​
"Piss on honor! Did honor do him any good?" The goon asked.
​
The boy started to tear up again, but shook his head. The goon patted him on the head again with a surprisingly kind smile.
"Don't worry my son. Ol' Uncle Jerry is gonna teach you right and proper he will!"
​
"Touchin'. What's this about guards?" Barnaby said as he turned his attention from the sweet display.
​
"A couple o' them are downstairs!" The other goon repeated.
​
Barnaby sighed and lifted the girl up and down off his knee before jumping down from his seat as well.
"Stay here with Jerry you two. Tom, come along."
​
The two kids laughed. Barnaby wasn't sure what was so funny but they laughed whenever he said the names of his two goons. Whatever, he had business to attend to downstairs, Barnaby thought as Tom followed after the dwarf. His merchandise poked their heads out their rooms as Barnaby made his way past. They didn't linger though as they retreated back into their rooms to prepare themselves for Barnaby to showcase them to potential clients.
​
When Barnaby reached the bottom he spotted two guards dressed in the green uniforms of the recent arrivals. He wasn't sure how high or low they were in the chain of command. But he'd bet they were simple grunts by their looks and attitudes. He put on his business smile and marched towards them.
"Welcome! How can I provide fer you today?!"
​
One of them shuffled nervously and didn't make eye contact with Barnaby. His friend smiled a cocky smile and seemed to speak for the both of them.
"We heard you might have some entertainment."
​
"Depends. What are you lookin' fer?" Barnaby asked, accustomed to folk not usually asking straight out what they wanted.
​
"We're lookin' for some 'haughty wenches'!" The more brash of the two said in a strange accent and a wink.
​
Haughty wenches, Barnaby thought for a moment as he tried to decipher what it was exactly he was being asked for.
"Uhm, o' course! Follow me!"
​
"Sweet!" The grunt cheered and dragged his far more nervous friend along as they followed after Barnaby and his goon.
​
He led them past the gambling den where the more brash one called out.
"You guys have gamblin' too?!"
​
"We do! You can have a go when you want!" Barnaby said with enthusiasm.
​
"Awesome! Where's the blackjack table?" The brash grunt asked and looked around at the room.
​
Barnaby looked to his goon with a cocked brow and mouthed the word at him. His goon just shrugged. Barnaby turned back towards the two grunts.
"We're new ta the area. We're still settin' some things up."
​
"Oh. Do you at least have some slots or roulette?"
​
"Unfortunately, our gamblin' is a bit underdeveloped at tha moment." Barnaby apologized but made a note to find out more about the games of this world.
​
"So what do you have?"
​
"We have Knuckle Bones and Devil's Hand." Barnaby said.
​
"What's that?"
​
"Knuckle Bones is a dice game. You and yer opponent make a bet o' how many dice will end up as what, then you roll. The winner is the one with the closer number o' dice in his favor. Devil's Hand is a simple card game, you play and try and hit the highest number without goin' over."
​
The brash grunt smacked himself in the head.
"Oh right! I forgot! Sure we'll play a game of 'Devil's Hand' when we're done huh Ken?!"
​
"Uhm, sure Matt." His friend said with a bit more enthusiasm.
​
Ooookay, Barnaby thought as the grunt talked and acted in a strange manner. He shook his head and gave his goon a look that said if they acted too weird customer or no they'll be bounced out. He led them past the gaming rooms and up towards the brothel. He made sure to speak idly and loud enough so that his girls knew to get ready.
​
He stood before the set of doors and gestured to the first door.
"May I tempt you with an elven beauty from the forests?"
​
As he said this an elven woman with golden hair opened the door and sauntered out seductively with nothing but a thin green veil covering that did nothing for the imagination. She was also covered in golden tattoos that ran from her face down to her toes. The brash grunt whistled and elbowed his friend.
"Best Ren Fair ever!"
​
"If she doesn't enthrall you, maybe a dance with a treasure from faraway lands?" Barnaby asked and the second girl stepped out from her room.
​
A human woman with ebony skin came out dressed in silver belly dancer attire. She sashayed over and stroked the chest of the nervous grunt before sauntering away. His friend laughed and slapped him on the back as Barnaby motioned to the third door.
"If they're a bit too 'tame' fer you. Then perhaps somethin' a wee bit, excitin'?"
​
Out came a gnomish woman. Her green eyes sparkled and shined behind her large glasses that sat on her perky face. Her own dress was far more modest than the other two, she wore a simple beige dress, but it hugged her figure enough to show the two grunts what she had to offer.
​
The brash grunt elbowed his friend.
"Go for her! My cousin had a dwarf girlfriend and he said she was a FREAK!"
​
"While this isn't all that I offer, it is all I have available at the moment. Unless you want ta play a game or two while mah other girls become available?"
​
"And risk gettin' sloppy seconds?! No thanks! We're good!" The brash grunt said.
​
He marched over to the elven lady and slapped her ass, eliciting a playful moan and giggle from her. He then turned towards Barnaby and pulled out a wad of bills.
"Do ye accept ye olde American?"
​
"Uhm, sure?" Barnaby said, not quite sure if something was wrong in the grunt's head but not willing to make a fuss about it until AFTER he paid. If he got too weird with his merchandise then he'll have him thrown out head first.
​
"Sweet! I'll take the elf girl! Ken will take the dwarf won't ya Ken!" The brash grunt said and tossed the wad of bills towards Barnaby as he gave his friend a cheeky grin.
​
Barnaby caught it and undid the stretchy band around it and did a quick count of how much there was. It was alot if his brief, and not entirely helpful, lesson with the little girl was true. He counted several twenties and fifties among the wad. He'd have to count it with the girl to make sure exactly how much it was, but from the look on the grunt's face it seemed like a typical price for a night with a girl.
​
If it wasn't? Then his girls can keep them occupied long enough for him to make sure and come back to get the rest, Barnaby thought as the brash grunt picked up the elf bridal style and retreated into the room. The nervous grunt shuffled and blushed and didn't make any effort to move from his spot. Barnaby turned towards the gnomish woman and jerked his head towards him. She nodded and made her way over to him.
"Come on handsome. I'll be gentle."
​
The nervous grunt mumbled something but followed after her into the room. Barnaby dismissed the third girl back into her room to wait for other customers and departed for his office. He had some more currency to count with.
​
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Okay this sounds terrible, but he's also kind of a jerk sometimes so I don't really feel that bad saying this. To preface this, he does have a history of misdirecting and blaming me for every bad emotion he has, and he also has a history post-kids of both expecting me to put the kids to bed 100% of the time while also being resentful of me "ignoring him" and "just going to bed" after that, among other things. ie, the usual list of lazy compacent asshat husband practices I hear about on her a lot.
So i dont know if it's always been this bad and I am just noticing it more, or if he's gotten even worse with this...but my husband has become the worlds most dull individual.
He got a new job recently, he does well in sales and may do a little better in this one but hes also been in this keyed up anxious/learning the new job/convincing himself hes gonna make what he heard the one guy made in a very lucky, uncharacteristic year w an unusually huge sale, etc...just like tightly wound and going going going and talking a million miles and hour a lot. He's always been a bit of an ADHD monologuing chatty kathy but it's off the charts lately.
He also just bought a new truck and has been working on this patio project in our yard - his efforts on that i appreciate.
So I am to the point where when hes talking im just inventorying his comments into categories in my head: stuff about himself, stuff talking himself up/bragging, stuff about the new truck, incredible details minutae about work, more about himself, more about how great he is, the patio project within the context of how great he is at what he just did, back to work, more about the truck.....and on and on.
I sit there thinking (1) there are other things to talk about (2) call me selfish but asking me about myself would be great (3) the braggart stuff comes off as painfully insecure and annoying.
I think of this terrible celebrity matchmaker show i watched a few years ago w that patti stanger lady. she had these rich successful candidates and she would tell them at the outset to not talk about their jobs AT ALL and also do not talk too much about themselves. i am a career woman and absolutely LOVE my job and think it's interesting but i also thought she has a point about that...
So here i am and im constantly thinking about how if this patti stanger lady observed the content my husband covered with me in a given day right now she would have some choice words for him. Im actually marveling at how i can bring up just about any topic in the world and he can steer it into an opportunity to brag on himself.
Sure hes always had his moments like this but they were peppered amongst him also being someone i liked to otherwise sit and talk to. But right now it's INCREDIBLY intense lile unbelievable.
thats all i have...just venting. i feel like its coincided w the new job for the past three months so maybe he will chill out soon. i cant control what others do but any strategies you have on how to resteer someone like this into better conversation would be great

Never thought I be saying this or be here typing one of these posts but what the fuck lol. Sorry for bad English it is my 3rd language.
I went on my dads phone and went on his recently deleted for fun because I was jokingly in my head like “imagine if he cheated on my mom on his recent Italy trip. they say if you search you find hahahah” and holy fuck i found lol.
I found videos of him recording himself jacking off to much younger women (20s) using my old phone he bought me when i was 9, now he haz some snapchat account, they were showing ass and everything I can’t tell if they were bots or real women, but it gets deeper from there
In one of the pictures he’s taken of his dick with my phone infront of it with some european lady’s snapchat nudes, there’s literally another notification from another woman. Either my dad is secretly getting multiple women or he is a degenerate addicted to porn and jerking off to bots on snapchat (that would be better)
But then I see that he has Tinder on his deleted apps on the iPhone… and snapchat which i know he never uses...
Do I keep investigating? Do I tell my mom or is it just better to let him stop doing it himself if it’s all just porn online? Do I confront my dad with a porn addiction book?? or does it seem like he’s probably having sex with women too?
lol I really don’t know what to do guys thank you needed to get this off my chest and i wish it wasn’t true but it is fuck my life

“Deadly Attractor” (TOC)
by P. Orin Zack
[2003]
 
Chapter Fifteen
 
Even before he reached the jury room, Frank could tell that John, the news editor half of the tag team, was upset. Several voices were involved in the harangue, but his was by far the most strident. To get a sense of the group, he paused outside the door to listen.
“Yeah,” John said, derisively, “I know what Frank told us, Rick. I also know how it’ll be reported in the press if anything about this mess ever gets out. What we all agreed to was simply to say nothing about Frank’s own indiscretion, to allow him to collect evidence for us; not to become active participants in what counsel just called an act of terrorism!”
Rick, the foreman, dropped his fist. “I said, until we have proof, we’re not going to assume that Frank had anything to do with—”
Frank opened the door. They all turned to look. “I did, but it wasn’t terrorism. It was a rescue.”
Nobody said a word until he’d shut the door behind him and took a seat. Then, when Sala, the apprentice, realized that they were all silently deferring to her, she nodded, and looked intently at Frank. “I think you owe us all an explanation.”
Before Frank had a chance to say anything, Peter crossed his arms and cleared his throat.
Frank took a breath. “As Peter probably told you, we arranged for Dr. Apuérto to be transferred to Kübler-Ross Hospice Center once we discovered that it wasn’t going to happen otherwise.”
Rick drummed his fingers on the table. “ ‘We’? Who else is involved in this now?”
Frank started ticking them off on his fingers. “Well, besides Peter and me, there’s Cynthia Thedik, a former Healer from Australia who’s been tracking these people for some time now, and a guy named Lenny. He’s the ringleader of the demonstrators outside the courthouse.”
“See, Lenny was recruited by this government agency a while back,” Peter added, “but ditched out during training, so they messed with his head to prevent him from ratting on them. Well, anyway, that means he can’t remember anything about it, and—”
“Would the two of you please be quiet,” Sala said. “You’re both off topic. Healer Sanroya, since you may have implicated us all in something far beyond what we agreed to, I think we need to know everything.”
“Like Peter said,” he began, “when we learned that East-Side wasn’t going to transfer Dr. Apuérto, we arranged to have him transferred.”
“You… broke into the MedCenter?” John probed.
He looked at Peter. “No, into the place where Peter works.”
John flattened his hand. “Why there?”
“Easy access to the MedCenter’s information systems. Once inside their security layer, Lenny, the demonstrator I mentioned, logged a transfer request for Saturday night.”
“Just like that?” Sala said. “Why would they comply? Wouldn’t anyone notice? I would imagine they would be pretty concerned about the well-being of their own administrator.”
Frank smiled. “Like Apuérto told the court, their operation is based on the assumption that the data is correct. Nobody questioned the transfer order simply because it was in their system. And as to them not noticing, Peter set up a phony MedNet data feed to make it look like he was really still there.”
Rick sighed. “So Peter violated security at his workplace in order for Lenny to violate security at the MedCenter. And to top that off, you had Peter commit an even bigger felony by tampering with the MedNet. Nice plan. Too bad it didn’t work.”
“It should have,” Frank said. “Unfortunately, the man we’re trying to flush out – and he’s in the courtroom, by the way – has some pretty nasty friends, one of whom was responsible for what happened to me in court this morning.”
Sala looked at him for a moment. “What did happen? And where did you go off to just now?”
“I was attacked, and so was Apuérto.”
“Attacked?” John echoed sharply. “By who? I didn’t see anything.”
“I’m pretty sure the guy we’re after attacked Dr. Apuérto. One of his friends – the man who helped solve my neural problem – attacked me, or rather he triggered the energy sprite I was carrying around to attack me.”
Rick pushed back from the table. “Energy sprite?”
Frank shook his head. “It’s okay. It’s gone now. That’s where I was. Cynthia got rid of it for me.”
“And Dr. Apuérto?” Sala said. “What about him? You said he was attacked as well?”
Frank was uncertain how to handle this aspect of the situation. After all, it defied nouny logic, and that undergirded the universe they were supposed to inhabit here. “Somehow, our guy has a way to mess with reality,” he said, watching for reactions. “When Dr. Apuérto was struggling to recall where his consultant came from, I saw something really strange inside his mind. It was as if someone was trying to swap our witness for one who didn’t know what was going on, like an oblivious dream version of him was about to take over his waking life.”
“In that case,” John said thoughtfully, “we must be getting very close to whatever this guy is desperate to protect.”
Frank nodded. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”
“Hold on a minute,” Peter said suddenly. “Before we get into that, there’s still the matter of what happened out in the flyway. You said it was a rescue?”
“Yeah. We don’t know how he does it, but apparently whomever this guy works for, he has a way to cause improbable – even impossible things to happen. En route to Kübler-Ross, the MedCenter transport was nearly smashed by an out-of-control cargo unit. Only it was out-of-control directly at them, and their safeties conveniently failed. We forced them to ground, and then took Apuérto somewhere safe.”
“Where,” Sala said, “you presumably did that probing you wanted to do?”
He nodded. “And once we told him what we knew, that his facility was being used by someone, he couldn’t wait to get back to court and flush him out.”
She smiled. “That explains his dramatic entrance, then.”
“All right,” John said evenly, looking around the table, “the only way to come out of this mess unscathed is to control the situation. The news people, even the ones I work with, are going to want to play up the emotional triggers, because that’s what gets them attention. They’re used to inflating minor scuffles into weeklong scandals, but this time they don’t know what they’re dealing with. Fortunately, we do, and that’s our advantage.”
“Not exactly,” Frank said. “I may be able to point out the guy behind all this, but I don’t know who he is, or what organization is behind him. Apuérto was trying to identify which government agency was involved, and you saw the trouble that caused.”
Sala had just opened her mouth to speak, when there was a knock at the door, and a bailiff poked his head in.
“Pardon me,” he said, “but since the witness has recovered from his panic attack, Judge Bennigan would like you all to return to the courtroom.”
“Tell her we’re not ready,” John said suddenly.
Rick held up his hand to stop the bailiff, and looked at John. “What?”
The bailiff stepped in and shut the door.
John thought for a moment. “I told you we had to control the situation. When the GD gave juries the ability to ask questions, it also set things up to discourage them from doing so. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Rick, but that’s how those of you in the Blue affect most citizen jurors. In any case, we’ve got a nasty situation here, and the only way out of it is to use the rules to our benefit.”
“He’s right,” Sala said. “The rules do allow us to decide when we’re ready. The court can wait.”
Rick shrugged. “Okay, then they’ll wait.” He nodded to the bailiff.
The bailiff chuckled as he closed the door. “This should be interesting.”
“That minor act of rebellion,” John continued, “took control of the process away from the judge and both sides’ counsel. Everyone will naturally assume that we have learned something of supreme importance to the case, and that will shift attention from the questions asked by counsel to those asked by us. It’ll also put everyone off their game.”
“All right,” Rick said agreeably. “Now that you’ve turned this case into theatre, what’s the story and the staging?”
“I’ll handle story,” John said conspiratorially, “you’ve got more experience with staging.” He paused to glance at the others. “We know that behind the events posited in this case is a scheme that has some purpose other than simply making money for two corporations. We know that the person behind this didn’t want to be exposed, and was willing to go to extreme lengths to protect that secret. Frank says that he’s in court, and that Apuérto now knows who he is as well. Rick?”
The foreman scratched his head briefly. “If I were him, I certainly wouldn’t want any spotlight on me. So perhaps we should do what we can to make him nervous. Having us all stare at him would be too obvious, and might disrupt the proceedings, so instead, how about everyone just occasionally glance at him. When we get back inside, Frank, make a note of where he’s sitting. I’ll put it on everyone’s display.”
“There’s one thing I should warn you all about,” Frank said uncomfortably. “Since the sprite was removed, I might have another attack, and I don’t know how bad it might be.”
Rick shrugged. “Hey, it’s theatre. We’ll ad lib.”
“What about that bluff?” Peter said. “I mean making everyone think we know something is all well and good, but what if we have to back it up? What happens then?”
“That ought to take care of itself,” John said. “When people are nervous, and suggesting that we know something will have that effect, they make mistakes, they give clues to what they don’t want to come out. That’s what we all have to be alert for. So when the case resumes, pay special attention to body language. If someone’s posture or expression looks forced or faked, whatever they’re saying isn’t what they’re thinking. Those are the details that will break this thing open for us.”
Sala laughed. “You have an interesting laboratory technique.”
“All right, then,” Rick said, sitting back in his seat, “I guess we’re ready now.”
 
All eyes were on the jury from the moment Rick’s powder-blue suit first caught the fluorescing light of the overhead glowtubes. Eight people quietly and purposefully walked to the jury box without returning even one of the curious stares from around the room. They were on a mission, and wanted everyone to know it. None of them sat until all were by their seats, standing straight and still. Then, a moment after the foreman sat down, the others followed suit.
While Judge Bennigan reminded the spectators to hold their tongues, Frank scanned their ranks for their adversary and his two confederates. For whatever reason, they were no longer seated together in the middle of the second row of seats. Their ringleader had moved to the first row, directly behind the Respondent’s table, while Carlita Gutiérez and Allan Wylie now sat in the back row behind the closer Complainant’s table. But what was perhaps more interesting to Frank was that Alex had chosen the farthest seat on the front row, and Mara the closest seat on the rear one. He noted their mark’s position for the others, and sat back to wait for the first witness to be called.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” Counsel for the Complainant said, rising from his seat, “I apologize for the confusion caused this morning by permitting Dr. Apuérto to continue his testimony so soon after his apparent recovery. Fortunately, he is reported to be in good health.” He walked to the witness box. “We would now like to continue with the witness that we had originally planned to question this morning, Dr. Meridyth Glacksdóttir, Administrator of the Dartmouth MedCenter in Halifax.”
Frank immediately looked at Alex. Dartmouth was where Uru G’danic had been taken after his accident, and where, according to Mara, he’d been killed. If this administrator knew anything about that, or about any other suspicious goings-on, he was determined to find it.
The door opened, and a bailiff ushered in a woman whose age he couldn’t gauge, and whose face suggested a mix of Icelandic, Black and Native American blood. She paused momentarily as she entered to glance around the room, and then continued to the witness box, where she was sworn in and took her seat.
Frank glanced down at his display, and was relieved to find that she’d agreed to submit to link during her testimony. He was curious, however, about what kind of inner world a person with her background might have.
“The court,” Counsel began, “has been exploring how staff and management at facilities operated by HealthTech Resources determine what to do when a patient is brought in for evaluation…”
While the witness was given the background for the questions to come, Frank closed his eyes and reached towards the witness’ personal space, in preparation for establishing a link. Surprisingly, her energy field neither offered resistance nor deferred to intrusions, as Apuérto’s had. Instead, it enfolded his presence, welcoming him as a guest, while at the same time being sure of its own integrity. Frank was intrigued.
“…according to Dr. Miguél Apuérto, Administrator of the East-Side MedCenter, here in Los Angeles, from an agency of the Global Directorate.” Counsel paused briefly. “Further, he explained to the court that this same agency supplied guidance in jurisdictional matters, in the form of a consultant. Is this also the case at your facility?”
In the seconds before Dr. Glacksdóttir spoke, Frank watched a stream of memories slide through her mind. Unlike those he’d shared in the other witnesses, her memories seemed to fade into one another, instead of being represented as discrete bits floating in a field of darkness. This fluidity meant that the inner world she’d developed was significantly different from that of the other witnesses to this case. In fact, it hinted at an inner reality that might transcend the limits of nouny or verby langscapes much as G’danic transcended worldviews.
“Yes, it is,” she said. “Sometimes, just as some of a patient’s symptoms may be more subtle than others, the importance of taking extreme steps to preserve a patient’s life may not be apparent to anyone concerned primarily with their immediate health.”
“By this,” Counsel said slowly, “do you mean political considerations?”
When she agreed, Frank was treated to a succession of memories, each a mix of sensory recall and the tactile shadow of a subterranean process that she associated with each of the public figures at the center of the memory. Clearly, at least part of her world was quite verby, but it was really more a hybrid.
“The reason for this,” she said, “was that the dynamics in which these people are often embedded have far-reaching implications. By preserving their lives in BioStabilization, it became possible to extend the time needed to work out acceptable solutions to the problems caused by their having been injured, and which would be triggered the moment they were to die. That is why the GD’s peacekeeping agency provides a portion of the funding for these facilities.”
As the thought of the peacekeeping agency flew through the witness’ mind, Frank broke away from her stream of associations, dropped the link, and looked past the Counsel to find their adversary fidgeting uncomfortably. A few seats away, Alex was watching him as well. They had another piece of the puzzle: as Lenny’s conspiracy sheet had suggested, the government was responsible. But they needed more information, and a way to direct the questioning where they wanted it to go, so he pressed the sidebar button to note the comment for later, and closed his eyes again.
Ethics had long since ceased to be an issue in this matter, but it still bothered Frank that what he now contemplated doing violated not only his oath to the jury and the Healer’s Oath, but the whole sacred process of legal trials as well. He thought about Peter’s book, and of the changes that had transformed what trials were about and how they worked over the centuries. He wondered what would happen to him if this next act was detected, and of how that would affect Mara and Pegwin. And then he thought about what would happen if he didn’t. After this crisis was over, assuming that he survived it, he was going to have to take a good long look at what he’d done, why, and how he felt about it. Right now, what they needed was a hook, information offered by the witness that they could use later as a means to probe deeper. Just mentioning that such things happened wasn’t enough; they needed an example, because that would permit them to request a counter-example, and thereby get to the heart of this so-called advice.
This time, when Frank reached out psychically, it wasn’t to link with the witness, but rather to the Counsel standing before her. In one smooth insubstantial motion, he pushed through the man’s energy field, dove into the energy knot of consciousness, and planted a suggestion. Then he retreated. He wasn’t pleased with himself, not one bit. But he knew it had to be done, that it served a greater need for justice, and that, at least, made it sting a bit less.
“One more question, Dr. Glacksdóttir,” Counsel for the Complainant said, halfway to his seat, and turned back to face her. “If, as you have said, considering political issues is this important when choosing how to treat a patient, would you please give the court an example, so that we can understand the value of this advice?”
Frank looked at their adversary. He didn’t see much point in monitoring the answer to this question, because it wouldn’t tell them anything anyway. As far as the case was concerned, however, evidence of non-medical personnel, regardless of whether they were from the government or an insurance company, being involved in making medical decisions was enough to prove that the process had been corrupted. That made it suspect, which supported the case against the two corporations. More importantly, it gave the jury an opening, and that made the man even more visibly nervous. And that, in turn, made Alex smile.
As it turned out, Frank’s suggestion induced Counsel to ask several more questions after that one, but none of them led to what the jury was after. When Dr. Glacksdóttir had satisfied the Counsel’s sudden curiosity, he returned to his table and sat down.
This time, Rick didn’t even have to say anything. When he raised his finger to interrupt the proceedings, Judge Bennigan dutifully gave him the floor.
Instead of standing immediately, Rick sat for a moment, feigning deep thought and studying witness, counsel and adversary. By this time, the occasional glances of the jurors had started attracting the attention of other members of the crowd, who had begun looking across the room to discern what had so captured the jury’s attention. Their target was now actively avoiding eye contact with them, which forced him into a constrained posture, the strain of which was beginning to show on his face.
When Rick finally rose, the spectators quieted. “Thank you, Dr. Glacksdóttir,” he began, “for so carefully explaining to the court how valuable the BioStabilization technology is, both to your patients, and to the world at large.”
Frank had gotten so involved in the theatrics Rick was staging that he’d forgotten to re-establish his link, so he closed his eyes and reached out again. Because the witness’ attention had been directed to global issues, Frank first encountered a stream of memories drawn from news reports she’d seen or read about various high-profile BSW patients.
“We of the jury, however,” Rick said, reinforcing the idea that they were now acting in concert, “are curious about the nature of this advice, as you’ve described it, and your reaction to it. For example, have you or your staff ever acted in opposition to this advice? In other words, have you ever refused to place one of these important people into BioStabilization, even though your government advisor suggested that you do so?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. What would be the point of withholding the best possible care for a patient who had no other options?”
“What, indeed.” Rick glanced down at the other jurors. “But if you did, what would happen then? Would there be any repercussions?”
Frank wanted to ensure that their witness didn’t suddenly lose her nerve, so he urged her on with a feeling of accomplishment.
“Absolutely,” she said, a sudden touch of excitement in her voice.
 
As before, Angela was keeping an eye on things. This time, however, she was in the courtroom, and doing her best to not be noticed. From her seat near Mara, she could see that her nemesis had raised his right hand slightly. Recalling that he’d held some small device each time he was seen to be translucent in Apuérto’s memories, she psychically goosed the woman to his right, forcing a reaction that knocked it from his grip.
Startled and confused, the man bent down to reach for it, but when he saw how far the thing had slid, he sat back and clenched his teeth in frustration.
A few seats to his left, Alex LeBlanc, looking very serious, began drumming his fingers on his thigh.
 
Momentarily startled by the sound of something metallic skittering across the floor, Dr. Glacksdóttir took a breath and started over. “As with most agreements, there are obligations and responsibilities placed on each party. Since the BioStabilization equipment is underwritten partially by a grant from the GD, they do reserve the right to request special treatment for certain individuals.”
Rick took a breath. “You’re evading my question. What would happen if you refused this special treatment?”
“Then,” she said contritely, “we could very likely have that funding removed, and with it the ability to help many other people with the same technology.”
“I see. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to turn the situation around. Has your GD advisor ever requested that you withhold BioStabilization treatment from someone?”
She nodded. “As a matter of fact, that happened just this past week.”
The image of Uru G’danic’s face floated before Frank as it drifted across her mind. Grabbing the image, Frank dove into the memory that lay behind it.
“Would you please tell the court about that case?” Rick said. “We don’t want you to violate doctor-patient privacy rules, so you don’t have to reveal the patient’s identity.”
“One of our patients, a public figure, was brought in after a construction accident.” A sudden gasp from the back of the room, followed by a wave of whispering, distracted her briefly. “We used the best of our conventional treatments,” she continued, “but found that he reacted badly to them. Then, when we changed the regimen, his system had a massive breakdown. It was our opinion that we should over-ride the preferences in his MedNet profile and place him under BioStabilization until we could determine what to do, but we were advised not to, and, in the end, agreed.”
“And the patient?” Rick asked. “What happened to him?”
“He died.”
This time, the murmur was much louder, and had to be silenced by the judge.
Rick thought briefly. “So you’re saying that if it hadn’t been for this advice, your staff would have ignored the man’s MedNet request and placed him under BioStabilization. Is that correct?”
She hesitated. “Technically yes, but without that funding, without their advisor, we also wouldn’t have had the equipment, and would therefore not have been able to save his life anyway. If you follow the logic.”
Dr. Glacksdóttir’s mention of logic released a torrent of related thoughts and memories. Because of the fluid nature of her inner reality, however, it also elicited a stream of incidents that seemed to defy nouny logic. As Frank watched them slither through her mind, it struck him that they were related to the reality shifts that Cynthia had told him about. In each case, the MedCenter Administrator had experienced something that didn’t match what she recalled about some prior incident, an anomaly that most people would have casually written off to a faulty memory. Because her inner world allowed for such things, however, she’d simply learned to live with them.
Taking a closer look at some of these incidents, Frank realized that there was also a pattern to them. They all seemed to relate to patients about whom she had gotten advice from her government consultant. The one he was floating along with at the moment happened in her office, upon reading a report about a new BioStabilization patient, a man involved in some kind of mathematical research. According to the report, the mathematician’s neural attractor patterns showed that there was no reaction to the neurochemical triggers that ought to have kept his amygdala in synch with the rest of his limbic system. Yet, according to all the published research, the subsequent cognitive meltdown that led to his being moved to BSW could never have happened. At least, that was how she remembered the research. But when she requested the paper, it was completely different, and when she contacted the researchers, they confirmed what she’d just read.
Frank searched her memory for what had brought the patient into Dartmouth MedCenter to begin with, and found that it had been a flyway incident. Recalling Apuérto’s aborted transfer to Kübler-Ross Hospice, the sudden sense of déjà vu that hit him at that moment was cut short when he read the patient’s name: Vern Cuoku.
So Jerry was right. Jen’s cousin had been murdered, and by someone working with the man now sitting a few seats from Alex. But what about Uru G’danic? What did she know about him?
“Forgive me for being blunt,” Rick said, a bit taken aback, “but if you and your staff are willing to ignore the stated preferences in a patient’s MedNet profile, what is the point of having one in the first place?”
While Dr. Glacksdóttir recited the corporate litany about the difference between guidance and direction, Frank probed further in her memories. If she knew about G’danic, then he ought to be able to draw it out with the same trick he used in Apuérto. But before he’d finished wrapping himself in a reflection of the witness’s sense of self, his concentration was shattered by a searing headache, breaking the link and snapping him back to the more substantial reality of the courtroom.
Struggling to open his migraine-blinded eyes against the glaringly bright light of the heavily diffused glowtubes, and clenching his jaw through short, painful breaths, Frank peered across the courtroom and looked into the self-satisfied face of the man who had caused so much trouble. Whoever he was, and whatever group was behind him, Frank was determined to stop him.
“Frank?” Sala whispered beside him. “What’s wrong?”
He gripped the arms of his chair and shakily pushed himself back in his seat. Clearly, the man had been psychically trained, and not by anyone interested in using the ability for therapeutic purposes. The attack had been focused directly on the point of most psychic leverage, for unless he could drive the distracting pain from his consciousness, he’d be unable to strike back.
A hole suddenly formed in the all-encompassing blast of pain that poked and prodded at his mind. ‘Hang on, Frank,’ Cynthia’s voice echoed in his head.
As the area of relief grew wider, he jerked his head to the left to look at Cynthia, who was now sitting quite still, with her eyes closed and look of deep concentration on her face.
With Cynthia’s protection, Frank quickly regained enough control of his situation to try striking back. But before closing his eyes to focus, he glanced a few seats to Cynthia’s left, and returned Mara’s worried look.
“Thank you, Dr. Glacksdóttir,” Rick said.
While Frank battled the psychic onslaught and pushed his enforced migraine away, Cynthia continued to provide protection. In a moment, he was again in control, and ready to retaliate.
‘Together, now.’ Cynthia’s voice echoed in his mind.
Drawing on all his pent up anger and frustrations, Frank felt for the stream of psi energy pushing at him from across the room, and reached through it to its source. This wouldn’t be any covert link, but the most inexcusable misuse of his training imaginable. Some might be uncomfortable with the thought of having a Healer probe people’s minds, to look into their memories, but that was nothing compared to what a skilled Healer was capable of doing. There had only been a handful of rogue Healers in the history of the profession, and everyone knew there was no humane way to stop them. He only hoped that he wouldn’t be sucked into that deadly behavioral attractor, destroying whatever was left of his integrity in the consuming fire of power.
Blinded to reason, he drove deep into the energy knot of the man’s consciousness, searching for the single most vulnerable aspect of existence, the secret at the core of life itself, our connection to the greater awareness from which we arise, and to which we ultimately return. If the reason for our existence is the universe’s lust for self-knowledge, then this is one lesson it wasn’t going to get. If he could snap that connection, the man would be truly doomed, for his connection to every aspect of reality would be broken, and he’d vanish from—
‘Frank, no!’ Cynthia screamed in his mind.
“You!” A voice echoed in the courtroom.
 
The sudden exclamation startled everyone but Alex, who had been watching the man intently. He slid his left foot forward, and turned to look across the two people separating him from the person he was now certain had caused Frank to slump in pain a moment before. As the courtroom lurched past murmur and flirted with uproar, some spectators turned to look at the source of the cry, others glanced apprehensively at judge and bailiffs, and a few craned to see the witness, who now wore a very distraught expression. Only Mara was steadfastly watching Frank, and she was halfway out of her seat. A few yards to her left, Cynthia shuddered spasmodically, with eyes closed and fists pressing into her thighs.
 
When Angela instinctively reached out to stop Frank, she, too pushed past their adversary’s defenses, and then dove into the core of his consciousness. There was no careful way to do it, no crafty subterfuge to conceal her identity, just the horror of a raw psychic intrusion, and the hell with repercussions.
If she didn’t stop Frank from what he now seemed intent on doing, he would be irretrievably lost to the destructive psychic attractor that lay like a black hole in the bright eye of their profession.
If he succeeded, he would not only destroy his own life, but cast the work of thousands of Healers over hundreds of years into a pit of distrust from which it might never return. The act was destructive enough by itself; doing it in open court, in full view of dozens of newshounds, however, could easily convince the GD to tear up the agreement at the heart of this case, shut down every single Hospice Center, and prohibit Healers from practicing anywhere.
Desperate to save him from destruction, she wrapped herself around the flaming mass of energy that he was building within the man’s field, and forced him to retreat, to pull the center of his awareness back across the room, where she could use her ability to shield inside-out, preventing him from linking with anyone, at least for now.
 
When Alex saw the man jerk again in his seat, he glanced at Frank, who was trembling as well. He rose and dove across the seats. In seconds he had pushed the inert man to the ground, and was beginning to pummel him. People on all sides stood to get out of the way, while both bailiffs rushed over and the judge gaveled for order. Now fully alert, the man struggled to escape. Almost immediately, bailiffs pulled the two apart and held them immobile.
It took the judge several strikes of her gavel to get enough people’s attention that she could be heard. “Take those two to separate detention rooms. We’ll deal with them later.”
Frank turned to Sala, drew a few short breaths, and whispered, “He killed my friend, and I just nearly killed him. I need to get out of here.”
She quickly typed a note for Rick, and nodded. “Okay.”
Once the bailiffs had removed the two combatants, Judge Bennigan again called for order. “This case certainly seems to attract its share of trouble,” she said. “First Dr. Apuérto’s alleged attack by Healer Sanroya, then his flyway incident and miraculous recovery from who knows what, and now this. If this keeps up, I might have to declare this a closed court, just to safeguard the witnesses. Would both counsel please approach the bench.”
While the two lawyers were getting up, Rick raised a hand to interrupt. “Your honor,” he said, “under the circumstances, I suggest that we take a short recess, and give everyone a chance to calm down.”
“I agree,” she said. “We’ll take a 10 minute recess.” Then, looking at the two lawyers, she added, “Would you two please join me in my office?”
 
As soon as the jury room door was closed, they dropped the veneer of formality and drew close to Frank.
“What happened out there?” Sala asked.
“Yeah,” Peter agreed.
Frank held his hands up for some space, and collapsed into a nearby chair. “I can’t do this,” he said weakly.
“Why not?” Rick said, taking a seat, and motioning the others to follow suit.
Frank looked over at Peter. “When I was examining her memories, I discovered that Dr. Glacksdóttir had noticed a reality shift. Whoever these people are, they killed the patient my friend Jerry was investigating – the one he’d asked you to get some information about – but there’s no way to prove it. None.”
Sala sat as well. “What happened to you, though? It seemed like you suddenly took ill out there.”
He looked at her and shook his head. “I was pushed actually. Our guy attacked me psychically. Fortunately, Cynthia was there to help.” He glanced at several confused faces. “From across the room. You know.”
The others took seats, and leaned towards him.
“And that skirmish?” John asked, ever alert for a news angle. “What was that about? And who was that other guy? He looks familiar.”
“Alex LeBlanc,” Frank said. “My brother-in-law. I’d told him that our mark was in the room, and he must have figured out who it was on his own.”
“You told me that you nearly killed him?” Sala said quietly.
He nodded. “I was so enraged, I just lost it.” He stared at the table. “I’d intentionally blown into his mind, and was about to snuff him out, when Cynthia stopped me, pushed me back. I suppose the guy would have done the same to me, or worse, if Alex hadn’t flattened him just then.”
They were quiet for a few moments. Then Rick took a deep breath. “What do you want to do? We can excuse you, if you’d like.”
He nodded. “That might be for the best. I’ve got my family to consider, and the way things are headed, my daughter could end up with a dead father. But I still want to get in to see him, to find out what all this is really about. Is there any way to do that?”
“Once you’re excused,” Sala said, “there’s no reason they’d keep you out. After all, you might want to apologize for what your brother-in-law did. They ought to believe that.”
“I suppose,” Frank said, “but what about the case? Won’t you need me to—?”
“We’ll be okay,” Rick said. “You’ve given us plenty to go on already.”
 
(TOC)

90s memory. This story takes place when I was young, maybe about 5 to 7 yo (f), somewhere in there.
I lived in a house, across the street from an apartment complex. There was a little playground area directly across, like my mom could have eyes on us while we played and talked to her friends on the phone or whatever while still keeping tabs on us.
I got permission to go to the playground, and went over and was hanging out with some 'apartment kids' as I called them.
Most of the kids left and I was alone with a kid, male, my age, let's call him Quentin.
He was kind of a bully, and just like, mean for no reason, I have no idea why, but that's what I remember.
I wanted the 'tall swing', like when the bigger kids would loop the swing around the metal structure thing and make it taller. So did he.
We argued a little about it and eventually he called me a 'motherfucker'. I did not know what this meant at my age, but knew for sure it was a bad thing to say, and felt super offended. He also pushed me off the swing when I went to sit down.
My parents always taught me to stand up for myself. I also grew up with brothers so like, 'toughness' for me was super important.
So, little me decides to completely dominate this kid.
I push him to the sand, and start to take palm falls of sand, probably so dirty and just a cat litter box, really, into his mouth.
Like, him face down with me straddling his back, WWF crippler crossface style and just start shoving sand into his mouth.
I was saying stuff like 'don't talk to me like that' and 'don't push me around' and 'eat sand'.
I eventually, probably a few scoops after, let him get up and he runs off crying into the apartment complex.
I return to my house across the street. Think nothing of it, go to my room to play with toys or read or whatever I was doing
Doorbell rings.
My mom yells for me from down the hall.
My full name. Full first name, I usually go by a nickname, middle name, and I'm like, yikes, I'm in trouble. My mom never called my full name unless I did something bad. I HATE getting in trouble, I tried really hard to be like, a 'good kid'.
I sheepishly go to the front door to meet my mom and she looks suuuuuper mad. There's a lady at the front door also looking very mad. Quentin is also with her, looking like, really pleased with himself, so I assume it's his mom.
My mom asks what happened at the playground.
I say, Quentin was being really mean and pushed me off the swing, and called me a 'mother f-er' and so I made him eat sand.
I was expecting to get into trouble.
But, instead I saw kind of a surprised look on his mom's face, and she sort of glared down at him and he started crying saying I was bullying him.
His mom was mega mad. Took him by the arm and apologized to my mom and marched him back to the apartment complex.
I was awaiting punishment, like soo scared I'd get in trouble, but she closed the door and told me I would always be in the right for defending myself and that it wasn't probably the best thing to do, but she understood why I did it.
So, no punishment and made a kid eat sand for being a total jerk to me for no reason.

As you know, I have a crazed, 18’ tall, horny homosexual Bigfoot that has followed me home and is staking out my house, looking to bone me against my will. I brought uncle Roy home with me from a family Thanksgiving gathering so he could help me slaughter the beast. Round one has come and gone, with the Sasquatch still alive (though there were 2 fatalities, but we will not dwell on them).
Roy saw the massive creature and thought that we may need some help. So he called a couple of folks he knows to round up some guns and come down. One of them is an Iraqi War vet with substantial skill and grit. His name is Skull Crusher. The other one is a nefarious loner known only as Johnny Murder. Once the reinforcements arrive, we will devise a plan for killing the tormenting monster.
At noon the next day the cavalry arrived. Skull Crusher (he asked to be referred to as “SC”) arrived in a surplus Hummer painted desert camo. Johnny Murder arrived on an old, straight-piped Harley Dyna. He asked to be called “Murder”. I have to say that both SC and Murder looked like a couple of bad hombres.
SC wore fatigue pants and a camo wife-beater top. He was covered in patriotic tats and obviously works out a lot given how huge he is. I made the mistake of commenting on his build, then asking about his workout routine. SC said “Hell, I got nothing else to do all day besides sitting there and waiting for my parole hearing.” I asked when he was released from prison. He said that his parole hearing is scheduled for next year, but that when Murder told him what was up with this Sasquatch, he had Murder arrange for an “early release”, then he laughed. Then SC said “Don’t worry, though. As far as the marshals know, I am heading up to Wisconsin to settle an old score with my ex-Wife. They got no idea that I am in Georgia.”
Then Murder walked up. He is tall and lean and wearing a long, black trench coat with the sign of Baphomet sewn into the back of his coat. He has long, black hair and his finger nails are painted black. I attempted to be cordial to my guest, saying “Hey, Murder, I want you to know that I appreciate you getting SC out of jail to help out on this job. Murder turned and looked at me, then paused for an awkwardly long moment. Finally, Murder said “I am Satan, and I am here to do the Devil’s work.” Then he continued unpacking the saddlebags on his bike.
I decided to have a word with Roy. I found him in my recliner, drinking some of my top shelf, 18 year old, single malt scotch straight from the bottle, and watching The Weather Channel on my TV. When Roy saw me he said “Boy, look at that thar hot blond weather bunny on the TV! Have you ever seen sech a hot piece of ass? I’d stick my cock so far up her pussy that it would come out her mouth! A simultaneous fuckin and a blow job in one!! Heh heh heh...”
I said “Roy, the guys are here. I met them. SC was in prison, and Murder busted him out to come here. Oh, and Murder thinks he is Satan.” Roy just kept watching the weather bunnies jiggle on TV and said “uh huh, yeah”.
The television cut to commercials and Roy directed his attention to me. He said, “Look Son, we all make mistakes, even you do. So what if Skull Crusher got into a little scrape-up in a dive bar? He’s a good guy, I knowed his pappy. They is good people. He sure as hell did not kill anyone, at least not there.”
I asked Roy what the story is on Johnny Murder. Roy casualty said “Old Johnny is a Satanist, through and through. He ain’t one of them faggot Anton Lavey, Church of Satan, Satanists either. He is the real deal. Hell, I once seen him conjure up old Lucifuge hisself right in his living room. It was some right wild shit.”
Flustered, I said “Roy ... what the fuck?!? These 2 guys are trainwrecks! An escaped convict and a weird Satanist?!? How in the hell are THEY going to help us kill Bigfoot?!?”
Roy appeared to be growing impatient with me. He glared at me. Then he raised his right hand and pointed at me as he said “Those boys are exactly what we need. They is exactly what YOU need right now. Those fellers are distributors fer the meth I cook up and sell fer a pretty penny. They is loyal to me and will do whatever I tell them to do!” I pays ‘em damn well and I take care of ‘em. Jest trust me, son. Trust that yer old uncle Roy knows what he’s a’doin’.”
I responded, “Ok, Roy. You know I trust you and your judgment. If you think we need these particular guys, then I am all in with ya.” Roy nodded curtly in approval, then told me to call the boys into the house for a sit-down meeting.
The four of us sat around my kitchen table. Roy did most of the talking. He started out by thanking Skull Crusher and Murder for coming. He said “Fellers, this here be my nephew. Like his old Uncle Roy, Bud likes to dabble in Bigfooting. During the course of said dabbling, Bud here inadvertently turned on a huge gay Bigfoot that is aching to rape him with a massive woody. Now, I dun seen this here critter’s pecker, mind ya. No man could survive a thumpin’ from this beast. His goddamn schlong is about 40” long when stiff, and big around as a paint can. So, ya see, if this fag foot gets hold of Bud, then old Bud is a goner.”
Skull Crusher spoke up. He asked “What happened to cause this animal to get so riled up? I spoke up and said “I made a mistake. I was gifting with a clan of Sasquatch and then, I just fucked up and provoked it.”
Roy interrupted and bluntly said, “Old Bud here decided to whip out his pecker and jerk off right in the middle of the goddamn woods, then he dropped his load right smack dab in the spot where the Bigfoots had been leaving gifts fer him.”
At hearing this, Skull Crusher did a facepalm and Mr. Murder looked down as he shook his head from side to side. I tried to explain myself, but Roy shut me down, saying “Look, son, the past is the past. You dun fucked up, and now that critter is a’comin fer ya.”
Roy continued, “Ya see, my wingnut nephew here has got a problem keeping his dick in his pants. Jest last night I seen him jacking off in this here kitchen, and then watched him putting the fuck-moves on his neighbor lady. Hell, Bud’s raging labido got that poor woman kilt last night!”
Again I interjected, “No, you shooting her in the head is what got her killed.” I looked around at the others and said “Roy shot Mrs. Jenkins in the head, TWICE!!”
Roy then unloaded his side of the story, and I told mine. At the conclusion it was clear that the others believed that I was totally at fault for the Sasquatch and both homicides. Murder said “Dude, you do not try to fuck a bitch while your uncle is outside with just a couple of pistols trying to kill a dangerous animal... an animal YOU brought here!” Skull Crusher chimes in, “Bud, old Roy saved your life. It’s unfortunate that this Jenkins woman had to die but, you know, hindsight is 20/20.” Roy then repeated the last part, saying “Hindsight is 20/20.”
Obviously, I was surrounded in my own house by mental patients. But what else could I do? I decided that I better listen to them. Seeing the need to move forward, Roy said “Ok, ok, we now all know that Bud is a degenerate sex freak. But that don’t mean I want to see my kin raped to death by a gorilla. We need to devise us up a plan to murder that Bigfoot, and fast! That thing will most likely be back tonight!”
Roy continued, “Ok, now listen up, this here’s the plan. That big old bastard ape likes to stand just off Bud’s back patio at night, jest outa the light, and jack it while he watches Bud through the window. Tonight, we is gonna triangulate on this Bigfoot. Johnny, you is gonna be on the roof with that .50 cal. Skull Crusher, you and me is gonna be in the trees out a bit from the patio with our fiddy cals and grenades.”
Alarmed, I spoke up. “Grenades?!? What the fuck?!? You’ll blow up my house!!!” Roy looked at me and made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “You got insurance”, Roy said. I protested, saying “It won’t cover jack-shit if I am throwing grenades around my house!!”
At this point Murder stood up and said “Fuck this pussy! Let that critter rape the ungrateful bastard. C’mon, Skull, let’s get out of here.” Both Murder and Skull Crusher stood up like they were walking out. Roy held up his hands and said, “Whoa now, boys. You ain’t goin nowhar. Sit yer sorry asses down.” They both complied. Then Roy turned his scorn on me.
Roy said, “Now, boy, I am jest going to say this once. I am in charge here. If’n you ain’t gonna be a team player in this here endeavor then the three of us can jest pack our shit and leave it to ya. Understand? This here house ain’t gonna do you any good if’n you dead.”
I nodded. Then Roy said “No more Bullshit! You do as I say. You hear?” I said “Yes Sir”. Roy responded “You Goddamn right, Yessir!!” Then he pulled off his hillbilly hat and hit me over the head with it.
Roy continued on with the plan. Murder, you is up on the roof top. Skull, you and I is high up in the trees with our rifles and grenades.
Skull Crusher asked how high up in the tree he had to be. Roy told him at least 30 feet up. Skull said “Goddamn, Roy! How big is this thing?” Roy told him that by his estimate this Bigfoot is around 18 feet tall. Murder and Skull looked at each other with wide eyes.
Then Skull said “Uh, Roy, we may have a problem.” Roy asked him what he meant. Skull looked a little uneasy and then sheepishly said “Uh, I’m scared of heights.” Roy paused then asked “What?”. Skull Crusher repeated that he is scared of heights.
Before our meeting I had brewed us some coffee. I had a cup. I gave Skull and Murder both cups of coffee, as well as a cup for Roy. Of course, Murder pulled out a flask of what I assumed to be liquor and spiked his and Skull’s coffee. They passed the flask to Roy. Old Roy just dumped all his coffee out on my kitchen floor and dumped the remainder of the flask in his coffee cup.
Uncle Roy seemed a bit perturbed at Skull Crusher and his revelation that he is scared of heights. As Roy started shaking his head and muttering “Goddamn it” under his breath, Skull said “It ain’t my fault, Roy. It’s a phobia.” That drove Roy over the edge.
Roy snatched his coffee cup and slung it at Skull Crusher. The cup shattered against Skull Crusher’s head. Then Roy stood up and flew into a rage. Skull grabbed his head in pain as blood rolled down his face. Roy started screaming at Skull Crusher, “You goddamn little faggot pussy!!! SCARED OF HEIGHTS?!?! You WILL be scared of heights when I put my boot up yer worthless ass. I’ll kick your ass right up that thar tree, you pathetic worm!!! NOW YOU IS GONNA MAN-UP AND SHIMMY RIGHT UP THAT GODDAMN TREE LIKE I AM OR I WILL RIP OFF THAT EMPTY HEAD OF YOURS AND SKULL FUCK YOU!!!! GOT IT?!?”
Skull Crusher sheepishly nodded yes. Roy said “Scared of heights... that’s the goddamn dumbest thang I ever dun did hear. What are you, a faggot?” Skull responded, “No sir.” Then Roy glared at Skull and called him a “cunt”.
Unfortunately, Roy was not yet done. He continued, “I’m glad I don’t pay no goddamn taxes. If’n I did then I would be right pissed to know that I wuz paying a sissy like you to go over there to Afghanistan to kick them Muslim rag-heads’ asses.”
Poor old Skull Crusher was obviously not used to being spoken to in such a manner. He then stupidly said to Roy “There ain’t no trees in Afghanistan.” Roy immediately grabbed my coffee cup to hurl at Skull Crusher. I grabbed Roy’s arm to stop him from hitting Skull again and then pleaded with Roy, “Roy! Don’t!! He said he would climb the tree. It’s ok, He’s going to do it!!”
Roy finally calmed down and composed himself. He then resumed with the plan. Roy said “OK. So Murder is on the roof, over the patio. Skull and me are in the trees, THIRTY FEET UP (Roy glared at Skull Crusher as he said this), and we are armed with our fiddy cals and throwin’ grenades.”
Roy then turned his attention to me. “Bud, you is gonna be the bait again, seein’ as how this here critter has got the hots fer ya. This here is what you is a’gonna do. You is gonna drag this here kitchen table over to those sliding winder doors so this Bigfoot will have a good view of ya. Then, you is a’gonna drop your drawers and bend over the table, with yer ass pointing to the window so the that horny Sasquatch will get hisself a ragin boner. Basically, you is gonna set yer self up like you is a wantin an ass-bangin.”
At this point I had no will to to object to anything Roy said. I just nodded yes. Roy saw my concern, but seemed to respect my compliance, so he said “Don’t worry now, son. We will be right outside.”
Roy explained that the horny Bigfoot will probably be agitated after last night’s encounter. But with my bare ass sticking up at the glass sliding doors, the creature will see it then get all distracted by its horniness, causing it to drop its guard and approach. The goal, Roy explained, was to lure it into the kill box so that the three of them on the outside of the house will each have close-range shots will their .50 cal rifles.
Roy said to me “Now, Bud, I want you wiggling that ass. Shake it. Slap it. Finger yer self. You got to get the animal turned on.” I heard snickering and looked up to see both Skull Crusher and Murder trying unsuccessfully to conceal their giggling.
Roy asked “Any questions?” We all said no. Then Roy said “One More thang. Bud, this here is fer you”, then he pulled something out of his pocket and handed it to me. It was a tube of K-Y jelly, a lubricant. Both Skull Crusher and Murder started laughing hysterically. Roy said “Don’t mind these boys. If somethang goes wrong and that beast gets to ya, well, it will be best If’n you are lubed up really well.”
Night came. Roy and Skull Crusher climbed into position up their trees, and Murder was on the roof. At exactly 6:00 pm I was to enter the kitchen, do a strip tease, then assume the wanton position, bare assed and bent over the kitchen table. I figured I would lube myself up while in position, as sort of an erotic prelude used to attract the Sasquatch.
6:00 pm came and I assumed the position. I did everything Roy told me to do. I felt like a total fag, but I knew it was my job as bait. I applied the lube, seductively, shook my ass, and even did finger stuff. I felt ridiculous. I started wondering how long I would have to keep this up. It already started to feel like a fucking eternity. Frankly, it is rather uncomfortable to reach around to finger one’s own anus. But I kept at it. Wondering how long this could possibly go on, I glanced at the clock on my wall. It was 6:09 pm. Goddamn it!!
All four of us had Bluetooth headsets on so we could communicate. After a few more minutes Roy spoke to me over the head set, saying “Bud, I will tell you when I hear the Sasquatch approaching. When I give the word you start wiggling your ass and fangering yerself.” I replied, “Roy, I have already been doing it for the past 20 minutes, just like you said.” Roy said “Goddamn, Boy, you is one degenerate pervert, aren’t ya?” Then Murder chimed in and called me a “fag”.
Shortly afterward I heard from Roy again. “He’s here, approaching from the south, approaching my position from the rear. Get to the finger-fucking, Bud. Here he comes. Murder, Skull, you copy?” Murder and Skull checked in and were both locked and loaded.
But the beast did not approach. After several minutes Roy said “Somethang is wrong. That sumbitch took up position behind me. He is not approaching. I don’t think it can even see Bud in its position.” I asked Roy if he is sure it was our target. Roy replied, “Hell Yeah, I’m sure. I saw it’s silhouette and heard its footsteps. I can feel it’s footsteps up here in the tree, that thing is HUGE!”
For whatever reason, the animal was not approaching, and it was not even close to the kill box. Maybe it caught the boys’ scent, I am not sure.
Then Roy called me. He said, “Boy, I hate to do this, but you is gonna have to come outside. It caint see ya from its position. Turn on your porch light and come outside so it can see you. Oh, and chub up first. I want ya to come out to the patio and jack-off in the light. That will surely draw the monster into the kill box!”
I knew there was no point in objecting, so I did as Roy commanded. At this point in my life I can pretty much just will myself to produce an erection. I just hold my breath, squeeze my fists, and push. BAMMO!! There it is!!
I walked out onto the patio, which cock at full mast. I walked out into the light and put my left leg up on a chair in a kind of Captain Morgan pose, bare ass naked, and started stroking my prick. I heard Skull Crusher over my head-set say “Goddamn, Bud is hung like a horse!”
Then I decided to improvise. I started pumping my hips to thrust my wang through my hand and saying shit out loud like “Oh yeah, look at this big cock! I wish I had someone to help me handle this meat!” Roy spoke to me through my head set, saying “You is doing great Boy!! Let it all hang out!!”
I have a metal table sitting on my patio. I use it for holding my grill and smoker tools, and to set my shit on when I am sitting out there smoking cigars. I said “Look at this, big boy”, and started banging my dong on that metal table. It made a hell of a racket! If That Bigfoot had not noticed me yet, it had now. Then I started drumming the table with my boner. I was drumming the opening drum sequence from Van Halen’s “Hot For Teacher” with my cock when all of a sudden came this ungodly roar!
It was the Bigfoot!! The roar was deep and loud. I could feel it in my chest. It was like the roar from an African buck lion, but times 10. It was like the Sasquatch was standing right there on the patio with me, even though it was a good 100 or so yards away in the woods behind my house.
Then came the unmistakable sound of footsteps. They were fucking loud, and you could feel the earth trembling at the beast’s weight. It was coming. A voice came over my head-set. It was Roy telling me to get back in the house. I retreated into the house, sitting down in a chair in front of my glass sliding door, cock proudly standing at attention like a flagpole. My right hand was behind my back so the approaching beast could not see that I was holding my Ruger .480 revolver.
The bastard had a clear view of me as it walked toward my house, looking out through the window I began to see trees swaying. I surmised that the trees were being pushed to the side by the approaching giant. Even in the house I could hear, and feel, it’s footsteps. I heard “FOOF! FOOF! FOOF! FOOF!!”. It was getting closer and closer. I heard Roy say “Here it comes. Hold yer fire until it gits into the kill box. I’ll give the word.”
Then I saw it. It was HUGE!!! 18’ tall is conservative. It was as big around as a pickup truck. It’s eyes glowed a fiery red, and it’s hands were are big as a La-Z-Boy recliner! And, yes, it had a hard-on. It was just as big as Roy said. It was huge, throbbing, and glowing red. In fact, you could actually SEE the pulsating caused by every heartbeat of this animal.
The monstrous ape saw me sitting there, just inside the sliding glass door, naked and hard. It stopped, then gingerly moved forward. I am scared fucking senseless at this point, waiting for the shooting to start. The monster knelt down onto my patio so that it could gaze at me through the glass. It’s fucking head was as big as a VW Bug, and it’s eyes were solid black and the size of beach balls.
The thing was as hairy as a Mexican woman, and it smelled just as bad. As it knelt down to look at me, it seemed to exhibit a certain degree of intelligence and self-awareness. Though absolutely scared stiff, I was curious. What was this animal seeing? What was it thinking. And for the love of God, why wasn’t anyone shooting?!?
Staring at the Bigfoot, something unexpected happened. It smiled at me. It was not malevolent in any way. It was a kind smile. Dare I say, it was a loving smile. Maybe this was about more than rape. Maybe this thing really did have a crush on me!
The beast then slowly brought around its right hand and held out a rose bush that appears to have been pulled out of the ground. The Sasquatch was actually giving me roses!!! I could not believe it!!! This was the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for old Bud! I could not help but smile. I was flattered! I looked up into those big black eyes and looked at them through my misty eyes. The communication was unspoken: I loved the flowers and was opening my heart to this big beast.
I still do not understand exactly what happened to me in that moment. Perhaps I was influenced by infrasound produced by the animal and it’s gigantic, throbbing fuck-stick. Or maybe I was genuinely smitten. I was not myself, I can tell you that for a fact. Suddenly, my gaze turned to the monsters throbbing Member.
Then all hell broke loose! BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!!! The hellish reports from those .50 BMGs were deafening!! The beast stood up immediately. It was so tall I could not really see what it was doing. I flipped the kitchen table on its side and took up a defensive position behind it, raising my pistol hand and readying for combat.
Something flies past the window and splatters onto my patio. It was Murder!! Given the amount of blood that spewed out of him he was dead. Then comes another thud. I call out for Roy on my head-set. “ROY!! WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON OUT THERE?!?!” Roy Shot back “Murder is dead. So is Skull Crusher.”
Then Roy asked “You got that .480 on ya, boy?” I said I did. Roy said “Well, things ain’t going so well out here. You may want to just go ahead and bow out, son.” I asked, “What?!?”. Roy said, “Just eat a bullet, son. Trust me, it will be far better than how you will die If’n this here monster gits a’holda ya.” I then hear a volley of .50 BMG gunfire from outside. I said to myself “Fuck this!”, and storm outside.
Murder’s body is cut in half and splattered all over my patio. Blood and guts are everywhere. Skull Crusher’s lifeless body is hanging upside down from a high tree limb. His safety strap got tangled around his ankle, and that is what’s holding him up in the tree. Then I see Roy, standing up on a high tree limb, like a monkey, holding his .50 cal at his hip with one arm and feeding it ammo from a belt with the other arm. He is firing like Rambo! BAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAMBAM!!!!!!
The Bigfoot is swatting at Roy, but cannot quite reach him. It wants to knock over the tree so it can get to Roy, but every time it tries Roy pops it with his .50 cal. This is making the monster very agitated.
I screamed at the monster as loud as I could. It turned and saw me standing there. As soon as I had its attention I turned and dropped to my knees, as if to say “come on in”. Well, that pushed the old gay ape over the edge. It dropped to its knees, looking at me. Roy saw what was going on and stopped firing.
Then the ape made its first mistake. It puckered up its lips, closed it’s eyes, and moved in toward me. Clearly, it wanted a kiss. “How fucking pathetic is THIS?”, I thought.
It got its face right up next to mine. Then I said “Hey, bitch, look at this.” When it opened it’s eyes, I could see my reflection in its left eye. It was me pointing my .480 at the monster. BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM BAM!!!!! I unloaded the large bore revolver into the beast’s eye!
It recoiled in horror, crying out in pain. I heard Roy on my head-set say “Bud, grenades...”, so I leapt up and fled. But just then 2 explosions let loose, close together, BAM-BAM!!! The conclusion blew me off my feet. I went flying, but landed ok. I immediately heard, through the ringing in my ears, Roy’s .50 BMG rattling off more shots.
I turned around and saw that the big old Bigfoot was blown to pieces. Half of its fucking face was gone. Roy was pumping it full of lead, with each bullet causing an explosion of blood and bloody flesh every time they struck. Nonetheless, the behemoth fought on.
Then I caught a glimpse of something. It was Mr. Murder’s .50 BMG Barrett. I pick it up and check the mag, 10 shots in the mag. I thought to myself “WTF?!? Murder never even fired his weapon!!” But I would have to reflect on this later. I sprinted into action.
As the Sasquatch has all of its focus on Roy, I sneak up behind it, positioned the rifle’s muzzle right up the thing’s asshole and pulled the trigger 3 times in quick succession. BAM! BAM! BAM!! The animal grabbed its ass with both hands and went down to its knees. It was howling in pain.
I flanked the animal and got in front of it. It was in such pain it did not even notice me. Then I take aim on the Bigfoot’s balls. BAM!! They explode like an oversized watermelon. Then, just for the fuck of it, I took aim and blew off its dick. Blood spurted from the remaining stump like a fire hose!!
Now the animal was moaning and it’s eyes were rolling up in its head. I took aim and fired the remaining cartridges into the animals head. Clearly, the bullets penetrated the thick skull, as bloody brain matter was blasted out of its head every time I shot. The .50 cal absolutely shredded its brain. Then, with a loud thud, the beast fell over, deader than a Kennedy!
Roy climbed down the tree and came up running. “Goddamn it, boy!! You dun did it!!! You kilt that fuckin critter!!! I softened it up a might, but you stepped it up like a man and MURDERED that motherfucker!!! Damn, Son, that is the biggest damn Bigfoot critter I ever dun see!!” Clearly, Roy was excited.
Roy said, “Let’s git us a drank, boy! You earned it! Oh, and put on some goddamn clothes already.” As we are walking toward the house I catch sight of something. I tell Roy to go on ahead and pour me a drink, that I will be there in a moment. So he goes on ahead.
I walk over to the object I spied. As I thought, it was Skull Crusher’s BARRETT .50 BMG rifle. I released the magazine and took a look. 10 rounds were present. This means that, just like with Mr. Murder, Skull Crusher’s rifle was never fired. I carried the rifle to my back door, leaned it up against the door frame and entered my house.
I found Roy standing behind my bar in my living room, pouring drinks. He looks up with me with a smile. Then he asks “Damn, boy, you had a hard dick all this time? Jesus Christ!Cover that thang up!!”
I walked up to the bar, took my glass of scotch, and took a sip. Then I asked Roy what happened out there. Roy said, “Look, son, I ain’t gonna tell you again, go put on some pants and quit prancing around here like a faggot.” Roy had a point, so I went and got dressed.
When I returned, Roy was sitting by the fire sipping whiskey. He looked at me and smiled, all snaggle toothed. He said “There’s my boy!!” I picked up my scotch and sat down next to Roy.
I again asked him what happened out there. Roy said “What happent? What happent is that you dun went and killed a record Sasquatch!!” I said “NO. WHAT HAPPENED? I checked Murder’s and Skull’s rifles and no shots were fired. WHY DIDN’T YOU GIVE THE ORDER TO SHOOT?!?”
Roy takes out his pipe, stuffs it, tamps it, then lights it. I know what he is doing. First, he is collecting his thoughts as he prepares his pipe. Second, he is getting ready to tell me something. I decided to let him take his time telling me.
After a couple puffs on his pipe, Roy began. “Son, sometimes we do thangs in life fer many purposes. For example, when I seen how big this sumbitch Bigfoot was, I knew I needed my old fiddy-cal shootin iron. But I left it up in Sasquatch Hollar. So I needed someone to retrieve it fer me. So I called up old Johnny Murder.”
“Johnny sed he would, but he wuz a’busy bustin old Skull Crusher outa the pokey. I told him, hell, bring him along wit ya. Nobody will think to look fer him down here in Georgia.”
“Ya see, boy, old Skull Crusher got hisself inta sum trouble. I knowed that DA wuz a’gonna dangle reduced sentence deals in front of his dumb ass if he agreed to spill his guts about my liquor and meth operations. This put old Roy in a spot.”
“Now, I doubt Skull Crusher would have turned on me, but why take a chance? So I up and ordered Johnny Murder to bust him outa prison and bring him to me. That wuz right before Thanksgiving. Then all this drama with yer Bigfoot came up. I figured, why not kill 2 birds with one rifle?”
“I got them 2 sumbitches down here under the guise of hunting down and killing this critter. I needed my fiddy, mind you. But I needed those assholes here too. I had to tie up loose ends.”
So while we wuz on point, and those 2 boys were distracted by that thar Bigfoot, I shot old Skull Crusher in the head, then I shot Johnny Murder in the head cuz he wuz a witness.”
Old Roy was smiling as he told me this, like he was really happy with himself for what he did. I said “Goddamn, Roy, I was almost fucking killed and you were distracted by business.” Roy said “Yeah, but I wuz here fer ya, weren’t I? If’n I tweren’t Out thar blasting away at that critter then you never would have been able to move in and kill it!”
Roy had a point. I said, “You were here for me Roy, and I appreciate it. I really do.” Roy nodded. I said “Well, I guess we need to get rid of a couple more bodies. You want to gut and carve up the Bigfoot for meat?” Roy said, “Hell yeah!! I’ll eat off that big thang fer the winter.” He asked if I wanted some of the meat, and I said no.
I look over at Roy and say, “I love you, Uncle Roy.” Roy looked at me and replied, “Don’t be a fag, son.”

“Deadly Attractor” (TOC)
by P. Orin Zack
[2003]
 
Chapter Fourteen
 
“Your honor,” the portly senior Counsel for the Complainant said, rising to his feet. “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I’m sure you are all saddened by the tragic events which began in this courtroom on Thursday last.”
After pushing his chair under the table, he paused to look at each juror in turn, lingering finally on Frank. “Having a critical witness succumb to some mysterious, and as yet unexplained, malady, one that first struck him unconscious in the midst of testimony, and then placed him under the most extreme MedCenter care available, would have been quite enough.”
He stepped to the geometrical center of the open area between the judge and the tables from which Counsel for each side mounted their respective missions to convince the jurors that their version of the truth was superior to that of their opponent.
Frank continued to watch the young man sitting between Carlita Gutiérez and Allan Wylie. From where he sat, he could see only part of the man’s right hand, but enough to catch a glint of reflected light off whatever it was that he was holding.
Counsel took a step towards the jury. “But then to learn that, while being transported to Kübler-Ross Hospice Center, against the stated preferences in his MedNet file, he was first placed at risk in what could have been a fatal airway collision, and then abducted by terrorists posing as a security team, that is too much to ask of us to accept as being unrelated to this case.”
Frank squirmed uncomfortably at the accusation, hoping that nobody would notice his reaction. Inwardly, he heard Cynthia’s voice, telling him to be calm, reminding him that she was watching.
Carlita’s mysterious ally smiled subtly, and shifted his gaze to the speaker, who had taken another step towards the jury.
“Clearly,” said the Complainant’s counsel, warming to his ploy, “what our witness had to say, what Dr. Apuérto was going to tell the court, was important to someone besides our clients.” He glanced back towards his table, where a lone representative of the group that had filed the case sat between two other members of his team. “Important in a way,” he continued, “that induced someone to prevent him from testifying.”
Frank drew a slow breath, and looked instead at the portly Counsel, who had just taken yet another step closer to the jury.
“Nevertheless,” the lawyer said, now close enough to place a hand on the jury box railing, “what he had to say was in no way stopped by these acts. We will continue laying out the trail of evidence with the assistance of a senior member of the administration from the Dartmouth MedCenter in Halifax, Dr. —”
A resounding crack from the rear of the courtroom stopped the Counsel in mid-sentence. The heavy doors had been thrown open, and bailiffs turned to respond.
“That won’t be necessary, your honor.” The courtroom first fell dead silent, and then erupted in chatter, as people first recognized, and then told their neighbors that it was Dr. Miguél Apuérto, apparently none the worse for his hospitalization and abduction, who had spoken.
Frank watched Dr. Apuérto walk past the rows of spectator seats, but his gaze stopped as it crossed a welcome sight: Mara and Alex were in the courtroom as well. When he caught his wife’s eye, she smiled and nodded gently, then glanced beside her at Alex. Frank followed her cue, and knew in an instant that something was seriously wrong. He’d never seen Mara’s brother wearing a scowl before, and knew that for someone as intensely full of life and energy as Alex, inducing one would have taken some doing. But whatever it was, it would have to wait.
Judge Bennigan ordered silence, and asked both counsel to approach the bench. After a brief discussion, she sent them back to their tables and addressed Dr. Apuérto. “We’re all pleased to see that you are well. Since neither counsel has objected, you may step into the witness box and resume your testimony.”
He nodded. “Thank you, your honor.”
Once Dr. Apuérto had reaffirmed his oath to testify fully and truthfully, and Counsel for the Complainant had had a moment to confer with one another, their senior member rose and walked over to the witness box.
Frank and the witness looked at one another briefly. He then glanced at Carlita, and noticed that the man beside her was whispering something to Wylie. Before Frank closed his eyes and prepared to re-establish the link, he wordlessly asked Cynthia, ‘What about the sprite?’ Since she didn’t answer immediately, he reached out psychically and felt for the administrator’s sense of self. Finally, he focused on the memories racing through the man’s mind, and waited.
“Dr. Apuérto,” Counsel began, “we were discussing how your facility’s attitude that patients should be treated immediately, regardless of whether they can be treated at a Hospice Center as successfully and for less cost, satisfied the requirements of the jurisdictional rulings that define the proper roles of MedCenters and Hospices. The court has been waiting since last Thursday to hear your answer.”
The witness nodded. “Yes. Well, when we first evaluate a patient, especially in an emergency situation, we have a lot of things to consider. For example, not all of the patient’s symptoms are immediately evident, yet sometimes the more subtle problems are actually the more serious ones, and must therefore be given a higher priority.”
Counsel leaned against the witness box railing. “I would imagine, then, that although one of the patient’s problems might be squarely in the MedCenter’s jurisdiction, another could be in the gray area, or even in the Hospice’s jurisdiction. Is that so?”
“That is correct,” Apuérto said, and fell silent.
“Thank you. Now tell the court, sir, if this is the case,” Counsel paused to look around the room, “then how can you possibly comply with the jurisdictional rulings?”
Apuérto smiled. “We can’t, not in the way the lawyers envisaged it, at least.”
“What do you do, then?”
“The only reasonable solution,” Apuérto said, “is to start with the premise that I laid out last week, the idea that promptness of treatment is paramount, and treat what we can as soon as we can, and that means keeping the patient at the MedCenter. Anything else would be irresponsible, and I suspect would cause a lawsuit of a different sort.”
“Objection, your honor,” opposing Counsel called out. “The witness is not filing suit against himself, is he?”
Judge Bennigan looked at Apuérto. “Please restrict your comments to answering the questions put to you.”
It went on like that for nearly an hour. By the time his questioning was finished, Counsel had laid the foundation for a logical attack against the legal basis of the jurisdictional rulings themselves. During it all, Frank maintained his link, and did not observe anything that would suggest that Apuérto’s answers were either fabricated or based on a distortion of the facts as he understood them. On the other hand, because of the kinds of questions asked, and therefore the variety of memories elicited, he also did not encounter any additional incidents involving the mysterious person sitting between Healer Gutiérez and Allan Wylie.
When Counsel for the Complainant thanked the witness and started back to his seat, the jury’s Foreman, whom the other jurors now knew as Rick, requested the floor. Once the Counsel for the Respondent sat back down, he stood beside his seat, giving those in the room a better view of his formal powder-blue outfit, the glow from which gave him a theatrical illusion of power. Frank looked across the other jurors at him, and wondered what he had in mind. After all, they hadn’t had any time to discuss a plan prior to entering the courtroom.
“Welcome back to court, Dr. Apuérto,” he said graciously. “We have listened with great interest to your explanation of why patients are kept at the MedCenter for treatment. Logically and practically, it is a thoroughly admirable solution to an intractable problem. Something about it, however, bothers us, and I was hoping that you could clarify it.”
Apuérto sat quietly, waiting for a question.
“If you could, sir, please help us to understand the position of the evaluating physician. As you’ve explained, a patient with multiple problems places your staff in something of a quandary. Assuming that they have a rough idea of what problems they are dealing with, how do they evaluate the relative importance of each one?”
Apuérto nodded. “Are you familiar with the concept of triage? It’s a method used to rank the relative importance of competing requests for a limited resource, such as staff, equipment or supplies. It can also be used to decide which of several problems is to be treated first, or which one to choose if there is a conflict of treatment regimen. We use this method to determine how to proceed. There is ample evidence that it works.”
The Foreman considered briefly, and glanced at both sets of counsel. “Thank you. Is it possible that, among several competing problems presented by a patient, the one that, according to the rules of triage, is more life-threatening, should actually be treated at a Hospice Center?”
Apuérto shook his head. “No sir. Not in my experience.”
“Well, then, how about in the experience of your emergency evaluation physicians?”
Apuérto thought for a moment, during which time Frank was bombarded with a torrent of memories, most of which involved evaluation reports, statistics, and boring meetings in hot, stuffy rooms. He found the meetings the most interesting, because several of them featured a familiar semi-transparent figure standing in the shadows at the edge of the room.
“As far as I can recall,” he said slowly, “in all the time I’ve been monitoring evaluations, we haven’t had that situation come up. Not even once.”
The Foreman nodded. “I see. This is where we have a problem, though. If your staff are expert only in the kind of treatments that are offered at your facility, how then can they judge the importance of a problem in a field in which they have neither training nor experience?”
“Objection, your honor.” The counsels for both sides were on their feet, and a murmur washed across the spectators.
“Sit down, both of you,” Judge Bennigan said. “This is between the jury and the witness.” She looked over at Apuérto. “Answer the question, please.”
He sat motionless for a few seconds, looked down at his folded hands briefly, and then out at the crowd beyond the tables where both parties to the case sat. “That’s um—,” he faltered. “That’s a good question. We, um, we actually rely on the advice of a special consultant in situations like that.”
The foreman crossed his arms. “A consultant?”
“Yes, sir. One provided by the Global Directorate, a member of the agency that provides some of the funding for—”
When Apuérto thought about the MedCenter’s GD consultant, two things happened.
First, as Frank watched, the man’s memories of the consultant were offered up for review. Each one of them had been altered to reduce the chances of it being recalled, and the image of the consultant was replaced by a pasted in construct, a placeholder intended simply to eliminate the problem that a hole in the memory might have caused.
Second, the bundle of memories that Frank had built, the ones containing a distorted image of their adversary, were presented. This meant that Apuérto’s memory processing system had just realized that they were of the same person who had attempted to kill him in the flyway. Yet, without a clear image, he still didn’t know who the man really was. But because Frank was worried about the man, because he’d seen his face, and because they were linked, Apuérto somehow managed to acquire the missing piece.
Apuérto’s sudden rage broke Frank’s link with him, and Frank opened his eyes, just in time to see their adversary whisper something to Allan Wylie. A second later, Frank jerked in his seat, straining against a sudden constriction of his throat.
 
EV knew exactly where Apuérto planned to take that thought. He’d ridden the crisis like a monster wave from a barely perceptible ripple, and was now poised at that exquisite moment just before events would yield to gravity and come toppling over in a spectacular denouement with the power to destroy everything his organization had built up over the years. It was an event worth tweaking up close, so he could watch every beautiful moment of it; the long-awaited payoff for having delayed so long before defusing the situation; the adrenaline rush that made his job the most extreme sport imaginable.
The people he’d permitted to set up the situation had done their part well. They had proved a worthy adversary, but when he was finished here, they wouldn’t know how close they had come to succeeding.
He glanced down at the device in his hand and pressed the symbol etched onto its surface. As the fields stabilized, and the courtroom faded slightly into the familiar fluid imagery he’d been trained to work with, he reached an imaginary hand into the nearby turbulence and used his palm to divert a tiny bit of the flow, just enough to prevent a small tributary from enhancing the strength of the developing channel he wanted to weaken, just enough to turn the tide.
Subtlety was important to him. It was a mark of the expertise he’d developed, both in his job and in the more conventional sports that he enjoyed, sports that took him to places like the peaks and glaciers of New Zealand. In this situation, it meant thwarting their plan by eliminating their pawn, leaving them frustrated at their inability to control the situation, and more importantly, to control him. Satisfied, he released his thumb and settled in to watch the results.
 
Covertly poking around inside people’s minds and memories had only become a normal part of her life after Cynthia’s reputation was trashed and she’d had to go underground. Since then, she’d used it for a lot of things – extracting pass phrases to get into secured places, finding out whether she’d been spotted, even the occasional memory rewrite, but monitoring Frank while he linked to witnesses was something else again.
She’d sneaked through the courthouse’s service entrance, using faked biometrics records that Lenny had placed in the system, after Frank was safely past the more formal security screening at the main entrance, and found a cozy spot on the lower level. From there, she carefully reached out with her psychic sense of self and waited just outside his energy field. In this way, she could observe his condition without giving away her presence to any third party.
When Apuérto’s reaction broke Frank’s link with him, Cynthia saw it as an energy wave, a kind of virtual tsunami that sheared the tenuous extrusion of aura through which Frank had reached out to the witness. As the energy knot of Frank’s consciousness snapped back, and his normal energy patterns reasserted themselves, though, something else happened.
As she watched, in a single violent slashing motion, a bolt of energy shot across the room and penetrated deep into Frank’s field, then just as quickly vanished. Cynthia used the momentary afterimage to track it back to its source, and tapped in just far enough for a name: Wylie.
Turning back to Frank, she found that his energy field had suddenly turned murky and turbulent. Reaching inside, she felt around for the insubstantial energy membrane separating Frank’s own field from whatever it was that had clamped itself around the meridians through which chi flowed through his neck, and pulled it away.
The sprite slithered through her grip, gathered itself together, and wavered like a cobra preparing to strike. She spread her sense of self wide, in an animal-like display of faux size, while watching its reaction. The sprite hesitated, seemingly unable to recognize her now as a threat, then turned back towards Frank’s meridian and seized it again. She lunged after the sprite, this time surrounding it. Prevented from moving, unable to escape, the sprite withdrew into itself and hung motionless, quietly vibrating in the midst of Frank’s energy field.
 
Frank gasped for air. Then, just as suddenly, the constriction released, and he relaxed.
‘Wylie… triggered the sprite,’ Cynthia said inside his mind.
Frank peered at Wylie. The man had closed his eyes, lowered his head. Clearly, this wasn’t over, but for the moment, at least, he wasn’t feeling anything. The question was why.
“…provided some of the funding for—” Apuérto repeated his thought, and then stopped. He blinked a few times, blankly looking into the distance, as though he was casting about for an elusive memory. While the moment dragged on, and the witness continued to hang on the edge of lucidity, Frank decided to act. Intent on helping the administrator expose their adversary, he closed his eyes and reached out to re-establish their link.
In an instant, he knew that something was wrong. Instead of finding Apuérto’s familiar knot of consciousness energy floating amid the dark expanse of his personal space, he found what appeared to be two of them, one nearly superimposed over another, and slowly drifting apart. One of these knots of consciousness, however, was a ghostly apparition, rapidly growing more substantial, while the second was beginning to fade.
This was something new to Frank. Not only had he never seen such a thing, he’d never heard about it either. Under the circumstances, though, he was certain that their adversary, whoever he was, had caused it. If the man’s intent was to somehow alter Apuérto’s consciousness, to prevent him from finishing that thought, then he needed to preserve the fading one and destroy the other.
“…funding for…”
As Apuérto struggled to recall the government source of their consultant, a murmur flooded the courtroom.
Psychically seizing the ghostly consciousness knot, Frank felt for the source of whatever was strengthening it. Instead of finding some influx of energy, some external agency filling it with controlling power, though, there was only a feeling of dreamlike unreality, as if this secondary version of Apuérto was being drawn out of the DreamTime to become associated with the consensual reality in which the court case existed. Only this dream version of Apuérto knew nothing about their adversary, because in that dream, he’d never been taken from the MedCenter, never been probed by Frank, and never had learned that the ‘student’ in the hallway kiosk was in fact manipulating events and people at the MedCenter.
Intense pain shattered his attention, as the muscles in his back abruptly tightened, forcing him out of link. The cracking of stressed vertebrae hit his ears at the same time the bright overhead lights hit his suddenly opened eyes. Then the spasm released, and he heard Cynthia’s soundless voice saying, ‘I’ve got it, but it’s struggling. Can you force a recess?’
Breathlessly, and still in pain, Frank nudged the Apprentice Juror, sitting beside him. “Call a recess. Now.”
While Sala arranged for the recess, Frank looked out at the spectators, and found a very worried looking Mara leaning forward in her seat. Alex had balled his left fist.
Frank shuddered as a sharp pain tore through his gut. A moment later, it stopped, and Cynthia silently said, ‘Middle detention room, lower level.’
Once Judge Bennigan had again gaveled the room to order, she instructed the spectators to remain in their seats while the bailiff escorted the jurors across the hall. Before they rose, he leaned close to Sala, who had already started mouthing a question. “I have a problem to deal with,” he said quietly. “I’ll meet you in the jury room when I’m done.”
She whispered back, “All right. Are you okay?”
He rubbed his back and shook his head. “Not really.”
Shakily getting to his feet, Frank followed the other jurors out of the courtroom, but rather than continuing across the hall, he turned and hobbled towards the elevator. While he was waiting there, Mara and Alex flanked him.
“What’s going on, Frank?” she said, tipping his face towards her with a finger on his nose.
“There’s an energy sprite in my field,” he said. “It was put there to deal with my attacks, but now it’s turned on me.”
She straightened. “A what? Who put it there?”
He shook his head. “Long story. The people who put it there are in the courtroom, along with the guy that arranged Apuérto’s flyway scare.”
Alex mouthed the last words, and then said, “G’danic. That flight.”
The elevator tone sounded. While several passengers exited, Frank raised a finger. “What?” Before he’d had a chance to ask what his brother-in-law meant, Alex turned and headed back towards the courtroom.
As Mara helped him into the elevator, Frank said, “What’s he talking about?”
“From what we’ve been able to find out,” she said, “G’danic’s construction accident was impossible. Then, we were nearly killed flying to his home in Lambarene. And when we got to his apartment—”
Frank looked at her. “Lambarene?” They’d reached the lower level. After leaving the elevator, he glanced at the floor map on the opposite wall, and they started towards the detention rooms.
“Yeah,” Mara continued. “After Dartmouth MedCenter managed to kill him — another highly improbable accident — we decided that G’danic must have stepped on someone’s toes. Since he was dead, all that was left was the book. Alex had access, so he checked G’danic’s data files, and didn’t find any sign of it. So we flew to Lambarene to check in his office and apartment.”
He stopped near the door to the first detention room. “Back up. You said you were nearly killed?”
She nodded. “Unexplained turbulence or something. Fortunately, the pilot flew manual craft as a hobby, so we made it through. Not that it mattered. There weren’t any copies in Lambarene, either. And his apartment was trashed, just to be certain. So now he’s dead, and so is his book.”
Frank continued towards the middle detention room. “But why?”
“Remember that conspiracy sheet?” she said. “We figure what G’danic was doing with the OAN, and what he said in his book, wouldn’t go down too well with someone in the GD. And it seems like whoever that is has the ability to do some pretty nasty, pretty unexplainable things.”
He huffed. “You’re right. I’ve seen him. And now he’s after me.”
She shook her head. “But why?”
As they reached the middle detention room, Cynthia opened the door, pulled them in by the wrists, and slammed it behind them.
Mara freed her arm and stared at the strange woman. “Who are you?”
“Call me Cynthia. Right now I need to get Frank on that table.”
“It’s okay, Mara,” Frank said, heading towards the table. “Trust her.”
“What I need you to do,” Cynthia told her, “is to keep that door sealed. Make sure nobody gets in until we’re done.”
“All right.” Mara nodded and went back to the door.
Frank sat on the table, swung his legs up, and lay down.
Cynthia stood beside him, held both hands several inches over him, and closed her eyes.
“How can I help?” Frank asked quietly.
She opened her eyes and lowered her arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve never been a patient, Frank. I’ve trapped that thing in your field. Now we need to get rid of it. How do you think you can help?”
He shrugged. “I really don’t know. What?”
Cynthia tapped his chest. “Just lie quietly. That thing was set up to react to changes in your energy state. Wylie triggered it, and I’ve isolated it from him. Since this room is shielded – nice surprise, huh – we’re safe for the moment.” She looked over at Mara. “As long as the door stays shut, anyway.”
Frank closed his eyes and waited. Soon, he felt a presence, a sense that he wasn’t alone. Cynthia had established a far more intense link with him than he’d set up to monitor the witnesses. The sensation of psychic closeness gave him a claustrophobic feeling of being in a small airless space, and he began to push against her.
‘Easy, Frank,’ she said silently. ‘I need you to remember a dream, one you won’t mind losing.’
Obviously, that wouldn’t be his recent dreamside tryst with Mara. He ran through a number of dreams, finally settling on one he could do without — more of a nightmare, really. He’d had it after interviewing at Cibola Hospice in Albequerque. It was an odd dream, too. He’d fallen through some kind of backdrop, and landed in a small room. Everywhere he looked, he saw the same kind of corporate logo subliminals that the Hospice wanted their employees to use, like the outfit Korn wore.
 
Angela felt a lot more comfortable doing this sort of thing in the psychic silence of their shielded room. Until yesterday, she hadn’t seen the inside of a shield room since she’d left Australia. And while working in all the psychic noise of a city like Los Angeles was good practice, the subterranean psychic roar made it nearly impossible to do some of the more subtle work, like the sleight of reality that she contemplated doing to that sprite.
She’d left the thing tied up in a topological loop within Frank’s field. Inside that loop, it was free to move about, but because it couldn’t tell that it was trapped, it floated happily in its own little bubble of reality, waiting uselessly for signs of the energy imbalance that it had been trained to correct.
As Frank recalled his dream, the orientation of his consciousness altered, and the fine tendrils of chi that connect us to our dream-selves started to emerge from the subtle background consciousness to which we ourselves are just dreams. If Frank was aware of this greater sense of being, it was only as a kind of noise, perhaps a shimmering dance of color and pattern that was only evident in the moments between waking and sleeping.
Once his dream had become substantial enough in Frank’s mind, a portion of his knot of consciousness extended into that alternate world, giving him a sense of having been there. This was the moment Angela had been waiting for. Very gently, she nudged the topological loop she’d created towards the dream. In order to do this, she also had to change the orientation of her own reality towards that dream. As she did so, the world of the courthouse detention room slowly began to seem less like a solid reality, and more like a partially forgotten dream.
At about the halfway point, where both versions of Frank, and of the world he lived in, seemed equally real, she pushed the sprite’s topological energy prison towards the dream she’d asked Frank to recall. As it got closer to that other reality, she reached towards it and unraveled the knot that kept the sprite inside, then pulled away from it so she would not be noticed.
The sprite slowly emerged from its energy bottle, and headed towards the version of Frank’s being inside the distant dream. As it disappeared into that reality, Angela snapped the tendrils of consciousness that tethered the sprite’s new reality, and watched it disappear beneath the subtle signs of the vast consciousness within which our own reality lay.
 
While Frank struggled to recall his dream, the sense of closeness abated, then he suddenly realized that he didn’t know what he was thinking about. The next thing he knew, Cynthia was flicking his ear with her finger. “It’s finished, Frank. You can get up now.”
He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the table. “Thanks, Cynthia. Now what?”
“Before you get to that,” Mara said from beside the door, “how about telling me what this is all about.”
Frank went over and hugged her. “It’s a really long story.”
She laughed. “Okay. The short version, then.”
“I had a neural attack the day I interviewed for the jury job,” he said. “But because Jerry was laid up, I spoke with Carlita Gutiérez, a new Healer at Kübler-Ross. She set up an active energy pattern — you could call it a sprite or an Elemental — in my field. Later it was tuned by an associate of hers named Allan Wylie. Well, it turns out that they’re both working with whoever it is that tried to kill Miguél Apuérto, administrator at East-Side MedCenter. The three of them are in court today. I saw our mystery man whisper to Wylie just before the sprite attacked me. Cynthia fought it off through a link, and just got rid of it.” He looked at Cynthia. “How did you do that, anyway?”
She took a breath. “That thing might have been intended to counter your attacks, Frank, but under Wylie’s control it had the ability to block the energy flow through your body. Your organs may have been affected indirectly, but it was easily enough to have killed you.”
He nodded. “Thanks. I owe you my life. But how did you do it?”
“Watching what you found in Apuérto gave me the idea, really. Our adversary has some way of altering reality, of choosing which variation to keep, and which to call a dream. That’s what he tried with Apuérto’s consciousness. It failed, by the way. Anyway, I bluffed it into thinking that your dream self was its host, then disconnected you from the dream, trapping it. I hope you don’t mind losing that dream.”
He chuckled. “So that’s what I was trying to remember.”
She indicated the door. “Time for you to get back to the jury. I better get out of here, too.”
 
(TOC)

It’s a crisp Thursday morning, the kind that hints at the edge of summer with just enough warmth to make you forget about the winter past. Our private investigation office, a modest second-floor space above a bustling café on Magazine Street in New Orleans, is alive with the usual morning chaos. My wife Reine and I are in the midst of showing Abbey, our new secretary, the ins and outs of our, let's call it, "unique" filing system.
Abbey, a young woman with bright blue eyes and an infectious enthusiasm for detective work, nods vigorously, taking notes on her pad.
"So, you see," I start, holding up a file, "each case has its own color code. Red for ongoing cases, blue for solved, and green for... well, let's just call it 'active investigations.'"
Abbey nods, her eyes scanning the rainbow of folders on the desk. "And the glitter stickers?" she asks, pointing to a file adorned with sparkling unicorns.
I glance at Reine, who's trying to hide her smirk behind a cup of coffee. "That's... Reine's system. You'll have to ask her about that."
Reine leans over, her voice laced with mock seriousness. "The glitter is crucial, Abbey. It represents the mystery of the case. The more glitter, the deeper the intrigue."
Abbey looks between us, a flicker of confusion passing through her eyes before she catches onto our jest. "Got it. Glitter equals mystery. I'll remember that."
"And remember," Reine says, pointing to a large, overly complex calendar on the wall, "if someone asks for an urgent meeting and the calendar looks full, just tell them we're consulting on a case in Baton Rouge. It buys us some time."
Abbey nods vigorously, taking notes on her pad. "Got it, Baton Rouge. And if they ask for details?"
I glance at Reine with a mischievous grin. "Then you say we’re undercover, and it's a matter of national security. They rarely ask after that."
Just as we're wrapping up our impromptu tutorial with Abbey, there's a sudden, sharp knock at the door, cutting through the relaxed atmosphere of the morning like a knife.
I stride over and pull it open to reveal a woman in her early forties, her poise teetering on the edge of despair. She introduces herself in a voice that carries a weight far beyond her years. "Hello, Detectives Asher and Reine Tran? I'm Astrid Everly. I believe I have an appointment for a consultation."
I nod, remembering a conversation over the phone last week, though the specifics elude me. "Of course, Mrs. Everly, please come in. Abbey, could you pull up the Everly file on the desktop, please? Should be under 'E'."
Before Abbey can even turn to the computer, Astrid interjects, "There's no need for that. I'm here because I suspect my husband, Zane, of... infidelity." Her voice falters for a moment, the facade of calmness cracking.
Reine sets her coffee down with a soft clink, her expression shifting into one of professional empathy. "We understand how difficult this must be for you, Mrs. Everly," she says gently.
I motion for Astrid to take a seat. “You've come to the right place,” I begin. “We handle matters discreetly and efficiently."
Cheating spouse investigations might not be glamorous, but they are the bread and butter of our business. And in our experience, the truth, however painful, is what our clients need most.
As I gesture towards the worn but comfortable chairs, Reine busies herself with the small coffee maker in the corner of our office. "Cream and sugar, Mrs. Everly?" Reine calls out.
Astrid nods, a grateful smile briefly crossing her face. "Just cream, thank you." Her composure, momentarily lifted by the gesture, seems to falter as the gravity of her situation resettles around her.
I sit across from Astrid, my posture open, inviting her to share her story. Abbey, sensing the shift in atmosphere, quietly retreats to her desk, giving us space.
"Mrs. Everly, can you tell us why you suspect your husband might be unfaithful?" I ask, my tone gentle yet earnest, signaling that this is a safe space for her to vent her concerns.
Astrid exhales a shaky breath, her dark brown eyes glistening with unshed tears as she starts to unravel the thread of her story. "It's the little things, really," she begins, her voice a whisper of despair. "Zane has always been a loving husband and father, but lately, he's been distant. He comes home late, if he comes home at all, and when he does, it's like his mind is elsewhere."
She pauses, collecting her thoughts before continuing. "Then there's his phone. It used to be just another gadget, but now... now it's like an extension of himself. He guards it jealously, never leaves it unattended. And if I so much as glance in its direction, he snaps at me, saying I'm invading his privacy."
Astrid's hands clench tighter, the knuckles whitening. "But what really convinced me was the perfume," she adds, a note of betrayal creeping into her voice. "I found a scarf in his car, one that definitely wasn't mine. It was drenched in a perfume I've never worn, a scent that now seems to linger on him constantly."
The room falls silent, the weight of her pain palpable in the air. Reine hands Astrid her coffee with cream, offering a small, comforting smile.
"I confronted him about it," Astrid continues, her gaze dropping to the cup in her hands. "He denied everything, of course. Said the scarf must belong to a coworker he'd given a ride to, and that the perfume was probably from a client he'd met with. He said I was being…”
Her voice breaks, a lone tear escaping down her cheek. “He said I was being a ‘paranoid bitch’!”
Reine and I are both shocked at Astrid’s raw emotion, the harshness of the words used against her clearly wounding deep. I reach for a box of tissues, sliding it across the desk towards her, while Reine’s comforting hand finds its way to Astrid’s shoulder, a silent gesture of support in this moment of vulnerability.
“There’s no excuse for anyone to speak to you like that,” I say firmly, my distaste made clear.
Astrid accepts the tissue, dabbing at her eyes, a shaky breath indicating her struggle to maintain composure. “We’ve been married for 15 years,” she whispers, her voice gaining a semblance of strength. “We have two beautiful children. I just... I can’t believe it’s come to this.”
Reine leans forward. "Mrs. Everly, you're doing the right thing by seeking the truth. No matter how painful it may be, knowing will give you the power to make informed decisions about your future."
“There’s something else...” She hesitates, as if weighing the risk of sharing more. “It might sound odd, but there have been... occurrences. Things I can’t explain. At night, I’ve felt a presence, something unsettling, watching over us.”
The mention of a presence catches both Reine and me off guard. It’s a departure from the infidelity case we thought we were dealing with, hinting at something deeper, perhaps even darker.
“You mean, like a stalker?” I asked.
Astrid nods, unable to produce the words.
"Stalking is a very serious matter," Reine says, the detective in her surfacing with a palpable intensity. "Are you sure about what you've felt? Have there been any signs, any tangible evidence of someone physically stalking you or your family?"
Astrid looks uncertain for a moment, then nods, her resolve firming. “At first, I thought it was stress, but then…”
She pauses, her hands trembling as she fishes her phone out of her purse.
"A few nights ago," she starts. “The kids were at my sister's, and Zane... Zane was out, as usual." She navigates through her phone with deliberate taps, opening an app connected to her home's security system. "I installed a Ring Cam last month, just to feel a bit safer, you know?"
With a few more swipes, she turns the phone towards us, displaying a video captured by her Ring Cam. The footage is grainy, typical of night mode recordings, but what it reveals sends a chill down my spine. It shows Astrid's front porch bathed in the eerie glow of the security light.
Then, without warning, something darts across the screen—a blur of motion too rapid to decipher. It's there and gone in the blink of an eye, leaving behind an unsettling afterimage that seems to hover in the night air. The motion is too swift, too large for any common animal, and there's an odd, almost deliberate evasion in the way it avoids the light, slipping into the shadows with an ease that suggests intelligence, or perhaps something more sinister.
"I thought it was just a stray animal at first," Astrid says.
Astrid's fingers shake slightly as she swipes to the next item on her phone. “I found this the next morning,” She said, handing the phone over for us to see.
The image that greets us is deeply unsettling: a tangled mess of what appears to be intestines and long, straight black hair, left in a sickening pile on her doorstep. I've seen enough in Iraq to recognize the unmistakable look of human intestines.
"I... I didn't know what to do," Astrid continues, her voice shaking. “Of course, Zane dismissed it. Said it was just something the cat dragged in.”
Astrid's face is pale. "I had hoped it was some sick joke, maybe kids playing a twisted prank, but..." Her voice trails off.
"My kids," she whispers, her voice fraught with fear. "What if whatever did this comes back? What if they're not safe?"
Reine and I exchange a glance, both of us understanding the gravity of the situation. This isn't just a case of potential infidelity or even stalking; we're potentially looking at something far more dangerous. This is the kind of case we live for.
"We'll take your case, Mrs. Everly," I say, my tone conveying not just our acceptance but our commitment to seeing this through.
"We'll do everything in our power to get to the bottom of this,” Reine says, echoing my resolve.
Astrid's shoulders seem to drop ever so slightly at our words. It's clear she's been carrying this weight alone for too long.
"Thank you, detectives," she murmurs, her gratitude palpable.
—
The sun is already high in the sky, when we begin preparing to set up additional security measures around Astrid Everly's house. It’s imperative that we work discreetly, ensuring that neither Zane Everly nor the stalker notice our presence. With Astrid's kids safely away at school and Zane presumably engrossed in his daily routine, we have a narrow window to operate under the radar.
Reine and I arrive in our nondescript SUV, our trunk filled with the latest in surveillance technology. We have compact cameras that can be concealed easily, motion sensors that are no bigger than a pack of gum, and a couple of high-definition night vision cameras to cover the darker corners of the property. While I focus on finding the optimal spots to place the cameras, Reine meticulously checks for any blind spots in our coverage. We communicate in low tones, a silent dance of efficiency honed by years of working together.
Once the equipment is in place, camouflaged amidst the everyday, we retreat to our makeshift command center — the back of our SUV, screens aglow with feeds from the newly installed cameras. Everything appears serene. But we know better than to trust appearances; the true nature of the threat still eludes us, hidden in the shadows of uncertainty.
Our next move is to keep a close eye on Zane. Tailing someone without drawing attention requires a blend of patience and subtlety. We follow him as he moves through the streets of New Orleans, our steps shadowing his with careful precision. He seems to be following a routine, visiting places that one would expect a man of his standing to frequent — the office, a local café, and a series of meetings that appear mundane on the surface.
Yet, our focus isn't just on Zane's whereabouts. We are equally attentive to his interactions, the pauses in his day, the way his gaze lingers a touch too long on certain individuals. It’s a delicate balance, observing without engaging, collecting pieces of a puzzle we’re still trying to understand.
As the day wears on, the mundane nature of Zane's activities begin to paint a picture of a man ensnared in the trappings of a double life. The evidence is subtle, hidden in the nuances of his behavior, yet unmistakable to the trained eye. He’s cautious, perhaps too cautious, with his movements and communications, suggesting an awareness of being watched or, at least, the possibility of it.
Zane's path leads him into a quaint flower shop nestled between a bookstore and a bakery. During a momentary lull in our surveillance, I pull out a container of Chinese takeout—cold sesame noodles and spicy orange chicken, our stakeout meal.
As we eat, Reine turned to me, a mischievous glint in her gray eyes. "Hey," she said, her tone light but carrying an undercurrent of seriousness, "you'd never cheat on me, right? I mean, with all this infidelity we see, you haven't gotten any ideas, have you?"
I can’t help but chuckle at her question, the absurdity of the thought mingling with the gravity of our current case. "Cheat on you, em?" I start, leaning closer to her, our knees touching in the cramped space, “And miss out on Friday night stakeouts and takeout with my incredibly sexy and talented partner?”
Reine giggles, the tension easing between us as she nodded in agreement. "Good answer," she said, her gaze softening.
"Your turn," I say, nudging her gently with my elbow. "You wouldn't cheat on me, would you?”
“Bon Dieu, non!” Reine utters, feigning indignance. “I would never consider such a thing!”
“Really?” I ask with a grin. “Not even if Brad Pitt decided he was in need of a private eye with your... extensive expertise?"
"Well," she drawls, the corner of her mouth ticking upward in a smirk, "if we're bringing Brad Pitt into the fantasy, I suppose I'd have to at least... consider the consultation fee."
“As long as it's just a consultation," I quip, winking at her, "I guess I can live with that. But just so we're clear, if Scarlett Johansson comes knocking, I expect the same courtesy from you."
“Do you expect us to work that case together?” she says, her voice dripping with innuendo.
“Two heads are better than one, right?” I ask with a grin. “Especially when it comes to... thorough investigations."
“Right, it's all about the team effort." Reine laughs, shaking her head.
Our lighthearted banter is cut short as the screens flicker with movement. Suddenly, the flower shop door swings open, and Zane steps out, cradling a bouquet of roses that seems almost too delicate for his broad hands. The sight snaps us back to the task at hand.
We start the car and follow him at a discreet distance. Our route takes us through the heart of the city, past the colorful facades of the French Quarter, and eventually into Marigny, a neighborhood known for its bohemian atmosphere and tightly knit streets.
Zane pulls into the parking lot of L'Etoile du Nord, a boutique hotel, a place that prides itself on discretion and privacy.
Perched in our vehicle across the street, we watch Zane through binoculars, the lens bringing him into sharp relief against the backdrop of the hotel's understated elegance. He waits by the entrance, the bouquet of roses in hand, the casual stance of a man comfortable in his surroundings.
Moments later, a woman approaches. She's strikingly beautiful with high cheekbones and a delicate, structured jawline. Her eyes, a deep brown, are alert yet hold a hint of mystery. Most distinguishing is her straight black hair that cascades down her back—hair unmistakably similar to the tangle left on Astrid's doorstep.
The air between them is charged, their reunion marked by an intimacy that leaves little doubt of their relationship. They embrace, a greeting that quickly deepens into a kiss, a confirmation of suspicions we didn't want to validate. Reine, with a camera in hand, captures this exchange, the shutter clicks a silent witness to the betrayal unfolding before us.
Zane and the woman make their way to their room on the third floor. We watch in silence through the balcony window as they undress each other, their movements fluid and intimate.
I’m left with a deep sense of discomfort, feeling the urge to look away. But as I’m about to pull away and give them their privacy, I catch a glimpse of something unsettling.
As Zane and the woman are locked in a passionate embrace, her head detaches from her body with a surreal ease that defies all logic. Her body slumps to the floor, but her head... her head remains suspended in mid-air. Internal organs dangle grotesquely from her neck, swaying slightly as if caught in a gentle breeze that does not exist.
Before Zane can even begin to process the nightmarish turn of events, the woman's floating head lunges at him, teeth bared. She's not just biting his face—it's more vicious, more savage. It's as if she's trying to consume him, her teeth tearing into his flesh with a ferocity that's both shocking and horrifying.
Reine and I exchange a glance that carries the weight of a thousand words. It’s a look that says, "Did you just see what I saw?" and "We need to move, now." Without a word, we leap into action.
I grab my Beretta from the glove compartment, checking the clip in one fluid motion, while Reine does the same. Our footsteps are a rapid, synchronized rhythm against the pavement as we sprint towards the hotel’s entrance, bypassing the startled doorman who shouts after us, questions hanging in the air, unanswered.
The lobby blurs past us, a mixture of luxury and confusion as the receptionist begins to protest, but the urgency in our strides silences any further inquiry. We take the stairs, two at a time, the sound of our boots echoing off the walls.
Reaching the designated floor, we move down the hallway, guided by the cacophony of a struggle that grows louder with each step. The numbers on the doors blur past until we find the one that matches our frantic search.
We come to a skidding halt outside the door where a cleaning lady stands, paralyzed by fear. The sounds emanating from within the room are nothing short of chilling—a cacophony of snarls and screams that seem to seep into the very marrow of your bones. Her eyes, wide with terror, dart between the door and us, as if she's caught in a nightmare she can't wake up from.
"Open the door, now!" Reine commands.
For a moment, she hesitates, her hand trembling so violently it seems she might drop the key card. I lock eyes with her, my gaze imploring her to trust us. "We're here to help. Please."
With a shaky nod, she swipes the card, the soft click of the lock disengaging sounding almost deafening in the charged silence that follows.
"Get somewhere safe and call 911. Tell them we have an... emergency," I instruct her. She nods, her face drained of color, and scurries away.
I cautiously push the door open. The scene that unfolds before us is one ripped straight from the darkest corners of the unimaginable. The headless nude body of the woman lies crumpled on the floor.
The room is drenched in the overpowering scent of an exotic perfume, the same one Astrid had described, a fragrance that now seems to cling to every surface, saturating the air with its cloying sweetness.
But it's Zane that captures our immediate attention. His back is turned to us, and from the neck down, he looks entirely normal, if one can consider any part of this situation to be so. But where his head should be, there's nothing recognizable as human. Instead, an undulating mass has taken its place, pulsing and writhing as if it's burrowing into his body, consuming him from the inside out.
Reine and I edge forward, our weapons drawn and aimed squarely at what remains of him.
"Zane Everly, turn around slowly with your hands up," I call out. The words feel surreal, as if spoken by someone else.
He responds, but not in the way we expect. The movement is unnatural, a series of jerks and spasms that suggest the thing wearing Zane like a suit is unfamiliar with the body it’s inhabiting.
The parasitic mass where his head once was pulsates with a sickening rhythm, tendrils flailing, seeking, as if searching for a new host to infect. Eyes, if they can be called that, shimmer with a malevolent intelligence.
"Jésus Christ," Reine mutters under her breath.
My stomach turns, the scene defying logic and sanity. But it’s not just the horror of Zane’s condition that heightens the tension—it’s the realization that the body of the woman, the one we had just seen, is not where it should be. The room, though chaotic, lacks her presence.
“Reine, where’s the—” My question cuts short as a cold grip tightens around my wrist.
I whirl around, my heart pounding, to face the headless, nude body of the woman. Her grip is iron-clad, her strength unnatural. In disbelief, I see the sinew and muscle of her neck twitch and pulse where her head should be.
I try to level my pistol at the headless torso, aiming to neutralize the threat. But she's too fast, too strong. With an unexpected force, she twists my wrist painfully, causing my shot to go wide. The bullet, meant to stop her, punches a hole into the plush carpeting of the hotel room.
Reine, quick as ever, tries to make a move to help me, but before she can get close, the amorphous head attached to Zane's body detaches itself and launches in her direction. It's like something out of a nightmare, a living mass with tendrils that act almost with a mind of their own. As it flies through the air, the tendrils extend, reaching for Reine.
It wraps its tendrils around her with a precision that betrays a malicious intent, disarming her in a single, fluid movement. The gun clatters to the floor, a sound harsh against the eerie silence that envelopes the room.
Reine struggles against the creature's grip, but the tendrils tighten, constricting like boa constrictors. They wind around her neck, her torso, squeezing with a strength that is both terrifying and otherworldly. Reine's face contorts with pain, her eyes meeting mine, a silent plea for help written in her gaze.
"Reine!" I shout, desperation lacing my voice. My partner, my wife, the person I've faced countless dangers with, is now inches away from death by this unimaginable foe.
I yell at the creature. "Let her go!”
For a fleeting second, the tension in the room ripples with the uncertainty of the thing's response. Then, in a voice that is eerily calm and chillingly clear despite its formless source, the creature responds. "Stay out of my way. I won’t warn you again."
Then, abruptly, the entity's grip loosens around Reine and drops her. Reine gasps for air, her face flushed from the constriction.
As the headless woman releases her vice-like grip on my forearm, I rush towards Reine as she stumbles back into my arms. I catch her, my relief palpable. We both regain our footing, keeping wary eyes on the creature.
As we watch, stunned, the head slowly drifts back towards the woman’s body, reattaching itself to her neck. The seams where flesh meets flesh knit together in a spectacle that's both horrifying and mesmerizing. Within moments, the transformation is complete, and the woman stands before us, her appearance as flawless and composed as when Zane first greeted her outside the hotel.
In the chaos of the moment, the entity undergoes yet another grotesque transformation. A pair of dark, leathery wings unfurl from her back with a sinister grace. They're massive, spanning the width of the room, knocking over furniture as if they're mere obstacles in its path.
With a powerful flap, the woman launches herself towards the balcony, shattering the glass doors in her haste to escape. The night air rushes in, mixing with the stench of decay and the iron tang of blood, creating a maelstrom of senses that leaves us momentarily disoriented.
We rush to the balcony, just in time to see the woman disappearing into the dark sky. Her flight is erratic, a sign of its newfound form, but she quickly gains altitude and vanishes into the night, leaving behind a trail of questions and a palpable sense of dread.
Part 2
Part 3

Terms of use: https://www.reddit.comtippy_tappy_typing/s/Uz06CFbRZo
Key:
Your lines
-sound effect-
(Possible response from Listeneconversation guide)
/non-verbal voice cue or vocal direction/
[Author note]
Audio Description:
You're sick as a dog and have decided to sleep on the couch to keep from waking your girlfriend, however, halfway through the night she notices your absence and comes to drag you back to bed!
—------------------------------------------------------
Notes for VA: You wake up in the middle of the night to find your partner out of bed. This isn't too concerning and you almost fall back asleep until you hear a horrible cough coming from your living room. Remembering they told you they didn't feel great earlier you decide to get up and check on them! Have fun and use your natural pacing!
Word count: 1175
-Footsteps-
/yawn/
/soft voice/sleepy/
Babe?
What are you doing on the couch? It's the middle of the night.
(Asks what she’s doing up)
Well, I woke up and you weren't in the bed. I got worried– /surprised breath not quite a gasp/
(Interrupts her with a coughing fit)
Ooof- That was quite a cough.
(Another few coughs)
Oh- there's more
Oh no, honey are you sick?
(Denies it weakly)
See, you say that, but I'm pretty sure you're in danger of coughing up a lung and you only sleep on the couch when you're sick, or in trouble. We didn't have a fight, so you must be sick.
(Tries to deny it again)
I don’t believe you. You’re lying on the couch with every blanket within a 20 foot radius on top of you. There’s a mountain of tissues on the coffee table next to you and a torn box of cough drops next to that.
(“Your point?”)

Come on back to bed baby.
(Declines)
Ooooh no. No lover of mine is going to sleep on the couch when they're sick.
/Soft struggling noises like she’s trying to pull them up/
(Tells her they don’t want her to get sick)
I won't get sick, and if I do it'll be your turn to baby me. Come on. Let's get you some water and medicine on the way.
-footsteps, rustling with sheets-
/Soft sigh/ There we go… all cozy?
(Agrees)
Good. Here let me get some medicine for you.
(Protests)
Nope, overruled. You're staying in bed. I'll get them.
-rustling. Soft footsteps, cabinet or drawer opening and closing .Far off voice-
Groan all you want baby, I'm the nurse here and what I say goes!
-footsteps. Rustling-
Here we go, here's the meds. Aaand some water.
(Takes meds)
There you go. Such a good Patient.
/Soft sigh, Still sleepy, soft breathing/
(Groaning)
/Sympathetic/
I know, I'm sorry you're sick baby. Why didn't you tell me?
(Didn't want to bother her)
It wouldn't have been a bother, I promise.
(She has work in the morning)
Well yeah, but I can handle being a little tired at work if it means helping you out babe. You stay up to take care of me when I'm sick so of course I would do the same.
(Really?)
Yes, I'm sure.
(Thanks her)
No need to thank me, I'm just the greatest girlfriend of all time is all /laugh/
Want me to snuggle you? Maybe play with your hair? I know you like it when I do that, even if you won't admit it.
(...yeah…)
Thought so /chuckle/ scootch over then.
-Rustling sighs as she settles in-
Come here my big baby
(Not a baby pout)
Oh you're definitely a baby. But you're my baby /kiss/ [quick like a peck]
(Protests)
Relax! It was just your forehead! I'll be fine. Now settle in.
/deep breath. Hair stroking noises/
Hmmmm yeah? Feels good?
(Agrees)
Good. Try to get some rest sweetie. I can text your boss in the morning and let them know you're sick.
(Protests)
Don't even start, you are not going to work tomorrow. I can feel how hot you are, you're burning up! If your fever doesn't break I'm taking you to urgent care too!
(Grumble grumble)
Exactly, So if you don't want to go then get some rest.
(coughs more)
I know baby, it's really uncomfortable and just super gross when you're sick.
Would it help if I kinda just talk? Keep your mind off of it until the medicine kicks in?
(Agrees)
Okay, I can do that.
Hmmm, what to talk about..?
Ooh, I bought the new princess peach game.
(asks about game)
Yeah, it's really fun! So, like, Princess Peach goes to the theater, right, to watch a play and there's these cute little guys with big noses there. They're called Theets, which sounds very 2000s slang doesn't it? Like Instead of ‘hey we're going to the theater’ saying ‘we're going to the Theets’ you know? Very millennial. Anyway, Peach rolls up with some Toads and they're super excited to see the play but then this masked lady pops up out of nowhere and decides to take over the theater.
(“Wow, what a jerk”)
I know right? Rude. So the Toads and some of the Theets get blasted out of the theater but Peach doesn't so she gets trapped inside. Oh! And her crown falls off, which sucks, but then this cute little star lady comes in and she's crying so Peach obviously asks her what's wrong. Because Peach is best girl, we knew this, and Stella -that's the star's name, tells her that the lady and her little purple goons are messing everything up. So Peach Throws her hair up, and honestly we love that for her. Love a baddie that's ready to throw down, and they go into the first theater and it's so cute! All of the levels are, like, themed and the props look like theater props, like made out of cardboard and painted and stuff. So the first one was like, saving a king from a castle and she ends up getting this cute swordfight outfit and instead of collecting stars like Mario they're Sparkles. So each level has, like, different missions depending on the theme, like cowboy, detective, ninja, and so on and she gets an outfit and abilities for each level. It's really cool, but it's a side scroller so you really have to pay attention to collect all of the Sparkles because if you miss one you can't go back. You have to play the whole level over again. I didn't get very far but I'm having a lot of fun playing it
Baby? You asleep?
(zzzzzz)
/soft chuckle/ good. I'm glad. I hope you get some good rest. I'll take care of you until you feel better, maybe I’ll call out tomorrow too, to take care of you.
Yeah, I think I'll do that. You deserve to be taken care of and doted on, especially when you’re sick /kiss/ I love you baby. Sleep well.
/deep breath followed by a couple of seconds of breathing and fade out/
//End//

Terms of use: https://www.reddit.comtippy_tappy_typing/s/Uz06CFbRZo
Key:
Your lines
-sound effect-
(Possible response from Listeneconversation guide)
/non-verbal voice cue or vocal direction/
[Author note]
Audio Description:
You're sick as a dog and have decided to sleep on the couch to keep from waking your girlfriend, however, halfway through the night she notices your absence and comes to drag you back to bed!
—------------------------------------------------------
Notes for VA: You wake up in the middle of the night to find your partner out of bed. This isn't too concerning and you almost fall back asleep until you hear a horrible cough coming from your living room. Remembering they told you they didn't feel great earlier you decide to get up and check on them! Have fun and use your natural pacing!
Word count: 1175
-Footsteps-
/yawn/
/soft voice/sleepy/
Babe?
What are you doing on the couch? It's the middle of the night.
(Asks what she’s doing up)
Well, I woke up and you weren't in the bed. I got worried– /surprised breath not quite a gasp/
(Interrupts her with a coughing fit)
Ooof- That was quite a cough.
(Another few coughs)
Oh- there's more
Oh no, honey are you sick?
(Denies it weakly)
See, you say that, but I'm pretty sure you're in danger of coughing up a lung and you only sleep on the couch when you're sick, or in trouble. We didn't have a fight, so you must be sick.
(Tries to deny it again)
I don’t believe you. You’re lying on the couch with every blanket within a 20 foot radius on top of you. There’s a mountain of tissues on the coffee table next to you and a torn box of cough drops next to that.
(“Your point?”)

Come on back to bed baby.
(Declines)
Ooooh no. No lover of mine is going to sleep on the couch when they're sick.
/Soft struggling noises like she’s trying to pull them up/
(Tells her they don’t want her to get sick)
I won't get sick, and if I do it'll be your turn to baby me. Come on. Let's get you some water and medicine on the way.
-footsteps, rustling with sheets-
/Soft sigh/ There we go… all cozy?
(Agrees)
Good. Here let me get some medicine for you.
(Protests)
Nope, overruled. You're staying in bed. I'll get them.
-rustling. Soft footsteps, cabinet or drawer opening and closing .Far off voice-
Groan all you want baby, I'm the nurse here and what I say goes!
-footsteps. Rustling-
Here we go, here's the meds. Aaand some water.
(Takes meds)
There you go. Such a good Patient.
/Soft sigh, Still sleepy, soft breathing/
(Groaning)
/Sympathetic/
I know, I'm sorry you're sick baby. Why didn't you tell me?
(Didn't want to bother her)
It wouldn't have been a bother, I promise.
(She has work in the morning)
Well yeah, but I can handle being a little tired at work if it means helping you out babe. You stay up to take care of me when I'm sick so of course I would do the same.
(Really?)
Yes, I'm sure.
(Thanks her)
No need to thank me, I'm just the greatest girlfriend of all time is all /laugh/
Want me to snuggle you? Maybe play with your hair? I know you like it when I do that, even if you won't admit it.
(...yeah…)
Thought so /chuckle/ scootch over then.
-Rustling sighs as she settles in-
Come here my big baby
(Not a baby pout)
Oh you're definitely a baby. But you're my baby /kiss/ [quick like a peck]
(Protests)
Relax! It was just your forehead! I'll be fine. Now settle in.
/deep breath. Hair stroking noises/
Hmmmm yeah? Feels good?
(Agrees)
Good. Try to get some rest sweetie. I can text your boss in the morning and let them know you're sick.
(Protests)
Don't even start, you are not going to work tomorrow. I can feel how hot you are, you're burning up! If your fever doesn't break I'm taking you to urgent care too!
(Grumble grumble)
Exactly, So if you don't want to go then get some rest.
(coughs more)
I know baby, it's really uncomfortable and just super gross when you're sick.
Would it help if I kinda just talk? Keep your mind off of it until the medicine kicks in?
(Agrees)
Okay, I can do that.
Hmmm, what to talk about..?
Ooh, I bought the new princess peach game.
(asks about game)
Yeah, it's really fun! So, like, Princess Peach goes to the theater, right, to watch a play and there's these cute little guys with big noses there. They're called Theets, which sounds very 2000s slang doesn't it? Like Instead of ‘hey we're going to the theater’ saying ‘we're going to the Theets’ you know? Very millennial. Anyway, Peach rolls up with some Toads and they're super excited to see the play but then this masked lady pops up out of nowhere and decides to take over the theater.
(“Wow, what a jerk”)
I know right? Rude. So the Toads and some of the Theets get blasted out of the theater but Peach doesn't so she gets trapped inside. Oh! And her crown falls off, which sucks, but then this cute little star lady comes in and she's crying so Peach obviously asks her what's wrong. Because Peach is best girl, we knew this, and Stella -that's the star's name, tells her that the lady and her little purple goons are messing everything up. So Peach Throws her hair up, and honestly we love that for her. Love a baddie that's ready to throw down, and they go into the first theater and it's so cute! All of the levels are, like, themed and the props look like theater props, like made out of cardboard and painted and stuff. So the first one was like, saving a king from a castle and she ends up getting this cute swordfight outfit and instead of collecting stars like Mario they're Sparkles. So each level has, like, different missions depending on the theme, like cowboy, detective, ninja, and so on and she gets an outfit and abilities for each level. It's really cool, but it's a side scroller so you really have to pay attention to collect all of the Sparkles because if you miss one you can't go back. You have to play the whole level over again. I didn't get very far but I'm having a lot of fun playing it
Baby? You asleep?
(zzzzzz)
/soft chuckle/ good. I'm glad. I hope you get some good rest. I'll take care of you until you feel better, maybe I’ll call out tomorrow too, to take care of you.
Yeah, I think I'll do that. You deserve to be taken care of and doted on, especially when you’re sick /kiss/ I love you baby. Sleep well.
/deep breath followed by a couple of seconds of breathing and fade out/
//End//

90s memory. This story takes place when I was young, maybe about 5 to 7 yo (f), somewhere in there.
I lived in a house, across the street from an apartment complex. There was a little playground area directly across, like my mom could have eyes on us while we played and talked to her friends on the phone or whatever while still keeping tabs on us.
I got permission to go to the playground, and went over and was hanging out with some 'apartment kids' as I called them.
Most of the kids left and I was alone with a kid, male, my age, let's call him Quentin.
He was kind of a bully, and just like, mean for no reason, I have no idea why, but that's what I remember.
I wanted the 'tall swing', like when the bigger kids would loop the swing around the metal structure thing and make it taller. So did he.
We argued a little about it and eventually he called me a 'motherfucker'. I did not know what this meant at my age, but knew for sure it was a bad thing to say, and felt super offended. He also pushed me off the swing when I went to sit down.
My parents always taught me to stand up for myself. I also grew up with brothers so like, 'toughness' for me was super important.
So, little me decides to completely dominate this kid.
I push him to the sand, and start to take palm falls of sand, probably so dirty and just a cat litter box, really, into his mouth.
Like, him face down with me straddling his back, WWF crippler crossface style and just start shoving sand into his mouth.
I was saying stuff like 'don't talk to me like that' and 'don't push me around' and 'eat sand'.
I eventually, probably a few scoops after, let him get up and he runs off crying into the apartment complex.
I return to my house across the street. Think nothing of it, go to my room to play with toys or read or whatever I was doing
Doorbell rings.
My mom yells for me from down the hall.
My full name. Full first name, I usually go by a nickname, middle name, and I'm like, yikes, I'm in trouble. My mom never called my full name unless I did something bad. I HATE getting in trouble, I tried really hard to be like, a 'good kid'.
I sheepishly go to the front door to meet my mom and she looks suuuuuper mad. There's a lady at the front door also looking very mad. Quentin is also with her, looking like, really pleased with himself, so I assume it's his mom.
My mom asks what happened at the playground.
I say, Quentin was being really mean and pushed me off the swing, and called me a 'mother f-er' and so I made him eat sand.
I was expecting to get into trouble.
But, instead I saw kind of a surprised look on his mom's face, and she sort of glared down at him and he started crying saying I was bullying him.
His mom was mega mad. Took him by the arm and apologized to my mom and marched him back to the apartment complex.
I was awaiting punishment, like soo scared I'd get in trouble, but she closed the door and told me I would always be in the right for defending myself and that it wasn't probably the best thing to do, but she understood why I did it.
So, no punishment and made a kid eat sand for being a total jerk to me for no reason.

Two riders were weaving through traffic at over 100, I signal for a lane change, check my blind spot for any entity, and slowly move over to ensure anyone approaching has time to avoid or brake if they are traveling faster than me. In the moment that I moved left fully, these riders essentially appeared behind me as I finished my maunever. They simply hit the brakes and weaved around me, then decimated my $800 mirror unit.
Is it cutting someone off if I happen to be traveling slower in front of them when they arrive?
Both had no plate, and the Instagram camera stick on the rear...
I actively discuss with riders on ways to be safe, then im the one who has to pay out of pocket. Should I just jerk my car when they break my mirror like the moto rider who died otb in front of my house a few weeks ago did when passing an old lady with Palsy?
Just why? If these guys were cars, they would have just had to brake 200 feet before hitting me to slow down 10 mph and then pass.

Recently I went on a hike tour in both Portugal and Spain and it went swimmingly despite dealing with a rude waiter at a restaurant I went too but I am not here to talk about him.
During the coming end of the tour there was this lady that had a bit of a b*tchy attitude towards me. For one, she got mad at me because I didn’t want to talk about the conflict that was happening between Israel and Palestine. I was on vacation and I didn’t want to get into what was going on because I didn’t want to discuss such things while on holidays.
So when I didn’t give this girl an answer about the conflict she got incredibly snippy and entitled demanding that I gave her an answer upon who I supported. I just told her, that I am on vacation in San Sebastián and I am not getting involved about getting into a political debate. So I just walked away from her and ignored her and went on my way by looking at the beautiful scenery whilst in San Sebastián.
Behind my back this girl went off to tell her friends that I was a jerk and they should act rude to me, but they told her to relax and to not get so worked up about current events while on vacation. Both her friends spoke to me and said I should ignore her because she does this all of the time.
By the end of the trip in Barcelona, our guide decided to invite everyone for drinks at a cocktail bar. The thing about me is, I don’t drink because it gives me terrible headaches and hayfever. That was something I didn’t want to deal with when I was flying back to Berlin.
When I told our guide about this she completely understood why I decided not to head out for drinks. However little Ms. Spoilt Entitled Princess started saying I was being rude and not going was being unacceptable and disrespectful to the guide to which she added that “That I fly back to New Zealand and I am drinking and I drink all of the time without getting sick!”
Now after a long hike and a six hour drive on a bus, and my eyes feeling heavy I told this girl off.
“First of all, Shut The Hell Up because it is none of your business, Second big deal you’re a drunken pig doesn’t mean I have to be one and third I don’t give a damn about where you’re flying to later. Here is a word you’re not used to, it is a big fat No! Maybe if your parents said it to you more often you wouldn’t be such an entitled c**t!” and I just walked off from her and went back to my own room and I slammed the door in her face after she proceeded to scream and yell after I told her off.
The trip wasn’t ruined because, everything in the tour had been done.
(Also, I don’t want to get into debates about the conflict in the Middle East on Reddit and yes I will not answer comments that try to steer the conversation there.)

PART ONE THOUSAND AND THREE
[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
By the time we re-entered the conference room, everyone was back up on their feet, and more men in suits had arrived. From the way Detective Douche was doing everything but crushing the toe of his shoe into the ground, things weren’t going the way he wanted. Daniel simply looked bored.
Well, that made two of us.
The officer broke away from us and rejoined her colleagues, where she started talking to them in a lowered voice. Douche and Daniel noticed them as well, and they headed over that way to join in. I had no idea what they found so riveting, but Gerry was tugging me towards her father, so we moved in the other direction towards them.
“Did you talk to the police?” the little, older man with wire-rimmed glasses demanded, and I immediately arched my eyebrow at him.
“I went to the bathroom,” Geraldine insisted.
But the man’s eyes were on me. “Did she give you her card? Tell you to call her later?”
I was suddenly fed up to the back teeth with all of it. “If you must know, she asked me to set her up with my older brother the next time he’s in town. I told her he was based out of the country, but she gave me her card anyway. We talked about things for maybe three minutes while Gerry and Kulon were in the bathroom.”
“You sent Kulon in, leaving yourself vulnerable?” Tucker asked.
“I will always protect Geraldine ahead of myself.” I cuddled her close and kissed her hair before adding, “She’s mine to protect.” I looked back at the officers huddled together. “And besides, who’d make a move on me with this much blue on the scene?”
Daniel broke away from the group and came over to me. “They want to charge someone with assault since injuries did occur, but the way it’s panning out, that’ll only happen if they can convince you to press charges against the man who tasered you since your kick was in defence of Miss Portsmith first.” He paused. “You don’t, do you?” I shook my head, and he smirked. “I told them that would be your answer. And with the rest of it being agreed upon before the exercise started and no one else has been hurt or willing to press charges, there’s nothing more they can do…”
He paused when Douche came back, looking like he finally had something over us. “Why do you feel Miss Portsmith’s life is in danger to the point she needs her own bodyguards, Mister Portsmith?”
“He’s a concerned father,” the tiny man replied, removing his wire-framed glasses and cleaning them with a handkerchief. “Unless you plan on posing that particular question to every celebrity and dignitary who uses bodyguards for their immediate families’ safety. I myself would find that a complete waste of the city’s time, but should you choose that path, I suggest you start at the White House.” He returned his glasses to his face and blinked patiently at the detective. “Was there anything else?”
“You can’t be playing wargames in a public space…!”
“We weren’t. The room was hired for a private function, and one person exceeded the formal boundaries of that space. It’s no different to someone being thrown out a window and landing on the sidewalk, detective. The blow that sent him there came from private property after he put his hands on another without their permission. If no one’s pressing charges, you have nothing.”
Douche scowled at me. “Is this the way you really want this to go down, kid? What if next time, they try something more lethal than a Taser? Like a knife or a gun?”
Since he scowled at me sooo lovingly, I returned the favour by blinking at him like he was the world’s greatest moron.
A few minutes later, he and his uniformed sidekicks (Lucas would murder me if he heard me thinking that of patrolmen) left. Daniel pulled me aside and whispered, “Be more careful, Sam. This isn’t a game, and these sorts of shenanigans will follow you for decades.”
“They were hurting Gerry,” I reiterated. “I wasn’t playing ar—”
He held up a finger, silencing me. “I’m not saying you can’t defend your girlfriend. I’m saying you were lucky this time. The veil’s explanation fell this side of the law. Next time, it might not. Say, for example, next time you aren’t being electrocuted. The only other way the veil could explain you knocking a full-grown man off his feet would be if you had a weapon like a crowbar, in which case you’d be charged with premeditated aggravated assault.”
I hadn’t been aware of that. “The veil will make up a crime?”
“The veil will take what you did and adapt it to what the humans will believe. Most times, it won’t involve a criminal action, but in this instance—you. Hurt. Him.” He poked me in the shoulder to reiterate each of those three words. “You hospitalised him, and there aren’t many explanations that don’t involve premeditation. I’m just saying, from now on, be careful.”
“Do you know why I have Kulon and his brothers with me?”
Daniel nodded. “Yes … and quite frankly, having Grandad's temper in a hybrid is fucking terrifying. They aren’t here to protect you. They’re here to protect the world from you.”
“I took a pill,” I insisted, determined to defend my actions. “I didn’t strike out at that man because I was losing it. I didn’t even kick the one that was hurting me.”
“I heard, and kudos to you for pre-empting that situation. I’ve heard you’re not a big fan of pills, so thank you for putting your bias aside for the sake of the world.”
I squinted at him. “Dude, I can’t tell if you’re being serious or yanking my chain.”
His amused smirk didn’t help. “I think we can both agree we like the world the way it is.”
“How did you know to come? Do you have like a built-in family trouble radar or something?” It was as close as I could go to asking what his innate was in public.
“Rubin reached out to Mom, who contacted me.”
“I thought with your bracelet on, you couldn’t use your telepathy.”
“I can’t, but Mom’s The Weaver, and there’s not a piece of jewellery in the world that she can’t punch straight through when she wants to.”
“That’s gotta be handy.”
“You have no idea.”
I leaned closer to him. “Can I ask you a personal and very family-related question?”
Daniel did a quick pan of the room. “Make it quick.”
“If the rest of us are innately tied to our parents, where would yours start with your mother being who she is?”
“That’s easy. Mom and her grandfathers are at the top of the food chain, and all their kids are the starting point of any innate flow. From the stories I’ve heard about my grandfather’s dad, it’s just as well. Mean, evil and crazy are just three words I’ve heard to describe him.”
I stared at him in disbelief. “Wait, so as Lady Col’s son, your innate can be anything you want it to be?”
His wry grin and matching eye-waggle were really annoying.
“Well, you suck.”
His accompanying chuckle was just plain evil. “I’ll see you around, kiddo.” He then paused and reached over to muss up my hair before I could stop him. “In the meantime, try and stay out of trouble.”
I ducked and batted his offending hand away, but the damage to my ego was already done, and he walked away, chuckling. “Jerk,” I whispered in good humour after him. I raked my fingers through my hair to knock it back into place and headed back to Gerry, who met me halfway.
“Everything okay?” she asked, sliding back into her favourite spot on my left side with her hand hooked around my waist.
“Yeah. Daniel just needed me to understand a few things. But what was with you and that cop’s business card?”
“Apart from the fact that she was a woman giving you her phone number, she was working you for information, honey bear. I wasn’t sure when I first saw her hand it over, but watching her once we got back, I knew she had.” She turned and kissed my cheek. “You’re too trusting for your own good. You treat everyone like your friend until they give you a reason not to.”
“How is that a bad way to be?”
“Before, when you had nothing people wanted, it was a perfect way to be. Now, you have what others want, and they’ll often become your best friends to gain access to it, whether it’s your money, your name, or, in this case, your take on what happened here. Not everyone who comes across as a friend actually means it.”
I felt my ire rise. “Do you still have that card?” Because I knew exactly what I was going to do with it. She dug into her pocket and produced the card, and after taking it from her, I turned to Kulon. “Wanna ash this for me?” I asked, holding it up for him between two fingers.
He grinned and took the card, cupping it against one hand. Then, with his back to Mr Portsmith and his people, he released a pursed-lipped breath (that under normal circumstances would’ve been used to blow out a candle) to breathe a stream of intense fire like a blowtorch directly into his palm. The card ignited and immediately curled into ash that stayed in his completely unharmed hand.
It was over in an instant, and he pocketed the remains with a cheeky wink at Geraldine.
Looking at her, I realised her mouth had fallen open in shock, and her eyes were crazy wide. “Welcome to the insanity of the rest of your life with me,” I whispered as I kissed her hair and cuddled her, hoping that would be the case.
“Are you burning something over here?!” Tucker demanded, rushing towards us.
“Nope,” I answered, popping the ‘p’ for it was already a done deal, not an ongoing one. “But we’re pretty much done here. Was there anything else you wanted to talk to Geraldine about before we go?”
Tucker blinked. “W-We haven’t … I mean, breakfast is still upstairs,” he stammered.
The other guy in a suit chuckled, and when Tucker looked back at him in annoyance, his smile grew, and he gestured at me. “This is who you once described to me as ‘that shy boy from school who’s dating Geraldine’, Tuck?” His eyebrow arched up in mockery. “Really?”
Tuck … so, he was a friend, not just a business associate. They looked about the same age too, though that didn’t necessarily carve that in stone.
“In my defence, Julian, he’s changed a lot in recent times.”
I had?
Personally, I couldn’t see it.
[Next Chapter]
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((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

Captain's Log, Stardate 53327.6. Since arrival in the Delta Quadrant, it has not ceased to be a source of bemusement how often we have come across humans out here. Certainly a rarity, but given that Voyager was flung some seventy-some years from Earth at our best sustainable speed, you'd think that we'd be freakishly rare out here. Not long ago we came across the remains of an astronaut from the second quarter of the 21st century. John Kelly was an amazing person, and it's a great shame our meeting was posthumous on his part; our earlier meeting with Amelia Earhart was just as incredible; she was a personal hero of mine growing up, and meeting her in the person, if only briefly, was astonishing. Our currently ongoing encounter with displaced humans, however, is a stark reminder that not all humans are pioneering pilots, astronauts, or Starfleet Officers... It began when we approached a large space station that seemed to be a local hub of interstellar commerce, a 'free port' as it were; hopefully a place where we could procure supplies and information. Everything went well, until, on a whim, Ensign Kim ran a life-sign scan against known races, and saw two humans we couldn't account for. More curiously, they seemed to be incarcerated in the local constabulary! I ordered a direct connection made to the constable's office. The constable, though took one look at us, said "they're your race, they're your problem, don't give them back!" and hung up. The next thing I knew, we had trouble aboard.

The 'lunch rush' on the Intrepid-class starship Voyager was an hour off yet; Neelix, alone, was puttering in the galley whilst a few crewpersons sat together, eating what was convenient and having light conversation with one another and himself, when the hypnotic patterns of an unknown transporter beam rent the air. Rather a poor-quality, backwards transporter; instead of elegant blue pulses and relatively subtle shimmer and magnetic, almost musical tone, this one was practically a stage production; a sickly purple-pink glow overpowered the ambient lighting, a sound like a single, off-key musical note held painfully long, and a swirling vortex of purple deposited two humans in the middle of his galley.
Two women, short and approximating the age of the youngest members of the crew (Neelix would judge); both of them looking rather the worse for the wear. They looked about as woozy as the backwater transporter that deposited them felt to behold; woozy, and angry, wearing what he pegged as a white formalwear shirt with a red necktie; the rest of their outfits were dissimilar. One, with a massive mane of carrot-orange hair, had a blue-and-white jacket, the other - with jet-black short hair - had no outerwear at all. The former wore a very short skirt and short stockings with blue shoes, the other dark-green stockings just under her black, bell-bottomed athletic shorts, and brown shoes. They were thus not uniformed, and they looked torn between vomiting and rage.
Neelix was about to offer them a cup of tea and a place to sit, when the raven-haired girl stood straight. "Urgh! Another kitchen, really? You can forget it bozo, and if you try to lay a hand on us, I'm gonna drown you in your own stew-pot!" Had anyone else been quicker to react to the intruder's confusing and defensive outburst, violence might have been avoided. However, in a noble and loyal act, it was Ensign Chell who responded first, as he was both not Neelix (who was stunned into surprise by the vehemence of her confusing objection), and was nearest to Neelix, as he had been entering the galley proper in the hopes of procuring a very light mid-shift snack along the way to deliver good news from the cargo hold to Neelix in person.
Years earlier, Chell had trouble gelling with the crew of Voyager; being a former Maquis freedom fighter with no prior background in Starfleet, he had been unruly, disruptive, and unreliable. A civilian spacer before he became a freedom fighter, his technical acumen and capability was not in question, but he would have been highly unlikely to have been accepted to Starfleet Academy had he applied; nevertheless, over the years, he had come to be a valued part of Voyager's crew. His attitude, however, was still a bit 'rough and tumble.' Chell had just witnessed a stranger issuing vague threats of bodily harm to one of his fellow-crewmates, and he took great exception to that. Chell had never been to Starfleet Academy threat-deescalation training, and in the abbreviated Academy-like training Mr. Tuvok had provided for former Maquis, the subject had only been briefly touched upon. In the Delta Quadrant, fast reactions had been more valuable in any event. Nevertheless, the woman before him was short, shorter even than the unimpressive Talaxian physique of Neelix, and slight. He judged, inasmuch as judgement went into a course of action settled upon in brief moments, that he could quell the developing situation by laying a heavy blue hand upon the human's shoulder and forcefully declaring that he (who was rather taller than Neelix) would not allow such a thing.
"No, you shall not!" he said. "Settle down!" Chell's hand fell heavily on the unfamiliar woman's shoulder. "And who the -" What exactly Chell had been about to ask remains unknown, as the next thing he knew, her orange-haired companion shifted a step, and the next thing after that, he was sailing over said counter and slamming into the forward bulkhead.
Predictably a fracas ensued, but rather unpredictably, the two women, who appeared to be young and small, despite being at an apparent stature and numerical disadvantage, quickly gained the upper-hand. Thus was the scene that appeared on the bridge monitor when Captain Janeway ordered it on-screen, momentarily following the strange communication's termination.
Janeway, being a human woman herself, immediately identified the two as appearing to be late teens; possibly twenty. They also appeared to be Japanese-Caucasian, and possessed of sheer, unbridled fury. Neelix was, in alarm, attempting to extinguish a fire that had broken out when Chell's flying person had bounced off it on its way over the Galley counter. The pair then hopped over the galley counter, the raven-haired one yelling "Come and get us, you pajama-wearing freaks!" She lunged immediately for a Security officer who was in the process of throwing a punch at her.
Janeway would have expected a Starfleet Security Officer to gain the upper hand quickly on a young woman on whom he had at least a foot and thirty kilograms minimum, but in a hand-to-hand fight, any kind of chaos can transpire. She would not, however, have expected a wild haymaker from that young woman to send a grown man flying over the span of three tables. Nor would she expect the red-head's high-kick to actually turn into a blur of kicks that seemed to be tinged blue and too fast for the eyes to follow, and her finisher to send the unfortunate Operations officer on the receiving end flying through the automatic doors and the unfortunate person who had been walking into the galley.
To his credit, Chell regained his feet. Having been thrown through a galley burner, across a room and into a bulkhead would put most people down for the count, but Chell was a tough Bolian; he had been involved in twice and some more than his fair share of brawls as a civilian spacer, had joined a freedom-fighting organization, and had been involved in at least as many dangerous scrapes in the Delta Quadrant. He may have hit his hit head, but the wits hadn't been knocked out of him; he immediately re-identified the duo as Very Dangerous, and shifted his poise to taking them as the threats they were. Chell's hands came up. He sparred weekly with Tuvok and Vorik, and while a Bolian could never match a Vulcan for endurance and strength, he was far from weak or helpless, and had a taste for what some humans called 'the sweet science'. Bolian pugilism was not very dissimilar in fact, and he dashed towards the raven-haired member of the duo, as she was closer, but it was a feint. He drew up short, drawing back just outside of the lunge range he had seen demonstrated. She took the bait, lunging and thus, being left off-guard for the jab he threw.
"Did you teach him that?" Janeway asked, aghast and looking aside at Tuvok, as Chell threw a closed-handed combo at a girl so small every instinct in her railed against it, even though she had just seen demonstrable proof they packed far more of a punch than expected. On the viewscreen, Chell jabbed the girl's head repeatedly, then stepped in close, hammering her in the nose with his forearm, just below the elbow, sending her to the deck. "I did not teach him that elbow jab," Tuvok responded. "Nor has he demonstrated it to me in training. I have already dispatched armed security."
Chell was just turning around to face the carrot-top who had (somehow; he could work it out later) shot him across the galley, to find that she herself was shooting across the galley. He raised his arms again, assuming a guard against more punches, but she leapt into a tackle. On the face of it, a petite humanoid like her tackling a bigger one like Chell should be comical; he barely stayed on his feet with the unexpected force of the impact. In a flash, she was back on her feet in front of him, and Chell found himself beset by the same barrage of kicks that had already flung one man into the corridor. His forearms hurt like hell, but Chell kept his guard up through all of the blows save the last. Technically his guard remained up even then, it simply didn't stop him from being hurled bodily against the door. He fell to his palms and knees, as he heard the door hiss open behind him. The raven-haired member of the destructive duo rolled to her feet, and Chell climbed to his own feet, throwing a wild haymaker. It was the sort of all-or-nothing attack that had turned more than a few brawls, and it connected with the evilly-smirking face of the carrot-top.
She went down as easily as it looked like she should have, and Chell squared up to the black-haired human, though he realized with some alarm that her nose wasn't pouring blood like prior experience would lead him to believe is expected. On-screen, Janeway winced as the girl without the jacket started throwing wild haymakers of her own, her fists wreathed with a corona of some kind of blue energy. Chell put up a hell of an effort to protect himself, but her wild punches broke through his guard, and he, too, was sent flying out into the corridor.
In a horrifyingly short amount of time, the duo had manually disabled several Starfleet Officers, all of whom appeared to be down and in need of life-saving emergency treatment, and she was done. "Tuvok, just beam them into the brig cell!"
On the viewscreen, the two, who appeared ready to brawl even more. Both froze as the annular confinement beam took hold of them. "Ohnonotag-" the red-head uttered, just before vanishing. Janeway turned to Tuvok. "No chances, lock the brig down with redundant forcefields and strengthen the IDF reinforcing all the bulkheads and the door. Lock the door, and get everyone to sickbay. And get a cleanup -" She looked back at the Galley. "Damage control team to the Galley."

An afternoon can turn from 'normal' to 'completely unexpected' in an instant. The sheer amount of violence the duo who had been dumped on us were capable of in an astonishingly short amount of time was staggering. More, surprising, however, was the Doctor's report that came in minutes later. According to The Doctor, the girls' victims were unconscious, and that was their only problem. He said that they were as deeply insensate as if they had been heavily stunned, repeatedly in Chell's case, but that none of them were seriously injured. Upon reviewing the recording of the melee in the Galley, he scanned the victims again, and concluded that they showed faint signs of impact in the locations where they had been pummeled, but had not received anywhere near the level of physical violence that observation of the fight would lead him to expect - not even from secondary impacts, such as those who had been thrown into bulkheads, or into one another. I had Tuvok start trying to get answers out of the station constabulary, and went to the brig, with Security officers armed with phaser rifles set to heavy stun standing by outside... Just in case.

On the screen of her PADD, standing outside the brig with escort waiting discretely nearby, Captain Janeway watched the brig for a few moments. On screen, the duo appeared quite settled-down, far unlike her expectations. She had been anticipating that somehow they would force their way through the brig forcefield, but they had been observed probing it for a few moments, then the black-haired one had appeared to use the forcefield as a backscratcher. Now they were complaining to one another whilst doing physical exercise; the orange-haired girl was doing sit-ups while the black-haired one spotted her, keeping count and sitting on her feet.
"Mmmmmgh. I'm hungry," the black-haired girl on the screen complained to her friend, and Janeway started to get an idea, as she continued her surveillance. "Think the pajama gang are going to try to starve us to make us work in their damn kitchen like the gravel-head freaks did?" "Mmmmh! I don't know," the redhead replied. "At least some of them aren't dressed up like it's fucking Halloween!"
Janeway scowled at the cursing; so did the raven-haired youth, in fact, but the un-jacketed member of the pair didn't chastise her friend. Janeway tapped her commbadge. "Neelix, Janeway. Is the Galley under control?" "Yes, Captain. The fire is out, and thanks to the damage-control team's help, we managed to feed the lunch rush." "Are there any leftovers?" "Yes, Captain! Shall I bring you a plate?" "Bring two, to the brig... And make both extra-large." "Oh! Yes, I can do that. Are we feeding our, um, surprise guests?" "Yes, and from the sounds of things, they've been starved intentionally recently. You know as well as I do that -" "You can't conduct diplomacy on an empty stomach!" Neelix responded, understanding. "I'll be right there."
Presently Neelix had arrived with two large trays stacked one atop the other. "Captain, will Mr. Chell -" "He will be fine, Neelix. Apparently, they had their fists 'set to stun,' as impossible as that sounds; nobody is severely injured," Kathryn Janeway assured her ship's self-appointed morale officer. Neelix, who had been looking apprehensive, immediately relaxed. "Well, then I suppose no harm is done. How... How did they not hurt anyone seriously?" "Your guess is as good as mine or the Doctor's," she responded. "Let's go talk to them."
Janeway punched in some overrides and entered the Brig, motioning for Neelix to stay out of sight behind her. She drew up facing the brig cell, expecting everything from apologies to furious anger. She wasn't expecting the black-haired girl to be doing push-ups with her friend sitting on her shoulders, and to look up at her momentarily, then go back to doing her P.T. while her friend kept count. Being ignored on her own ship was a bit too far for Janeway, and she placed her hands on her hips in irate annoyance, despite that it had caused a diplomatic incident years ago. "Well?"
"Well what? Are the threats going to start up now? Did those other losers tell you they were 'selling us' to you?" It was the one doing push-ups who spoke first. "Because you got ripped off if you paid for us, sister." "Yeah; we're not gonna do anything for you jerks. Go ahead and try, it doesn't usually go so well, we'll find a way out of whatever chains you put us in! Well, unless it's some kind of energy chain, I guess, those are really hard to get out of." "Don't tell them that!" The black-haired member of the duo stood up rapidly, spilling the carrot-top into the floor. She drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't much, and put her own hands on her own hips. "But yeah. I don't care if you do look normal, but we are not going to just work for you because you threw us in a box."
Janeway knew that she was no match for either of this pair of unusual oddities in a fight; that much was obvious. She was, however, a far more cunning woman than either of them; already picking out important details. They looked human (and the Doctor had remotely scanned them; to all sensors they appeared to be just that - humans, approximately 19 years of age), but they didn't give any indication of recognizing her Starfleet uniform or rank insignia. Their clothes looked archaic, outdated - though ragged from what she judged to be a few weeks to a few months of hard wear, Tom Paris had identified them as belong to the turn of the 21st century, give or take twenty-ish years. She was clearly not going to awe them with her rank; that typically only worked on people who recognized her authority, such as Tom Paris when she had demoted him the year previous. They had the mien of rebellious youths, but ones who had been abusively mistreated recently. So she tried a different tactic.
"I'm Captain Janeway," she said. "Of the Federation Starship Voyager." "What kind of name is 'Captain?'" asked the redhead, sounding quizzical. That Janeway wasn't prepared for. "Oh I dunno it's that strange, what kind of a name is 'Abooboo,'" the raven asked her friend, who brightened up. "Oh yeah; Abunbun! Nevermind that, Ms. Captain person."
Nonplussed, Janeway took a moment to breathe. "My name is Kathryn; I am a ship's Captain," she said, patiently. "This ship. The one you two boarded and proceeded to start wrecking." "Is this the same place?" The raven started looking around. "I mean, it might be, but the decor's pretty different." "It is," Janeway assured her, heading off a discussion of brig decor. "Let me skip straight to a question: are you two hungry?"
She was surprised by the immediate defensiveness they both assumed, staring warily at her. The redhead asked, "and what do you want us to do to get fed? The last losers wanted us to work in their warehouse or their kitchens, the loser before that wanted us to... Ugh, no! We threatened to rip them off him!" "He actually backed down though, which was good. He just stuffed us in a crate and dropped us on the previous losers," the raven said, smirking. "Because I would've fed them to him, too."
Janeway took a moment to process that, and mentally made a note to have them talk to the Doctor at length, when possible. "All I want from you is an apology to Mr. Neelix for threatening him and destroying his galley." She gestured at Neelix, who stepped forward, with the trays. "And your names."
The raven-hair snarled. "Yeah? Apologize when your gang kidnapped us and started hitting us first?" "Um... Misako? That guy put his hands on your shoulder and yelled at you, but he didn't punch first; I dabbed him into the wall, 'cause he grabbed you. So she's kinda... Right."
Just like that, the sheer defiance vanished, and the newly-identified Misako suddenly looked contrite. "Oh... Oh, damn. We kinda did throw the first punch, huh?" She reached up and ran her hands through her hair. "I, ah... I guess, well... That was way our bad, then. We've gotten used to new jackasses trying to gut-punch us and make us do what they say." She fixed her eyes on Neelix. "I'm, uh... I'm sorry, then. We screwed up, I guess." "Yeah, I'm sorry I dabbed your friend over your cooktop and into the wall," the as-yet unidentified redhead said. "He laid his hands on my BFF and like, I just didn't know what he was planning to do, but I didn't wanna give him the chance to show us."
Misako gave the one who had been identified as 'Neelix' a look up and down. He looked like an older guy, but it was hard to tell with all the Halloween stuff on his head; he had bony crests and dappled spots, and shocky, wheat-yellow hair. He was the only one in this place she'd seen who wasn't wearing pajamas, but he had the same decorative badge on his jacket. "Mr. ... Neelix? Yeah, um... Sorry," she said, with the voice of a girl who clearly wasn't used to being in the wrong and apologizing for it. "We kinda screwed up bad. I'm Misako. My friend here is Kyōko." "Hi! Sorry about beating up your pals," Kyōko added.
"I would be very irate about that; but, as the Captain assures me that Mr. Chell and the others are going to be fine, I'm only slightly put-out," Neelix diplomatically responded, "therefore; apology accepted. I beg your pardon, young ladies; do not humans typically have more than one name to give?"
Misako looked over to Kyōko, who met her eyes, and shrugged. "Man, it's been forever since anyone cared about our last names," Kyōko said, then smiled and looked back at him. "I'm Kyōko Buckland." "Misako Mills," Misako added. She looked suspiciously up at Janeway, then back to the trays in Neelix's hands.
Janeway moved to the console, and punched in the override to drop the force-field.
The moment the subtle sound of the forcefield failed, Misako could smell the food she hadn't been sure was actually in the trays. The offer was real. Moments later, the pair had relieved Neelix of his burden, without prompting, and were flopped on the floor of the brig cell, and tearing into the meal offered with the gusto of someone who had indeed not eaten properly in quite some time. Neelix and Janeway shared a significant look, watching as the pair finished eating, and then looked up; Kyōko trying to hide a burp behind her fist, while Misako regained her feet. "So, um... Thanks," Misako said; incredibly awkwardly, but with apparent sincerity. "Sorry about like, wrecking your cafeteria. We thought they'd just dumped us on someone else and told them to put us to work or whatever, and then we kind of... Reacted." Neelix looked up to Janeway, then back to her. "I accept your apology; but the Captain must, too. Captain?"
"Are you going to attack any more of my crew?" Janeway asked, archly. Misako looked pensive for a moment. "Probably not. Not unless they like, try to hit us, or something." "I thought he was gonna, so I hit first... But yeah, if your blue guy wasn't going to hit Misako, that was my bad," Kyōko added, standing up.
Janeway resisted the urge to tell her off, it was clear that the girls were ignorant; she suspected temporal displacement. "I will require that you apologize to Ensign Chell, and the other crew whom you assaulted." "Ensign? Is that a name, or, not-a-name," Misako asked.
"Ensign is Mr. Chell's rank. He is a Bolian. Mr. Neelix here - who is not a formal part of the crew and thus does not hold a formal rank - is Talaxian." "Wellll, I am ⅛ Mylean - on my grandfather's side," Neelix elaborated, with a sheepish smile.
"... ⅛ Mylean... That would make you, what, ¾ Talaxian and ... ⅛ Talaxian?" Misako asked, after looking upwards for a long few moments. "So... You're not weirdos wearing Halloween makeup all the time, are you?" "Wow. We've been really rude, then, haven't we Misako," Kyōko said. "Calling everyone we thought was dressed-up in costume freaks when that's just how they are." She looked at her friend, sheepishly, and then turned back to Neelix. "Sorry about that, Mr. Neelix. We thought everybody was dressing up to look scary. It kinda pissed us off." "And we tend to throw hands when people are trying to intimidate us," Misako added. "But, that's not what's going on, so... Our bad, yeah. Sorry." She looked up at Janeway, clasping her hands behind her back. "Where the hell are we, anyway? Nobody has given us a straight answer since any of this started." "And if you're gonna be nice, like... Our clothes have kinda gotten dirty. We haven't been able to wash them or anything."
Janeway pursed her lips, thinking; shifting from the familiar mindset of the Captain to someone who was suddenly and inexplicably dealing with, what appeared to be, a pair of temporally and spatially-displaced teenagers; bellicose, rebellious and combative, but ignorant and ultimately, victims. "I can tell you two have had a bad time recently. I'm guessing you were abducted from your homes somehow. We'll put you in a cabin, if you two swear you won't attack my crew - and none of my crew will attempt to detain you you unreasonably." "What's your definition of 'reasonably,'" Misako asked, suspiciously. Kyōko looked over at her. "I'd guess like, if we were being dumb and about to break something like an electrical box?" "Yeah, fair. We've done that a few times. We'll keep our fists to ourselves, as long as nobody hits us, or tries to make us work in the kitchen."

And that... Was as reasonable an agreement as we needed to come to; I insisted on their apologizing to the crew whom they had beaten into submission, which they took with grace after having eaten and calmed down. We learned that the port we were at habitually practiced a form of indentured servitude, and did not ask questions about where people who claimed they had an indenture to sell to them got them. This is what had happened to Ms. Mills and Ms. Buckland; they had, been waylaid into a cargo crate that was unceremoniously left in a station hangar. They broke free of the crate and, to some degree understandably but unfortunately, reacted violently when a nearby station crewman spotted them, and told them they'd be put to work. They decided to make them our problem when the station constable realized we were the same race as them. Kyōko and Misako proved to be... Surprisingly, shockingly ignorant, after a night's sleep and repairing their clothing for them put them in the mood to talk. They weren't even sure what date it had been when they became disconnected from their home; it took them a bit of discussion among themselves and comparisons to their respective birthdays to conclude that the year had most likely been 2019, as they had both recently passed their 19th birthdays. Academically speaking, they are... Charitably speaking, they would not be accepted to Starfleet Academy. This extends even to what I would consider basic facets of civics, as they were unable to even name the continent they come from. They could only name the city they lived in; unfortunately 'River City,' though sometimes used as a local nickname for many cities, was unable to be located definitively in any historical databanks. When asked if they could name the mayor of the city, they were unable to do so; they were not even certain if the city had a mayoral position. They did provide us the names of the largest local criminal organization and several of its leaders, but we were likewise unable to locate the city that way. I first presumed that their home city had somehow been destroyed very thoroughly, including from the historical record, in the Third World War, but the inexplicable visual emanations when they fight, the way that they are capable of trivially passing any physical challenge put to them, including leaping three times their own height, is... Perplexing, to say the least. Doubly so, in that by their own admission while they are uncommonly atheletic, they did not consider themselves to be freakishly so. Even more odd is their story of how they came to be in the Delta Quadrant. Far from the '37's' having been abducted by unusual phenomena, they told a detailed story of battle with the aforementioned criminal gang in the streets of River City. Kyōko and Misako were battling a large number of criminal foes, when the pair of them, apparently, lunged at a foe who was in a street; unfortunately for them, just in time to fall victim to collision with a rapidly-moving truck. Through mechanisms unclear, this resulted in them awakening in the crew cabin of a trader in the Delta Quadrant, who apparently decided they were stowaways and decided to put them to work. They, perceiving that they had been abducted, refused, and a string of them being handed off from one party to another led to their being unceremoniously transported to Voyager's galley. The pair were not terribly challenging to handle, once treated with a modicum of respect. They seem perfectly able to entertain themselves for literally days on end with simple, two-dimensional computer-screen games. I decided to try to remedy their academic neglect, despite their disdain for formal learning; if only because they might be caught up in an emergency involving Voyager and need at least some basic understanding of how 23rd-century technology works. In some ways this was easy; they proved remarkably fast to learn the use of the LCARS interface, to the point that within a day they were pointing out shortfalls and making recommendations for its improvement; based on their own handheld portable phones, which they produced for examination. Engaging them in basic academia, however, was a great challenge. It was Mr. Neelix who actually cracked the secret; that being to abrade their pride by insinuating that they are not capable, rather than unwilling. Misako is actually fairly intelligent; I think she has as much intellectual capability as the majority of my crew, she simply isn't usually willing to apply herself. Kyōko... Would not likely be accepted to Starfleet Academy, but she has redeeming traits, such as unwavering loyalty to her friends; and, after we fed them and declined to 'put them to work' forcibly, apparently this extends to us. I might complain about having found myself in the role of babysitter, but they are in fact quite immature, so whether or not I wanted the job, it seemed I had it. They had a small role in the recent incident wherein Seven of Nine had started behaving irrationally, downloading too much information to herself during her regeneration cycle. They picked up on early that Seven was behaving irrationally and brought this to Tuvok's attention during a P.E. class - he leads regular sessions for the crew, and they never missed out because they hoped to outlast him. They were never able to do so, but Tuvok did confide in me that they were capable of enduring more sustained athletic exercise than many Vulcans. Unfortunately for me, I dismissed their suggestion by saying they hadn't known her long enough to know whether or not she was 'acting right in the head,' and they took me at my word. Later they volunteered to be on-hand to manually subdue her if required. It turned out not to be required, thankfully, so we never got an answer to whether or not they would succeed. Which leads me to the strange issue of the photonic emanations they produced whilst fighting. Our sensors recorded nothing but these visual effects. They're uncommonly strong, able to lift and even swing objects that the strongest members of the crew would struggle to do so. When asked about this, they seemed confused, then concluded that the majority of the crew is only in 'okay' physical shape, whereas they're physically gifted. They proceeded to give a list of names of crewpersons whom they consider to be of 'fighting fitness' by River City Standards; Lt. Commander Tuvok and Ensign Vorik were top of the list, followed by Ensign Chell and Seven. It's not lost on me that three of that list are objectively of physical prowess that far exceeds human standards, whereas Mr. Chell apparently impressed them greatly by his tenacity and willingness to not only throw but take punches. In their words, they'd gladly have Mr. Chell at their backs in a fight any day, and the sentiment was mutual, after apologies were exchanged. They seemed to be human, but... Mr. Tuvok told me they reminded him of himself at their age, and seemed to take it upon himself to teach them some discipline. He judged this most likely to succeed by beginning with martial arts, a field in which he and they shared interests. They have unique fighting styles, but were glad to learn from him, albeit for... Less-than-entirely wholesome reasons. This was also a means of surreptitiously judging and scanning the two of them in a fight. We never were able to figure out exactly how they do what they do; our best hypothesis is that, somehow, when fighting or otherwise exerting themselves, they subconsciously manipulate something like an inertial dampening field, which both partly explains their incredible physical prowess and odd capabilities, such as Kyōko's ability to strike an odd pose called a 'dab,' and thereby project a field of force we were not able to isolate or measure ahead of her. It's a shame we didn't get a chance to know them longer. Despite their arrogance, vanity and wilful ignorance, they had great qualities and showed potential to mature into spectacular adults. Today we parted ways with them, rather unfortunately. Voyager was lured to the surface of a planet with an atmosphere we couldn't beam through (and which small craft cannot safely fly on antigravity) with the promise of a mass trade of materials. Too late, we realized that this planet had a natural tetryon field that rendered our phasers and internal security forcefields useless, and worse; the hijackers had transporters that worked here, and we did not. We were transported to a number of detention centers around a small market town, and our abductors set about trying to subdue us in small groups. Despite that they had stun-sticks, it went very poorly for them in several instances, but it went most poorly for them in the holding cell containing Kyōko and Misako. We had actually tested (at their insistence, in fact; they took it as a point of pride) a phaser on heavy stun on them; it knocked them down, but not unconscious. They very quickly attained their freedom, and set about what I can only describe as a rampage of unchained, uninhibited violence; in the course of this berzerk fury, they very quickly freed enough Voyager crewmen and other unfortunates to start a general uprising. They were in the process of freeing myself, Tom, and twenty others with us, in fact, when they left us. They had just broken us out - Misako putting a very large wrench in my hands and telling me to 'go ape upon them' in fact - when the abductors rallied across the street. Misako and Kyōko charged... Into the path of a wheeled truck. We found no evidence of them in the aftermath. The only tangible trace we have left of them are Kyōko's earings, in fact... Pause log.

Kyōko yawned, and stretched. She was safe, comfy, and warm; the familiar presence of Misako at her back, and things smelled right for once. She rolled onto her side, and looked up. Then she sat up, so quickly that she ejected her BFF to the floor.
"Ow! Kyōko, what the hell?!" Misako shot up, prepared to throw hands. They often brawled with one another, and forgave one another just as quickly. "Misako, look! We're home!" Kyōko pointed; they were in Kyōko's bedroom. Misako, dumbfounded, ran out onto the balcony, and laughed.
"It's morning, Kyōko," Misako reported, rushing back inside. They had woken up, having apparently slept fully-dressed. "Morning, and this is your house, and we're home!" "Did we dream all those crazy adventures?" Kyōko shrugged. "Let's go ask mom!"
The pair shot out of Kyōko's bedroom, and found her mother in the kitchen. She barely looked over her shoulder. "Oh, good! You're back." "How... Long have we been gone?"
"About four months, Kyōko." Misako groaned. "The Sanwakai?" "Taken over the city again." "Our gang?" Kyōko asked. "Marian comes around." "And let me guess," Misako asked, sarcastically. "Outside, a bunch of Yakuza goons waiting to try and kill us?" "You've got it, Misako," Kyōko's mother said. "You girls had better do something about them, hadn't you?"
Misako reached into her pocket, and pulled out her phone. She grinned as she saw the tricorder app was still installed, and started scanning. There were a lot of lurking goons, but when she pulled up the deep scanner, she smirked when she saw who was across the street. "It looks like Ken is looking to get hurt again," she said to Kyōko. "You remember everything we learned, right?" "One way to find out! And this saves us the trouble of tracking him down in one of our favorite hangout spots. Mom, you were gonna replace that door, right?"
"Um... Yes?" Kyōko's mother answered, then she sighed as she realized they were probably about to do something violent. "Please try not to damage the door-frame. Go kick those Yakuza goon's asses and bring your friends back 'round for dinner."
Outside the Buckland house, Ken was fuming. He had been defeatedly so badly the last times that he knew his adopted father had punished him by making him wait to personally confront and kill those damnable girls. The Sanwakai had taken control of the city back fairly quickly, through the simple expedient of not actually inconveniencing any of their associates, but as Kyōko and Misako had made it personal, Sabu wanted him to send them a message. Or, that was what Sabu had said. Everyone knew they were gone. Most said they'd been crushed by a truck, some said they'd just gone elsewhere, but either way, they were gone. He was just being made to stake out a house for no reason as punishment. Still, he didn't dare disobey his adoptive father. Sabu would unleash a world of pain on him if he did. So he was staking out a dead girl's house for her and her dead girlfriend, fuming, while his sister taunted him over text.
He was in the middle of a snarky response when he heard something strange. Yelling; from inside the dead girls' house. It was feminine, and angry. "KA!" What in the fuck? Ken thought to himself. "ME!" Cluelessly, Ken stared at the door for a moment, scratching his head. "HAME!" Ken realized, about three moments too late, he needed to have taken cover three moments ago. He still didn't know why... But he knew those two voices raised in chorus like that could not mean anything good for him. He also realized, three moments too late, that his bodyguards had started diving for cover, except the one who had dived for him - two moments too late. "HA!
The heads of all of Ken's bodyguards snapped to look at him as he was swept off his feet by a front door rapidly disintegrating and propelled by a blue energy stream like a fire department boat water-cannon, blasting Ken through the hedge and low brick wall of the playground, across the street, and through the across-street house's front. From the wreckage of the front door to the Buckland house, the two targets emerged, a glow surrounding them fading after launching that titanic and impractical, but undeniably effective energy blast. "Tell Sabu we're back, bitches," Misako spat venomously at them. "That was what Master Roshi taught us." "Wanna see what we learned from Master Tuvok?" Kyōko assumed a fighting stance, a moment before Misako did.
The bodyguards all looked at one another. They looked back through the wreckage of the across-the-street house. Ken, against all odds, seemed to still be in one piece and moving, barely, though very much down. They looked back to the girls who had just launched some kind of crazy energy blast. "The boss will literally kill us if we don't try," one goon said to the other. "May as well."
Misako grinned to herself as the bodyguards boiled out of the woodworks and charged. She wanted a good fight. She looked over at Kyōko, who was giggling.

I know, I'm a day late again xD Unfortunately I had a bit of a crazy day yesterday and completely forgot about uploading the next chapter :'D Nonetheless, here it is :P
[First] [Glossary Addendum] [Previous]
[Abyssea Craftworks, Wolfreach Trade District, Halsion Reach Region, Haldios IV, 24th of Emheraldis, 5010 TE]
[Boltz]
I stepped into the slightly dim, relative to outside, shop, and patiently waited as the shopkeeper, whom I'd met just under a week before, served another customer, who seemed to be a Synth who had chosen the form of a Caninae, judging by the wolf-like tail and ear shape from behind. After a few minutes, their business concluded, and the Synth turned around, confirming my assumption. She nodded to me, and walked out, the door closing quietly behind her slightly shiny body.
Taking a deep breath, I gathered my composure, and stepped up to the counter, and, trying to think of the right way to word it in my mind, my mouth decided to simply go with whatever sounded right.
"Hey, uh... I came in with my best friend about a week ago, and well..." I trailed off, my brain finally catching up with my mouth, along with me losing the confidence I'd had mere moments before. However, the eyes of the shopkeeper, who I finally remembered was named Chit'eiwu, lit up almost to the point of glowing, and she said,
"Yeah, the guy who brought in the Kaurine crystal, uh... Cewa!" I nodded, grinning despite myself.
"Yeah, that's him. But uh..."
I began trailing off again but my mouth finally managed to escape the control of my brain again, and I blurted out,
"I... I can't lie... I haven't been able to get you out of my head since then, and I was thinking... Would you like to go out to dinner some time? My shout." Chit'eiwu's tentacle-like appendages, her drit'onthke, hopped around as though she was nervous, and it was confirmed when she said in a slightly quavering voice,
"Sure. About three Watches from now? The 27th. Apparently there's a really nice little restaurant cafe opening then, and I'm curious to see what it's like." I nodded, and said,
"It's a date!" and then my brain caught the reins of my mouth once more, and, my cheeks igniting like an oil spill touched by a spark, added,
"Err, dinner. It's a dinner."
Embarrassed by how forward I'd been, I gestured to the door, taking one step backwards in that direction as I did so, and said,
"I'm just... Gonna head out, before I put my foot even deeper in my mouth." Chit'eiwu giggled, a sound that to me, was akin to the singing of a host of angels in the Terran Archives, though her cheeks also tinged blue at the same time. She held up a hand, and replied,
"Yeah, it's a date... See you then, Jakob!" I nodded, and turned just in time to avoid walking straight into the door itself. I reeled back, but managed to recover, and, as I held the door open to walk out, I turned back, and added as a means of saying farewell,
"You can call me Boltz if you like." And with that, I closed the door behind me, walking down the street and trying to act as though I hadn't just absolutely made a fool of myself in front of a stunning xeno lady.
About an hour later, I closed the door to my chambers in the Fortress of Kaur'Ainda, and leaned against it, thumping my head against the wood. Why did I make such a fool of myself like that?! I asked myself. I didn't know; The only logical reason I could think of was that her beauty rendered me stupid. I chuckled to myself, shaking my head at the absurdity of it. Nonetheless, I had done so, and nothing could change that fact. Sighing, I walked over to the worktable and brought up my preferred ultranet search engine and looked up the restaurant. It seemed they were doing reservations for the first Cycle, and then opening up the seating to the public at large after that. I grinned, and eagerly reserved a table for two during the dinner period. Then I brought up the logistics channel we used to correspond with our suppliers and selected Chit'eiwu's line, then sent her the details, adding,
Probably kind of dumb of me to do it like this, but is this time fine for you? Soon after, I got a reply from Chit'eiwu, answering in the affirmative. I took a screen capture of it, and then said, I'd better clear this from the system before Cewa sees; I don't think he'd appreciate me using the logistics line for... Personal business. Chit'eiwu replied that she was fine with it, and I removed the messages in order, then put a copy of the screen capture in my personal file folder on my holocomputer.
[Three Watches Later]
[Boltz]
I was nervous, fidgeting with my suit's tie; The 27th had come around faster than I expected. Regardless, I was ready, and Aerrin made sure my suit was sitting right in every regard. Once she was satisfied, she nodded, and said,
"Go get her, Sparky!" I chuckled at the nickname, and stepped out of my chambers. It was time for my date with destiny, so to speak.
An hour later, I was standing outside the restaurant, aptly named Amaya's Fireside. After a short while, I decided to lean into the "casual waiting" look, and leaned against a support pillar. I allowed myself a small inner chuckle as I realised I was probably stealing Cewa's thunder, so to speak, but I didn't think he'd mind. Soon enough, Chit'eiwu appeared, and I momentarily found it impossible to breathe; She was stunning. Her dress was a partly sheer, partly opaque fell length dress, only showing off the color of her skin on the shoulders, at the hips and at the bottom hem, where it faded into transparency. Combined with her naturally siren-like looks, and especially that emerald gaze that was now openly admiring my suit-clad body, she looked exactly how I imagined the tales of sirens from ancient Terran history must have looked. As I remembered how to breathe again, I held out a hand, and said,
"Would milady like to accompany me within?" Chit'eiwu giggled, and nodded.
"Of course, especially for such a polite gentleman." And with that, we entered the restaurant. The exterior had apparently been made simple on purpose; The outside looked rather ordinary; the usual panels of tan or mud colored wood making up the front facade, but when we stepped inside, it was as though we had been teleported. The walls were adorned with intricately painted greenery so as to resemble a forest clearing, and in the middle of the surprisingly massive area was a large bonfire, around which a small team of chefs were cooking. Indeed, it looked as though they were using a small forest fire as their heat source for cooking, with small tendrils of flame running down to each of the workstations. A slight Draekkus greeter, who admittedly was still quite large, walked up and greeted us as we were looking around in awe.
"Hello there. Do you have a reservation?" She asked, and, blinking, I nodded.
"Uh, yes, under Zerrekhul." I said, deliberately forcing my focus to the greeter. She pulled up a holoscreen and nodded when she found my name.
"Right this way, if you please; You'll be seated at table 75 for this evening." She said.
[A Few Hours Later...]
[Chit'eiwu]
As we stumbled down the street that led towards my shop, I lost my balance, giggling as the handsome Terran who had just given me an incredible dinner, caught me. As I looked up, his green eyes, so similar to my own, met mine. He smiled slightly, and I let out a woop of surprise as he, literally now, swept me off my feet. As I rose into his arms, the scent he had applied for our date surrounded me in a pleasant cloud; A mix of glacierberry and some kind of spice I couldn't place, creating a contrast of cool scent and a prickle of heat, along with some kind of sweet fruit.
The sound that escaped me made him break into a full grin, and he said,
"I'm sorry, but I cannot in good conscience make you continue to walk if you're going to fall for me like that." I laughed at the joke, and then blushed slightly as I saw the sheen of seriousness under the mirth. However, I allowed him to carry me like a spawnling the rest of the way to my home, before he allowed me to stand on my feet again to fish out the keys, which I had given him when I arrived.
He unlocked the door, and held out a mildly muscular arm, which I gratefully leaned against, and he pulled me in close enough that I was once again immersed in the near-intoxicating smell. We awkwardly made our way inside, and he locked the door behind us, before guiding me behind the counter to the entrance to my apartment behind the shopfront. As we passed a small table, he casually dropped the keys on top, and continued to the bed.
Soon after, as he gently laid me down in my bed, still fully clothed, I half joked,
"So you've wined and dined me... Are you now going to ravish me?" His eyes lit up with desire at the words, and his mouth twitched in a slight smirk, but he shook his head.
"No... Like this... You couldn't refuse me. I don't want to take advantage of that." The smirk then became full, and he added,
"Well... Except for perhaps to steal a kiss, though still only if you want it." His words sent a tingle through my body, one I couldn't quite understand, but right after he said them, he leaned down, and whispered,
"If you don't want it, all you need to do is turn your head." I simply responded by smiling, and pulled him the rest of the way down. I felt his hands slide under my back, causing waves of warmth to radiate across my spine, and he deepened the kiss for what felt like both an instant and an eternity. But then he pulled back, and planted an almost impossibly soft kiss on my forehead, and whispered,
"That's all you get for tonight." Disappointment washed over me like a Great Wave, and I watched as he stood up straight again before bending over my bed once more, this time to grab the blanket and pull it up over me. He gave me a gentle look, and said,
"May Luunah Guard your dreams, Chit'eiwu. I'll go and crash on the sofa for tonight; I wouldn't feel right leaving you alone either." He chuckled at the irony, and quietly walked out of the room, not looking back. As he walked out however, I noticed that he deftly grabbed a spare pillow and blanket, and couldn't help but smile to myself. Gentleman enough to not simply take everything I have to give, and gentleman enough to not risk leaving the shop unlocked; The door could only lock with the key, which would mean he would hold the literal key to my safety until returned. I sighed, and looked up at the ceiling. Tonight was truly a night to remember... I could only hope that there would be...
[The Next Morning...]
[Boltz]
I opened my eyes groggily as I felt somebody shaking me, and looked up to see Chit'eiwu bent over me.
"Wha time is ee?" I asked, my speech slurred by drowsiness. Chit'eiwu grinned and replied,
"About two clock-loops since Solahra's Rise." I nodded, and pulled one arm out of the warmth of the blanket to rub my eyes. As I ran my fingers back and forth, I asked, slightly more coherently now,
"You had breakfast yet?" Chit'eiwu shook her head, and replied,
"I wanted to wait for you to wake up in case you wanted to have it together." I gave a shrug; it was a valid point. Rolling over, I nodded.
"Sure, what's on the menu?" Chit'eiwu's face flushed blue, and she replied,
"I normally just have cereal... But I'm all out this morning... It's probably rude to ask, but are you any good at cooking?" I bounced my head back and forth, and said,
"It depends on what I'm working with." With that, I threw the blanket off myself, and Chit'eiwu's face instantly blossomed into a brilliant blue, and she stammered,
"Y-Y-You slept in just your underwear?" I nodded, and jerked my head towards where I'd neatly laid out my suit from the night before.
"I didn't want to wreck the suit, so I took it off. I'm sorry if you don't like seeing me like this; wasn't really thinking about this outcome." I chuckled despite myself, and she shook her head.
"N-No, it's not that, it's... W-Well I didn't realise you'd look so... So..." She trailed off, her emerald gaze darting all over my body as I waited for her to find the right words.
"I wasn't expecting you to be so... Attractive under your clothes." She finally said, and I laughed.
"Well that's quite subjective. But from what I have seen of you so far, it's definitely mutual." I said. And with that, I swung my legs over the edge of the sofa and picked up the pants of my suit, putting them back on. Chit'eiwu seemed slightly disappointed at the hiding of my legs, but didn't verbally complain.
After a few minutes of seeing what ingredients we had on hand in the small, cozy kitchen, I finally turned to her and said,
"Well it looks like there's some chicken eggs here as well as seasoning spices... I can make an omelette to share if you like." Chit'eiwu nodded vigorously, and I grinned, then opened the small fridge and pulled out four large eggs; two each, comprising half the soon-to-be plate of cooked egg. With one hand, I cracked the eggs into a bowl, and used the other hand to grab out a frying pan from the cupboard beside the stove, then turned to the squidlike beauty I had taken on an amazing date just the Lunwatch before.
"Uh.... Chit'eiwu? Could you turn on the stove for me? Not sure how this one works." She nodded, but said,
"You can just call me 'Chit' if you like, you know." I nodded, and said,
"Alright, sounds good." With a grin, I turned back to the eggs, then looked around for a whisk to beat them with. Without even looking in my direction, Chit'eiwu, Chit, I reminded myself, said,
"Above the stove; I keep them on a hanging rack." I spotted the dark grey whisk against the wall, and chuckled at my blindness. I reached out and grabbed it, then threw it up into the air, making it flip, and catching it by the handle. I grasped the bowl with a firm grip, and began to beat the eggs with one hand, and as Chit got the stove going, she glanced over, before making a small noise like a squeak. I looked over my shoulder at her as I continued beating the eggs, but she was staring at my back.
"What's wrong?" I asked, and her gaze flicked to my face and back, before she said,
"Your muscles... They're... Moving!" I laughed, and replied,
"Well of course they are; My arm is moving back and forth as I beat the eggs; It's how you prepare an omelette." I turned back, and was happy to see that the mix was starting to form bubbles. I sprinkled some seasonings in and then stirred the mixture with the whisk, before pouring it over the now-hot frying pan.
The yellow, goo-like substance hissed as it touched the pan, and as the bowl emptied, the fluid spread across the pan. I let it sit for a few moments as I fished out a spatula, and expertly flipped over the now half-cooked omelette. Soon enough the other side was also cooked, and I turned off the stove, having noted how Chit turned it on, and cut the circle of egg in half with the end of the spatula before Chit handed me two plates. I nodded my thanks and scooped one half onto one plate before putting it on the bench beside me and putting the other half on the other plate, and handing it to her.
She smiled at me and held out a 3-pronged fork, and I gratefully took hold of it while also grabbing the plate with my other hand, laying the spatula in the pan as it cooled. We sat down at the table, and I waited for her to take the first bite. She nervously put it in her mouth, and her eyes widened in surprise as the flavours spread across her tongue.
"Wow, this is amazing!" She said, her eyes sparkling with delight as the other flavours slowly expanded in turn. I simply grinned and pressed my fork into my own omelette, cutting off a mouthful for myself.
"This was just a simple omelette too, mind you." I said.
[Half an Hour Later...]
[Boltz]
I sat on the couch that I had used as a bed the Lunwatch before, Chit laying with her head in my lap, looking up at me. As we sat there in companionable silence, a thought came to me
"I wonder... Would you be open to expanding the services offered by your shop?" Chit shifted her head slightly and asked,
"To include what?" I shrugged, and replied,
"Tool and weapon repairs?" The squid-girl looked straight ahead, thinking, then shook her head.
"Not unless I had somebody who could perform those services. But if I did then yes, I would." I simply grinned down at her, and said,
"And it just so happens that you do..." Her eyes began to shine slightly, and then she frowned as I added,
"Though it may require a slight name change. I'm thinking we keep the theme of the Depths of course, but instead of Abyssea Craftworks, what about From the Abyss Artisanry? Chit grinned at that, and muttered,
"Just like me, coming up from the Abyss Depths." I looked down at her, and joked,
"So, what, you're an Abyssal Siren?" Chit's face flushed blue, and I shrugged. Running a hand across her hair, I added,
"I mean... You certainly lured me in with your beauty."
[Next: Tinker's Dawn]