Pants off dance off

There have been a lot of iCarly specials. Some of them have been good, but others have been horrible. Here's my ranking of each special.

1. iGo to Japan 88/100

Although the rival web competitors were annoying, it was a very fun special.

1. iDate a Bad Boy (part 1: 90/100; part 2: 65/100)

These really were put together as an hour episode but since the subplots were way different than the other, it could've just been a continuation episode and not air on one night if that makes sense. Spencer was a great brother in the first part. He was kind of dumb with the "shampow thing" and making Griffin seem all babyish was annoying to watch so altogether 77.5/100

1. iFight Shelby Marx 80/100

Nevel was a pain in the butt the whole episode which made Shelby Marx be ignorant and get mad at Carly and Spencer's allergy thing was fun but kind of annoying to me. Overall, episode was fine but had problems.

1. iQuit iCarly 86/100

Flek and Dave were annoying but it was a solid episode.

1. iPsycho 90/100

Nora was weird but was supposed to be. It was a fun episode and the ending where Gibby rescues them is very satisfying.

1. iStart a Fan War 60/100

This, in my opinion, is the worst iCarly special. First off, the part where Sam causes everyone to fight because she said Carly and Freddie are in love was so stupid. And, even though I know people (including myself) like Jack Black, I got to admit that those fighting scenes with Spencer were kind of dumb. The funniest part in this whole special was when Gibby was ordering drive-thru food with his grandpa. So, the best episode was really a second subplot, which tells you the episode was bad.

1. iStill Psycho 92/100

Slightly better than the first episode with Nora, the ending was really satisfying with T-Bo and Marissa Benson rescuing Freddie and everyone else. Fun episode throughout.

1. iShock the World/America 88/100

This might surprise people, but this one is fun, even if Gibby's pants falling down was stupid. I enjoy Jimmy Fallon anyway so having the iCarly gang be a guest on Late Night was a good idea and it was fun to also see references to Seinfeld when they are at the diner. But besides the references, it was a fun episode.

1. iGoodbye 95/100

The best special in my opinion. After knowing that Carly's dad couldn't make it although he planned on it, Spencer was trying to take Carly to the Father-Daughter dance, but couldn't because he was sick. However, for some unknown reason, Carly's dad did make it. And even if people complain by saying that she was rushed to move to Italy, it had to end somehow. The clips at the end were nice and it was a nice send-off.

Hey guys! I hope we're all doing well.
The short of it, is that I had a panic attack in rehersal tonight due to some inappropriate comments from others about my physical disability, told my director I didn't feel well, and took myself home. I knew before, as, and after I was doing it that it was not professional, but I wasn't sure what else to do.
The long of it, with some background info first: - I have a physical disability that can be completely hidden when I wear long pants. - The director of this community theater production and I are friends. - I am also friends (but far less close) with the stage manager, who is gone this week. - In past rehersals I have worn shorts, and only a few "are you okay?" "Yeah I'm disabled" "Oh, okay!"s were exchanged and I felt comfortable with all of that. - I have not even gone backstage during rehersal for a reason like this since high school so I am extremely disapointed in myself. - I sprained my wrist recently, removing me from the guitar portion of this scene. - Despite my disablitiy, I am actually a good (and lightly trained) dancer.
The long; I decided to wear shorts to rehersal today because we were running a dance/song tonight. I got to rehersal, my director and I chatted for about half an hour because I like to be there early and most cast does not arrive on time. He told me not to push myself, since I am disabled. I appreciated the sentiment and I know he cares a lot about me, so it made me happy, but it also bothered me because he himself is usually trying to imply in one way or another that I'm less competent because of my disability. (I walk to work, I enjoy running, I go to the gym, etc. I consider myself quite capable.) But, I love him dearly, and I'm used to him, so I really didn't mind.
Once we got going, the fill-in stage manager gave us a lecture to explain tap-ins because since we are dancing, we'll be touching each other. I do not know her well at all and she used me as an example without permission and I find a bit rudely as "something not to touch/be sensitive about/be delicate on" and it disturbed me to have my disability be used as an example in a lecutre about boundaries. I have zero issue with people touching me or my legs, and I felt as though she contradicted that and set a boundary with all the other actors for me to not touch me or my legs, or that I was delicate/sensitive/broken whatever. I'm not injured, I'm disabled.
After we ran the song and dance for fourty five minutes or so, my director asked for people who'd be able to do a difficult dancing thing, and I voulenteered, and one of the other actors, who I barely know at all, said "Well how would that work, with your legs?" And she pointed at me. I told her that I am disabled and can dance, to which my director gave an "oookay", which I'm not sure if was in response to me or her.
By this point I started to feel very uncomfortable, and we went on a break, so I went to the bathroom, did box breathing, and splashed some water on my face. When I came back I had some trouble focusing but I didn't care and chose to keep working. We got on our feet to dance again (we're improvving the whole thing right now with loose instruction) and the actor from earlier and I had danced near each other, so we put our hands together to do the instructed move, and she stopped, her mouth fell open, she pointed at my sprained wrist, pointed at my legs, looked at me, looked back at my legs and then my wrist. She looked like she was gonna make a big show of me so I danced away. When we were done with that run, I walked up to the director, and told him I didn't feel well and needed to go home. He said okay and I left.
I don't want to cause trouble in the show. I hate conflict. I just want my disability not to be gawked at or put on display by others in future rehersals. I won't wear shorts again (even though I have every right.) What should I do to explain myself to my director? I'm okay with what I did but not that I lied in doing it. How do I explain myself without getting these other people in trouble or myself being melodramatic about my disability?
I apologise if this lacks clarity, I'm still not fully cooled off.

Just needed to vent some bad memories. I wonder if someone can relate. Sorry for the long post.
When I was about eight, I remember my mom coming to my bed snugging next to me, which was odd enough by itself. Then she started softly talking how terrible life she has with my father, how hard she has to work to bring money to buy us (me and my 3 year old brother), how her boss treats her badly, basically complaining about everything around her. It was neverending story so in the end I nodded off, she probably kept on talking when I was asleep, next thing I remember her shouting at me, how dare I fall asleep when she’s talking about important stuff.
At me being 15, she signed me up to dancing classes. I didn’t wanna attend, since it made no sense to me. I listened to Led Zeppelin and had no interest in classical dancing. We had couple of arguments about me not attending, but my resistance was useless. She took me to clothing store to buy me a suit. She forced me into changing cabin, started to pull down my jeans, because I just didn’t want to try on those suit pants. She was so agressive, that she pulled my shorts a bit too, that revealed bit of my pubic hair. She looked at my groin and started making gagging noises, said te how that hair are repulsive and gross. I was just standing there paralyzed.
I was then forced to go to dancing classes, I was truly miserable. Only after classes ended I was allowed to stay for afterparty with couple of my friends from high school. I walked one of my friends home, it was a girl I kinda liked. So I got to my home maybe thirty minutes late. There was my mother sitting on a couch, her eyes glazed with bottle of wine she just finished, she was crying dramatically. She asked me why I’m late, so I replied I walked one of my friends home, she was afraid to go home in the dark alone. My nmom started yelling at me how dare I prioritize some dirty slut (my friend was 15 then, same as me), over her. My enabler dad tried to comfort her, but she got a bit insane, was crawling on the carpet, mumbling, telling me that she had paracetamol pills and drank bottle of wine because of me. Told me if she dies, it’s my fault. Then she pretended (real bad acting) to have passed out. Next day when I asked her why she called my friend slut, I was told that how dare I accuse her of something that awful. Similar story happened after I attended my older friends prom party and she picked my up on train station. Started yelling at me that I am a pig and disgrace to the whole family. Whole sin was based on me not having shirt tugged into my pants. Whole town was talking about it for entire length of next, according to her.
On other occasion I just wanted to discuss changing my high school, because I wanted to do something more creative. It almost instantly brought fire, because to question my mother’s choice of school for me was considered treason. I was called ungrateful asshole. There was no better option than that was picked for me. At the same time I was reminded at every dinner how much money they pay for me for this great school (school was pretentious shit with drunk and pervert teachers, my history teacher was inprisoned for raping one of female students). I was proposing public school with audio/video specialty (industry I’m working for last 15 years btw). Opinion exchange escalated into her yelling at me again. I went to my room as I was done talking to her. Didn’t want to continue this pointless session. But she kept coming to me provoking more fighting. When she realized I’m just stonewalling her because I was exhausted. She left. I went to have some water to the kitchen and in the mirror reflection in the corridor I saw her drinking some wine, so I stopped and waited for her to leave. But she layed on the floor, looked around and pretended to have passed out, started making some weird noises. I was not that suprised, not being the first acting class in this household, so I just went by her, had my glass of water and left. My brother and father were watching tv so they didn’t notice her act. In 15 minutes or so she started yelling maniacally that we would leave her to die in kitchen while she was making cookies for us, bunch of fucking assholes. Mainly me, because I wasn’t caught by her act. I just kept silent. My enabler father tried to comfort her unsucessfuly. She went out out of the house yelling that she will never return and if we find her on tracks run over by train it’s our fault. Mainly mine of course.
When I was around 20, I had pretty good job, working part time at postproduction studio. I really enjoyed that. But I was forced to leave because my nmom wanted me to study at a university. I wanted to work for a year and then maybe go to filmschool, that I could pay for from job money. There was no understanding of that, I was told that I will not want to go to back to school after year of working (what a nonsense). There were some fight about it but then I just resigned. Three more years I was in a limbo in a school I hated.
When I finally made her agree with me going to film school I was bit relieved. It was far from my town. Out of her reach. I borrowed my father’s car once for a film school shoot. I was driving at night after long shoot hours and wanted to stop for a late dinner at McDonalds, so I pulled over from a highway and accidentally hit an unmarked curb at the parking lot. Had to call a tow service since i ripped of engine mount. There was no big damage. But I called home, my father was not amused but was glad I’m ok. Only thing I heard from my nmom was that I just destroy everything and gave me silent treatment for a week, apart from remarks how bad driver I am.
My grandfather whom I loved very much was sick then. He had saved some money he wanted to give me. So I decided to buy my own car. My causing $120 damage to the father’s car was discussed on daily basis for couple of next months. So when my nmom heard that my grandpa is giving me money, she tried to steal those from me. After heated argument that included my sick grandpa yelling from his sofa at my nmom I was settled. Love you grandpa forever. He passed away not long after that.
But I kept coming back for some weekends. My family had a dog. He was almost 15 by then. Could barely walk. Once I returned from school after couple of weeks and dog was just miserable, he was deaf, almost blind, must have been in pain. So I asked my nmom if she doesn’t think that the dog should be put down. I was just trying to be sympathetic with the dog. She got into her emotional overdrive and started comparing putting down the dog with killing my grandfather (who sadly passed away some months ago). I was just stunned how she can even say that. I pointed out that nonsense and she started calling me names and how cruel can I be after all she has done for me. I told her I have had enough and left. I decided I have to go no contact for some time, I was just anxious around her all.
Then I finally moved out for good and started my own life. I remember those years as some of the best I’ve had. I was vising my parents ocasionally. But the intensity got lower with time. As she lost my control over me she got a bit sweeter, because I was such a rare visitor. After 8 years or so I invited my parents for a 3week roadtrip. It was a great roadtrip if my nmom wasn’t there. I somehow forgot all that stuff I had lived thru with her before. Not only she can’t shut her mout for a second, she just demeaning about anything and everyone. She puts down my dad constantly, and he truly loves her. She just acts like a bitter bitch. I managed to be calm for first two weeks but then after some of her provocation, lying and overreacting over just anything, I erupted, I’ve had enough, I was called agressive maniac. I was 35 at that time if you’re wondering.
Couple of months after that I was sick on my birthday. My mother came over with some of the other relatives. My wife gave them some coffee and apologises for me being sick. My nmom wouldn’t say hi to me or ask how am I doing, she just did a tour of my apparment for the relatives and went away.
A year after that she called me with some rant and I just straight shut her off, told her she’s terrible demeaning person, most unemphatetic person in the world. I felt terrible, but it had to go off my chest eventually. I started googling how it’s possible to hate my own mother and found out this subreddit. It’s been five years since and it still hurts.

DRAG RACE!
Chronologica struts the runway wearing a bird bird style yellow feathered coat, her eyeshadow and lips painted the same yellow, along with a bright yellow wig to match.
Hello world!
Welcome to Season 6! Woah!
Chronologica claps excitedly.
Nymphe, you’re here for our two part premiere! Are you ready?
“Are THEY ready?” Nymphe smirks.
Rachelle Mirage, how does it feel to be back?
“No more prison, PLEASE!” Rachelle begs.
Floss, are you excited for prison?
“Don’t you dare.” Floss stares at Chronologica.
Chronologica looks spooked.
“I’m joking, baby!” Floss chuckles.
Chronologica exhales.
For this season’s first challenge, our racers proved their worth in a talent show extravaganza. And on the runway, they’ll be giving local–wearing looks representing their hometowns.
It’s TIME!
~
Category is… Hometown GLORY!
Ethan Angel-Eye arrives giving ski town realness with a ragged, cropped denim winter jacket with structured shoulders over an oversized white tank top, plus low-ride super-baggy camo cargo-ski pants. He wears a branded Patagonia denim balaclava, carefully covering his nose and mouth, and clunky orange Schnee’s boots, and counts cash coolly in one hand.
“So he was the one going to prison all along.” Nymphe says.
Chronologica giggles.
Lady Gag enters the stage in a sleek blue-cyan Gaga style wig, along with a startlingly familiar face paint. Wearing a silver bikini covered in glass bits, and a tight bikini bottom. In a pair of gladiator sandals, Lady Gag holds a towel that is embossed with her own name ‘LADY GAG’ on it.
“A bikini?” Rahcelle raises her eyebrows, whispering to Chronologica.
Molly Moppit arrives in a massive fur coat, spray painted blue. Her hair is long, flowing and red, covered in many, many, many STRIKINGLY similar blue hair clips, as Molly stomps through the main stage. As she makes her way to the end of the stage, Molly whips off her coat to reveal a mini-dress in the shape of the statue of liberty in green.
“Category is… Blue?” Floss chuckles.
Niagara Halls arrives in a blue ball gown, with her hair a windswept water blue. Structured like a waterfall itself, flowing into the deep waters at the bottom of her dress, Niagara’s the epitome of beauty and grace in her Niagara Falls inspired dress.
Blue it!
A big blue phone booth slowly slides onto the runway. There are two knocks, before the door bursts open and Loki steps out, wearing slacks, a tweed coat, and a black bowtie over a white dress shirt. Their brown wig is slicked back, making it obvious that they are cosplaying the Doctor. After they strut the runway with an inquisitive look on their face, they return to the tardis and shuffle away.
“The tardis is blue.” Nymphe jokes, before looking into the camera. “Please no more blue.”
Shiseido Red enters the stage in a massive red apple- literally, as the judges chuckle as she enters the stage. Suddenly, the big apple opens, Chronologica gasping as the apple becomes a high fashion structured piece, like a moving art piece come to life- massive shoulder pads, a skirt-pant combo and massive platform heels, all in her quintessential red.
Everyone exhales, looking at Shiseido’s serve, as Chronologica claps excitedly.
~
Hi Racers.
This week, no one is safe. You’ll each receive critiques–and who knows if you ever will again, so take this feedback seriously.
First up: Molly Moppit.
“Like the clips?” Molly flicks back her hair.
“Wait a minute.” Niagara whispers to herself.
Hi, Molly.
Molly grins.
“What I loved about your performance was the jokes.” Rachelle laughs. “Your sense of humor really showed through here and elevated the performance which…let’s be honest, you’re not a dancer. That was obvious!”
“I’m more of a dance with the devil kind of girl.” Molly winks.
“The jokes kept coming, and to be able to come up with that much material about your fellow contestants, despite just having met them, was really, really impressive. You went IN!” Rachelle smiles.
Shiseido rolls her eyes.
“I didn’t like it. I feel as if I didn’t get to know you personally at all. The whole performance was about everyone else, when this was your chance to introduce yourself?” Nymphe raises an eyebrow.
Molly looks nervous.
I don’t agree, Nymphe.
“Okay.” Nymphe looks expressionless.
I feel we learned that Molly here is a sneaky shady bitch.
Molly smiles and winks. “You’ve got that right.”
I loved it. Really fun work.
Next up, Niagara Halls. Hello and welcome.
“SO pleased to be here.” Niagara waves bombastically with both hands.
Niagara…can you walk us through why you decided to yodel tonight?
“YES, of course! I thought it would be really camp and surprising and fun to do something out-of-the-box for me.” Niagara smiles widely. “I had a great time with it.”
“I didn’t.” Nymphe fixes her hair, looking absentmindedly at a handheld mirror. “This was the worst performance of the night.”
Niagara’s jaw drops.
I really admire that you tried something outside your comfort zone, here, Niagara.
“Oh, thank you!” Niagara nods.
However…we don’t know what box you normally sit in yet, so this “out of the box” idea didn’t end up really helping us learn about you very well.
Niagara swallows anxiously and rubs her hands together. “Oh, okay.”
The decidedly devilish Ethan Angel-Eye. We’re so glad you’re here.
Ethan nods politely. “Thanks for having me.”
“Your performance was interesting.” Nymphe says dryly. “The audience seemed afraid of you. If that’s your thing, it worked.”
“I think that’s kinda his thing.” Rachelle gestures at Ethan’s ski town runway look. “You’re not showing us your face, just like in your entrance look. Tell us about that.”
“You’ll note that what you can see of my face is painted.” Ethan says, clarifying and gesturing to his eyes. “My drag is criminal. If you can see everything I’m up to, it gives away the mystery.”
“Mystery is right.” Rachelle notes.
Your talent show was pretty undeniable, though. You expressed yourself in the performance–a lot of rage, a lot of pent-up frustration. The way you were yelling out as you made your attacks reminded me of martial arts.
Ethan nods. “The violence is an art, in a way. The accuracy, the intention. I’m glad you could see that.”
“I loved it.”
Lady Gag, the girl without the A. Good news is, you’re on Drag Race! Bad news, this week, we weren’t gagging on your eleganza.
Lady Gag looks at Chronologica with surprise.
“I-”
Honestly, I didn’t think your talent show was amazingly bad- it was fine.
“Okay.” Lady Gag purses her lips.
“The stand-up was fine. I didn’t laugh, but I don’t usually laugh. Other people were laughing sometimes.” Nymphe adjusts her bracelets.
“I laughed!” Floss says, smiling.
I actually want to know your idea behind your LOOK.
“I’m a Miami Beach girl. I’ve got the body, I’ve got the work done, and Miami is the place to show it off. So…” Lady Gag flicks her hair.
I don’t think it was enough. I just saw Gaga- and I get that you do that, but I am going to need you to do more.
“Okay.” Gag looks unimpressed.
Lokii or High-Key? Yes, bitch, you might be. Thanks so much for being here.
“I didn’t get it.” Nymphe shakes her head. “There’s a reason there are so many Star Wars movies. The plot doesn’t fit into a 2-minute talent show. So it just wasn’t funny. Also, your brand is Marvel or Norse God. Why are you serving Star Wars?”
I kinda was- a bit confused.
“Oh, okay.” Lokii nods.
The idea was good, but ultimately- it kinda just was a lot going on, and ultimately had me going… hmm. I like this look though!
Lokii smiles. “Thank you.”
“I liked the chaos of it, actually!” Floss responds. “It was super unique, and obviously a really different perspective from most of our racers tonight, I thought it was cute baby..”
“Oh!” Lokii nods. “I appreciate it.”
Blue, Yellow? It’s Shiseido Red. Welcome to the show.
“You can’t dance anymore. You’re too old.” Nymphe gives Shiseido a pointed look. “You should have just done the design part of your performance, because the outfit you painted was basic but cute. Don’t dance.”
“It’s tough, but What Nymphe said about your look is totally true.” Floss smiles apologetically. “It was very cool to see you make that in such a short amount of time, with all of the choreo that was happening and everything.”
This look you’ve showcased- has been, far and beyond, incredible. THIS is the drag I want to see on the runway. Well done.
Shiseido bows.
Thank you, racers. Whilst we deliberate, you may untuck backstage in the Fae Lounge.
“Mine.” Nymphe smiles.
Sponsored by Princess Papaya Glitter Blueberry Drinks.
~
The racers enter the Fae Lounge.
“Well, I’m safe.” Shiseido nods, picking up her drink, and handing one to Ethan, who shakes his head.
“I’ll not be drinking.” Ethan snips back.
Shiseido Red: “I have some thoughts, and I’m going to express them.” Shiseido smiles.
Everyone sits down, as Molly swirls her drink, grabbing a pillow. “I-”
“Ms Theft, I have a question for you.” Shiseido looks up with a smirk.
Niagara looks at Lady Gag with a smile.
“Shoot.” Molly smiles.
“Do you have any actual talent, or do you just try and go with the lowest- literally, the lowest common denominator with the insult humor, because you lack any level of education and class in this artform of drag?” Shiseido takes a sip.
Ethan raises an eyebrow, which you can’t tell in bis balaclava, but because it’s written format, there you go.
Molly Moppit: “ What the fuck?”
“Your sentence actually was really poorly worded, Shiseido, so perhaps we can start there?” Molly says, clearly annoyed.
Lokii slinks down into her seat awkwardly.
“Wow, the insult humor!” Shiseido slow claps. “Again, again… you’re so talented.”
“No, because you actually pissed me off, grandma.” Molly stands up. “I take what I do very seriously-”
“I don’t see it.” Shiseido snips back.
“Girl.” Niagara whispers to Lady Gag, who smiles.
“When you can make a move, when you can entertain any level of talent beyond 1997, THEN get back to me, musty!” Molly says, her voice raised.
“MUSTY?!” Shiseido clutches her pearls.
“Boring. Outdated. Your drag has failed to evolve since the 90s, and no one likes you in New York City. Do you know that? You’re not LIKED, because you need CHARISMA, to get gigs! That’s why the only place you work in you’ve been at since 1992.” Molly snaps her fingers.
“I am a superstar. I am a legend, and I don’t need you antagonizing me. Not from a two-bit thief.” Shiseido scoffs.
“YOU started the fight!” Molly says.
“And now, I’m ending it.” Shiseido puts two pillows to the side of her.
Molly looks pissed off. “Just know I’ll be taking this crown, and you’ll be placing last.”
Shiseido laughs. “Try it.”
“If I need to do it myself, I will. Don’t disrespect me again.” Molly growls.
Molly Moppit: “I performed well this week. I can banter, but do not disrespect or state I don’t do drag well. Because I may be a lot of things but bad at drag is definitely more Lady Gag's thing. .”
“Well, that was fun.” Niagara says, before bursting into tears.
Everyone looks confused.
“Oh-” Lokii looks at Niagara. “Are you-”
“I JUST THOUGHT!” Niagara yells. “I just-”
“So loud.” Ethan mutters.
Lokii awkwardly hands Niagara a tissue as she snorts into it.
“I really, really do enjoy my drag. I know I can do a lot- I am a talented Queen, I am a proud artist and- I know I can do BETTER THAN THIS!” Niagara continues to cry.
Lady Gag rolls her eyes, and then shrugs.
Lady Gag: “Actually, I might be in the bottom, for my runway, ridiculously enough. So I think- keep crying, girl, i’m going to beat you in the lip sync.”
“It’s really hard to be here, but we try our best, we perform and survive.” Lokii smiles.
“I just think it should be you in the bottom, with your dumb puppets.” Niagara sniffs into her tissue.
Lokii: “Ouch.”
“Okay.” Lokii nods, moving away to another seat and taking away the tissue box.
“All of you are annoying.” Ethan utters, eyeing everyone.
~
Welcome back, racers.
I’ve made some decisions.
Lokii… do a little more, next time, please. We’re wanting you to deliver.
You’re safe.
Lokii nods.
Shiseido, this week, you served.
You’re safe.
“Many thanks.” Shiseido bows.
Niagara.
Lady Gag.
…
…
…
You’re safe.
Everyone looks surprised.
“I promise, mama, I'll be doing more.” Niagara wipes a tear.
Lady Gag: “I mean, I was surviving regardless.” Lady Gag shrugs.
Molly Moppit.
Ethan Angel-Eye.
I’m sorry my dears…
Molly Moppit: “WHAT THE FUCCCCCCK?!”
Ethan Angel-Eye: “This is strange. This is… not something I’ve expected.”
You are the TOP TWO of the week.
The two look excitedly.
But that’s not all.
“Huh?” Niagara stares, confused.
This week, you will not only lip sync for the win- but an IMMUNITY POTION that you can use this season… to save yourself… or another from elimination.
“Oh my god.” Lokii gasps.
Molly Moppit: “I’m stealing that potion.”’
Lady Gag: “This changes a lot. This potion- it’s incredible power…”
The time has come… for you to lip sync FOR THE WIN!
**Whip It by Nicki Minaj starts to play**
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2fddz7vN9wA
Good luck… and don’t fuck it up!
Molly Moppit: “I am so excited for this. I like to perform. I like whips. And I WANT THIS POTION!”
Ethan Angel-Eye: “I’m here to assassinate this competition. And Molly? You’ve just become my first target.”
~
Next Time!
7 New Racers enter the competition!
“Leave it all to ME!” Carly Shay Jepsen winks.
Francesca La Fataliá: “Why is she crying?”
Nakomis Lotus sobs.
IMMUNITY POTION!
Shayla Moon: “This is my Sailor Moon Crystal, and I WILL have it.” Shayla cracks her knuckles.
~
Stats
Voting
Spreadsheet

I came to this subreddit about last week asking for first time advice - so I figured it’d be fitting to come back with my first time at Sleep No More Shanghai. Thank you everyone who left the lovely comments and advice on my first post - much appreciated! I’ve written this both to share my experience and hopefully to exorcise it from my head because it won’t leave me alone and I need to talk about it. So this is going to get incredibly long, sorry! And very spoilery further down.
TL;DR: utter insanity, beauty and wonder and I’m still replaying it in my head even now. Roping in unsuspecting friends to go with me was 100% worth it, and I’m now in my friend chats trying to put together a second trip to Shanghai because I am never going to make the NYC one. Well done, Punchdrunk.
I’d kept myself to only the barest outline of Sleep No More’s details. I knew about Punchdrunk, that it was immersive, and that it was based on Macbeth and Rebecca. That’s about it - and while I was very kindly linked a first-timer's guide on Reddit, I didn’t read it (sorry!).
The only things I took going in were “drink lots of water beforehand”, “dress up”, “wear comfortable shoes”, and “if an actor reaches a hand out it’s okay to take it if it’s meant for you”.
I’ve done immersive theatre before: I went to “The Invitation” in London a while ago, but while the experience was interesting it didn’t really stick. We were shuttled from one “set” to another by staff members, and it felt less immersive and more like a stage play that took place around you instead of onstage.
Sleep No More I know was nothing like that, but nothing could prepare me for that night. I also don’t quite remember the exact floors of where I was, which is definitely the point of Sleep No More - but might make things confusing. So be warned.
We did Sleep No More on the day we landed so I was somewhat jet-lagged. I know I was worried about missing the first loop in my last post, but now that I’ve experienced the show myself, I’m actually glad we didn’t go in at 7PM because of how much was happening around me. When I go a second time, I’ll definitely do the 7PM entry, but probably the next day after I land! Also probably going to dress up again - we all did, and I went for a slinky silk top, witch-themed jewellery and palazzo pants. I doubt the dressing up did anything for me to stand out - not when someone was running around in a full backless lace gown, but it helped me get immersed into the world.
I was not expecting to be shoved to the front and asked to navigate a pitch black room with lanterns as a guide. Incredibly atmospheric, the music was on point but also very scary. Reaching the Manderley was a reprieve, and I made a beeline towards the Manderley once I saw it.
Upon entry, I ended up alone and left to my own devices once I left the elevator. The first thing I did was to take a wrong turn and end up in the toilet. No, not the toilet built for the set, I mean an actual toilet for any visitors who needed to answer the call. I hastily retreated.
I think because I entered at the end of the first loop, I couldn’t find any of the characters, so I decided to wander around. From there I found myself in the hotel lobby, where I watched a man with guyliner croon into a microphone and make eyes at I think the porter.
I didn’t know what that was about yet, so I kept exploring to get my bearings. I spent the first half an hour or so getting lost and prodding/touching EVERYTHING that could be interacted with and not nailed down. Not the best approach, but the set’s details were beautiful: the mirrors, the covered furniture, the open books, the array of fork-knife crosses in the cupboards…
I explored the restaurant, the hotel lobby, the forest with the graveyard and the two apartments. At one point, a whole stream of people walked by following an actor, so I followed the crowd into the ballroom.
In the ballroom, I watched the actors dancing. I still wasn’t sure what to look for or where I should be doing, but that changed when I saw the maid drug a drink and try to offer it to a pregnant woman. I was hooked from that point on.
When the dance ended, I followed the pregnant woman (i.e. Lady Macduff) out of the room. Turns out I make a terrible tracker and an even worse detective, because I would proceed to spend the rest of the night losing track of people and finding myself in strange, foreign places. I eventually found Lady Macduff, the maid and the porter again and watched a scene where the maid and the porter were in an altercation, the porter trying to stop Lady Macduff from drinking from the glass.
The maid won, and I followed the maid because I was about 90% sure the drink was drugged again and why do you want to drug a pregnant woman so badly? I then lost her around a corner and went back to the lobby, where I watched Lady Macduff unpacking her suitcase and cuddling a teddy bear. I wanted to give her a hug there and then because she looked so lost and lonely. Lady Macduff sat down in the restaurant… and the maid re-appeared.
Havoc ensued, and during the maid and Lady Macduff’s interaction - chase, more like, my heart was very much in my throat. When the maid left, my path was blocked by a crowd of onlookers, but Lady Macduff made her way down to the ballroom again. I followed her there, and I watched the hypnotising but very trippy supper scene. At that point, even more questions came up, like: when did the guyliner crooner manage to lose most of his outfit, why was there a very bloody person at the table, why were people pointing at each other and oh god what did I miss.
I had more luck following the maid this time, and was even more intrigued after watching her fight and trap a man under a steel door. I stuck very closely to her and watched her tidy and neaten rooms, but still had no answer as to why she wanted to drug Lady Macduff. A small group of us had found the maid and were just following her around, watching her interact with another man (Duncan?) at one point by pointing out a gift box to him, and then when the man left she was dancing on the bed.
By this point, I was completely convinced the maid was supernatural and she had been tasked with interrupting Lady Macduff’s pregnancy or doing something to the unborn baby, because at one point she was trying to climb up the walls of the bedroom like a demon possessed. We all followed her to the next room where she did more tidying up, stopped at a door at the back of the room, held out a hand and looked at us. For a moment I thought it was to the girl next to me, and then I realised - nope, it was for me. By sheer dumb luck I got a one-on-one.
It was intense. She led me into this tiny, barely lit room where she asked me if I was tired and invited me to sit down. She took off my mask, told me to close my eyes and off I went. She told me to breathe deep and listen to the sound of the ocean, and she asked if I believed in ghosts and the supernatural. At one point, she said we could hear “him” in every footstep in the hotel, and around me the lights were dimming to just a flickering lightbulb and her face. She then led me to a bookshelf where she placed my hands on two cushions, moved aside something, and in the darkness was this blazingly-lit and beautifully made diorama of the bedroom outside. She pushed my face towards it, finished her monologue, and then it was over.
She told me not to be scared at one point and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. I can’t decide if this was part of the monologue or if this was her in-character way of telling me not to be nervous because I’m sure I was trembling in my seat. In my defence, I was sitting in a dark room, barely able to see as someone whispered in my ear about supernatural goings.
What I distinctly remember is how brilliant the actress here was. The maid has a very doll-like face that just commands your attention, and despite her even, gentle voice there was an underlying menace. Watching the lights fade around us reducing her to just a ghostly face in the dark was an brilliant experience.
At the end of the session, she led me out of the room, shut the door, and left me in the now-deserted apartment stunned and trying to compose myself. I didn’t see her again, but that was such a privilege.
I wandered past a scene of a man shaving another man on my way out. It probably was important because a lot of people were standing around watching, but I was still trying to calm down from the one-on-one. I went up one more floor and found all the shops and detective agency.
I entered the club where a couple was drinking a bottle of snake liquor that ended with the woman vomiting something up after drinking the shot. From there I went to the detective’s office, where I had way too much fun rifling through drawers and reading documents. I found Grace Naismith’s file, but I didn’t know what it was about, only that it might be a lead. I think if/when I go back, I’ll try and see if that leads to a plotline or if it’s just there for flavour.
For the rest of the night, I followed a bartender - I think? - into a rundown shack and watched a card game and a brutal murder. Turns out I’d just watched Macbeth kill Banquo, and I was none the wiser till I was comparing notes with my friends. I was struck by how bloody the whole thing was: yes, the beating was done behind the counter, but when Banquo was dragged backstage I caught a glimpse of the beaten-in-face and the blood. Don’t know how they did that, but it sent shivers down my spine.
I hung around watching the bartender clean up, drinking and trying to set the place to rights. We all heard footsteps, and I followed the bartender out to the doorway and watched supposedly-dead-Banquo walk away into the alley outside. Next to me, the bartender whisked the person standing beside me for another one-on-one. I was a little disappointed, but I’d gotten one already and I really shouldn’t be greedy.
At this point, I tried to go back into the shack to look at the cards pinned to the wall, but the stewards barred my way and led me downstairs. I ran into a waist-coated man also heading downstairs, and only then did it dawn on me the night was over. I watched Macbeth's execution at the final banquet, and the ending scene of him just swinging above the table, backlit by dark, moody lights… brr.
When my friends and I went back to the hotel room late at night, we alternately sat in dumbfounded silence or exploded into more theories. Upon comparing notes, we had seen completely different things and turns out, yes I did miss a lot, but I didn’t feel bereft at all. One of my friends studies lit, so she filled me in on several characters and context.
If I had any complaints though, it was how some members of the audience were behaving. I was routinely shouldered out of the way and pushed forward as they tried to get a better view. There were a few audience members who actually bent around to get into the actors’ faces while the actors were emoting, but I didn’t see a steward intervene once. Or maybe I missed it?
Also, the groups following Macbeth and Lady Macbeth were a lot. The doorways and staircases were nowhere wide enough for the crowd passing through, especially for the more popular characters, but I don’t know if this situation has already improved. You could also clearly tell who’d been there before, because they’d be standing at the actors’ exits obstructing the way.
I went home with a bookmark and a souvenir guide, but no t-shirt because the gift shop was incredibly crowded. Overall though: I’m hooked and am now planning my next trip to the McKinnon to find more characters. Apparently I missed two whole floors! I’m also very curious to know whether the one-on-one with the maid I got differs from what’s currently in NYC at the moment.
Hopefully I’ll get to go sooner than later, because I’d want to go one more time before it closes for good. Not any time soon though, because I'm still processing a lot.

200+ hours, 5+ full restarts and these are the tactics I use to excel and get over many bottle necks. When I first played I struggled a lot in the early game balancing and managing resources. Currently I am on day 60 with 3 towns liberated, 25 peasants, 5k gold, 12k renown. I spend A LOT of coin on food for buffs/books
Base Location
You can start anywhere on the upper map. No one spot is exceptional, the things to consider are proximity to 2 ores (Tin and Copper), Reeds, and Hunting. You want to limit transport time of your peasants and their tiny little inventory. wherever you start, place your first stockpile and a travel sign on the road, you are going to go back and forth a lot to this location. Ensuring storage and food crate are close to the sign will speed things up.
I suggest the large open patch South East of Haerndean; it's straight south of the pond in Haerndean with a tin node.
Travel Signs
Travel Signs everywhere! You will need a travel sign at each village but you also need them scattered at key POI and crossroads. The block on fast travel when a patrol is passing is huge (it's gotten bigger since launch). You need extra sign posts at area's you pass often or that are along major roads that patrols use often. Do your signs sooner rather than later (first 10 days). recruit your first 2-3 peasants then focus on getting your signs down at each village, Aleks hut (swear he's the only real herbalist) and the wheat farm south of Padstow. You also need to make the run down to Horndean, Crasmere, BlackRidgePool and on the swamp road. Get signs placed ASAP. You need the merchant's buffs (more below)
Recruitment
Recruit them all! Most of your peasants will be from Haerndean, a couple from Padstow. Don't worry too much about stats/job skills. Perks are the only thing that really matters, skills can be improved quickly. With apprentice level peasants if you get a bad roll on perks, recruit them, strip them naked and expel them. Apprentice level peasants the game will respawn another peasant that is the same type/tier. You are gonna want 3/4 of your army to be sword/shield and 1/4 archer. 2 handed weapons are not an effective option until early T3.
EDIT: once you start to liberate towns you will want to weed out all your non apprentice level peasants. you recover renown when you expel them and it reduces the cost of your next peasant. if the main stat max is below 7 you will want to replace them. Lower tier peasants can get combat perks at 7.
Use clothing to identify peasants and their roles. I use different helmets to quickly identify what a peasant does until late T2.
Focus on perks/combat skills
Peasant Tiers
Peasants can be 5 types, you can tell by the way they dress (these are my labels not in game labels):

1. Beggar -- Rags -- major Debuffs never recruit
2. Villager -- simple plain clothing -- cannon foddemeat shields 0-2 skills over 4
3. Working class -- Nice dress or white shirt with a blue sash --
4. Noble -- fine clothing with gold trim
5. Apprentice -- Job specific clothing -- special skills but random buffs/debuff. Recruit and expel them to get a good set of perks. *

Storage
Everyone manages storage differently, figure out what works for you. I place them in a semi circle in the center of my base and build my production structures around the outside of them in another circle. I like to compartmentalize things with a stockpile/barn for each: * Seeds, Ore, Wood/logs, Books, Raw food, cooked food, Herbs/plants, Materials, Equipment (weapons on weapon racks (3)).
Production
Produce what you need without a ton of extra. Don't try to overproduce/stockpile resources early game, storage is too limited, resources are too limited and prioritization doesn't work. Each peasant should have 3 jobs + delivery/labor (2-6) save P1 for being able to redirect the peasant set all other jobs to 9 so they do not become idle. If a peasant wanders off on a task you don't want them to do, make them a companion and release them; when they start back to work it resets their job priority. It's an easy way to get a wandering peasant back on track. * top up/ one-off Top up your tools (2 ea)/ammo, keep plenty of extra arrows on hand. Keep 25% of your population's shields on top-up. Plank shields break fast! Armor and weapons should have 1 spare on top-up everything else as one-off.
Outpost
You don't need them yet, but when you do: 2 people, stockpile, house, work building. Set up deliveries. Delivery happens nightly at midnight or weekly. The one off transfer doesn't really work as intended, it will keep trying to send that amount daily forever. There is no option for broken tools in deliveries. If your outpost uses a tool, set up a weekly transfer of good tools and go pickup the broken ones. Make sure your travel sign is as close as possible to the stockpile of an outpost to ensure speedy transfer of goods.
Personal outpost
Create a personal outpost that consists of 2-3 crates, weapon rack, smoke rack, cauldron inside your main base. Peasants won't touch it (unless your main storage overflows). I have an Ammo/weapon crate, Good Food, Books (if I have more then 2 for books I create a stockpile). You can also use this as a transfer point for remote farming. By remote farming I mean things like Peat, iron, moss, wood,
Gear
Gear (armoweapons) has very small increments of improvements. Trying to gear all your peasants with the tech you just researched will create a ton of waste. Since the tech tree is blocked and you have to research each step, get the first step produced (with 1-2 extra sets) and get to the last step for the tech level. Upgrade everyone's gear and throw the old gear in a box and eventually the outhouse.
Weapons: * Reinforced club until I unlock warhammer. Everyone uses blunt weapons since they work way better vs brigands Bows -- Everyone gets a bow/arrows forever Gloves -- hand wraps until thick gloves Boots -- Rugged boots (needed for quests later) until nomad boots Pants -- Rugged (need for quests) until Thick Breeches Shirt -- Adventurers Garb until Gambeson Cap -- Nothing until outriders helmet (see section on recruitment) *
Peasants Work!
A core tenant is that day time is for production and Quests. Night time is for work and grinding.* Peasants stop work at 9pm and don't start until 6 am the next day. At the end of each day I call in all the peasants and go farm something (reeds, herbs, wood/logs). Seed bags/logs slings for everyone. I keep these and spare axes in my equipment box for easy swap. You don't need to sleep until 6:45 am to get your daily buff so use every minute of the day. After the farming is done I go farm an encampment or a wolf pack.
wolf pack note: at different locations around the map ( SW padstow, east of Haerndean, west/SW of bradford lake, Waterfall near Bradford, +more ) large wolf packs of 10-15 wolves spawn, when I find a spawn I place a travel sign as close as possible and check back each season. these are great sources of hides/furs/XP
Skills
Combat is where you break the barrier of production in the game. Focus your skills on bow first then shield/hammer. The rest of your skills will come from books/time. Priorities and optimize your skill growth with strength books/bow. To do this you need buff; Blackridgepool, Crasmere, fishermen, and the roadside tavern near padstow lake all sell cloud berry's for a 50% XP buff. Fishermen sell fish stew, and cranberries are picked at the swamp (where you should have a travel sign for this purpose).

• Eat all 3 daily

You can max archery/agility in 50 days if you do this. Before you raid an encampment when you are grinding, shoot the corpse of animals/brigands as many times as you can before it decays. You still gain XP even after the animal is dead. You can put 90 arrows in a boaelk before it decays. because I go through so many arrows I keep a crate of just arrows always full then move it to my personal crate.
Strength, one handed and shields are slower since you don't get as many shots in but you can train them faster by blocking with your weapon, learn to time your attack against your opponents attack. All the AI telegraph where their attack is coming from and you swing against it, this gets you strength and shield XP as well as gives you a counter attack. Once you get the timing down it really simplifies the game.
Spend your apprentice books like an onlyfans simp. At one point I had 5-20 of each skill book because I couldn't spend them fast enough. I start each morning after sleep spamming books on every peasant. Strength books are the most valuable to me and two handed books are never used until late T2.
Combat
I saw a post here when I first started that said to buy straps at every opportunity and to save your gold for them. This was a complete waste for me. I have a stockpile full of just straps and I never purchased a single one. The key to this is the nightly attacks against brigand outposts.
The combat AI is not the best, one trick is to find a rock/ledge the AI cannot walk onto and stand there and shoot them in the head. If you kill all Melee AI the archers will run and start doing this strange dance of sprinting really far away then suddenly retargeting you from a huge distance away (outside render range). With these encampments you can't be too close to the encampment when you kill the last occupant or you will lose the encampment, you also have to be careful when traveling to Farnworth with your army that they don't accidently raid out the yellow encampment.
Southwest of Bradford is my favorite farm spot’s. There is a yellow base and a red base that are easy to farm. The yellow base is right next to a small canyon of rocks. Stand at the Y in the road, fire an arrow high (top of the smoke stack) and wait for them to aggro, once they aggro shoot them as you walk backwards to the rock edge, 2 quick jumps and you are untouchable. This base doesn't have archers and is also extremely high traffic for patrols. You can grind to level 7 bow/agility in about 10 days here.
Due south of Bradford is a red base with a bridge over the water, at the top of the hill on the west side is a rock that is the perfect size to stand on and not get hit. This base does have archers so be careful and use the tree for cover. Try to shoot the archers on the bridge as they rush.
Last place is the wheat farm south of Padstow. This is a little later than the other 2 but is doable very early game if you avoid the archers. The archers here can one shot you so place a travel sign extremely close. My spot is North east of the farm. Running north east from the farm towards the mud pit you keep going until you are close to the road, you will see a single rock outlier that you can stand on and shoot them easily. This is also a way to farm leatherawhide before you unlock the tanner.
Last spot in the bridge between Blackridge pool and the starter area. This area is patrol heavy with Mid level and high tier brigands, there are lots of edge's on the east side of the bridge where you are unreachable. The downside is that most of the archers here can one-shot you so 3-4 travel signs are prudent.
Raids
Honestly, I turned them off after T2 started. Before that they were set to hard/frequent. there are so many raiding party's, reclamation party's, tax party's and the infinite respawn brigands at Farnworth they were nothing more than an annoyance and distraction.
Libertas
I was able to liberate Haerndean around day 15, this was way too soon and I went back to an older save. Before you liberate your first town you want to reach friendship level with all 4 starting towns and be able to build village shrines(T2). In this whole guide I've not mentioned old coins/wolf teeth because I only use them to get to friendship level with a town. Once I hit friendship level I spam shrines at the town to get to protector. Once I reach protector I place a stockpile (in its own outpost) and transfer all goods to build a bell tower and extra food. Place the bell tower, kill the brigands and wait out the raiding/reclaim parties. There are only 2 paths from the brigand headquarters up the map. Place travel signs along the way near 'safe' rocks and spawn along their path to thin out the party. While you are engaged in guerilla warfare, have your army march in two groups (archers/shields) to the town to defend.
That's about all I have.

Page 1:
The scene opens with Sukuna standing tall, his malevolent aura permeating the air. Yuji, battered but determined, stands across from him. The air crackles with tension.
Sukuna (smirking): So, you still have the will to fight, brat?
Yuji (gritting his teeth): This ends here, Sukuna.
Page 2:
As Yuji prepares himself, a sudden shift occurs. The background warps, and we are transported to a vast, ethereal plane. Gojo Satoru stands facing Sukuna, both in their spiritual forms.
Gojo: So, this is where we meet again, Sukuna. Enjoying your victory?
Sukuna (scoffing): Victory? Your death was inevitable, Gojo Satoru. You should have accepted it sooner.
Page 3:
Gojo (grinning): Oh, come on. You know it wasn’t that easy. Took a binding vow to finally take me down, huh? The King of Binding Vows, that's what you should call yourself.
Sukuna (scowling): Mock me all you want, but you’re out of the picture now.
Gojo: Am I really, though? Look closely. Your time is running out.
Page 4:
The scene shifts back to the real world. Yuji, with a fierce resolve, begins to chant the incantation for his Domain Expansion. The ground beneath him starts to tremble.
Yuji: Domain Expansion...
The atmosphere grows heavy, and Sukuna's eyes widen in recognition.
Yuji: ...Boxing Ring of Nullification!
With a thunderous roar, Yuji’s Domain Expansion manifests. A massive boxing ring materializes, its ropes humming with cursed energy nullification.
Page 5:
Sukuna and Yuji find themselves inside the ring. A strange, almost calming energy envelops them both, healing their wounds. Sukuna stretches, feeling his full strength restored.
Sukuna (grinning): A fair fight, huh? Interesting choice, brat. I’ll enjoy crushing you at your best.
Yuji: Let's settle this once and for all, Sukuna!
Page 6:
The two fighters clash in the center of the ring. Fists fly with explosive force, each blow sending shockwaves through the domain. Yuji matches Sukuna's brutal strength with his own relentless determination.
Yuji (thinking): I have to keep pushing... I can't let him win!
Page 7:
Sukuna's blows are monstrous, but Yuji's endurance and skill keep him in the fight. Blood and sweat mix as they trade powerful punches, each refusing to back down.
Sukuna: You're tougher than I thought, brat. But it won't save you.
Yuji: I've had enough of your arrogance!
Page 8:
Both fighters are visibly tired and damaged. Yuji's breathing is ragged, but his eyes burn with determination. Sukuna, too, is showing signs of wear, his movements slightly slower.
Yuji (thinking): Now... it's now or never!
Page 9:
In a moment of sheer willpower, Yuji feels a surge of energy. Sparks of black begin to dance around his fists, a phenomenon known only to the strongest jujutsu sorcerers.
Yuji (thinking): The sparks of black... I’ve been chosen!
Page 10:
Yuji channels this newfound power into his final attack. With an explosive burst of energy, he leaps towards Sukuna, his fist aimed for an uppercut.
Yuji: This is the end, Sukuna!
Page 11:
Sukuna's eyes widen in shock as Yuji's fist, empowered by the sparks of black, connects with his chin. The force of the blow lifts him off his feet, sending him crashing to the ground.
Page 12:
Sukuna, now lying on the ground, feels his consciousness slipping. For the first time, a look of genuine surprise and defeat crosses his face.
Sukuna (weakly): Impossible...
Yuji (panting): It's over, Sukuna. This is where it ends.
Page 13:
The domain starts to dissolve, the boxing ring fading away. Yuji, exhausted but victorious, stands over Sukuna's defeated form.
Yuji (thinking): It's finally over... I did it.
Page 14:
As the domain fully collapses, the ground beneath Yuji and Sukuna cracks and breaks. Yuji's eyes are filled with rage and determination. He steps towards Sukuna, fists clenched.
Yuji: No... it's not over yet.
Page 15:
Yuji goes berserk, launching himself at Sukuna with renewed fury. Each punch he lands causes the ground to shake and crack, the sheer force of his blows shattering the earth beneath them.
Yuji (screaming): This is for everyone you've hurt!
Page 16:
Sukuna, unable to defend himself, is pummeled by Yuji's relentless assault. Blood splatters with each hit, and the ground continues to break apart under the immense pressure.
Sukuna (gasping): You... little...!
Yuji (roaring): Shut up! You don't get to speak!
Page 17:
Yuji's fists are a blur, each punch fueled by his rage and grief. The impact of his blows creates shockwaves, sending debris flying in all directions. Sukuna's body is battered and broken.
Yuji (thinking): For everyone... for Gojo-sensei... for Megumi!
Page 18:
Sukuna, now barely conscious, lies in a crater formed by Yuji's relentless attack. Yuji stands over him, breathing heavily, his fists still trembling with fury.
Yuji: You... will... never... hurt anyone... again.
Page 19:
As Yuji prepares to deliver the final blow, a soft, ghostly light appears beside him. It's Gojo, watching over his student with a proud smile.
Gojo (softly): You did it, Yuji. It's over.
Page 20:
Yuji, tears streaming down his face, looks at Gojo's apparition. With a final, resolute nod, he raises his fist one last time.
Yuji: FOR EVERYONE.... THIS IS YOUR END, SUKUNAAAA!!!!

When Quicktalon finally woke up, his heart leaped to his throat as he noticed that the sun was beginning to set. A gruff voice chuckled to his alarm before he could act on his sudden panic, “Sit down, you crazy ostrich. You’re fine. Achira has been taken care of, the fire lit, and your dinner is near the fire to keep warm.” Quicktalon froze at the new voice, slowly turning towards the owner of this new visitor, but his eyes seemed to have been playing tricks on him. His brother Fleet was nearby and changing his sister’s bandages.
“Fleet?” he asked softly, his eyes still wide at seeing his battle-scarred brother. “H-how are you here?! The search party for the missing Drakes and Dragons left months ago!” he exclaimed, a grin growing as happy tears began to warm his eyes. It had been far too long since he had last seen his brother. “Well, we were on our way back from the most northern searches, and we found a few traces of what could have happened, but we need to send out another search party after we Rest and replenish our supplies. But I have heard the great news!” Fleet said as he hugged his brother, “ I’m so proud of you!” He exclaimed, pulling his brother into a hug, “I can’t believe you’ve grown so much from that little drake who never left our grandmother's side and always got into scrapes from running too fast.” He laughed softly.
Quicktalon chuckled at his brother’s lighthearted jesting, “ Grandmother always made healing fun and exciting, and I wanted to be able to follow in her talon steps and help those who helped us when we were little drakelings.” He said with a smile, “But now, I have a chance to truly save dragonkind from this dangerous threat, hopefully with getting this information out to the world and traveling to Scholar’s Whispering Peak, I can also get more information on what happened to our Grandmother and hopefully what had happened to our parents all those years ago.”
A smile ghosted Fleet's lips. He knew that something had happened to his grandmother; they had the signs and were Grandmother her. But the more his troop searched, and the more evidence was uncovered, the more serious this strange tail became. He hadn’t mentioned it yet to their pack leader. Still, Drakes across the savanna were going missing, some dragons and even the notoriously hidden Arctic dragons.
Dozens of Dragons of all kinds were going missing. The Sea Orcs were the only ones who witnessed this strange occurrence. They were too big for anything to happen to them, but the cause of the disappearing dragons needed to be uncovered and solved before the giant sea dragons began to disappear. But Fleet couldn’t ruin his brother’s excitement and joy over this. So, for now, he kept quiet and continued praising his brother for his magnificent discovery.
“I need to start getting ready. I’ve got a big trip ahead of me. I need to pack plenty of supplies and ensure I have enough to trade for a thick fur cover to protect me from the freezing temperatures at the summit of the Scholars Whispering Peak.” Quicktalon said, “I can’t wait to be able to spend more time with you and Achira as soon as she fully recovers from the effects of the viper.” He explained with a soft chuckle, “ but I will be back soon, hopefully before winter settles over the lands, which, with it being the middle of New Life, I should have time to make it to the coast and get assistance through the ocean and onto the nearest coastline on the other side.”
Fleet looked concerned at the plan his brother had just explained. " Are you sure that is safe? I’ve met traveling Sea Orcs and been told how long and perilous a journey across the sea can be for Drakes and Dragons of our size!” Fleet explained fear etched deep into his face as he couldn’t imagine his little brother in the middle of a raging and violent sea. “ It would be better to travel on land. You’d get there much safer and without the risk of your research getting ruined from the sea's moisture.”
Quicktalon took a moment to consider. Is a trip like that more manageable? Would it be safer to traverse land rather than sea? “Are there any maps I can get? Can you help me figure out a quick and safe journey from our home to the Scholars Whispering Peak? If the sea is too dangerous, I will need to figure out a different way to get to the scholars and hopefully get there before the snow season starts.” He said, “Do you know if the pack to our North sells maps of the continent and trade routes I could follow?” He asked while moving to a chest with chunks of gold and jewels he could trade for a map. He even wrote quick instructions for effectively healing and removing the venom from the bite of an Orid Viper. Fleet watched as his brother gathered enough items for trade; each pack had different trade requirements depending on the situation and status.
“Do you remember what they ask for trade?” Quicktalon asked as he set his collected gems and precious metals into a small side pouch strapped to his front right upper forearm. Fleet thought momentarily and tried to remember when his troop had last passed through the pack to the North. “ I believe they take both jewels and food, so we might want to stop and catch something for them to eat on our way over to the North Pack,” Fleet said as he sharpened his dull talons on a nearby rock, “ a water buffalo perhaps would be a good trade-off.” He said, “with the upcoming heat wave, they might appreciate more food for their youngins.”
“Then it's settled. Let's head to the North Pack and trade for a map for a trade route to Scholars Whispering Peak.” Quicktalon said, ensuring his research was set somewhere safe and out of the way of any potential spills or papyrus-eating worms. “Let’s go. The hottest part of the day is over for now, and the animals should be coming back from mid-day hibernation so we can snag a water buffalo on the way to them,” Quicktalon said while moving to give his sister healing wound a quick check-over. Once everything was in good shape, Quicktalon and Fleet left the medical hut. They began their journey to the North Pack and hopefully snagged a water buffalo on the way toward their destination.
Both brothers carefully left the medical hut and began looking around Earthquake to tell him where they were heading and their plan for QuickTalon to get to the Scholars Whispering peaks before winter hit. It wasn’t too hard to find the elder drake, as he was once again leading the younger drakes in battle practice for the potential war that seemed to be whispering on the horizon. “WATCH YOUR TALONS! FOR MOTHER DRAKE’S SAKE HEATSTROKE, DUCK! USE YOUR FIRE!” Earthquake shouted, drilling the almost grown drakes in new and much faster battle techniques. “Things must be getting worse if Earthquake is so worried about what’s been happening. It worries me.” Fleet murmured to QuickTalon, fear and worry evident on his face as he watched the young drakes practice their battle maneuvers as if they were currently fighting the actual enemy.
The mock battle went on for what felt like an eternity before Earthquake called for the young drakes to take a break and get a drink of water. “ Freshen up! Get a drink and take a moment to breathe! You must keep practicing if we ever need to go to war against this new and unknown enemy!” He commanded while walking over to see what QuickTalon and Fleet wanted to discuss. “ Welcome back, Fleet, and I’m happy to see that your search troop all came back with no casualties.” He said in greeting, “But what can I do for you both? I can see that there is something you both wish to tell me.” He said while peering down his snout at the younger of the group, “We plan to head to the northern pack and trade something of value for a trade route map to the Scholars Whispering Peaks. The initial route is dangerous, and the humid air could ruin my research.” QuickTalon explained, “With the scorching season rolling in, we thought bringing a water buffalo to trade for a map would be helpful.”
Earthquake seemed impressed by the current plan, “ while that is a good idea, the Northern Pack have been plagued recently by attacks from humans, or at least what seems to be left of that species; if you want to help, I’m sure food, water and medical attention will benefit them most.” He explained, “ but you both have my permission to go to the Northern Pack, just come back here, and I’ll help get you an assistant to stand in your place as a healer until your return.” Earthquake said, a smile gently ghosting across his snout, “now go on little ones, the sun is getting ready to set, and the water buffalo will be out to graze and drink at the nearby watering holes.” “Yes, sir, we will be back within three days,” QuickTalon said with a nod as he and his brother were dismissed and permitted to head off toward the Northern Pack.
With the dry dirt and plants crunching under their talons, QuickTalon turned and followed Fleet toward the Northern pack. “If humans are attacking them, what should we do if we see one?” QuickTalon asked after a long pause in the conversation, “Well,” Fleet started as if trying to recall a memory, “ my commander said that if you see a human, to kill on sight. While most humans are not dangerous to us as adults, they still threaten our young and elderly.” He explained, “Although I have yet to see a human, I have heard conflicting reports and statements about humans. Some are nice and have been seen helping others and the environment we live in, and some are on constant paths of destruction, burning, and taking like the worst of us dragons. Filled with greed and the never-ending satisfaction that they will never have enough stuff to put into their horde, they kill everything on their path to get what they want.”
QuickTalon’s eyes widened in both fascination and absolute horror at what he was hearing, and he had never realized that something so small and without fire or claws or just something to defend itself could be so destructive. “ But, is there a way to tell which ones are good and bad? Surely all of them can’t be rotten, can they?” He asked, jumping in fright when a breaking twig cracked nearby. “I’m sure there is, but for now, we’ve been told to just kill on sight.” He said softly, “ I know you want to help save the world, but you must remember, QuickTalon, that not everyone can or wants to be saved. You will need to know when to save yourself, and don’t let those who want to drown pull you under with them.” He said, eyes staring off into the distance, seeming to be looking at or hearing something out in the distance that only he could see. Quicktalon wasn’t sure how to respond to his brother’s worries. He was worried that his brother might know something more about this dangerous situation than he did, but he knew that he needed to keep his head clear and his eyes forward during this difficult time. “Brother, I know you are worried and want to find Grandmother, but spiraling off into the unknowns and the shadows will not help us find her. I believe in you and the others, but you need to take a breath and remind yourself where you are and your focus.” Quicktalon said, listening intensely to his surroundings while following his brother North. “ We will find Grandmother and the other missing Drakes, but for now, we need to rest our worried minds to start with a clean slate in the morning. If we let our brains become muddled, we could miss important details. So for now, let's just rest our heads and worry about finding a water buffalo and getting a map.”
Fleet sighed deeply, “You’re right, brother. Worrying about all the what-ifs has been muddling my mind. I’ve been so stressed over all of the potential possibilities I have lost the main focus of my mission. To bring the lost and the missing home.” He said, shaking his head ever so slightly as if trying to clear his head from the dark thoughts that had muddled his brain for many years. “ But I agree, let us get that water buffalo and trade for the map. Once we return and rest, my troop and I will follow you to the first trading post and head toward the North. Perhaps we might meet again on your journey.” Fleet hummed softly before snapping his gaze towards the direction of something he had heard. “Shh, I hear something!” He whispered while dropping into a low crouch and moving almost silently through the tall brush and grass toward the sound he had heard.
Quicktalon did the same and followed his brothers' movements. The grass hissed and crunched softly under their talons as they approached the top of a small hill. With careful movements, the brothers peered over the hill. The water buffalo migration had begun, and thousands of bison were resting around the large pond. “ The migration.” Quicktalon murmured, “Would it hurt if we managed to grab a few bison for the Northern pack?” He asked, “ I don’t know how many drakes are in the Northern Pack, but with the hot season approaching, maybe it would help to bring them a few bison to preserve before the migration leaves?” He asked if he knew they needed to preserve the circle of life, but he had no idea what the status of this other pack could be since it had been at least forty years since he had last seen the pack at the semi-annual Drake packs meet-up.
“Perhaps, although I don’t want to end up overwhelming the Northern pack with food. But I agree, with the scorching season approaching, packs will need as much food as possible.” Fleet murmured while slowly dropping into a hunter's crouch, “ I will go for the two deep in the water. You grab the one heading out.” He instructed, to which Quicktalon agreed. He adjusted his satchel and ensured his research was safe before waiting for his brother's signal. With a hiss, Fleet shot over the hill, running as fast as he found towards the two water buffalo in the water. Grunts, groans, and high-pitched bellows filled the air as the water buffalo panicked and ran away from the large drakes.
Thunderous hooves and cries filled the air as the buffalo pushed and shoved into each other while fighting to escape the predators. Quicktalon narrowed his eyes, planted all four talons to the ground, and lunged at the water buffalo. The bison bellowed in fear and swung its head, trying to gore Quicktalon with its horns, but with a sharp turn of his body, he narrowly managed to avoid the deadly horn and sink his teeth into the back of the buffalo’s neck. The buffalo’s wails increased before being silenced with a loud crack, its body falling limp in Quicktalon’s jaws and its head rolling loosely. Loud splashing drew the younger drakes' attention; the second water buffalo ganged up on his brother. With a roar of anger, Quicktalon dropped his fresh kill and thundered through the water toward the second buffalo. The second buffalo barely had time to react before Quicktalon threw himself on the bison’s back and began pulling on its horns to steer it away from his brother.
The bison bellowed angrily and bucked as hard as possible, trying to throw the younger drake off. But Quicktalon held on tight, and with an angry snarl, he gripped the horns tightly in his talons, and with a harsh twist and a loud snap, the bison’s neck was broken. The bison collapsed into the water with a splash. Quicktalon was breathing hard as he tried to catch his breath after such a stressful moment. Fleet growled as he finally managed to take down his water buffalo, “ Fleet, are you okay?” Quicktalon asked, moving through the water, the muddled water sloshing around his talons.
“ I—I’m okay, I just… need to catch my breath.” Fleet panted as he caught his breath. I don’t know why that was so difficult. It shouldn’t have been.” He panted while pushing himself up and moving to collect the two limp water bison. “Let’s get these to the North Pack. We are almost there.” He said while letting Quicktalon assist him with lifting the two freshly killed bison onto his back. “Alright, but as soon as you need to take a break, let me know,” Quicktalon said as he walked over to the water buffalo he killed and hoisted it onto his back.
Fleet nodded in agreement, and the two began the final leg of their trek toward the Northern pack. Crickets began to chirp and sing as the sun set, lighting the sky in a brilliant mixture of pinks, reds, and oranges. Quicktalon smiled, stared at the beautiful sky, and grew even more excited when the fireflies lit up and danced around the land. “ You’ve always enjoyed this time of year, haven’t you?” Fleet asked with a smile, “ I do. The beautiful sunsets, the lightning bugs, and the soft songs of crickets. It always brings me joy.” Quicktalon replied with a happy smile in return. “Whenever I am scared, I think of nights like this to help calm me down.” He explained with a soft chuckle, “Grandmother even painted me a painting of one of these nights. I still treasure that painting the most.” He said, reminiscing about when his grandmother gifted him the painting of his favorite sunset.
“We will find her, Quicktalon, I promise,” Fleet said as he gently shouldered his brother with a soft sigh. “ I know, Fleet, but I’m still worried. She vanished without a trace.” He said softly, shifting the weight of water buffalo on his back to accommodate for the extra weight. “ I believe you brother, but, I still cant’t believe that someone or something like this could have happened.” He murmured, “although I do hope that we can figure out what has happened and we can bring our grandmother home.” Quicktalon said as he tried to enjoy his favorite evening.
Fleet nodded, “ well, we are almost to the Northern Pack, hopefully they have something that can help.” He said, nodding his head towards the approaching lights in the distance, “ good, hopefully they can help.” Quicktalon sighed before a set of drakes in heavy armor thundered towards them, anger written on their faces. “HALT!” One of the guards roared. “W-whats going on?” Quicktalons asked, unsure of why the guards were so angry. “ Your grandmother and her pack of drakes destroyed our village!”

These are the instructions for a wedding I am invited to, but not participating in. I read this as "black suit with a different color tie." I do not own a black suit, I own a nice dark gray suit. I briefly went suit shopping and don't really wanna spend $400 on something I will wear once over the next 4 years or so.
For context, I am military and am typically wearing a uniform to formal events. In every other situation, my dark grey suit is appropriate. But they specified the color black. The groom is a close friend (also military) and certainly doesn't care. I don't want to throw off whatever color coordination pictures the bride is hoping to take though.
Option 1: Bite the bullet don't be a cheap skate and buy a black suit.
Option 2: Wear black pants and a black button shirt (lower than semi-formal, but I imagine every single guest will not be in a suit).
Option 3: Wear the dark gray suit
Option 4: Buy an Amazon black suit that certainly won't fit very well, but who cares because the jacket will come off after the formal part of the wedding for dancing and I likely won't be in any official pictures. Return Amazon suit to it's chinese seller after the wedding.

Waking up in the middle of the night I find myself restless
So much has come into focus in the last few days. The station, my first steps on another world. It is all a bit overwhelming. Relaxing my thoughts drift off thinking about how I got here. A young girl on Europa, being selected for training after my aptitude tests, the Academy on Ganymede. Then as always my thoughts drift back to… her…
Lucy…
We started at rivals at the academy, we were from different worlds. Literally, me from Europa a wet ocean world remote and isolated, her an inner worlder from the hot dusty plains of Venus. We were water and fire.
The professors pitted us against each other from day one, based on our aptitude tests we were the top of the class. They split the class into teams and gave us challenges. I like to say I got the better of her, I was fast out the gate winning a few challenges. But Lucy turned back on me in a vengeance, she had a magnetism to her that caused our classmates to almost be addicted to her. People from my team would defect over to Lucy. Soon I found myself vastly outnumbered.
One day after Lucy and her team thrashed me again in a simulated strategy challenge. I left and I needed to be alone. I showered, went into the sauna. Replaying the moves again and again. How was I going to get the upper hand. She outnumbered me so much.
Everyone knew to leave me alone in the sauna. It was where I thought, relaxed, my place of peace. I was frustrated, I lean back against the wall and let me hands wander. Gently down my body, letting my stress evaporate as I tease myself…Then the door opened…. And it was Lucy. A cocky grin in her face.
We had been thinking about nothing but each other and we had both become obsessed. When that tension broke. Let me just say in a sauna fire and water combine to make something beautiful. Lucy and I did as well.
She moved towards me quickly, letting her towel drop, she was direct with a purpose. Grabbing the back of my head and kissing me deeply. I was shocked.. surprised... Excited..
I grabbed the back of her head and kissed her back. A deep need inside of me welling up, our lips slid across each other's as our tongue intertwined. I poured my life water of passion into her. She flared up and accepted my passion. Her hands exploring my body as I moved my knees between her legs.
Fuuuccckkk…. When she arched her back… so beautiful… MMM nnngghhhh an orgasm washed over me in my bed while I thought of Lucy.
Panting… even after all this time, separated by a waygate and unfathomable distance my body still yearned for her, I still yearned for her. Rolling onto my side I stare out my window into the vastness of space and the void. My fingers still ryhmically dancing on my pussy. Fingers sliding in and out
Your taught at the academy not to develop attachments, especially since the top prize, the highest honor of our training, to one day fly a deep space exploration through a waygate. Which would put us alone, in a different system. Like I am now.
Even if I power up my waygate in record time and rush home. Lucy is most likely gone. She was my alternate, meaning had I been unable to go this time she would have. It also means she most likely the deployed to her own system and would be gone before I returned. Likely I would never see her again.
Biting my lips and pressing a hand out onto the glass…yes…yes.. there
Fuck again….Fuucckkkkk LLLLuuucccCC
EeeeeeeeeerrrrrreeeemmmmmAAAAAA, a beautiful black haired woman orgasms in a bed identical to Emeras save the ambient lighting is blue inside of pink.
Fuck…. That was good. I find myself panting as I step out into the hallway of my ship. 2 days since the waygate, 6 months since I last saw Emera. Since she departed through her gate. Stars know if she still lives.
It was a rare happening, another gate coming online shortly after Emera’s departure. I thought I would be flying routine patrols around the system. Now I'm alone. Alone with my thoughts of her, and my AI Julia. Fuck. Why couldn't we have gone together. Why only one pilot to a ship. Who knows maybe she's thinking of me. Technically the systems we are in are closer together than home. That's something…
You're probably wondering if I was outnumbered and Lucy normally had my number in competition then how did I get to leave first. Yes, I did sleep with high command. That was only my closing argument though. You see Lucy had her magnetism that caused people to be addicted to her, she drew people in. But I was better at strategy and nuanced maneuvers.
The rules weren't strict on the teams, people defected all the time. Keeping your people together was part of the challenge. I decided to break that challenge.
No Battleplan survives first contact with the enemy afterall. Why not break the competition itself
My enemy wasn't Lucy, trust me we had been together enough at this point my heart swelled when I saw her. My enemy was the rules, and proctors.
There had to be two team in the academy for the lessons to work. But the rules only set a minimum not a maximum.
Lucy and her best 4 left her team, and me and my best 4 left my team. We formed a new team with Lucy and I at the head. The proctors were fuming. I was called into their offices again and again. Which is what led to me sleeping with a few of them to get ahead. It is always good to solicit a meeting with superiors, you can always be turned to your advantage.
In the Academy, there were 50 of us girls. The proctors let us keep our 3rd team, but declared no one else could join us. It was the ten of us vs double our number on both the other teams. Not ideal… but we had Lucy and I together. My how we shined
We out maneuvered, out paced, and out thought the other teams again and again and again..
Entering into the final the proctors split everyone up, eliminating the team. Just to try and stop us from sweeping the competition. Instead there would be 25 teams of 2 members each of our own selection. Lucy and I naturally selected each other.
We set down on a terraformed valley on Mars, all the other duos were around. The mission was complex. Gather knowledge, survive in the wilderness, there were simulator villages where we had to set up relations, and if possible eliminate other teams.
The gravity is different from what I'm used to, my body feels heavy. Sluggish, they train us on this and soon I'll adapt. But first landing it hits me like a weight. Ffuuuccckkk I murmur as I land my account ship on the surface.
Lucy always compares a new celestial body to a lover. Well for me Mars just grabbed my hair, slapped my ass and pushed in
Fuck I can't imagine landing on Earth. Triple this, fuck that give me my moon mother's oceans anyday.
I suck deep and hard on the control in my mouth and all three extract from me. I am about to get up from the control seat when I feel a palm in the small of my back
“Lucy not funny, let me up” I say
She giggles, and rubs my ass cheeks before her fingers rub against my lips
I moan biting my lip as I push myself against her hand
“I knew the gravity here would give a Moonie like you a good fucking, you're so wet my love”
Rolling my head back and forth..”quickly we have to debrief and set up camp” I moan
She smacks my ass again and her fingers deftly slide to work, one hand pinning me to the chair while she teases my sex, her thumb rubbing in perfect circles on my clit and her fingers pulling on my g-spot
“Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes uuuhhhhh my love it feel so good” shaking my hips back and forth I feel it building as I rock my hips on her hand
Squeezing….my leg….quivering… my voice squeaking… “uuuuuuuhhhhhhhhh ffuuuccckkk” I moan as I feel the orgasm wash over me…
Lucy slaps my ass playfully and licks her fingers… “let's go my love, stop playing around we have to set up camp” she giggles
“Oh!! You!!” I get up and rush after her slapping her ass when I catch up
Carryalls follow us out of the ship.. I immediately sent out the scout drones and assessed our landing spot. Allocating tasks and running diagnostics.
Lucy set about converting the ship to a shelter and arranging power arrays, and deciding on perimeter defenses
We were a perfect power duo. Our carryalls and scouts were soon all at work, and Lucy was finishing up the shelter
I needed to repay her, so I slowly walked up behind her. She heard my heavy steps in the gravity. Turning to look at me she beamed at me. My heart melted and grabbing both sides of her face I pinned her to the side of the ship. Our bodies intertwined and our lips locked.
She moaned at me giggling, pushing my knee between her legs, and we quickly undressed each other. Her mouth on my breast, as my hand glided down to her slick vagina.
Grabbing her chin roughly and up turning her head exposing her neck I sink my teeth into it as I push forward with my knee back and forth pressing my fingers in and out of her.
A deep moan emanates from her, licking my bite mark I kiss up her neck until my forehead is resting hers. Eye to eye, I watch the pleasure build in her. Thrust after thrust of my knee. My fingers pressing into her g-spot every time, my palms pressing and grinding onto her clit
“Cum for me my love, give me your sweetness, I want your water to be the first I drink on this planet” I breath
I feel her pussy tighten and grip my fingers. Her legs twisting around me… she goes silent… a flush rises in her flesh… we kiss deep, and long, and passionately as I feel her gush onto my hand as orgasm rapts her body..
I watch her eyes dilate and relax I kiss her gently again before kissing down, my lips brushing through her pubic hair tickling my lips. Opening my mouth and pressing my tongue in I drink of her orgasm
My fingers inside pressing to work again, she cries out as she rocks her hips grinding her lips to mine. As she gushes another orgasm into my mouth..
I can even taste and feel it now on my tongue…
Releasing her, and helping her up I grin
Walking awayz the top of my leotard open my tits out in the sun
“I'm up by one my love, and you taste so GGGGOOOOoooOOooddddDD” I giggle setting back to work.
Days and weeks pass Lucy and I set up our camp. Wefind nearby teams before they find us. We quickly fall on them in the night, clearing our immediate area, eliminating them from the contest. We bathe in a nearby stream, sun ourselves on the rocks, make love on the soft moss of the forest.
I don't know if I've ever been happier, ever been more at peace l than I was then with Lucy. Her and I… her and I against the world.
We make good progress setting up relations with 12 of the 15 villages. Our camp is well stocked. We receive updates from the proctors from dead drops. Seems out of the 25 teams only 8 remain. Lucy and I have eliminated 7 ourselves.
We need to be the last standing, triumphant together.. so that maybe.. maybe we can convince them to send two of us on a ship. Imagine the wonders, this wouldn't be temporary, but would become our life.
Lucy and I talk about it often. We can convince them. We'll defeat the others then refuse to turn on each other.
Our dream died that night…
We were naked, curled up in each others arms when the alarm sounded..all the alarms
Proximity alert for 14 signals… they had teamed up on us. 14 on 2 they were going to eliminate the front runners while they still could.
Fuck.
Lucy and I turned and quickly downed our emergency biotic vials just as a concussive blast hit our ship shelter.
“Fuck! They aren't supposed to attack equipment!” I yell
“The proctors must have sent them, they should be intervening with that!” Lucy says
“You're better in a fight, charge them and I'll flank” I yell
We nod at each other and we are off naked as the day we were born
Lucy bursts from our ship her shield bursting out in front of her
I dart out the side and task our scouts and drones to make dive bomb attacks on the intruders
I leap over a blast, grab a tree branch and swing. I land my legs on either side of the head. Of one the attackers, twisting my flip her over and knock her out. Back on the run, I see Lucy take out another one as drones dive in and out of the chaos.
Lucy blocks to her right and charges blasting herself high into the air, twirling before blasting herself downward tackling her target to the ground and eliminating her.
She's about to get blasted from behind when I take the attackers in the flank, knee to the solarplex. My hand on the side of her neck I thrust up hard with my knee. In the low gravity she turns and flies off into the trees as I raise my hands and blast another in the side.
She turns just in time to block my attack, when Lucy rockets into her side with her elbow

This thread is about to be very long, and I will be adding to it frequently, but this is how I would write season 3 of Euphoria since Sam is obviously preoccupied with god knows what. This came to me in a dream so call it fate ig.
Background- since season 2 ends with the card that Rue stayed sober through the rest of junior year, and Lexi’s play takes place in the spring, I thought it’d be best to pick up on the first day of their senior year in the fall. This means that Cassie, Maddie, and Nate have all graduated, leaving us with Rue, Jules, Lexi, Elliot, Bobbi, Ethan, BB & Kat. Also Gia, the Parents, and Ali. Anyways here goes.
Episode 1- I Stayed Sober (Mostly)
[Scene 1]: The Last First Day Episode One opens with a black screen that has flashes of red and blue, like police sirens, that increasingly become more intense and vibrant, to indicate Rue coming out of a dissociative state. She narrates over the screen:
“You want to know the worst part about staying sober? It’s not the withdrawals or the cravings, even though they’re pretty fucking bad. It’s not even the depression or the emptiness you feel without your poisonous security blanket protecting you from your worst thoughts and emotions. The worst part about staying sober, is that you’re trapped back in the fucked up world that made you want to do drugs in the first place”
The red and blue screen shifts to police sirens with cops yelling in an attempt to evacuate everyone from the school. It’s raining and the sky is gray and muddy. All the students are now wearing muted uniforms in the school colors, blue black and white (the uniforms are explained later) The scene looks very muted and drained. As the students flood out of the school in a frenzy, we see Rue and Lexi standing at the exit, uninterested in the theatrics and significantly changed from last season.
Rue has a brighter disposition to herself, appearing more soft and bright, while keeping her moody demeanor. Her look shows that she is trying her best to be more optimistic, despite going through hell from her plethora of mental illness that have now taken over due to her sobriety. Still, she looks healthier and brighter.
Lexi, on the other hand, has a more goth like appearance. In addition to her new dark black hair with red colored streaks (red to signify her stepping into her power) she also looks less approachable with more gothic motifs such as skulls and roses on her increased accessories. We learn later that this is an attempt to reinvent herself after last year’s play incident and fez dying. She seems uninterested and annoyed, but has a more confident air after being put in the spotlight and no longer having to live under her sisters shadow. She has become more monotone, speaking her mind and embracing her realistic perspective of life.
They begin walking to the parking lot, looking for Lexi’s mom among the waves of chaotic students pushing past them.
Rue: Of course, just our fucking luck that someone decides to shoot up the school our first day of senior year.
Lexi: It wasn’t even a real shooting. I heard some kid brought a gun to show off and got tackled by his teacher. Everyone started freaking out, and now I’m missing the first day of my AP English class.
Rue: Not like you need it. I think you proved that you can write a good story that makes waves and changes lives (sarcasm)
Lexi: 😐 that’s not funny Rue. That play is all anyone could talk about all summer. Everyone hates me because they think it’s my fault that we all have to wear these stupid uniforms.
Rue: actually that was Cassie’s fault, that fight got a new edit every week. My favorite was the #mollywhop dance (starts doing a dance that is significant of Maddie slapping Cassie and Cassie riding a carousel)
Lexi: Rue I’m serious. I got so sick of living in the background that I put my entire life on display in front of all of East Highland just for my sister to make everything about her.
Rue: Well good writing is supposed to be controversial. And take it as a victory, at least you’re not a nobody anymore.
Random Guy: Hey Lexi, I got a horse you can ride (does the dance)
Cop: Keep it moving sir!
They get to the end of the parking lot and sit on the pavement.
Lexi: 🙄of course she’s late.
Rue: hey, it’s a new year. You’re no longer the girl whose sister was the hottest cheerleader in school and I’m no longer the resident drug addict that everyone is waiting to die.
Lexi: you’re right. That’s Elliot. Or Jules. Have you checked on either of them since his overdose?
Rue: no…fuck them both. They seem happy in their stupid relationship with their stupid anniversary posts. I had to block them both before I killed myself or worse. They can die for all I care.
Lexi: well he almost did. I heard he had a stroke and is in a wheelchair until he learns how to walk again.
Rue: trying to hide that she’s concerned really?…i mean i don’t care, but that’s what he deserves right? Can’t do drugs that carelessly without consequences. Ask me how I know.
Lexi: I don’t think anyone deserves to OD. I hope he gets some help.
Rue: he has help, that bitch is playing housewife which she probably loves. Attention seeking whore. You know I’m sick of talking about Jules and Elliot and Cassie and every other narcissist with a victim complex that keeps trying to make themselves the main character. pulls her closer with a shoulder hug this year it’s about us. Starting over and getting a chance to finally make it out of this stupid town. You have colleges lined up at the door and I’ve been sober for almost a year. No one is going to take this year from us. That why you blocked Cassie, and that’s why I had any memory of Jules permanently erased from my brain. Out of sight out of mind.
Lexi: I guess you’re right. New year, new us.
Rue: alright. Now call your mom so we can get out of the rain. I hate cops more than I hate being fully clothed and wet.
Lexi: (finally smiling) almost as much as they hate you
Rue: hey fuck you, I still have to go to court for that.
Lexi: too soon? 🤭
Rue: just dial the fucking phone
Rue [vo while it shows Suze driving up and the girls walking across the parking lot]: Despite how terrible last year was, I feel like Lexi and I finally got back to how things used to be. Before the drugs, before the funerals. Just Rue and Lexi like it’s always been. Sometimes I forget how great life was when I was just a kid. But drugs tend to take away everything that makes life, life. I just wish Fezco had stayed alive long enough to finally see me sober. Then maybe Lexi wouldn’t be so serious and emo these days. But she took care of me, and now it’s my turn. I just don’t know what’s worse, losing the love of your life before you get a chance to say it love you (shot of Lexi rubbing a cross chain fez gave her looking at the sky before getting in the car) or thinking you found the love of your life just to end up as strangers. (As Rue opens the door to get in, she sees Jules wheeling Elliot across the parking lot. She stares for a bit before getting in the car.) Either way, we all died. (Rue gets in the car before Jules can see her.)
Jules looks over at the car but doesn’t see anyone. She looks distraught, hoping to catch a glimpse of Rue, who she hasn’t seen since the play. She’s dressed in a mostly black school girl uniform with a short skirt and corset that she’s clad in neon accessories and coquettish garters and bows. Her hair is longer than in season 2 but shorter than season 1. This is to signify that she’s embracing her femininity more with Elliot, but is stepping into a more powerful, dominant version of femininity. She’s content with her relationship, and rebuilding herself after the abuse she endured in relationship with rue. Now she’s just worried about repeating the same story with Elliot. She looks off into the distance, paused in a state of reflection.
Elliot: babe are you good? Jules: what? Yea just thought I saw something. (Continues wheeling him across the parking lot) Elliot: It was probably a ghost. HEY CASPER, LOOK BUT DONT TOUCH HOMIE Jules: (laughing) you’re so unserious Elliot: what do you mean? I’m serious. I don’t want his ectoplasm fucking up your makeup. Jules: You’re the one who keeps fucking up my makeup Elliot: and I’ll do it again kisses her winces ow fuck Jules: relax dude. You know the doctor said you can’t stretch your spine much after your stroke. Elliot: and you know I told that doctor nothing can kill me and I’m basically a god Jules: even when you’re sick you’re still crazy Elliot: crazy for you Jules: yea yea, just be happy it was a stroke and not a death sentence. whispers in his you know if you would’ve died I would have to kill you. Elliot: besides the fact that that makes zero sense, you know it wasn’t my fault Jules: I’m just glad that Laurie lady got put behind bars. Who the fuck puts fentanyl in Weed? Elliot: a plug who can’t find enough junkies to buy their fentanyl. That’s why I always sniff my weed before I smoke it. Jules: and that sniff put you in a wheelchair, so who’s god now? Elliot: mmmm, still me. I live close enough to the school that I don’t have to pay for a van, and I have a hot chick with a huge dick as a nurse. Not to mention loads of settlement money from suing the biggest plug in our area and a med card with all the unlaced weed I can smoke. I’m up as fuck. Jules: or too high to be traumatized Elliot: And (dances her around his chair like a waltz until she falls in his lap) my dick still works. Jules: nice try Romeo, but your ego is showing (zips up his pants and continues pushing) Elliot: fuck, has it been like that all day? That’s embarrassing Jules: no more embarrassing than the whole school thinking you’re in a wheelchair because you couldn’t hold your oxys Elliot: it was Percs actually, thank you very much. And fuck what those bots think, I’ve been sober since that intervention. I guess you can say Rue knocked some sense into Me. Jules: (avoiding the topic of rue) did you see the comments on our last post, they called us percinstein and the coke bride Elliot: damn I guess they did know it was Percs (Now on his front porch)
Jules: (standing in front of him looking in his eyes with sentiment ) Elliot I’m serious. I’ve been the topic of conversation ever since I moved to this fucking town. I just want to have a normal year for once in my complicated life. Elliot: babe listen it’s high school. Everything is the topic of conversation and no one is normal. People talk shit because they’re bored and have no personality or sense of self outside of the useless drama they can create in their minds. But you have a life, and a future. You have an amazing, sober boyfriend who loves you and a portfolio that can get you into any art school in the world. You’re at the last step before your real life begins. I’m just happy that I have the privilege to watch. And you know I like to watch. Jules: you’re a lunatic. Elliot: I love you. Jules: I love you too. kiss
Elliot: Are you sure you can’t stay tonight Jules: I wish, but my dad is serious about making sure I get into the best school, which means spending hours look at boring virtual tours and applying early admission. Elliot: ok well I’ll be here figuring out how to pee without standing up Jules: how do our conversations always center back to your dick Elliot: I can’t talk about anything else, it’s too hard Jules: wow, you sound like my dad and I’m turned off [starts walking away] Elliot: it’s not me it’s the weed. now you make sure you make it home safe. There’s a shooter on the loose. Jules: [grabbing her bike] the gun wasn’t even loaded. besides, getting shot would not be the worst thing to happen to me. Elliot: you’re American. It always gets worse. Jules: [riding off] that’s depressing Elliot: text me when you’re home Jules: [almost gone] you have my location! Elliot: [to himself] and I still never know where you are

Navajo Skinwalkers
In the Navajo culture, a skinwalker is a type of harmful witch who has the ability to turn into, possess, or disguise themselves as an animal.
This witch is called “yee naaldlooshii” by the Navajo, which translates to “with it, he goes on all fours.”
It is just one of several types of Navajo witches and is considered the most volatile and dangerous.
For the Navajo people, witchcraft is just another part of their spirituality and one of the “ways” of their lives.
As such, witchcraft has long been part of their culture, history, and traditions.
Witches exist alongside humans and are not supernaturals.
The Navajo believe there are places where the powers of both good and evil are present and that those powers can be harnessed for either.
Medicine men utilize these powers to heal and aid members of their communities, while those who practice Navajo witchcraft, seek to direct the spiritual forces to cause harm or misfortune to others.
This type of Navajo witchcraft is known as the “Witchery Way,” which uses human corpses in various ways such as tools from the bones, and concoctions that are used to curse, harm, or kill intended victims.
The knowledge of these powers is passed down from the elders through the generations.
The Navajo are part of a larger culture area that also includes the Pueblo people, Apache, Hopi, Ute, and other groups that also have their own versions of the Skinwalker, but each includes a malevolent witch capable of transforming itself into an animal.
Among these tribes, a number of stories and descriptions have been told throughout the years about the Skinwalkers.
Sometimes, these witches evolved from living their lives as respected healers or spiritual guides, who later chose to use their powers for evil.
Though they can be either male or female, they are more often male.
They walk freely among the tribe during the day and secretly transform under the cover of night.
In order to become a Skinwalker, he or she must be initiated by a secret society that requires the evilest of deeds – the killing of a close family member, most often a sibling.
After this task has been completed, the individual then acquires supernatural powers, which gives them the ability to shape-shift into animals.
Most often, they are seen in the form of coyotes, wolves, foxes, cougars, dogs, and bears, but can take the shape of any animal.
They then wear the skins of the animals they transform into, hence, the name Skinwalker. Sometimes, they also wore animal skulls or antlers atop their heads, which brought them more power.
They choose what animal they wanted to turn into, depending on the abilities needed for a particular task, such as speed, strength, endurance, stealth, claws, and teeth, etc.
They may transform again if trying to escape from pursuers.
Because of this, the Navajo consider it taboo for its members to wear the pelt of any predatory animal. However, sheepskin, leather, and buckskin are acceptable.
The skinwalkers are also able to take possession of the bodies of human victims if a person locks eyes with them.
After taking control, the witch can make its victims do and say things that they wouldn’t otherwise.
Once they were shape-shifted, one way that others could tell that they were not a real animal is that their eyes are very different than those of the animal.
Instead, their eyes are very human, and when lights are shined on them, they turn bright red.
Alternatively, when they are in human form, their eyes look more like animals.
The evil society of the witches gather in dark caves or secluded places for several purposes – to initiate new members, plot their activities, harm people from a distance with black magic, and perform dark ceremonial rites.
These ceremonies are similar to other tribal affairs, including dancing, feasts, rituals, and sand-painting, but were “corrupted” with dark connotations.
The evildoers are also said to engage in necrophilia with female corpses, commit cannibalism, incest, and grave robberies.
During these gatherings, the Skinwalkers shape-shift into their animal forms or go about naked, wearing only beaded jewelry and ceremonial paint.
The leader of the Skinwalkers is usually an old man, who is a very powerful and long-lived Skinwalker.
Skinwalkers also have other powers including reading others’ minds, controlling their thoughts and behavior, causing disease and illness, destroying property, and even death.
Those who have talked of their encounters with these evil beings describe a number of ways to know if a skinwalker is near.
They make sounds around homes, such as knocking on windows, banging on walls, and scraping noises on the roof.
On some occasions, they have been spied peering through windows.
More often, they appear in front of vehicles in hopes of causing a serious accident.
It is said that, in addition to being able to shapeshift, the Skinwalker is also able to control the creatures of the night, such as wolves and owls, and to make them do its bidding.
Some are able to call up the spirits of the dead and reanimate the corpses to attack their enemies.
Because of this, you shouldn't ventured out alone.
Its supernatural powers are uncanny, as they are said to run faster than a car and have the ability to jump high cliffs.
They are extremely fast, agile, impossible to catch and leave tracks that are larger than those of any animal. When they have been seen, they have been described as not quite human and not fully animal.
They are usually naked, but some have reported seeing the creature wearing tattered shirts or jeans.
The Skinwalker kills out of greed, anger, envy, spite, or revenge.
It also robs graves for personal wealth and to collect much-needed ingredients for use in black magic.
These witches live on the unexpired lives of their victims and they must continually kill or perish themselves.
Skinwalkers and other witches have long been blamed for all manner of unexpected struggles and tragedies through the years, including sickness, drought, poor crops, and sudden deaths.
Even smaller or individual problems such as windstorms during dances, alienation of affection by mates, the death of livestock, and reversal of fortune, were often believed to be the work of a witch.
This was most apparent with the Navajo Witch Purge of 1878, which initially evolved from a cultural response to so many people moving across and onto their lands.
After a series of wars with the U.S. Army, the Navajo were expelled from their land and forced to march to the Bosque Redondo (Fort Sumner) in New Mexico in what is known as the Long Walk of the Navajo in 1864.
There, the people suffered from bad water, failed crops, illness, and death, reducing their numbers dramatically.
After four years, the government finally admitted they had made a mistake and the Navajo were allowed to return to their homeland in the Four Corners area.
During these years, many of the tribe’s members were said to have turned to shape-shifting to escape the terrible conditions.
In the meantime, the rest of the tribe were convinced that their gods had deserted them.
Once the people had returned to their homeland, their conditions improved, but the dreaded skinwalkers, for whom they blamed for their years on the bleak reservation, were still among them.
Accusations of witchcraft and the hunting of the skinwalkers began.
When someone found a collection of witch artifacts wrapped in a copy of the Treaty of 1868, the tribal members unleashed deadly consequences.
The “Navajo Witch Purge” occurred in 1878, in which 40 Navajo suspected witches were killed in order to restore harmony and balance for the tribe.
Today, most of the tales of sightings of these witches do not include death or injury, but rather, are more “trickster-like.”
Numerous people have told stories of swift animals running alongside their vehicles, matching their speed. After a short period, however, they run off into the wilderness.
Along the way, these animals sometimes turn into a man, who sometimes bangs on the hood.
Another story tells of a man who was making repairs on an old ranch home when he began to hear loud laughter coming from the nearby sheep pens.
Thinking he was alone, he went to investigate and found all of the sheep but one huddled in one corner of the pen.
However, there was a lone ram separated from the group that was standing upright and laughing in a very human manner.
After the man locks eyes with the ram, he sees that his eyes are not that of an animal, but very like a human’s. The animal then casually walked away on all four legs.
Some say they have seen them running through the night, sometimes turning into a fiery ball, leaving streaks of color behind them.
Others have seen angry-looking humanoid figures looking down on them from cliffs, mountains, and mesas.
In the 1980s one of the most notable events occurred when a family was driving through the Navajo Reservation.
As they slowed to make a sharp curve, something jumped from the ditch.
It was described as black, hairy, and wore a shirt and pants.
A few days after this event, at their home in Flagstaff, Arizona, the family was awakened to the sounds of loud drumming and chanting.
Outside their home were three dark forms of “men” outside their fence.
However, these shadowy creatures were seemingly unable to climb the fence and soon left.
These events have occurred in the Four-Corners area of southwest Colorado, southeast Utah, northeast Arizona, and northwest New Mexico.
In the 1990s, a ranch in northeast Utah, far away from the Navajo Reservation, became the partial focus of the Skinwalkers.
Called the Sherman Ranch, the Skinwalker Ranch, and the UFO Ranch, this place has a history of UFOs, aliens, cattle mutilations, and crop circles.
Located near the Ute Indian reservation, these people have long thought that the Navajo put a curse on their tribe in retribution for many perceived transgressions and since then, the skinwalkers have plagued the Ute people.
Witchcraft represents the antithesis of Navajo cultural values and is not tolerated.
They work to avoid it, prevent it, and cure it in their daily behaviors.
However, when it exists, their laws have always said that when a person becomes a witch, they have forfeited their humanity and their right to exist, so they should be killed.
However, skinwalkers are notoriously hard to kill and attempts are usually unsuccessful.
Trying to kill one will often result in the witch seeking revenge.
Successful killing generally requires the assistance of a powerful shaman, who knows spells and rituals that can turn the Skinwalker’s evil back upon itself.
Another alternative is to shoot the creature with bullets that have been dipped into white ash.
However, this shot must hit the witch in the neck or the head.
Traditionally, the Navajo will not speak with outsiders about these creatures, for fear of retribution by the skinwalkers.
For that matter, it is a taboo subject amongst the natives themselves.
“These are not things that need or should be discussed by outsiders.
At all.
I’m sorry if that seems ‘unfair,’ but that’s how our cultures survive.” – Dr. Adrienne Keene, Native American academic, writer, and activist

Scott Masterson had first met Scarlett at a rooftop party in downtown Dallas. Their age and the time of year were both in late springtime, them in their mid twenties and the date in early May. He had on a sharp yet breezy blazer and she astonished in a thigh length sleeveless blue dress.
“Oh hey Scott I don’t believe you two have met…” his then happily married friend had remarked with a slow swinging open hand toward her.
“Scott Masterson…reluctant friend to this knucklehead” he said with a tight lipped grin, trying not to be so obvious with his instant rapture.
“Scarlett…a pleasure…”
Her hand was so delicate to Scott’s touch. They locked eyes. It was like looking back through centuries of connection, endless days of laying in the sun next to the Seine River, or rising to Hollywood fame in the 1940’s and only having each other who would understand the glory and the pain of it all, or generations of quiet, simple country love that would bear such beautiful, happy children that would go on to raise beautiful, happy children, all with their dark blue eyes. Yes, the memories of every love story since the beginning of time was swirling right there in Scarlett’s irises. Scott had to catch himself before he stared embarrassingly too long.
“Sorry Scottie here doesn’t get out often” his friend quipped, which Scott appreciated actually, it helped him snap back to professionalism.
“Well I don’t either…at least I prefer not to.” Scarlett’s words flowed through the air like a flock of rose petals.
“Hey, kindred spirits.” Scott was really sensing a rising energy out of her, they had barely broken eye contact.
“Well, I’ll let you two have at it, I got a wife around here somewhere. Hey…Scott and Scarlett…not bad, not bad.” His friend exited stage right with a sly chuckle.
“Nice guy…so…what are you drinking, Scarlett?” Scott looked around for the emptiest corner of the rooftop bar, hoping to find a nice place for them to be able to hear each other. This night had just become something.
“That depends, Scott…what do you like?”
Oh man.
Well, as you can expect, the evening blossomed into a beautiful, long winded conversation that etched a long list of similarities between the two. They both lived in the city, had never married, and had dreamed of stable, simpler lives far away from tall buildings and busy streets. The next morning Scott awoke in her arms, which warmed much deeper than just his skin. He could feel her soothing his very identity, his future, everything. Her arms were tailor made to fit his very soul, and he had never felt more safe and at home.
“Mmm…you can stay right here…” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“I will…I will”
They both fell back asleep, into a dream that wouldn’t end upon waking.
Two years passed and suddenly they lived that simple backwoods life, way out where acres of land far out-populated the few and far between people. They took a lovely home, which happily looked over a long backyard, right up to a lively yet mostly undisturbed river. Their only neighbor within a mile was an older ranch worker named Charles, who rarely made himself perceivable. Days were spent way on into town where they both had offices. They didn’t mind the commute. Nights were spent mostly like this night, cuddled outside near a lovely little fire, with a slowly shrinking amount of wine sitting between them. Enjoying their Kingdom. Tonight, however, would prove to be a special night, for many reasons, all unexpected.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began, sitting up and opening his hands to the warmth of the fire.
“Oh?” Scarlett also sat up, eyes widening.
“So look, Scarlett, the last two years have been the best of my life. An absolute dream…”
She held her breath, her focus darting between his eyes and mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We have everything we ever want out here. But…what if there’s more?”
“More?” She had envisioned this very conversation hundreds of times.
“Our dreams have come true, but what if we…made some new dreams?” Scott turned and embedded his eyes into hers. He burst into a big smile.
“Scott…I thought…”
“Nevermind what I said” he cut her off, which he always made a point to never do, but this was a good exception.
“I’m ready, Scarlett…let’s have a family.”
“Ohhhh Scott, oh Scott”
They hugged tight enough to where it hurt.
“Well, in that case, we may need to open another bottle.” She said playfully, bouncing her eyebrows twice.
“Excellent. I’ll be right up. I’ll put this fire out and then start yours up.”
“Oh stop!” She bounded away girlishly, up the snowy back steps and into the house.
Scott let out a big sigh that he could see in the cold air and sat back in his chair, taking in his decision. He really was ready. He had secretly been keeping a long list of names that he liked and that he thought would work in front of Masterson. Especially little girl names. He stared into the campfire flames, getting lost imagining the three of them sitting right here, a little girl resting securely in Scarlett’s arms, as Scott had found himself, and stayed within these past two years.
Suddenly his trance was broken when, from the road in front of their house, came the sound of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Scott snapped his head back toward the house to get a better listen. He could see, around the house and through the trees, a large truck barreling down the country road, its headlights racing and bouncing with intensity. In an instant, it had passed up the road and out of sight.
“Huh?”
Soon, after a moment of silence, another sound echoed into the night. This sound rattled Scott to the bone and tore all that was right in his world into pieces. A sharp, bellowing squeal. His eyes shot over to his neighbors house, which was about a tenth of a mile to his right but still had a couple dim lights on that he could see. The shriek seemed to come from there.
Then, more squeals. It was hellish. More than animal but not quite human. Scott stood up. He heard crashing and tearing and further destruction coming from Charles’ house.
“Scarlett!! Scarlett!” He yelled toward his house, where he looked and could see her silhouette behind the curtains at the kitchen window. She didn’t seem to hear him.
He turned back toward his neighbors. The chaos had gone quiet. Not a half a moment after, though, he heard something big barreling through the trees as fast as that truck had been sprinting. Running, running furiously between the two houses. Searching, hunting. Scott was taken aback so hard that his heel had caught the edge of the fire pit, throwing him down only inches away from severe burns. He had knocked his head in the whiplash, making him groan and take a moment to regain his bearings.
“SCARLETT!!!!”
He screamed out toward his home as he sat up, rubbing a quickly rising bump on the back of his head. He heard a loud breaching on the side of his house. The patio door. No. No. Then, all hell broke loose. Scarlett started wailing and crying and he could hear crashes of plates and glasses and deep guttural roars coming from the kitchen inside. Shadows danced in a frenzy from the curtained windows. Sounds of instinctual survival seemed to be thrown from Scarlett inside. Sounds of defeat. Sounds of agony. Sounds of insanity. Scott sprang to his feet, his equilibrium being more damaged than he realized after his fall. He had to catch his hand on a chair to stabilize himself. Scarlett’s symphony of pain had gone quiet. Soon after something burst back out the patio door again and off in the same direction as that truck before.
Scott struggled back up to the house, slowly climbing the wintered, crunching stairs that led to the patio. He no longer yelled for Scarlett. In fact, the only thing that came to his senses was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Everything else had been turned off, save for a heavy and sudden dread that he had prayed he would never feel. He came to the side of his house where indeed the patio door had been busted and forced open. It laid inside the kitchen, its hinges snapped like toothpicks. Scott, with eyes wide and twitching, slowly entered his home and looked into the kitchen.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even change his breathing. He didn’t blink. He just got a good long look at what laid before him.
Everything was broken. The fridge was on its side, the door hanging open and food and drink scattered all over the floor. The table was upended, its legs to the ceiling. A chair was resting on the counter, possibly having been thrown in defense. And Scarlett. Oh Scarlett. She…was…everywhere. She was all over the floor. She was sprayed against the walls. She was stuck to the window. She was in the sink.
Scott gently walked through the carnal mess and sabotage of his world. Long ago he had known exactly what he would do if something anywhere near this bad were to happen to him. He politely stumbled through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He opened his closet door and lowered a fire safe from the top rack. He unlocked it with a passcode. 511, after that warm May date when he had first met Scarlett. In the safe was a Sig Sauer P320 handgun. Scott took it out, along with a box of bullets, loaded one into the gun, put the safe back on its rack, and walked out of the closet, sitting on his bed. Their bed. Where they should’ve been laying right at this very moment, working toward a happy future. Where he would’ve kissed her forehead and put a hand on her growing midsection. Where they would have awoken on Christmas morning to the sound of children who were way too excited to remain asleep. Where they would’ve grown old. Where they would’ve smiled at each other through wrinkles, satisfied with all the love they shared and passed on to the next generations. Where they would’ve held each other in deep peace as they finally fell asleep to this world.
“I will…I will”
In one quick motion Scott pulled back the hammer and stuck the barrel of that pistol right up against his Governor and blew himself away, far away, right back into Scarlett’s loving arms.
Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett quickly yet stealthily made his way back to his Uncle’s house. He hugged the sides of the dark country road, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as to notice any sounds pertaining to the event that he had just witnessed there in the field next to the huge blaze. His only thought was Uncle Chuck. His house was right on the warpath of that horrible thing and Smallmouth had to go to him and make sure he was safe. He dared not go back to his truck, which would bring a lot of unwanted attention. No, Smallmouth walked and walked and finally saw the lights of his Uncle’s house. He carefully approached the front door from the shadowed driveway. Suddenly it occurred to Smallmouth that something was very wrong here. The door was busted in, having been plowed through by something very large and very strong.
“No…no…no”
Smallmouth slowly entered the house. The kitchen and living room were a disaster, chairs and tables and bottles strewn about and shattered. Bloody hoof-prints covered the floors, each of them the size of dinner plates. Smallmouth heard no noise. He felt himself well with tears, his nose a faucet that he began to sniff up as he worked his way through to his Uncle’s room, the door there also being broken in. A small whine growing in his throat, Smallmouth peaked into his uncles bedroom.
It was all in tatters. The bed had been attacked and shredded, the mattress being ripped up and thrown about as if it were made of cotton candy. More bloody hoof-prints were painted all over the brown carpet. Smallmouth trembled and put a hand up to his wet face. He didn’t see a way that his Uncle was anywhere near alive, knowing what he knew about the monster that had been in this house.
Smallmouth slowly walked to the living room, to the only little table that had been untouched in the attack. It was almost as if the bottle of whiskey teleported into his hand from the overturned cabinet, unopened. He fixed that real quick.
Soon he was several pulls deep of the only thing in the world that he knew would make him feel better, even if only for a few hours. He found his pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lit one up, although he was indoors. What did it matter? He sat in a chair that he had turned right side up and set the bottle on the table and looked out the back window into the pitch black. He cried for his Uncle and he cried for the world. He cried for himself. He cried for broken promises and his own weakness. He drank and drank until his vision shook from right to left everywhere he looked. At first he didn’t even notice the figures on the back porch. Then his vibrating focus did pick up on them, but by then it was too late. It was so dark out there but in their outlines he could see they wore long robes and hoods.
“HA!! COME AND GET ME! HAHA!! YOU COME AND YOU GET ME!!” Smallmouth boasted with a delusional amount of courage.
A creak escaped from the kitchen and he drunkenly slung his head over toward it. Three more figures stood there. Or was it just one? Smallmouth was none the wiser. All at once the hooded intruders from both inside and outside began to chant a strange, twisted rhyme in strikingly low and dissonant harmony:
“A sliver…of liver…goes down…with a shiver… …and gives…your gullet…to gall… …but drink…the Cider…that drowns…the Spider… …and you…will be free…of it all… …so tighten the grip…that loosens your lips… …O raise…the bottle…of brown… …and wake tomorrow…to find…in sorrow… …ANOTHER…SPIDER…TO…DROWN”
Smallmouth groaned at them in dissatisfaction and turned his bottle up again and began to chug the whiskey. As he did they repeated the chant except this time it was louder and closer. By the time Smallmouth had finished his bottle he was quickly losing consciousness. This wasn’t just whiskey. As he closed his eyes he felt hands grabbing him from all sides.
Smallmouth pulled open his sticky eyelids. His head felt like someone had bowled a strike into it. Wind froze his face. The smell of sickly, wet iron stung his nostrils. His vantage was higher than usual. Way higher. He was looking out into another field, but from easily ten feet up. He saw an old church, formerly painted white but now a flaky pale-beige. He heard the friction of a quick pull of rope below him, matched with a slight, tight pain at his feet. He looked down. A red-robed figure was fastening him against a wooden structure of some kind. His feet sat on a small flat platform perpendicular to a post that went from the ground up past smallmouths head. He couldn’t move his arms, so he quickly shot his eyes side to side. They were also tied to another horizontal post. A cross. He was being tied to a crude wooden cross. His shirt had been removed, exposing a hairy, overweight belly. Smallmouth tried to speak, but all that came out was a slow, unintelligible grumble. He was still drunk. No, this was more than that. He was under the influence of something strong and absolutely inhibitive. He wallowed again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of iron once again hit his nose. He looked down at himself. He was covered in a thick, red liquid. That wasn’t just the smell of iron. He had been splashed full body with blood.
“Now now, young servant…” the figure at his feet had finished his task and took a couple of steps out to admire his own handiwork.
“Ahh…perfect. The picture of martyrdom. Yes, you will always be remembered, Brother Bassett. You are to be the first Saint of The New Bible.” He opened his arms in his declaration.
Smallmouth looked up into the cold night sky. The moon shown down, giving everything a midnight spotlight. It was a gorgeous waxing gibbous, big and bright but not quite full. Yes, he was in a great big snowy field that housed an old worn down church. From the windows of the church he saw candles glowing, showing dark heads and shoulders looking out to him, also covered in loose hoods, hiding faces. He was hanging on a cross about one hundred feet from the old church. In front of the cross was a partially covered pit, a couple of two by fours supporting double armfuls of branches and dead leaves.
The figure at the base of the cross put his arms back to his side. He was still looking right at the drugged Smallmouth’s dumbstruck face. Even with a veiled mouth you could hear the twisted smile in his voice.
“Tonight you will help us finally defeat this legion, Smallmouth. You see, it may have the evil spirits within it, but at its core, it is still an owned animal. An animal that knows its Master very well. An animal that will remember the smell of its Master. You, my friend, are covered in its Master right now. And you are hanging on a cross, the symbol of this brute’s most hated enemy. But take heart, young Brother. Before you is our pit of spears. Yes you will attract the beast, but our Divine plan will intercept it and the beast will fall and be pierced. And then, oh dear brother, you will forever be immortalized. You will be purified in fire by the hands of your church brethren. Out of your screams and into the smoke the iniquities of all will be released. We will go on to preach your good example and your sainthood forever and ever.”
Smallmouth began to drool and hum pathetically. He could hear and understand the words of the robed man but he couldn’t fight back. His body was useless, limp inside its rope confines. All he could do now is think, and watch, and wait, and dread his fate.
The figure turned away from him, walking over near the pit and gathering up a bundle of brambles and throwing them over the last open area, covering it completely. He then crunched through the snow over to the front door of the old church, groaning open the door. He stood at the dark doorway for a few seconds in silence, and then began to make a noise. An over exaggerated pig squealing noise, high pitched and infuriating. Soon after other voices from inside the church began to do the same, their wailing echoing out of the building and all across the field, loudly signaling, calling out. It may as well have been a dinner bell. Not a half minute after they began the distress signal it was loudly answered by a distant squall. A furious squall.
This was it. Either way it happened Smallmouth was about to die. Experience terror, and then die, and not even have the ability to put up any kind of defense. It wasn’t fair. He just slowly lifted up his head and watched out far into the moonlit, white field. He then raised his heavy head further and took a good gander at the moon and stars for the last time.
“God,” he thought to himself, still having full inner monologue yet no outer motor function, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being what I am. I am so sorry for ending up in this place. It’s only my own fault. If it wasn’t for me being so stupid and messy and drunk and terrible then this wouldnt be happening to me.”
He began to shed tears that washed lines into the blood on his face.
“Please forgive me God. Please, please, please forgive me for all of my sins. This is it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” He yelled inside his own mind, hoping and trying to send his silent words as far up into heaven as they could go.
He lowered his eyes back to the ground. He looked over at the church again. The windows were empty, the candles were extinguished. Those hooded cowards were hiding from their own handmade sacrificial service. All was quiet for a long pause until a much louder, closer bleating began at the edge of the forest not even three hundred feet away from Smallmouth’s glazed over eyes. It was time, and it was too late for a miracle.
Out of the woods, slowly and heavily, stomped the massive hog. As it marched closer and closer Smallmouth could see its white, boiled over eyes and black-burnt skin. Its jaws were flying open and snapping its sharp, pocket knife-sized teeth together in an intimidating “clack”. It was now less than a hundred feet away, the dark old church to its right shoulder. It stopped, its pale glowing eyes fixed right on Smallmouth on the crude cross. It truly was a monster. It stood as tall as a man and as long as a canoe. Around its murderous mouth were stains of red, the remnants of all that it had taken from the world on this unholy night. In its clanging jaws were bits of flesh. It snorted and scowled.
Then, in a fury, it wailed that horrible squeal and started off into a dead sprint. It galloped and galloped toward Smallmouth at a high, blistering speed. It kept yawping and howling as it cut the distance from the cross down to fifty feet, forty feet, thirty, twenty. All at once it passed over the covered pit and plunged in. In his doomed, dead eyed stupor Smallmouth could hear what sounded like paint being dumped from a rooftop onto concrete. Trails of black liquid squirted and splashed up from the pit, which had been uncovered in the fall of the beast. Unbelieving, Smallmouth saw dozens of steel spear tips standing up from the dug-in ground. Right in the middle of them the beast was stuck. The sheer weight of the animal had caused the spears to pierce through its tough skin, sticking out of its back, soaked in black blood. One spear had stabbed right under the hogs chin, passing up through its jaws and out its black snout. It made agonized sounds. It roared and roared and shook the spears inside it, beginning furiously, then growing weaker and weaker within seconds. Finally, it let out one last weak little squeal, before it went still and quiet.
Smallmouth was frozen both physically by drugs and constraints and mentally by shock. His mouth hung open toward the pit of spears, his vision blurry. He took in a deep, troubled breath and let out a moan of disbelief and relief. The old church doors sprang open, and the sound of jubilation within flowed out into the night. The red robed figures flocked out of the building toward the pit, arms raised in celebration. They surrounded the hole, getting a good look at their success and their enemies defeat. Some held additional spears and began further stabbing the dead animal, causing more black blood to be shed up at them. They all yelled loudly and triumphantly. Some danced around the pit. Some skipped over to Smallmouth on the cross and danced around him, slapping his legs and spinning in circles.
Smallmouth looked on at the raucous celebration, both in utter disbelief of their trap actually working and also in turmoil. How long now until they fully execute their plan.
A taller robed man, whose voice matched the same one who spoke to Smallmouth as he tied his feet, spoke up, sounding almost happily intoxicated.
“Ahh yes my Brothers!! It is done!! We have won!!!”
They all whooped and cheered.
“Brother Norman, go into the church and bring me the small tank of fuel. Let us send our dear Saint Bassett to the Holy lands, where he will be adored for all eternity!”
They all clapped and hollered. One figure began childishly skipping away from the pit and over toward the front door of the church.
Then, it happened.
From the pit all of a sudden a great blaze erupted instantly. It stood as tall as the cross, and it burned a furious red and blue. It raged and raged, blinding Smallmouth and making him clumsily turn his face away from the heat.
All of the figures panicked, screaming and scattering away toward the church. They didn’t get far. Up from the fiery pit, dozens of long, long, black arms, adorned with six hooking claws emerged and stretched out of the flames and latched on to the legs of those trying to escape. Smallmouth heard crying and wailing from the men as the black, razor clawed-hands of the legion grabbed them and began pulling them back, into the blazes. One by one the red robed people were dragged into the flames, their clothes catching instantly. Smallmouth could see violently shaking bodies in the evil furnace. Oh, the screams. Above the tortured howling, the sound of laughing broke out. Deep, menacing laughter, hundreds of voices, echoed up into the air from the burning hole. Then, in one extinguishing squeeze, the ground swallowed the entirety of the fiery pit, leaving it completely covered in dirt, still and quiet. Soon after, and just like the pit of spears, the old church building caught in an instant and raging fire, quickly toppling the walls and dropping the steeple into its ruins. The smoke towered high in the night sky, which had just began to hint at a pale morning blue. Smallmouth hung on his cross in utter horror and surprise.
As the late evening hours glowed into early morning the smoke eventually tapered off, as Smallmouth’s drugs finally began to wear off as well. The fires of the church did garner long distance attention, though. Just as Smallmouth was able to regain control of his muscles and voice he heard emergency sirens call out into the cold morning air. Not long after, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a sheriffs truck tore into the field and toward Smallmouth on the cross. Not long after Smallmouth could feel the tied ropes being cut loose by firemen, their uniforms easily the best red clothes he had seen all night.
“What on God’s green Earth happened here son?” A bearded man with a dark hat and brown shirt and pants asked Smallmouth once he had been lowered down from the cross and sat on the ground with a shock blanket around his shoulders. The Sheriff, no doubt.
“God’s green Earth. It really is God’s, isn’t it?” Smallmouth whispered, staring out across the cold field. Then, at the very place he was staring, an old, familiar truck came barreling out of the gravel road in the woods and through the field in the steadily growing morning light. It was Uncle Chuck’s truck. It hurried over toward the other emergency vehicles, parked, the driver’s side door burst open, and Uncle Chuck came bounding out over to Smallmouth, his eyes wide and his mouth a wonderfully shocked “O”.
“JEREMY! JEREMY!!!” He basically fell on Smallmouth in a tight, warm hug. Smallmouth was caught off guard by Chuck using his real name.
His Uncle held him for several seconds and then let up, but kept his hands on Smallmouth’s shoulders.
“I thought you were dead.” Both of them said at almost the exact same time.
“I came back and your house was a mess and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead.” Smallmouth weakly spat out.
“Well, I woke up and you were gone, son, so I walked to the ranch to get my truck. I was worried bout ya son. I came back home and the whole place had been turned upside down. Blood on the carpet. I just thought the worst. Then I tried my neighbors house. Buddy, they’re dead. Looks like some wacko murder-suicide if I ever saw one. Scott probably tried to come kill us too and wrecked the place when he found it empty. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that you are right here! You are okay Jeremy!! Ahhh Praise Jesus!!”
“It’s not that, Uncle. That isn’t what happened out here. It’s..it was a..a, uh…”
Smallmouth’s fried brain couldn’t even comprehend what he had witnessed over the past few hours. It was all a violent blur.
“Dont worry bout it son, you can tell me everything on the way to the hospital. We gotta go get you checked out and cleaned up. C’mon.” He helped Smallmouth up and they walked over to the ambulance, his Uncle’s arm thrown around his shoulder.
Smallmouth would be sent home later that afternoon. It would take him and his Uncle a long time to sort through the chaos of that deadly night and rebuild their lives. But life kept on. Smallmouth would remain living with his Uncle, and would begin a job working with him down at the ranch. Together they started to attend a local church. Smallmouth never touched a drink or a drug or even a cigarette ever again, and remained steadfast in his newly revitalized faith.

Hi, I know some of you have been interested in Joost’s written stuff, so this is one of them. It’s a short story that Joost wrote for Boekenweek voor Jongeren (Book Week for Young People) in 2019. There’s more info about it here (in Dutch) https://www.vice.com/nl/article/qvgzpv/joost-klein-schreef-een-kort-verhaal-over-een-wilde-nacht-in-berlijn and there was also this promo video for it https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wx7wxnpxps0. It's been translated from Dutch - maybe not the most perfect translation but it's readable. Original in Dutch here. Enjoy

"How come he suddenly has cash?" I looked at Gurb, but he avoided my gaze. Louis never had money and yet he was buying another round. Meanwhile, a Moby song was playing and nothing made sense. "If he has money for drinks, he can surely pay me back, right?"
Just a few hours ago, I was alone in Berlin. Now, ten hours later, I'm standing in some obscure techno club with my best friends. Loud rock music with drunken shouting. "Hey, Miss Murder, can I make beauty stay if I take my life?" I woke up that day with a mild hangover from the lonely yet people-filled night before. Perfect conditions for a 20-year-old dropout.
The Hard Rock Café was the most beautifully ugly place in Berlin. Gurb had driven for seven hours straight in his mother's car, but we didn't notice. An iconic black Mini Cooper. Your body leads your mind, the beat never stops, and you can conquer the world. Louis threw in another crazy dance move. We were happy.
"Do you want another drink, brother?" Gurb asked me, half shouting. An evening filled with rhetorical questions. He saw me dancing and already knew the answer.
Gurb always had money. Louis, on the other hand, never did. Louis was also the youngest of us three. He had just turned 18. I wouldn't call him a cunning fox. More like a jack-of-all-trades. Like the time he made a lot of money on a Wadden Island with a group of boys. They sold large blocks of hash.
"Crazy dude!" I shouted at him. He yelled something back.
"Do you remember back then?" Louis said.
"Back then? Back then? Yeah man, of course!" I had no idea what he meant. "Do you mean the party?"
"Do you mean the party, he says! This guy. When I look at you like this, it makes me happy. The exact same kid is here letting loose just like back in high school!"
We knew each other from secondary school. He joined when I was in the second grade. He was very intelligent. Too young, too much knowledge of the world. His mother is from Brazil. We often went to his mother's place to play on the Playstation Louis and I had bought together.
I lived everywhere at that time. In the crisis shelter where I stayed for a while, for example, I wasn't allowed to have a Playstation. So we set it up in an accessible place, near school. It was always fun with Louis. Going together to the Apple Store. Taking all kinds of photos with all the webcams, posting them on Hyves, and then leaving. Louis always knew how to cheer me up.
"Aaaaaaaaaa!" There was Gurb with five drinks in his hands. Gurb was wearing a blue checkered shirt. Two buttons undone. Hair slicked back. "You look good, brother!"
"You look fresh too! We all look fresh!" Gurb said enthusiastically. Louis was wearing a completely white outfit. We quickly bought this before going out. He also bleached his hair.
"You look like the Brazilian cousin of James Dean in these clothes," I said. Louis laughed. "Let me take a picture."
Suddenly, the DJ switched to some kind of techno. "Ah, here Berlin briefly takes off its mask." I was fine with it all. Louis was talking to a lady.
Voluptuous breasts, I thought to myself. He gave her one of his two drinks.
"He's with a girl and he's thinking with his dick," I said to Gurb. "Let him be, tonight Berlin is ours!"
The bass kept pounding. "I simply don't have the patience for the club," I said to Gurb. He looked surprised. Like a sweet dog, tilting his head. "I'm just waiting for tomorrow. Can't do my thing here. Don't have patience for the already known. I want adventure and I want it now!"
Gurb started laughing. "Patience is a virtue." Yes. Patience is all well and good, but I think it's a waste of my time. Gurb grabbed my shoulder.
"I think it's time for another beer."
Louis and I were walking through Leeuwarden a year ago when suddenly a red Ford Ka stopped in front of us. It was Gurb, casually driving around the city. He invited us into his car. We hopped in. Since that afternoon, the three of us were together. A few months later, Louis got a tattoo on his ribs in honor of our friendship. It was the name of our group chat. Braddar Force Indigo.
There were also days when Gurb would take me for a drive around Friesland. He reminded me how beautiful Friesland is. The world doesn't spin there. The newspapers I threw away in the Stiens forest in 2011 could still be lying in the same spot, so to speak.
Just before midnight, I found myself in line for the restroom. My eyes fell on a pair of striking shoes. Cigarette smoke invaded my nose for the fourth time. "Müssen Sie eine Zigarette haben?" a female voice spoke to me. I felt like Tom Hanks in the final scene of Angels & Demons, where the new pope first steps onto the balcony. The curtains opened. There I was, witnessing an important moment in history. I was just told how I was sent by God, but my ears didn't want to hear any of it. At least that's how I felt. My mouth was empty. I had no words left. That's when I knew for sure. Berlin might really be as crazy as literally everyone says.
Dark blond, silky hair. Was this real beauty then? She wouldn't look 40, but I think she was. A true woman. Beautiful in all her elegance. I always joked about being interested in older women, but tonight one stood in front of me. "I don't smoke," I said to her.
Someone tapped me. "Please, just go to the toilet!" He was right. I hadn't peed in a while either. My urine was cloudy. "Glomerulonephritis," I said to myself on the toilet. This is an unusual condition. It's an inflammation in the kidneys, I thought I remembered. They should never have given me access to Google.
The evening progressed, and Louis kept buying rounds. "But seriously now. How does Louis suddenly have all that money for drinks?" I asked Gurb. He was outside smoking with a group of Swiss girls. I had strategically positioned myself so that I could always leave the crime scene if necessary.
"You shouldn't ask me," said Gurb. He was laughing with the temporary girlfriend group of Louis. Gurb has a beard. A lot of chicks like that. I get it too.
As much as I enjoyed Louis and Gurb being here for me, something didn't sit right with me. It couldn't just be about the money. "What's up with him?" I heard one of the Swiss girls say to Gurb.
Those kinds of questions really tire me out. "Not much, with you?" I replied.
They all started laughing. "That's not what she meant, brother," said Gurb.
"I couldn't care less whether she meant it or not. Send that brace-face back to Switzerland. Don't drive me crazy, alright!"
Actually, I hadn't drunk that much that evening. "Two vodka Sprites, please!" It's rare for me to get just one drink. "I always get two drinks, then you have to wait shorter for the third one!" Maybe the alcohol was affecting me more than I wanted to admit. Oh well, it was still the three of us against the world.
"Nice shoes, are those Prada?" I asked a random girl at the bar.
"No, these are fake. Why would I buy real ones for 600 dollars if I could just buy these for 20?"
"..."
I'm not very good at that. Talking. To women.
Louis and Gurb were in the smoking area now. It was less blue than the dance floor itself. My clothes already stank, so a visit to the smoking area couldn't hurt. "These people are so underground!" Gurb shouted. Louis was filming him with his phone. "These people..." There was a brief pause. As if Gurb forgot the only line he had. "...so underground!" All three of us burst into laughter. The alcohol flowed through our veins as if it came from the purest mountains. People seemed doubled and the room was full. We had been in the same club in Berlin for several hours.
"Leonardo! What are you hiding from the big boss?" I sometimes called Louis ‘DiCaprio.’ "You a rich guy, now?" I said, with an accent as if I were from the Bronx.
Louis started laughing. "Eh, you know nothing. Bullshit talk."
I had to laugh too. What was I even worried about? Friends are friends, with or without money. That shouldn't matter. Louis probably just worked for that money. Maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. Maybe he just had enough to buy rounds. But what if my gut feeling was right? That feeling was never wrong. Except for that one time at the Holland Casino in Groningen. Even the best of us have slip-ups. I was just getting worked up again. When it comes down to it, Louis is one of the sweetest guys I know. I had to let it go. After all, it's still Louis.
"I think I'm going to have sex soon, man," Louis said.
"With who?" I asked immediately.
"That one girl."
"Which one?"
"The one with the boobs."
"Oh, her. Just be careful."
"What kind of reaction is that?" Louis asked indignantly.
I'd only had four drinks, but I was acting like a mess. Louis was right. I didn't understand myself. Where was my head at? I'm here in Berlin, supposed to be having the time of my life, but here I am feeling lonely and sad again. Joost once again couldn't control his emotions.
"Sorry," I suddenly said to Louis. "Sorry for my behavior. Been acting dumb towards you all night. It's unnecessary." Sometimes I have that. Mood swings. "Know that crime is never the solution. We've talked about this so many times. Yes, it's tempting and sometimes easy money. I sometimes find it amusing too, but it's always hypothetical. Ask me for help. I can help you, even with illegal things. I'll always have your back." The dancing was kind of over.
The words I had just placed on Louis's plate came from my heart. My Frisian, irregular boys' heart.
Crying in the club. I had never seen myself like that. Crying, yes. In the club, no. I never understood the taboo around crying. Or emotions in general. I saw myself in the mirror. They weren't tears of joy. They weren't tears of sadness either. It was me letting everything go. All the emotions I had ever felt. The emotions I felt between my brother and sister and myself because they wanted to take on a parental role over me, but I was in puberty, so I pushed them away. The emotions I felt when my old neighbors were supposed to take care of my dog, but didn't tell me that he was bitten by one of their dogs. They didn't have money for the surgery, they later told me. They were ashamed of their lack of money. My dog died from this injury. Even the emotions that were all jumping at once during the retake for my swimming diploma A, I let go of.
No emotions. Just for a moment, not feeling anything. Is that too much to ask for?
"You still don’t smoke?"
It had to be the voice of the woman with the cigarettes. I looked over my shoulder through the mirror. It was her. The one with dark blond, silky hair.
"Not to be rude, but this is the men’s room," I said. She took a step closer and kissed me on my lips. It tasted like more. We started kissing. It had been a while since I had had female contact at this level. It probably didn't look good and it didn't feel good either. She started kissing my neck. Slowly, I noticed the pressure in the erectile tissues of my penis starting to increase. "I really don't have time for this!" I thought to myself. The woman with the cigarettes started to slowly sink down until she was on her knees. I didn't want this. Not now, not like this. She unraveled my penis from my Polo Ralph Lauren underwear. Her tongue was blue. It was probably from cheap shots of alcohol.
Was this real beauty then? Was this the beginning or the end of her story? And had I become the boy my parents hoped I would be? I thought about the fact that this was once someone's little daughter. Somewhere in the world, an old man might be wondering what his daughter is doing. Am I really putting pleasure above my own morals and values?
With my semi-erect circumcised penis still exposed, I lifted her up. After giving her a kiss on her forehead, I pulled up my pants and left the toilets.
It was the usual last hour in any club ever. I met Louis and Gurb at the bar. "Should we have another drink?" I asked Gurb. "I feel like having a cocktail. Something sweet. Lots of sugar. What about you?"
Gurb looked at the menu. "A cognac would go down well right now."
"A cognac? You're only nineteen!" Gurb and Louis laughed. "Two Tequila Sunrises please!" I called to the bartender. "Also, two beers! Thanks!" I also got a beer for Louis. At first, I didn't want to, but I didn't want to spoil the mood either. Besides, I didn't want to show too much that it bothered me so much.
We danced away the last minutes. The club closed, and we decided to walk with the group of Swiss girls. Apparently, they were staying nearby.
As I lagged behind the group, one of them tried to start a conversation with me. "Are you okay?" she asked kindly.
"I'm fine. Just had too much beer. Makes me sleepy." Not true at all, but I've heard people say that.
"You’re tired? The fun has only just began!" And as she said this, she pulled something out of her inner pocket. Her clenched fist, shielded by a half jacket. Who is this girl, anyway? I thought to myself. She opened her hand flat, and right in the center of her palm lay two small pills with a smiley face on them. At least, they looked like it.
"Oh, I don’t do drugs. Sorry."
"Me neither!" And she swallowed a pill. "Now it’s your turn... Or are you scared?"
Scared? Who did this crazy Swiss witch (with really beautiful eyes) think she was. With her "are you scared". I'll show her who's scared.
"Scared? I’m not scared." I picked up the remaining pill and swallowed it.
Everything went in slow motion. Was this who I had become? Was this the same boy from high school? And just before I could swallow, I spat out the pill. She was shocked. I picked up the pill again, dried it with my jacket, and put it back in her fist. "Maybe later!" I shouted, running back to the group, over my shoulder.
I have nothing to say to 9 out of 10 peers I come across. Of course, I can be social. I can also have fun with random people in random situations, but that night, it just tired me out. I also didn't understand what we were doing there. Those girls found me strange anyway. Suddenly, I was the fifth wheel.
"We know this place where they go until 7 in the morning!" The girl leader of the group spoke. I wanted to go home. "If you guys want, you can go. Don't worry about me," I said to Gurb and Louis. The boys had a brief discussion. We agreed to stay for just a little while longer for some drinks. I consented. I was thirsty. "I'll have a Fanta, Louis."
Gurb had reached the last cigarette in his pack. Louis and a girl from the group were nowhere to be found. It didn't even bother me. This guy just walks around with some cash in his pocket and all hell breaks loose. After a night full of stimuli, I understood Louis. Of course, I understood Louis. He's a young god. Handsome, smart guy. But that didn't make me any less angry. It was purely about trust for me. Something inside me said I should stop subconsciously expecting things from people too. It prevents disappointment.
"Hotel please!" I jokingly suggested to Gurb. "Should you call Louis or should I?" I added. Gurb immediately grabbed his Android smartphone and called Louis. He put the call on speaker.
"Are you ready?" Gurb asked.
"Yeah. Sort of."
"What do you mean?"
"We didn't have sex."
"That's fine, right? Tomorrow's a new day!"
"I think I'm in love, man," Louis said.
"...," Gurb said, chuckling as he let out a sigh.
Once we arrived at the girls' hostel, it was already getting light. Louis was thankfully back. There were stains on his pants, around his knees. My focus was solely on arranging a taxi. Although the boys were still flirting, I was really done now. "How are we going to pay for this taxi?" I said a bit too loudly.
There was a silence. "Don't worry. I still have cash," Gurb said.
"Yeah, I knew you would," I replied.
My words clearly hit Louis. "What do you mean by that?" he said.
It was as if time stood still for a few seconds. "Exactly what I said. Better listen." Louis pulled out a small wad of green bills from his pocket. At least 400 euros. "I don't even want to see that money," I reacted. I walked away.
I'll just order a taxi myself.
"Why are you walking away now?" Gurb said.
"Twelve hours ago, I was alone too, and I had a lot more fun then."
"Do you really want to know how I got this money?" Louis said.
Yes, I did want to know. My whole evening revolved around that damn money.
He took a second of pause before he began speaking. "The answer lies in the Mini."
What on earth could be in Gurb's mother's car? Louis was trying to get into my head. "Taxi!"
Once in the taxi, the division was clear. Gurb was upfront, chatting animatedly with the driver. All adventures ever were recounted. Louis and I in the back. One of my best friends since I was thirteen. Funny how things turn out. It was quiet between us. I was in my head, rehearsing how I would bring up the money again. It didn't add up, and he knew it himself. "I don't care, you know," I said, hoping he'd break.
"What don't you care about?"
"About that money."
"What money? You're really a crazy woozy man." Louis burst out laughing again.
On the other hand, it was silent. Gurb had started talking about the driver's family. The driver didn't appreciate it. Gurb meant well. The driver smelled of alcohol. Or was it me? His nails were polished. Maybe his wife was a specialist. I bite my nails myself. Like now.
"In the Mini, oh yeah."
"Shut up. Illegal man."
"You'll never know."
"Stop playing. Just say it!"
Louis grabbed my head, pulled himself towards me, and brought his mouth to my right ear. "Why so serious?" he whispered. He didn't want to tell me.
"But always with this damn money, huh?" I almost shouted at Louis. I broke every silence within a radius of 10 kilometers.
"I'm trying my best, bro. It is what it is. I can't make it any different," he replied. It was clearly bothering him deeply. He ran his hands through his hair. "Sometimes people have to do things. And you know that better than anyone. Sometimes they have to do things they don't really want to or aren't supposed to do."
I knew this spiel all too well. Through all the drunken haziness, I suddenly saw a small glimmer of light. A tiny spark of sincerity. Louis was serious this time.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to involve you in this. I'm sorry," sweat dripped from his forehead.
"You're serious, huh? Damn, man. What mess have you gotten yourself into now? Worse than Terschelling?" Worse than Terschelling would mean stolen goods. Maybe even violence.
"It's not what you think."
"The Adlon Hotel, right?" the driver chimed in. Always saved by the bell, that Louis.
Suddenly I hit my head against the seat in front of me. Of course, I wasn't wearing my seatbelt. The last thing I saw was Gurb waking up in panic from his drunken stupor. One by one, I started losing my senses. It started with the feeling in my fingers. For a brief moment, everything wasn't quite black, and I could only see a vague pattern of colors repeating inside my eyelids. You could compare it to the brief moment after the commercial break before the movie starts in the cinema. The movie was about to begin.
I knew I wasn't dying. At least not yet. Not like this. Not after an overall mediocre night out in Berlin. I found comfort in the image I forced myself to see. It was all in my head. There I was, unconscious.
I saw myself in a third-person point of view. It wasn't like I was actually leaving my body. More like there was a webcam hanging in one of the upper corners of the taxi.
As a child, I used to dream a lot about death. Nights spent awake.
At some point, I developed a kind of compulsive behavior. I kept swaying my torso from left to right with my hands under my head. It became almost like a workout before bedtime. Every night.
I called it dream shuffling. Just like I had learned to shuffle puzzle pieces or playing cards. Making things a little exciting for yourself. But what I almost never told anyone was that I was scared. I was afraid of burglars, who were very agile and muscular.
Especially afraid that they would murder me. I really wanted to know what death was like. It scared me.
These fear visions originated during an all-inclusive vacation in Turkey. I was 6 years old and already in bed. There was a big old TV in our hotel room, so I could secretly watch TV from bed. Every evening, my parents sat on the balcony. Here they discussed their day while enjoying a glass of alcohol. There was a Japanese animated series on TV. In the few seconds that I watched, I saw a scary creature climbing a sort of apartment complex via the balconies. The creature had hundreds of teeth and blond hair. It quickly entered to decapitate the people, then drained them and, as a final insult, robbed them. Dozens of carcasses of dead people were scattered around the apartment complex. The complex on TV resembled the resort where we were in reality, and the TV world merged with my surroundings. I became part of it. I saw people watching. No matter how loudly I screamed for help, they didn't react. The sun became very bright, and the people turned into nothing more than shadows. As the intensity of the sun increased, something became clear to me. These were not people. They had a sort of orange skin. Where I had previously thought it was their nose and mouth, it turned out that these shadowy figures did not have such physical features. They simply had three holes in their heads. The police tried to do something, but in vain. Since then, we always kept the light on in the hallway outside my bedroom. By rocking back and forth, from left to right, I could glance fleetingly at the beam of light under the door. That bit of light, escaping from the hallway into my room, gave me an advantage. It allowed me to stay one step ahead of the burglars. Pretty smart, right?
"From Jamaica to the world!
It’s just love. Why must the children play in the street?"
It was Bob Sinclar with "Love Generation" speaking to us through the taxi's speakers. We were stationary. I was conscious again, but I didn't feel alive at all. "How long was I out?" I asked Louis.
I could tell by his expression that he was relieved. Relieved that I was back. "One minute," he almost apologized. Louis gave me a pat on the shoulder. Gurb, on the other hand, was sleeping. He slept like a baby cub.
I put my right index finger on my forehead. It felt wet, but it wasn't blood. Blood feels different. Meanwhile, I kept hearing whistling.
"Be the love generation! Oh yeah!" It was still that same song by Bob Sinclar.
The earlier scent of alcohol had now been replaced by the smell of incense. It smelled like the same incense I had in my room. Sold to me as Tibetan 39 incense. I had bought it at a coffee shop in Rotterdam. I pulled up my notes on my phone. "Who lights incense in a CAR????" I let Louis read from my screen. He took the phone from my hands and started typing as well.
"Look at Gurb >>>" Gurb was so deeply asleep that his head drooped. His seatbelt held his torso in place, but his head ended up on the driver's shoulder. The man didn't mind. He didn't move. I made eye contact with the driver through the rearview mirror, and soon I found him. He winked at me.
We arrived at the hotel. Gurb awakened from his alcoholic hibernation. "Who's going to pay for the taxi?" I asked. Clearly rhetorical. I already knew I would take this one for the team, as usual. I refused to use Louis's money. It was uncomfortably quiet. "By card please," I said.
"I'll always protect you, Louis. You really need to know that. I care about you like my own little brother. I'll always try to help you. But you have to be honest with me. Can you do that?" Louis didn't hesitate.
"Yes. Yes, I can. I'll show you. It's really in the Mini." Meanwhile, the taxi driver's card machine indicated that I had insufficient funds. That couldn't be right. Maybe I had withdrawn too much that evening.
"I have cash in the hotel room," Gurb said to me. Gurb informed the driver in broken English that he would go get his cash. The driver agreed. Money is money, whether it comes now or later. As long as it feels good in your hands.
Louis and I got out of the taxi. "You're not going to light a cigarette now, are you?" Louis wanted to smoke. "Especially for stress. That's really for people who can't handle pain. You need to feel pain. Pain needs to brand you for the rest of your life so you finally learn not to do such stupid things." It fell silent again. My blood boiled. All pots were on the stove. I felt like Gordon Ramsay in the kitchen. "Show me then. Do it."
Louis remained silent and walked around the corner of the hotel. Towards the parking lot. I followed him. "You're not going to find much," said Louis.
"Why not? Are you a magician?"
"No. Just. Not much."
"So there's suddenly magically nothing in Gurb's car?"
"Stop. Get out. Get out of my head!" Louis shouted. Louis had had enough. He was done with the parade. Normally we dealt with hypothetical stories. Only this time it wasn't a joke. I was sure now. Louis had dropped his mask. The revolution had begun. The government had fallen and the dikes had broken. The people were in charge. "You shouldn't freak out like this. Always wanting more. Sweet boy, think about yourself."
After Gurb gave the money to the driver, he came to us. He had a smile on his face, lit a cigarette, and exclaimed, "Brothers!" Once with us, he hugged me. He started laughing. "Maybe I haven't been entirely honest either." Sometimes Gurb seemed like a 38-year-old man. In a positive way. He exuded confidence in a way I didn't often see. Affectionate, with a hint of authority.
We stood in the middle of a large parking lot. "Look. We've reached a point where I might not even care anymore. You guys are teasing me." It did matter to me. Maybe more than ever. I was supposed to be two steps ahead of them, but I couldn't figure it out. "I give up."
The delightful silence returned. Louis and Gurb looked at each other. "You guys win. Apparently, I'm not to be trusted as a friend."
From Louis's expression, I could tell he disagreed with this. "Not true. Come to the car."
We arrived at the car. Louis unlocked it and searched for the trunk button. Gurb had started his third cigarette. "It's a corpse, isn't it? Say it now. I can still help you. I can still help us. I can book a ticket for you. We can get you out of here," I said to Louis.
"Just wait. Nutcase."
"Why won't you accept my help?"
Louis started laughing nervously. Or at least it seemed that way. Perhaps a sly laugh too. Had Louis killed someone? "It's not a corpse. That can't be. You wouldn't be stupid enough to use their ID. You're smarter than that. So it must be something stolen. Haven't you found that button yet?"
Suddenly, we heard a click. Louis had found the button. Somewhere, I didn't want to know. Shouldn't I just trust Louis? Wasn't that the whole point of friendship?
Finally, the moment had arrived. I placed my right hand in the slot of the rear hatch. Something in me doubted. Still. I still doubted. Louis looked dead serious. "You wanted to know, didn't you? Then you also have to be man enough to accept it." Louis was clearly not joking. Or was he acting again? "Pussy," Louis said. I looked away. "You're afraid of what's inside, huh? You're afraid of the real Louis." He began to laugh manically. "Open that thing, man. Nutcase!"
I started laughing too. Why did I make such a big deal out of it? Sweat broke out from every pore in my body. It was even a bit damp in the no man's land between my scrotum and my anus. A tropical climate. It had been quite an adventure the whole evening. I took my hand off the rear hatch and first gave Louis a hug. Not some half-hearted birthday wish. No, a real hug.
"It's okay, buddy," Louis said to me. I had no idea what he meant by that. It fit the moment though.
It was really time now. I opened the rear hatch.
"Where is it?"
"In front of you," said Louis.
"In some secret compartment?"
There was nothing in the trunk. Absolutely nothing. An empty trunk. For an empty evening, in an empty Berlin, with an empty group of guys. I didn't get it.
"You won, man," I whispered. "You finally fucking done did it."
I couldn't believe my eyes. Empty? There was still nothing in the car. Louis just stood there. Emotionally, I was a wreck. I had felt every emotion this evening. Seen every color and smelled every scent. I was done. My body was ready. No longer needed. My mission was complete.
"But why did you do this?" I asked Louis, laughing.
He scratched his chin. It felt like the end of a bad movie.
"I sold our Playstation. Wanted to tell you only after I had sorted everything out again. I terminated my lease. Had some debts, and I also wanted to have some money for once. Once not empty-handed in the club. Once not dependent on my best friends. This is not who I am... I know how much that Playstation meant to you. It was ours together. I should have just told you."
"… and how does Gurb actually make his money?"

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

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

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

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

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark, when out of the blue, my wife called me at work. "We're going to Niagara Falls for the weekend. I got us an awesome deal!"
We had both been working at our first "full-fledged" jobs for a year and had reached that moment after graduation when you suddenly realize you can't make that impact on the world your student enthusiasm once promised. At first, I just sighed. It was the dead of January, and I had already expended all my energy on a week of inconsequential stress. I just wanted to collapse on the couch for two days. Sarah felt a similar weary exhaustion. I could tell. Her tone was more hopeful than excited, but she had dreaded the routine we were sinking into and was trying her best to pull us free.
I looked to the ceiling and adjusted my telephone headset. At that time I was working at Stats Canada on the tele-query desk. I took a deep breath and, as convincingly as possible, said, "Sounds good." I don't think she bought it, but we went nonetheless.
This was Niagara Falls before the casinos when there was a very distinct off-season. When we got to the hotel, we were given the details of our "lovers' special". One dinner to be used either Friday or Saturday, two breakfasts, a roll of tokens for the arcade, 10% off some "4D" movie ride experience, and a 2-for-1 coupon to Max Tussaud's. I guessed it was Madame's nephew? We also got a bottle of sparkling wine in our room and chocolate treats on our pillows. I was impressed. It sounded good.
When we got into our room and saw the "bottle" of wine - basically an aeroplane-sized glass and half - and the chocolates - "fun wrapped" Oh Henry's left over from Halloween - we both started to laugh. The tone for two wonderful days had been set. We decided to cash in on our dinner coupon right away.
The restaurant off the lobby had hopes of being better. There were huge panoramic windows that promised a view of the gorge. Unfortunately, they had some winter moisture problems that day, and it felt like we were defrosting amid the dripping streaks and foggy patches. The decor was your standard booths and tables though the "romantic" lighting was unique. Dollar store battery-powered tea lights were lodged inside thick tumbler glasses and shed a muted pleasantness in a "what a great idea for a craft" sort of way. I had a feeling they were created by our waitress since she was the one who always seemed to be fussing with them. Only one other couple was in the dining room, so she attended to us immediately.
"Can I get you something to start?"
"Sure." "Thank you, that would be nice." We both responded simultaneously.
"And what would the lady like this evening?"
Sarah smiled at the flattery. "I think I'll have a glass of white wine." She glanced over at me to see my reaction. This was a subtle cue of the mood to follow. Diet Coke was usually the beverage of choice. She didn't normally drink alcohol. One glass numbed her nose and made her giggle far too easily. When she did drink, however, it meant she was comfortable with my company and open to anything to follow. I raised my eyebrows in a debonair way.
"And for the gentleman?"
"Do you have Foster's on tap?"
"Yes we do."
"I'll have a pint please."
Sarah smiled at the happy memories I invoked. At university, Foster's was my signature beer. It was at a time when Crocodile Dundee was a known name, and Australia was inexplicably cool. 15 cent buffalo wings and a pitcher of Foster's was the Tuesday night special at the London Arms pub. There the Classics Club would meet and, as a group, circle the wagons and drink ourselves into extroverts.
As soon as the waitress left, Sarah smiled at me. She reached out and held my hand across the table. With my gaze on hers, she slipped her foot from her shoe and slowly began sliding it up my pant leg.
"I got a pedicure this morning." She announced seductively.
I nodded and pretended I didn't notice her invitation. "What colour?" I asked.
"I'm not telling." She teased. "You'll just have to find out later." Her devious little smile was gorgeous.
"Mmmm. I can't wait."
When the waitress returned with our drinks, we immediately retreated to our personal spaces as if we had been discovered by the chaperone. Sarah opened the menu and began to salivate at the variety.
"Can we add an appetizer to the package dinner?" Her question seemed innocent enough.
"You're on the package?" Our friendly waitress disappeared, and we were no longer a lady or a gentleman. She ripped the menu out of Sarah's hand and took mine before I had even opened it. She then scurried to her podium and brought back a tattered, grease-stained, photocopied page that we had to share. We both burst out laughing.
The waitress was flustered that we were not as bothered as she was. "The drinks are NOT included!"
"What choices do we have?" I asked, expecting the usual chicken or fish. I had been on many packages before with my parents.
"Coffee or tea." The waitress snapped.
Sarah and I looked at each other in amused disbelief.
"I'll have coffee please." I didn't even flinch at the ridiculously limited package. I was eager to get my order in early.
"And I'll have the tea!" Sarah followed my lead. "Can I have some milk with that?"
"Yes." The waitress snarled.
"Fantastic!" I enthused.
"Yes, great! I'm glad we got the package, Honey." Sarah joked.
The waitress stormed off and returned sometime later with our lettuce-only salads drowned in Kraft's Italian dressing and our chewy chicken dinners, which she had thoughtfully allowed to cool. She tossed the plates on the table and left us to peacefully devour our deal. We didn't see her again until we requested the bill. For some reason, we found it amusing to leave a generous tip, which of course, defeated the purpose of the package, but we didn't care. It was fun.
The rest of the holiday was marred with similar off-season products and services. The wax museum was only half open, so we couldn't see the pop stars of the seventies. I didn't think it was a problem, but Sarah pouted playfully. She really wanted to see young Bowie. Meanwhile, the arcade was particularly stingy about spitting out coupons. So much so that Mike, the scraggly-haired repair guy, ended up escorting us from game to game and repairing the devices on demand. In no time, he was acting like an old drinking buddy. He joked and laughed, then, out of the blue, revealed that working at the Niagara Falls Fun Centre wasn't his career choice, that his dream was to be part of a travelling carnival. He desperately wanted to see more of the world, he explained and socialize with a greater variety of "wildlife." Mike winked at Sarah to punctuate his meaning, then began advising her on which games to play.
Sarah was partial to Skee ball and clearly had career potential in the sport, but Mike quickly pointed out that the token-to-coupon payout was not the best. In a furtive whisper, he revealed that The Storm Stopper was your best bet, provided the arcade had left it on its original factory settings. He assured us the ones here were "cool." The game had lights that ran around the outside in opposite directions and you had to hit the button at just the right spot to win. It looked impossible, but Mike was right; if you calculated tokens in versus coupons won, it was the best deal. It only took a little practice to win a minor jackpot every 5 or 6 times.
We would cheer each win as if Toronto had won the Stanley Cup. I would give a quick fist pump and a full lung "Yes!" while Sarah would jump up and down screaming, "WhoooHooo!" Of course, in the end, when we cashed in, "Mike's secret" only bumped us up from a key-chain flashlight to a "deluxe" nail beauty set. Mind you, it did come complete with clippers, scissors, a file AND a cuticle scraper. Not only that, it was all neatly packaged in a paisley-patterned pink and green plastic vinyl case. Mike was so pleased to give us our prize and to be honest, we were thrilled to win it if only to see his broad chicletted smile. It was more of a trophy than a grooming set.
That night, I made reservations for us at a fancy Chinese food restaurant - the Bamboo Garden. When we arrived, we had half-expected renovations of some sort. Instead, the place was immaculate. Gentle pools teeming with goldfish highlighted the epic black and red Ming dynasty decor. Real candles flickered on crisp white tablecloths. Again, the restaurant was virtually ours. The reservations on my part were entirely unnecessary. In fact, as soon as we entered, they knew us by name and guided us directly to our table. A live lounge piano caressed the air, its notes danced vaguely around familiar harmonies until finally, as if prompted by our presence, a song emerged immediately accompanied by the velvet voice of oriental karaoke. It was our song remastered