So, I just wanted to go through my arduous journey of the last few years and get y'all's thoughts/just vent and tell the story of my proverbial diagnosis roulette.
This is going to be a literal wall of text and I am leaving so so so much out, so please bear with me.
Outside of my childhood of being considered "sickly" by my family and friends, I never really felt too far outside of the realm of normalcy. Sure, I had gotten diagnosed with GERD (eosinophilic esophagitis) in high school which seemed to explain all of the stomach issues I always had, it didn't feel too debilitating or difficult. The only odd thing was sometimes sleeping 12+ hours and still being tired but I figured that was normal. However, I distinctly remember being evaluated for Marfan's syndrome as a kid but being told that my brother and I didn't quite meet the criteria and genetic testing was too expensive at the time.
Fast forward past high school, and I graduated undergrad and got my first job. But then I just kept getting sick once a week, over and over, until I finally quit that job. I attributed it to stress or lack of sleep. Figured what I needed was a change of scenery, so I got certified and went overseas to teach English. Frustratingly, that only lasted 3 months. I couldn't seem to do it despite my working 60+ hour weeks trying to make it work.
Came back home to a new job after looking for months. 6 months later, I went on medical short-term disability. I was quite literally dozing off driving to work every morning and said enough was enough. I didn't want to hurt anyone and my mental health was in the tank. Half a year later, it was called obstructive sleep apnea. A year, a CPAP, BiPap, and finally ASV machine later, I am getting treated for what turned out to be central sleep apnea. This was 3 years after and I had returned to school to try and get a masters in public health. I was finally feeling like I was getting back to a healthy normal. My mental health and ability to focus dramatically improved. I even got diagnosed with ADHD, and that was like a lightbulb moment too.
I was finally feeling great. Never felt better, was excelling in my epidemiolgy program and happy that I found my niche. However, life had different plans. It began with a bang, where I severely sprained my right wrist playing with my dog. Despite the intense pain, I was still able to move it decently well so the ortho didn't believe it was too bad. I had to go back twice and they scheduled an MRI. Full thickness tear of 2/3 portions of the scapholunate ligament, and a minor perforation of the TFCC. Lasted two weeks in the small wrist cast they put on, but couldn't deal with the pain. I did occupational therapy and got my first OT saying I could be hypermobile. At some point during that journey, I sprained my left wrist just as bad. That's when they sent me to a rheumatologist.
I started getting incredibly fatigued (back to the levels of pre-treatment of my sleep apnea) and began to experience intense pain in my joints, along with muscle spasms. I sprained my ankles bad enough to need PT for a few weeks. None of my blood work ever showed anything and everything else never panned out so they said it was anxiety and fibromyalgia. I gave up but knew it was wrong. I said screw it, I refuse to let someone tell me this is just anxiety. I know anxiety, I know what it does, and it doesn't cause joint pain and strains all of the time. The celebrex they gave me only worked to an extent. So, I went back to the rheumatologist and said I don't want pain killers, I just need a diagnosis that makes sense. Due to the low back, ankle, hip, shoulder, elbow, and neck pain they said it was non-radiographic axial spondyloarthritis (nr-axSpA). Then I went on cimzia until I graduated. It seemed to help but never for long. I could barely do school, and was worried I would be disabled and unable to work.
Came home and the rheumatologist here and they took me off of everything because there was no objective proof. My xrays were normal, MRI's didn't show joint degradation, and my blood work didn't show inflammation/any markers for any of the possible autoimmune conditions. I literally had to get lucky before this doctor believed me (after 3 months) and came in with my elbow swollen. He immediately said it was seronegative asymmetric rheumatoid arthritis. It is already somewhat uncommon to be seronegative, but asymmetric on top of that? But I finally had a diagnosis again, so I just accepted it.
I got lucky and found a work-from-home job during this time. My fatigue got a little better. However, nothing ever worked for long, not the methotrexate, prednisone, or Humira they put me on. The Rinvoq I am on now doesn't seem to stop flares either. I kept spraining my wrists, ankles, shoulders, elbows, knees, whatever. I kept asking for help with the pain, asking why my muscles hurt so bad and kept spasming, asking just for anything to help. Neurologist cleared me. Pysch said it wasn't a mental health issue. Doctor after doctor after doctor and nothing seemed to tie everything together. I asked them to check for hypermobility, they said I didn't have it after a half-hearted attempt. I looked into everything, thinking I was going crazy, and constantly being told I was by doctors, friends, and family. It hurt so dang much feeling like I was the only person advocating for me.
Throughout this all, I was in and out of PT. Once for my wrists again and once for my shoulder and neck. The wrist PT said I needed to get looked at for hypermobility but I was just so tired of doctors and had asked both rheumatologists so far. Then months later, the PTs for my neck and shoulders said so as well. I said screw it, and scheduled a dermatologist thinking that was enough. 6 months and right before my appointment I got COVID so I had to cancel. Another few months and I am done with neck and shoulder PT but never felt "healed". They told me to request a special PT from my rheumatologist, one who dealt specifically with hypermobility because they all believed I had hypermobile EDS. I was finally done with questioning whether or not the rheumatologist got it right, with the constant negative test results, no inflammation ever, and continual constant pain. I convinced the rheumatologist to send me to this new PT.
I went in, and this lady immediately starts going on and on about things I can't do. I was confused, and asked "don't we need to do any tests?" She basically said I can already tell you're hypermobile. You held out your arm earlier and your elbows went hypermobile. She double-checked my knees and had me stand, where they both bent too far backwards. My thumbs could touch my forearm. Someone finally knew what to look for and believed me. She said it was definitely hypermobility, likely hypermobile EDS, said she would send her report to my rheumatologist and asked me to get a referral to a doctor with experience in this disease.
So now we are here. I am still struggling with everything, and funnily enough am looking for "high-top" shoes after a recommendation from that PT. I am waiting for my second appointment with them and got referred to the docs I need. I want to cry because it seems like I finally found the missing link. I also want to scream because despite all the years of being called a hypochondriac, my symptoms were anxiety, and all of the random sprains and rolled ankles since childhood, I feel like I am stuck with being in pain. I just feel lost.
Is it crazy to believe that the rheumatologists had it wrong? I remember back to feeling a pop in the same elbow that got me diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis but didn't attribute it to anything because that was normal. I even told the rheumatologist and he said it likely wasn't a sprain because I could move it. I am sure it was now a sprain. Everything makes sense the more I read about this disease. The links to GERD, sleep-apnea, flat feet, constant rolled ankles, bad eyesight, double-jointed in my fingers, and so much more. Is it possible that the blood work was telling the truth? Can there be hope that despite my pain, I won't have to further damage my body and immune system with all of these rheumatologic drugs? I don't know if I can muster the strength anymore to advocate for myself and bring this up with the rheumatologist again. I am afraid of the young 'healthy' male stereotype and am so done with doctors who don't believe me.
Honestly, any advice, stories, resources, or whatever yall have I would love to hear. I just needed to rant and write my thoughts down. If you read this far, thank you. Also, if you have any suggestions for high tops I am open to receiving them!

What’s in the closet, Kirsty?
He knew I hid a secret.
I smiled, tried to look confused.
He waited, crossing his arms.
I worried that he'd already seen. He had.
What else could he think about the pile?
His wife’s a cheater. She has another life. Another husband. Children.
He’d never believe the truth: I’m not a cheater; there’s no other life; no other man; I don’t know who the children are who visit me at night.
But I did have a secret. And maybe it’s fair to say another life, even if was smaller and against my will.
I should have destroyed those frames, burned the photos within. Now it looked like I saved them, cherished them. The truth couldn’t be farther. I feared to touch anything to do with… whatever they are…with one exception.
“It started last Halloween,” I said to George, my husband, my real husband.
He stopped packing for a moment, working out the impossibility of this statement. “I’m taking the girls to my parents.” He resumed the tossing of shirts, pants, etc. into our big suitcase.
“It’s true,” I said, but weakly. The children in the picture are at least six and four respectively. They were born six months ago.
“They’re not… my kids,” I said of the boys in the photos. They’re not kids is what I almost said.
George stopped and squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. “Kirsty,” he said slowly, “there are baby pictures. I saw them.”
“That’s-”
He quickly raised his finger, exasperated, angry, done.
“The first picture is you holding a newborn, and…” He swallowed painfully, his throat gone dry. It always does when he’s upset. “And the father in that picture, with his arm around you, isn’t me.”
When I couldn't deny it, he nodded like he knew all along our marriage would end.
We were happy. We really were. George and I had managed to overcome the typical breakdown that often comes with raising children. Only since last Halloween had distance been made by me.
I should have told him as soon as it started.
“Girls!” he called as I followed him down the stairs to the front hall of our lovely home. We’d scrimped and sacrificed to buy and keep this place, our dream by the lake. He’d been so proud. I couldn’t tell him I wanted to leave the first night sleeping there.
Cara and Ella protested through play, ignoring the adults, continuing to jump on an old box they’d long since flattened. Rays from the western sun placed my daughters into an inspired, hallowed light, and I started to cry. He was going to take my babies away.
George opened the door, intending, I’m sure, to drop the suitcase in the car before returning to physically carry the girls out.
But he hesitated in the doorway.
“George?”
The suitcase fell with a solid thud on the floor. “There’s no way,” he said.
“What?”
“There’s no way,” he said, with emphasis on the last word, “you would have had time for…this…”
Not defining "this" as cheating was progress. “Yes!”
He glared, quieting my desperate enthusiasm. I wasn’t off the hook. “Tell me. The truth.”
“I can’t.”
He reached for the suitcase.
“No, not because I don’t want to,” I protested. “I don’t know what’s happening!” I sat on the carpeted steps and stared through blurred vision at my trembling hands. The shriek I’d filled the house with - “happening!” - had put a halt to the box's obliteration. Cara and Ella hesitated for a few seconds before leaping into action.
Cara, the oldest, six, punched her dad in the buttocks. “You have to be nice!”
Ella, four, sat beside me and patted my trembling hands. “It’s okay, mummy.”
Such lovely daughters. Nothing like the boys in those photos when they were this age.
George grasped Cara's wrists and gently walked her back into the house, using his foot to kick the suitcase from the swing of the front door.
"It's alright, girls," he said with weak resolve. "Go and play."
"No!" Cara shouted. She kicked at her father and he pulled her close into a bearhug. Gradually, the girls calmed and were convinced to return to the box in the front room.
"Kirsty," George said, "you have to tell me." He sat down on the step beside me. "Please." I would do anything to take away the hurt in his eyes. "Please."
"I can't. But… I can write it down. Maybe." I took out my phone. We shared Google Drive. When I made a new document, he reluctantly started his phone. The man was a dream. He watched his screen, and waited patiently for my words to appear.
Without preamble, I returned to the awful moment when it all began: a strange and disturbing dream. Words came like an infection from beneath a torn scab. The wound had been opened. Nothing could stop this now.
Sex with another man has never been a desire of mine. I love George. He loves me.
Plus, the man in my dream was a stranger, and not particularly handsome. He has a plain face set to unwavering boredom and unkempt male pattern baldness. Our dream sex felt obligatory, just something we had to do.
I awoke on the wrong side of midnight. November 1st and I was craving ice cream instead of the girls' gathered candy. The freezer left by the previous homeowners came with unopened ice cream. Freezer burned or not, I wanted some.
After retrieving a spoon from the kitchen, I intended to destroy a brick of neopolitan. He waited in his flannel pajamas, barefoot on the concrete floor. His arms were crossed.
"Cravings?" he said.
I dropped the spoon. It clattered down the basement steps. Before I could run away, he disappeared like someone had erased him from head to foot in one clean sweep.
Had to be a dream. That's what I told myself. The spoon stayed in the basement until daylight. Ghost or nightmare, there was laundry to do the next day.
I crossed the concrete floor fast and only felt safer when I'd closed the door to the more modern laundry room. Never thought builder's grade tiles and track lights would make me feel anything but sad.
His voice caught me sorting.
"Kirsty!"
I dropped the cup of detergent all over the floor.
"Shit."
I came out of the laundry room, figuring George had been looking for me in uncharacteristically rude fashion. He hated speaking between rooms. Shouting throughout the house was highly impolite. It must have been important, I figured.
As soon as I stepped onto the bare concrete, however, deep sadness, the kind that seems to physically leech the strength from your body, dominated the room.
"Hello?" I don't know why I said that. The basement is a low ceilinged rectangle. There are no hiding spots except for the laundry room I'd come from. After a deep breath, I walked briskly to the stairs.
"Any day now," a raspy voice breathed into my ear. I jolted and slipped forward, falling and clipping my chin off a step. It made my teeth click painfully. Nobody there, of course. I ran upstairs and George had gone outside with the girls to play hide and seek.
I wanted to tell him. He looked so happy. It's hard to convey in words the kind of smile he showed me through the window. Imagine contentment mixed with unreserved joy and hope. Yes, it's difficult to picture. So few of us can ever have such a moment. Sort of like finding a natural view completely untouched by humanity. Beyond rare and precious.
I’m rambling now to avoid writing about what followed. The point is I couldn’t tell him. I hoped it’d go away and stop.
But, of course, it didn’t, and things got much worse.
I awoke in a great deal of pain. Having already given birth to children, the feeling was familiar. Despite getting up and gasping, George continued to snore in our bed. He’s a deep sleeper, but a quick and early riser. I’ve never heard him complain about getting out of bed either, especially when there’s an emergency.
I might have woken him up but I was disoriented and confused. Part of me believed I was still pregnant with Ella. It wasn’t until I’d gone all the way to the kitchen to avoid waking up the girls, that my brain caught up: Girls. Plural. Ella was asleep in her bed upstairs.
“Ohhhhhhhh shiiiiiiiiiiit.” I knew the signs of labour. This couldn’t be happening. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”
I was definitely going to wake everyone up if this continued.
My phone was upstairs by my bedside table. We don’t have a landline. I should have called 911. I should have woken up George.
Instead, I went downstairs where I could vocalize pain without disturbing anyone. Such a pathetically passive response. But that’s how I was raised. Keep it down, don't you frown.
His hands seized mine as soon as I descended the last step. Serious and bald without dignity is how to best describe his physical appearance. Cold and cruel is what he is. The lights turned off and, in the perfect darkness of the basement, he was all that I could see.
He produces a red light from his body somehow but his touch is literally frosty.
"Kristy, it's time," he said. No joy there. Just straight facts. Something was coming. I was going to give birth to it. In the dull red glow of his being, the first boy came.
"His name is Hadad," the man said, placing a large, infant boy with a lot of hair and, I swear, a hint of beard, on the bare concrete. Hadad looked like a three month old they use as newborns on TV. He didn't cry. He hardly seemed to breathe as his dark eyes roamed the darkness. His light resembled the man's, a less intense red.
I felt another contraction, and winced.
"She comes next," the man said.
I felt so weak. "Who are you?" I asked him.
At last, he smiled and I wished he hadn't. It made me feel small, insignificant, and beneath his concern. "You know who I am," he said. "I'm your husband."
Pain wracked my entire body. Something didn't feel right. The birth of Cara and Ella had been without difficulty.
"Push," my "husband" ordered. "She is upset with you, and will kill you if you don't get her out now."
"It has to be a nightmare," I told him. Sweat poured in streams down my face. The unborn "she" in question writhed and damaged my insides. I screamed. I couldn't help it.
"Push!"
I obeyed and the second boy spilled onto the bare concrete, coated in blood and dust.
"It's a boy," I said.
The man looked displeased. "The body is male. She is Hebat. No wonder she is angry." Like the other infant, Hebat appeared aware of her surroundings and had far too much motor control for a newborn. The light pouring from her body was dull silver. Her eye sockets were two pits of concentrated despair. I had to look away.
The babies were pressed into my arms.
The man stretched out beside me. "Open your eyes and smile." I resisted. "Do it. Now." What choice did I have? The flash from his cell blinded me. They were all gone by the time my sight recovered. Only the sweat remained as evidence of the ordeal.
It had to have been a hallucination. Some very bad food poisoning maybe. The source could be as simple as an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. I had been stress eating since we'd moved in. I stood up and took some comfort in a Charles Dickens' reference.
"More of gravy than of grave about you," I said. My words seemed consumed by the dreadful weight of the air. "Whatever you are."
Whatever you are: something bad in any case. At best, I'd hallucinated prolonged and traumatic labour and needed medical attention. Yet, when I limped up the basement stairs, all thoughts of waking George vanished. There on the kitchen island sat a propped frame containing the photograph taken only moments ago.
The man looked happy. Only Hadad appeared in this picture, which meant another one was somewhere. I didn't panic. I worried more about what George would think if he saw the photos. I had to find them all.
Hebat and his father and I were mounted in a dark wood frame by the master bedroom. It'd be the first thing anyone saw if they woke up. I plucked it off the wall and, together with the first photo, tucked it under some blankets in the dresser we'd shoved in the small walk-in closet.
You might not believe this, but I went straight to sleep after. I climbed under the blanket in my sweaty pajamas, shut my eyes, and didn't have enough time to deny what had happened. I was unconscious until morning.
George placed a coffee on my nightstand. That's what I remember. He rubbed my feet while I slowly awoke. The girls were watching TV downstairs, munching on apple slices. There was forty minutes still before we had to seriously consider getting ready to take Cara to school.
George would drop her off on his way to work downtown. He chose his hours and always chose convenience for his wife and kids. Ella and I planned to spend the morning gardening. Then we would nap much of the afternoon away until George and Cara returned. A life so perfect is so very rare.
I didn't want to spoil things with a very convincing nightmare. Besides, I felt fine. Not so good that I wanted to look in the dresser to see if those photos really were there, but not ill. So I remained silent again.
November started fine. Idyllic days and nights filled with laughter and joy and television. Just as I started to believe in the dream we'd made, they came again.
The wail of a child's hunger is a powerful call for a parent. When it's a chorus, even of two, it cannot be ignored. Only I awoke to Hadad and Hebat's cries for their "mother" from the basement.
Half asleep, I drifted into the kitchen and searched for their milk bottles. When no bottles could be found, I remembered they were newborns. Milk swelled in my breasts and made my nipples ache. Just like when Cara or Ella would awaken in the night. It was a relief to feed them.
But what the fuck was I doing?
I was acting like the man in the basement and the devil babies were mine. It'd been less than a week since Halloween and that horrible nightmare illusion. I had already taken on the beleaguered newborn mother role without question.
Their cries intensified and flayed the weak resistance of exhausted reasoning.
Don't wake George. Don't wake my babies, my real babies.
"What took you so long?" the man critized, his voice monotone, the question unrhetorical.
"I… was sleeping. I went to the fridge first." Under his severe gaze, I stopped in the midst of the dark room. Hadad had quieted. Hebat cooed as if laughing at her own joke. I couldn't see them because the lights were off. They liked the dark better. Somehow I knew that about them and him.
"You should sleep down here," he said. "A mother should always be close to her babies."
The statement was nonsense but not altogether wrong. I wanted to be close to my babies, the daughters sleeping in bliss upstairs, away from the evil fermentation in the basement.
"Kirsty," he said. "Are you listening?" His hand touched the small of my back. The gentleness surprised me. I squawked and flinched away. "What’s wrong with you? They're hungry." He pressed on my shoulders until I sat on the cold floor.
They came from the shadows, already walking. I wanted to go, but I knew he wouldn't allow it. He pulled my cat t-shirt off over my head and their fierce mouths suckled, relieving the pressure of excess breast milk quickly. It felt physically good and psychologically alien.
I looked down at them once and immediately regretted it. Their emanated light had intensified to a point where perception of them hurt.
Each time I blinked my eyes were drawn to some isolated part of their bodies. The vision got closer to the point of disgust. Everything is gross if you're close enough. There is no beauty under a microscope. If you think there is then you're not using the right magnification.
Hebat's eye drew me in. At first, I saw the dark sphere, and then the strands of her eyelashes. Her gravity kept pulling until the creatures that live in eyelashes were revealed: Demodex folliculorum. I looked the microscopic horrors up.
The babies had more parasites than any child should. They wanted to show me and could somehow do so.
I asked him about it. "Why are they showing me these worms?"
He smiled, contemptuously as usual. "Trying to impress mother. Neither of them understand your horror and insignificance. You are the ant who knows they're an ant. Lucky you. They think you will be proud of the life their corporeal forms produce and host. Give them a few hours. It will pass."
"Why are you doing this to me?"
"I'm not sure what you mean. We're married. Now, prepare to smile." His cell reappeared and I noted the lack of features; it might have been a singed rectangle of spent firewood. He frowned when I failed to smile. "Smile, Kirsty. These are your children."
I managed to stave off the tears and hold the babies close. The smile was more difficult. In the inevitable aftermath of their sudden disappearance, the frames depicted an exhausted, wrinkly woman smiling painfully. It took a second to recognize myself.
The things in the basement sapped my strength. I looked dehydrated, beleaguered. The scale in the bathroom said I'd dropped six pounds. I'd weighed myself the morning before.
"Whoa, you've lost weight," George noted, thinking I'd be pleased. "This place has been so good for us, eh?'
To produce another smile proved as draining as the previous night. "Y-yes," I stuttered too late for him to ignore.
"Hey," he said, touching my forearm.
I flinched.
"Whoa, you okay? What's wrong?"
I should have told him. "Nothing. Bad sleep. A nightmare. I'll be fine."
A lie is an agreement. George wanted to agree, I think. He wanted life to be fine because he was happy for once. We struggled so hard before we came to Bridal Veil Lake. It was supposed to be our dream.
Guilty if I told him the truth. Guilty because I didn't. I began to resent his happiness, though he had done nothing but be the wonderful man he'd always been.
To Cara and Ella I became a body in motion, No brain left to guide them away from harm or answer their questions about nature and the universe.
"I don't know." That's what I told them often.
So they began to treat me like a kind of butler.
"Can I have some juice, please?"
"Sure, sweetheart."
"Mommy, can I have a snack?"
"Of course." And I'd run off to fetch it.
"Cookies."
"Yes, dear."
When Christmas came, I had two and they induced the same level of joy. Visiting the basement to feed and nurture Hebat and Hadad became a nightly occurrence. I'd learned to awaken, if I could get to sleep at all, and go quietly.
He berated me severely if I missed a night, and there were subtle threats made casually.
"I may have to squash you yet," he said, his tone as deep and cold as always.
"It won't happen again," I promised. "They’re getting big." In fact, they were no longer infants. Both had grown to the approximate age of six or seven in a few months. Still, they never spoke. Their dark eyes watched me as they ate food from the kitchen upstairs, food I'd hidden from my family.
"More meat," the man demanded.
"Of course." And I ran to the freezer and gave them frozen sausages in the package. They never complained or demanded the food be prepared a different way. No objections from my "husband" either.
Hebat tore the styrofoam and plastic wrap away and flattened the row of sausages stuck together between powerful molars. Hadad contented itself with licking them like a popsicle.
I'd stay until the photo. Then they'd release me by vanishing. Always with an exhausted breath, I'd trudge up the stairs and search for the frames and hide them in the same place.
They only smiled in the pictures. At no other time did they express any kind of emotion unless indifference counts.
My own children and husband weren't doing much better. Their concerns about my fatigue and ruminating slowly ceased as I repeated the excuse: I’m just tired. It'll pass.
Of course, I did not know when the nightmare would stop.
"When will it end?" I asked him one night, while Hebat and Hadad exercised like they had a mission.
"What do you mean?" he said.
I was surprised he answered. He usually didn't. "This. This. When can I go back to normal and not come down every night? I'm so very tired."
He frowned and I thought some punishment must be coming. Instead, he looked more confused. "I don't understand. You aren't happy? Your children grow into power and strength and will take their place in the world. They will be great and you - you, of all the tiny things, made that happen. Ask yourself what you want out of life, and see if Hebat and Haddad aren't your answer."
Too many words, all at once, for an exhausted mother. I didn't speak for the rest of the night. The infernal trio vanished, and the latter moments of the ritual I carried out with his challenge in mind.
I want my children to be strong, happy, and safe.
"Juice," Cara demanded the next morning, a Saturday, while she watched cartoons.
"Get it yourself!" I hissed, from tired to angry in a second.
"But I can't," Cara accurately pointed out. She didn't look away from the TV. Looking at me wasn't safe, and she knew it. Her and Ella held hands and sat a little straighter. It broke my heart. What had I done?
George came downstairs, attracted by my shouting. "What’s going on?"
Empathy became sadness, and the constant burden rekindled to anger swiftly. "Just children treating me like a servant."
He smiled. "Ah, yes, and how are the royal princesses this morning?"
His levity irked me. "You would know if you didn't sleep in so much."
The smile vanished from his face, and instead of the fight I seemed to want, he mumbled a quiet apology and joined the girls. They climbed onto him as he wrapped them into a cuddle.
"What are we watching?" George restarted his smile, his calm, for the girls. I hated myself. It had to end. Tonight.
After another dreary day of going through the motions, and the girls and George had fallen asleep, I went to the kitchen and chose the knife I thought sharpest.
"Kirsty," he said, his voice a whisper rising from the depths of the house.
"Coming," I whispered back.
"Mom," said another voice, a girl's, and I knew that Hebat had, at last, found herself and the wholeness of her being had been corrected.
I started to cry. I went downstairs and there she was with her brother and her father. He looked tired but some of the grimness had cracked to allow the first real contentment I've ever seen him express.
"Is that for the cake?" he asked. "We already have one."
I remembered the sharp knife. "Meat," I said. "There’s ham in the freezer."
He nodded, seeming to accept the answer.
"Mom," Hebat said, "Do you think I'm…" She gestured to herself, her face, and her body, and I understood the question, born from doubt and a desire to be validated.
I pulled her close. "You are the most beautiful girl in the whole world." We cried together. Hadad cut into a poorly made, asymmetrical cake by the light of his aura. No one cared that he did so on the floor. I brought out the ham from the fridge and we ate slices with our hands.
"It's almost done," he said. "They’re nearly grown. They are strong, and they are happy. You've done a good job, Kirsty." He watched our children fight to smear icing on each other's faces. "I'm sorry if I was mean. Or cold. I've never done this before." And he meant raising children. "It was the hardest, scariest thing anyone can try. I shouldn't have blamed you for… Hebat… It wasn't your fault."
Before I could pat his hand, he and the kids vanished. Darkness so familiar couldn't extinguish a new fear. I went upstairs and found the last frame. I held my daughter in the photo, my beautiful Hebat. He must have taken the photo without my notice.
I took it upstairs but couldn't bring myself to hide it.
I didn't see that one, George wrote into the document.
I forgot he was watching.
He typed again: Are you saying there is something in the basement?
Yes, I replied.
He stirred in the living room. I hadn't moved from the stairs, but I could tell by his stomping how angry he'd become. All of his negative, violent traits he saved for those in the world who would harm his family. George the Protector was fearsome to behold.
But he had no chance against my other husband.
"Come out! Come out you coward!" George bellowed. At first, nothing happened. The moment before calamity, even when the specific consequences aren't known, is still in slow motion. He carried on shouting. The girls rushed into the hall and didn’t hesitate to investigate.
"No!" I shouted. "Cara! Ella!"
Their feet padded down the steps. A violent commotion followed, screams and raging voices, both deep and childishly shrill.
The most unsettling quiet followed.
I chewed through the fear and the horror tearing me apart and finally moved.
No evidence of violence could be seen from the top of the stairs. The concrete looked bare and dusty and the light revealed nothing more. They were gone, all of them.
"Hebat," I whispered. "Cara? George?"
Him, I thought of, the nameless husband and felt no hint of his presence. He'd always been there. I know that now. It had nothing to do with the house. His absence was felt more than his insidious presence. Yet, I felt no relief. George and the girls were gone. I sat on the floor and cried for all my missing children.
When I finally emerged from the basement, the whole house had been filled with night. Their photos were everywhere. The others were upstairs. I gathered them on the kitchen island. How could I explain any of this to the police?
I needed help. I called my parents. It took twenty minutes before my father picked up.
"Kirsty? What's wrong?"
"Dad," I whimpered. "George is gone. Cara. Ella."
"What? What did you say?"
"They’re gone, dad. George. The girls are gone."
I heard his bed springs protest as he rolled out of bed. My mom said something I couldn't hear, and he shushed her.
"Kirsty," he said, "are you alright? Are you hurt? Are you in danger?"
Why was it so hard to understand? "Dad. George is gone."
"Kirsty, who the hell is George?"
It was my turn to be confused. "He's my- you know him. My husband…"
"Kirsty," he said very slowly, "are you on drugs? Did you take something?"
"No. Are you?"
"Excuse me?"
I hung up.
I have their photos. I have all of their photos. That's what I brought to George's parents before the sun rose. They wouldn't open the door and spoke to me through an intercom.
"George is gone," I said.
"We'll call the police."
"This is your son. These are your granddaughters."
I heard my mother-in-law say, "Who is she?"
"We don't have a son," my father-in-law said. "Go away."
I left.
Back to the house. Our dream sat empty and I live there, but none of the people in my family photos are my family.
I remember but the world never does. My parents think I'm ill and that I used AI to create the family I apparently never had.
How did I buy the house without a job or income? With deep concern for my mental health, they showed me a news story. I had won the lottery the day I turned eighteen.
His influence there, payment for services rendered.
A lie is an agreement.
What had I agreed to? I'm afraid I know the answer: I never wanted a family.
God help me. God help them.
I don't know what to do with these pictures.

As I lead the group deeper into the forest, the air grows colder, and the canopy overhead thickens. I can feel the weight of the trees pressing down on us, making it harder to breathe and harder to think. It's a familiar sensation, one that I've grown accustomed to over the years. My name is Nancy, and I'm a bigfoot hunter. This isn't just a hobby for me; it's a calling. A need to prove what my grandfather told me as a child, that the creatures he called 'Sasquatch' were real.
Greg, my trusty cameraman, follows close behind, his camera steady in his hands. He's been with me since the beginning, documenting every footprint, every rustle in the leaves. He's as determined as I am to capture evidence of the elusive creature we're searching for, Bigfoot. Lacy and her dog, Scout, trail behind us, Scout’s ears perked up and their senses on high alert. Lacy may be new to the group, but she's a quick learner, and her connection with her dog makes her an asset to the team.
We've been hiking for hours now, and the sun is beginning to set, painting the treetops in shades of orange and pink. The air grows colder, and the sounds of the forest change, becoming more eerie and ominous. I can feel my heart racing in anticipation, but I force myself to stay calm to focus on the task at hand. We round a bend in the trail, and there, lying on the forest floor, is a large, strange footprint.
Greg lets out an excited whoop, and I know he's already getting his camera ready to capture the moment. Lacy and Scout move in for a closer inspection, their expressions a mix of awe and determination. This could be it, I think to myself. This could finally be the proof we need to show the world.
I kneel beside the footprint, running my fingers over the ridges and impressions in the mud. It's clearly not human; it's much larger, with an odd, asymmetrical shape to the toes. The prints look more animal-like than the traditional bigfoot print. I feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I study it, trying to remember everything I've learned about these creatures over the years.
Greg crouches beside me, his camera clicking away as he captures every detail of the print. "This is incredible, Nancy," he whispers, his voice thick with excitement.
Lacy leans in, studying the footprint with a critical eye. "It doesn't look like your typical bigfoot," she says, nodding. "But we should take measurements and make a cast just to be sure. Scout, stay close to me." The dog obediently sits down at her feet, its tail wagging slightly.
Greg with a tape measure and a small kit for taking impressions in his hands asks,. "What do you want me to do, Nancy?", his voice full of excitement and anticipation.
I stand up, nodding to where the footprint leads deeper into the woods. "We will take an impression and then follow the tracks," I tell him. "But we need to be careful. Bigfoots are known to be protective of their young, and they can be unpredictable."
Greg's eyes widen, but he doesn't hesitate. He takes an impression and we begin to follow the tracks, Greg's camera at the ready. Lacy and Scout trail closely behind us, Lacy occasionally pausing to take notes or make sketches in her field journal. The further we go, the more distinct the tracks become, leading us deeper into the forest's heart.
The air grows colder, and the canopy above us thins, allowing dappled moonlight to filter through the trees. The underbrush is thick with ferns and moss-covered rocks, and the smell of earth and pine is overwhelming. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, my senses on high alert. I don't know if it's the excitement of possibly being so close to the elusive creature or the fear that it might sense our presence and retreat.
Greg, always the level-headed one, glances at me over his shoulder. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and concerned. I nod, trying to reassure him. "I'm fine," I say, forcing a smile. "I'm just taking it all in."
The tracks lead us down a small hill, the underbrush growing thicker around us. I can feel the anticipation building in my chest as we follow the prints deeper into the woods. Suddenly, Greg lets out a low whistle. "Look," he says, pointing to the ground.
Lacy and I hurry over to where he's standing, our eyes widening in amazement. The prints are more pronounced and are unlike anything we've seen before. They're definitely not human; they're much larger, with an odd, lupine quality to them. They're almost like wolf prints...but giant.
"It's not just a case of a large wolf," Lacy whispers, studying the prints with a critical eye. "These prints show distinct differences from known wolf species. The stride length, the placement of the toes...it doesn't add up."
Greg crouches down, running his fingers over the impression in the dirt. "And the size," he mutters. "Even allowing for an abnormal specimen, this thing would be massive."
"I don't know, Greg," Lacy says, hushed. "It could just be an enormous, unusual wolf."
Greg nods thoughtfully. "Let's take some notes and collect some more samples."
Lacy pulls out her trusty notebook and begins to jot down measurements while Greg retrieves his camera and tripod to take pictures of the prints. In the meantime, Scout and I carefully examine the surrounding area for any other signs of the creature. The forest is eerily silent, save for the occasional chirp of a bird or the rustle of leaves in the distance.
Greg finishes with the notes and joins us, eyeing the trees warily. "Do you think it's still nearby?" he whispers.
Lacy shrugs, her eyes darting around nervously. "Hard to say. The tracks are pretty fresh, but who knows how far it could've gone already."
Greg nods, seeming to weigh his words carefully. "We should set up some motion sensors, just to be on the safe side," he suggests. "That way, if it does come back, we might get some footage or at least know when to expect it."
Lacy agrees, and together, they set up the sensors, carefully placing them among the trees and bushes near the prints. I watch them work, feeling a mix of awe and fear.
Scout seems to sense my unease and nuzzles his cold nose against my hand. I scratch behind his ear, trying to reassure him as much as myself. "You're doing great, boy." I whisper.
Greg glances at us, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Thanks, Scout. You're a real lifesaver." He turns back to Lacy, who is adjusting the final sensor. "Alright, I think that's everything set up. Now we just have to wait and see what shows up on those cameras."
"Agreed," Lacy says, nodding. "In the meantime, we should probably start collecting more samples of the prints. That way, if we get any footage, we'll better understand what we're dealing with."
"Good idea," Greg says, his gaze still fixed on the trees. "Why don't you keep a lookout while I keep an eye on the sensors from the brush over here so I don't startle it. I can call you on the radio if anything happens. Nancy, do you want to stay with Scout to take samples before it returns?"
I nod and pull out a pair of latex gloves from my backpack. "Okay, Scout. Let's get to work." The hound follows me to the first set of prints, his tail wagging gently despite the tension in the air. I kneel down and carefully gather a small handful of dirt, making sure to avoid disturbing the impressions. Then, drop it in a sealed bag.
"All set?" I ask, standing back up.
"Yeah, Just about," Lacy replies, her voice tense. She adjusts the radio on her hip, ensuring it's set to the correct channel. "We'll be ready to go as soon as you are."
Scout and I continued collecting samples of the prints, our movements carefully orchestrated to avoid further disturbing the surrounding area. The big hound sniffs at the air, his ears perked forward in concentration. He pauses suddenly, freezing in place.
"What is it, boy?" I whisper, looking around nervously.
Scout whines softly, his gaze fixed on a spot behind a nearby tree. I carefully inch my way over to him, my heart racing. As I get closer, I see the tension in his body, the hackles raised along his spine. Whatever it is, it's close.
"Scout, stay back," I whisper, reaching out to keep him close. "Let's not get too close, okay?" The dog looks up at me with worried eyes but doesn't move. I can feel the animal's instincts taking over, the need to protect and defend.
Together, we creep closer to the tree, moving slowly and silently. As we round the trunk, I see what has Scout so spooked: a pair of glowing, yellow eyes peering back at us from the darkness beyond. My heart pounds in my chest, but I force myself to remain calm.
"Lacy," I whisper, "we've got something here. Something is watching us. Can you see it?"
There's a pause before she answers, her voice shaky. "I see it. Just stay where you are and don't do anything."
The eyes blink once, twice, and then disappear behind the tree. Whatever it is, it's moving stealthily through the underbrush, using the trees for cover. I can't help but wonder if it's just a wild animal or something more sinister.
Scout's ears perk up, and he lets out a soft growl. I place a hand on his back, reassuring him. "It's okay, boy. We're safe here. Just stay close." The dog whines softly but doesn't pull away from my touch.
As we wait for the unseen figure to reveal itself again, the air is thick with tension, and my heart is racing. I can't help but wonder what sort of animal could be so confident in its stealth that it feels comfortable taunting us like this.
Scout, on the other hand, seems to have regained his composure. He stands beside me, head held high, ears perked forward. His gaze darts back and forth through the trees as if searching for any sign of movement.
"Lacy, do you have any idea what that could have been?" I ask; my heart is still racing.
"I'm not sure, Nancy," Lacy responds, her voice shaky. "But we should keep our guard up. Maybe it's just a wild animal, but it's better to be safe than sorry."
Scout's ears perk up at her words, and he turns slightly toward her. I can tell he's trying to reassure us both with his presence. His pads move silently through the leaves, carefully and deliberately.
As we continue to wait, the tension in the air seems to thicken. The only sound is the rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. I try not to let my nerves get the better of me, but it's hard not to feel a sense of dread creeping up my spine.
Scout, sensing my unease, nudges his head against my hand. It's a comforting gesture, and I can't help but smile down at him. "It's okay, boy," I whisper. "We'll be okay."
The air around us seems to grow heavier, and I find myself holding my breath. I'm suddenly reminded of stories my grandfather used to tell me about the creatures that lurked in the woods and how they could be both beautiful and deadly. A rustle breaks out from the trees as if on cue, startling me. Scout tenses, ready to spring into action.
But it's just a doe, her spotted coat blending seamlessly into the forest. She regards us with large, innocent eyes before bounding away. I exhale shakily, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. Perhaps whatever we saw before was just a trick of the light or an animal playing a game with us.
Suddenly, my radio cracked as I heard Greg's voice, "You guys okay? I just caught something on the sensor."
"Yeah, we're fine. I'd feel better if we were all together, though." I say, trying to convince Greg to rejoin us.
"You got it. Our GPS says you guys aren't far, but I'll see you in a second." He replies, giving me a sense of relief.
“What do you mean? We haven’t moved from the area.” I say puzzled
Scout's ears perk up, and he lets out a soft whine. "It's okay, boy," I reassured him. "It's just a doe." The big hound seems unconvinced, his gaze fixed on the retreating figures direction. "Come on," I say, walking slowly through the trees.
Scout is alert, his head swiveling from side to side as he sniffs at the ground. He seems to be picking up on something, but I can't quite put my finger on it.
"You okay, boy?" I ask him softly, reaching out to pet his neck. He responds with a contented whine, but his eyes remain fixed on the trees.
Scout seems to sense my unease, and he turns his head to look at me. His eyes are filled with concern as if he knows that I’m worried. "It's okay, boy," I whisper, trying to reassure myself as much as him. "We'll figure this out together."
Almost on cue, Greg emerges from the brush, "Hey, I couldn't see anything on the sensors. Whatever it is, is fast as hell." My relief went back to fear as he said this.
Scout whines softly, his ears flat against his head. The hair along his spine stands on end. It's as if he senses something that we can't quite put our fingers on. "You okay, boy?" I whisper, petting his neck. He lets out a soft huff but doesn't seem to feel any better.
Greg glances around nervously, his eyes darting from the trees to his watch. "We should head back," he suggests. "We can come back tomorrow with more help."
"Okay, which direction?" I ask, hoping he has the answer that I don't.
He stares at me for a long time in disbelief before saying, "What do you mean? You're the navigator Nancy, we are relying on you!" His voice is angry, but he is holding it back.
"Use the GPS!" I say, frustrated at myself but taking it out on Greg.
Greg looks confused and upset at my tone, "The GPS only works from radio to radio! You said you've been here before and knew it like the back of your hand."
Flustered, I responded, "I do! Well, I know the South side of the hiking range, but my dad always told me the North side was basically the same, so I-"
Greg, disappointed, cuts me off, "Okay, let's calm down. Arguing isn't going to help us. Does anyone have service?"
We look down at our phones, disappointed that none of us have service. The silence is deafening. I feel a weight in my stomach as the realization hits me that we're really lost. Sensing our unease, Scout whines softly and nudges my hand with his cold nose.
Greg shakes his head, trying to clear it. "We need to figure out where we are and get back to the truck." No one says anything. The forest around us seemed to close in, pressing against our skin like a heavy blanket before we started on our way, following Greg.
"Hey, do you see that?" Greg asks, pointing to a particularly gruesome sight.
A dead deer hangs from a low-hanging branch, its flesh flayed from its bones. The ground beneath it is stained red, and there are more skinned animals scattered about the forest floor. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I take in the grisly scene.
I point my flashlight to investigate and discover that the trees are filled with carcasses of all types. They are all hanging by a rope, tangled all together. In some spots, I can't even make out body parts, only an amalgamation of meat. The stench is overpowering, making me gag and retch.
"What do you think this is?" I choke out, unable to look away from the gruesome sight.
Greg's face pales as he responds, "I don't know, but it's not good." His voice is shaking, and his eyes are filled with fear.
I swallow hard, feeling the weight of dread settling in my stomach. "We need to get out of here," I say, trying to sound stronger than I feel.
Greg nods in agreement, but there's no conviction in his eyes. "How, though?" he asks, his voice cracking. "The trail is gone, and we don't know where we are. We could be miles from the truck. Do you think Scout's nose could get us back?"
"I mean, we can try, but he's never really trailed anything before," Lacy responds.
At that moment, Scout's ears perk up, and he stands frozen, staring into the dark trees, and starts growling.
"What is it, boy?" Lacy asks, reaching out to pet him. Her hand stops short as she notices the tension in his body. "Scout, what's wrong?"
As we all stood frozen, waiting for a reveal, I could hear large footsteps trampling the brush in the direction Scout was facing. Everyone else must hear it, too, because they all react.
The footsteps get closer and closer until finally, a massive figure emerges from the shadows, quickly yanking Scout into the darkness as the dog whines, and then silence.
I could only see it for a second as it pulled Scout in. It's not a bear or any animal I’ve ever seen before. The creature stands on two legs, towering over them at nearly ten feet tall. Its fur is a deep, bloody black, and its muscles ripple beneath its skin. Its dog-like snout is filled with razor-sharp teeth, and its claws are the size of machetes.
Lacy is screaming for her dog, her voice piercing the night. Greg and I try to hold her back, but she's too strong. She breaks free from our grasp and runs towards the creature, her long hair flowing behind her.
I watch in horror as she reaches out to the creature, pleading for Scout. The beast turns its head slowly, revealing its blood-streaked muzzle and glowing yellow eyes. It snarls at her, baring its teeth, and she freezes in fear.
Greg takes a step forward as a stick cracks under his footstep; the beast, Scout's limp body in his hands, snaps his head toward Greg and darts toward him. Greg tries to jump out of the way, but it's too fast as Greg's screams are heard fading into the forest.
Nancy turns to Lacy, her face white as a ghost.
She says, her voice shaking. "We need to find the truck."
"We can't outrun it," I say, trying to keep my composure. "We need to find a way to hide. Maybe we can find a cave or something."
Lacy looks at me with wide, terrified eyes. "Or...or we could climb a tree," she stammers.
"Yeah," I say, nodding. "It's our best shot. We need to find one that's tall enough to get out of its reach but close enough to see if anyone comes along."
Lacy and I begin searching for a tree, but every time we spot one that looks promising, we hear the beast growling nearby. We're both terrified, and it feels like the creature is everywhere.
Finally, we find a tree with branches to reach but high enough off the ground to be out of the beast's reach. We climb as quickly as we can, the bark scratching our hands as we grip it tightly.
I look down and see the creature dragging Greg's limp body towards us. Its yellow eyes meet mine, and it snarls, showing rows of jagged teeth. I want to scream, but I can't find my voice. Lacy buries her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.
We stay there for hours as the creature paces the tree we are in, still dragging Greg's body behind him. Every once in a while, the beast lets out this roar that's a mix of a Lion's roar and a man screaming. It always makes me jump, and I almost fell out of the tree a few times from fright.
Lacy hasn't stopped crying since she saw Greg's body. I'm sure she's thinking of Scout, too, that poor dog. I couldn't stop thinking about Greg, his body now missing most of the lower half from the hours of dragging. It's hard to breathe, to focus on anything. The forest has grown quiet again, apart from the creature's steps and roars, as if the world has stopped turning, waiting for the beast to finish its work.
My legs are shaking, my heart racing. I don't know how much longer I can stay up here. The branch I'm sitting on is starting to bend under my weight, and I'm unsure if it'll hold me much longer. I close my eyes, trying to calm down, but all I can see is Greg's lifeless body and the creature that killed him.
Suddenly, I heard a crack and looked down to see if it was the branch I was sitting on, but before I could look up, Lacy had fallen from the tree and caught herself a few feet down on another branch. The creature looks up but keeps pacing, now keeping a close eye on Lacy as she dangles. I reach down with my hand, but can't reach her.
I heard another crack and knew it was my branch this time, bracing for the fall. I hit Lacy on the way down which brought us all the way to the ground.
As I open my eyes, I feel the pain in my back and legs. Rolling over, I see Lacy lying on her back, not saying a word as she looks shocked at her legs. When I panned my vision down to her legs, I could see that both of them were shattered, bending eight different ways in positions they shouldn't be able to bend.
"Lacy, oh my god." That’s the only thing I can bring myself to say.
Slowly, Lacy turns her head toward me, and as soon as we make eye contact, she bursts into tears, making noises I've never heard before. I couldn't imagine the pain she was in.
I look around, remembering the original danger they were hiding from, but the creature is out of sight now, Greg's mutilated body lying in its place.
"Lacy, we have to get you up and keep moving; the creature could be anywhere!" I say, panicking.
Lacy sobs harder as she clenches her jaw in pain.
Behind Lacy, I hear the giant's footsteps. I look up and see glowing eyes staring at me, showing its razor-sharp teeth. Lacy pauses her cries out of fear of what's behind her.
I can't do anything but stare at the creature as it slowly moves toward us.
"Nancy, ahh, you have to get me out of here!" Lacy cries, but I can't stop staring at the creature. "Nancy, fucking do something!"
My self-preservation kicks in without thinking as I stand up slowly and take a few steps back. Lacy looks at me with betrayal as she cries harder, "You fucking bitch. Get me the fuck out of the-" She is cut off as the creature grabs her head with its machete-like fingers and, in an instant, crushes her head like a water balloon. It kept eye contact as it lunged toward me, slicing a gash into my forearm. It took a step backward as I accepted my fate that this thing was going to kill me, but it didn't. It was like it was warning me: 'Leave or die".
Not knowing what to do, I take a few more slow steps back as the creature picks up Lacy's limp body and slowly walks back into the forest's dark shadows.
Suddenly, the once-quiet forest came back to life. The birds chirping, the wind blowing through the tree leaves and underbrush. This kicks me into action as I sprint in any direction away from there. As I move quickly through the forest, the trees around me blur. I couldn't have been running for long when I reached a trail. There was no way we were this close.
I can see the sun rising above the mountains in front of me. We'd been here all night playing cat and mouse with the creature. I continued down the trail, hoping I would find someone soon as I felt my mouth's lack of moisture and my stomach growling.
I don't remember how long I walked, but by the time a forest ranger found me, the sun was up, and it was a hot day. The walk is just a blank frame in my memory. The next thing I knew, the ranger brought me to his station to tend to my wounds and call for help. He stitched my forearm that the creature had sliced, saying it was a nasty gash and I'd need to go to the hospital.
When he finally asked me what had happened, I explained, and his face dropped the more I told him. He stared at me after I was done explaining as if he wanted to say something but was weighing his options.
Finally, he says, "What you saw out there doesn't exist, you hear me? You must've," He pauses, coming up with a solution, "You must've been seeing things." He sounds like he doesn't want to say this, like he wants to believe me, but he is not allowed to.
"I've been hiking for over ten years; I know the difference between a big animal and a creature that-" I say before being cut off.
"You didn't see anything. Understand? When my superiors arrive, you'll tell them that you got separated from your friends and fell out of a tree. That's how you got your injury. You got it?" He says seriously. His face looks like he is sympathetic but is trying to save me from something. Something worse than the creature.
I nod in approval. "Good. We will send a team to look for your friends even though-" He stops himself and does not elaborate.
Throughout the rest of the day, I answered questions, met with a doctor, and was admitted to the hospital. I did what that ranger told me; I told the authorities that I was hiking with friends when I got separated. I climbed a tree to try and get a better vantage point, but I fell, slicing my arm on a branch on the way down.
I remember the doctor saying, "That must've been the sharpest-edged branch in the world." With an aura of nonbelief as he gives me a side-eye. Thankfully, he didn't push it any further and allowed me to keep my fake story.
The people who took me from the ranger were very matter-of-fact, not seeming to believe my story.
The next day I spent time in an interrogation room. Again, they did not believe my separation story and pressured me to tell the truth. A few times, I was ready to just tell them about the creature and how it picked us off one by one, but something about the way that forest ranger said not to tell the truth kept me from doing it. He seemed so sympathetic and almost guilty.
When I stuck to my story for over three hours of interrogation, they let me go. Walking into the sunlight outside of the police station, I squinted my eyes. I didn't know what to do, how to get home, or how to even feel. My emotions were numbed for a few weeks before I started having nightmares about the creature and about Greg, Lacy, and Scout. I could hear their screams and begs for mercy. Most of all, I kept replaying that moment, knowing I wouldn't be able to help Lacy.
Her screams and insults echoed in my head non-stop. Her legs jagged like antlers, bleeding and cracking bones as she tried to move.
I've been in therapy for a few months now, and I've finally felt comfortable enough with my therapist to open up and tell her what really happened. I told her some parts but couldn't go into too much detail in that one-hour appointment. She suggested I take the time between appointments to write in detail what I remembered. I debated posting here, too, but after recounting everything again, I feel people need to hear it.
I haven't been hiking, camping, or even gone to a park. My life will never be the same. I can't even go back home. My parents don't want to see me because they think I'm crazy after trying to tell them what really happened. The two people I thought would always have my back turned theirs on me.
I just want this all to end and get my old life back. I miss my friends. I miss the passion I had for the mystical creatures that live in the forest. I don't think I ever fully believed in Bigfoot or any of that; I just believed in the idea of it. I liked the fantasy of it, the mystery, the intrigue. For them to be real takes all of that away and replaces it with terror.
Please, don't make the same mistakes we did. Make sure you fully know your surroundings and make no assumptions about what really lives in the darkness of the forest.

“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
I decided to update everyone
https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/ypogh9ZYrZ

“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.
I decided to let everyone know how things are going.
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/s/TQJpCXsGMK

“Get the fuck out of my house with this ‘ old country’ shit Sylvia, I’m serious. “ I hear my dad say from the kitchen downstairs.
“I give children and idiots three warnings. That’s your first. “ It takes me a second to recognize my aunt’s voice. I’ve only met her a handful of times, and it’s nearly 2am.
“Syl, he’s right, this is crazy. I’m Roma, I’m proud, but your part of the family, and mine are two separate things. “ My mom interjects. Her voice is calm and level.
I woke up about half way through whatever is going on, and I’m fuzzy on the details, but everyone involved is three kinds of pissed.
“So you say, but just because you ignore the other side, doesn’t mean the other side ignores you. “ Aunt Syl replies, I could never quite place her accent, but it makes her statement all the more sinister.
“Might as well make that the family motto.
Syl, there are a couple dozen other kids Nikolas’ age in the family. Half of which are already hip deep in whatever is going on nowadays, you don’t need him. “ Mom isn’t pleading, but I can hear she’s worried.
“Why are we trying to reason with your crazy aunt? Time to go Syl. “ My dad isn’t worried, he’s angry.
“That’s two. “ Aunt Sylvia replies.
I hear a chair squeak then fall to the floor.
“That’s three. “ Sylvia says, her voice is cold, and I swear I could almost hear an echo.
I can hear my dad start to quietly cough, he sounds like he’s trying to talk but can’t. My heart starts to race, I don’t understand what’s going on, but I know it’s bad.
“Syl! Jesus Christ, that’s my husband. “ Mom sounds more offended than scared now. I wish I could say the same.
I stand next to my cracked door, fear beginning to take hold.
I can hear my dad start to take long wheezing breaths, I have no idea if this is a good or bad thing.
“Happy?
Now that any hope of doing this quietly is over, Nikolas and I have a long drive ahead of us. He’s 16, he has a license, yes? “ I hear Sylvia say, sudden footsteps walking up the stairs.
“No, he’s not interested in driving. You can’t take him Syl. “ my mom sounds frantic, Sylvia’s steps are measured and heavy.
“Not interested? You sure we are related? You raise soft children. “ Sylvia ends this with a dismissive laugh.
The few minutes that followed were kind of a blur, with my mom trying to convince me that I was just going to visit family, as if I didn’t just hear everything.
It's a couple hours into a long drive in a small car when my brain finally catches up to the fact that I’m awake, and going 30 miles an hour over the speed limit.
Aunt Syl sits in the driver’s seat, she’s 40 something, olive skinned with pitch-colored hair. Her style, it’s, something.
Her outfit was the middle of a Venn diagram of hippie, punk rock and carpenter. Bracelets, flannel, paisley, and enough piercings I lost count.
“Any chance of putting both hands on the wheel? “ I say, I’m mad, but I don’t even really know why.
She holds up her left arm, and I’m shocked. It’s an ancient looking blued steel prosthetic. She flexes, the clawed, almost mitten-like hand.
“Go through too many steering wheels that way. “ She says with a smirk.
“What’s going on? “ I ask, after an agonizing fifteen minutes of silence.
“You’re a big boy, so if you want the truth, I’ll give it to you. There’s a job that needs to be done, a dangerous job. And I want you to do it.
Now, I want you, not because you’re strong, or smart, or special. We have many strong, smart, special boys.
You, I want, because you’re unknown, and, little one, disposable. “ Sylvia lets this comment hang like rotten fruit.
The next hour goes in silence, at no point do I even entertain the notion this is some kind of joke. Something about this woman’s energy, about the way she carries herself, it scares the shit out of me.
We board a plane, somehow she had all of my travel documents. Even stranger is that we get escorted past the security checkpoints, into first class.
The next words I say to Sylvia are, “You have to put that out! “ as she lights up a short, yellow, hand-rolled cigarette.
She grins, taking a long drag, it smells horrible, the cheapest roughest tobacco odor I’ve encountered.
She relaxes, a cloud of thick, grey smoke forming.
I’m stunned, not a single person says anything. At first I think maybe she’s some kind of, I don’t know, mobster or something.
But that isn’t quite right. No one is looking at her in fear, no one is telling anyone else not to say anything. It’s like no one notices what she’s doing.
“How does she do this? The little boy wonders.
I don’t come offering you a thankless task Nik. I come with an opportunity. “ Sylvia says before crushing the cigarette on the arm of a chair and tossing it into the isle.
I had questions, and between the fear and the confusion I asked every one of them.
The only response she gave me was, “You’ll see when we get there. “.
She was right.
The flight lands, and after an hour or so of driving the world’s oldest pickup through the English countryside, we wind up at an old farm house, in the middle of nowhere outside of Hammersmith.
The sign outside says “ Gritt Auctions” the letters are old, bronze and tarnished, the grounds are littered with car parts, statues, and errata of every type.
Dozens, maybe even a hundred people mill about each stopping for a moment to give a suspicious look at the interloper in their midst.
Sylvia seems amused at my nervousness. I try and give the rough looking folks around me as much space as I can.
“They’re family, mostly, by blood or marriage, with a handful of lost souls and hangers on. “ She explains.
I probably should have guessed, seeing my mom’s family name on the sign, but my brain is basically nothing more than fear, anxiety and jet lag at this point.
“When do I get to know what’s going on? “ I say, waving at a cousin of some form and receive a uniquely English rude gesture in return.
My ear is ringing, and I stumble , the left side of my face burning. I’d say Syl slapped me, but it was more of a polite punch.
“Don’t whine. You’ve been stolen from your mother, treated like a dog, and judging by Robert’s attitude, rejected by your family.
I don’t want to hear whining, you angry, soft boy? “ Sylvia stops and turns toward me. I notice the people around us stop their tasks, interested in our conversation.
“No… “ I begin, not wanting to piss her off.
I don’t even see the next slap, but it puts me on my ass.
“Next one’s with the left hand.
Are you angry Nikolas? “ Sylvia looms over me like a raven.
I feel something before I get to my feet, a hot, quick flash of hatred. A context free rage at the fucked up situation I’m in.
“Answer is still no. Because to be angry, I’d have to know a God-Damned thing about what’s going on.
But my lunatic aunt just picked me up and now I’m standing in the middle of whatever the English equivalent to the Texas Chainsaw Massacre family is.
For all I know, I’m your new King. So no, I’m not angry, I’m annoyed, and maybe a bit worried my gene pool really needs some chlorine. “ I’m shocked at what I’m saying, but I see some smiles, hear a few laughs.
Sylvia’s face seems to soften slightly.
“There’s the Gritt in you. “ She says, starting to walk to an old barn.
I catch up to her as I attempt in vain to dust myself off.
Sylvia opens a small, strangely modern looking door, inside a row of lights automatically flip on.
In contrast to the rotten wood exterior, the inside of the barn looks modern, design wise it’s half way between a hospital and a car repair shop. Equipment of unknown purpose, gurneys and cages of all sizes and types surround me.
Sylvia walks to a door at the back, then pauses.
“Before I open this door, you need to understand something.
There is no fortune telling, or reading of cards here. The cloak of the traveller, the bangles of the gypsy, these are all ways of navigating the world to us. Ways to exist on the fringes of society.
The Gritt family, we trade in the unknown. We find, we collect, and we sell. And ours is no petty collection of trinkets and tools not meant for the hands of man.
Our grift, is livestock. “
The woman opens the door, and what I see, sitting, chained in one corner of the industrial cement walled cell shakes everything I thought I knew about reality.
He's six and a half feet tall, his skin a waxy yellow, and every spare inch is festooned with black stitching, rusted pieces of metal or small splinters of bone.
His face is noseless and asymmetrical, almost as if repaired or modified over and over. One eye is a small, sinister looking orb with a red pupil, the other a massive, almost reptilian thing, wildly twitching about.
He wears no shirt, but a long, grey hide Trenchcoat hangs down to his knees. I start to shake as I see it’s made from layers of stitched human skin.
He sneers at us, long, conical teeth catch the harsh halogen light.
The thing strains against the chains, but they bind him tightly enough to the wall he can barely move.
“You’re not lasting more than 4 seconds kid. Just turn the fuck around. I’ll have you slitting your wrists in the corner by nightfall. “ The thing says, it’s voice is foul, almost a physical force. Grating, rage filled, and with a lunatic edge to it that makes me question exactly how much those chains can take.
“ 3/10, Augustus, who do you think you are scaring with that limp dick of a threat? “ Sylvia says, confidently walking up to the creature.
It snaps it’s jaws with a sound like a rifle shot. No where near Sylvia, but enough to make me jump on the other side of the room.
“If I could stop being threatened and hearing my aunt talk about dicks, I’d be a huge fan. “ I say, something deep within me, pushing past the fear and lack of sleep, “And if anything feels like just telling me what’s going on instead of being vague and creepy, even better. “
The chained thing looks to me, curious. Sylvia smirks.
“Augustus is going to be forced to fight others like him until eventually he gets what’s coming to him for years of evil.
You, are going to stand next to him while he does it. “ Sylvia begins to walk away from the thing, ignoring vile threats of both the violent and carnal variety.
I try to follow her out the door and she blocks me.
“If your still sane and alive in the morning, I was right. Good luck soft boy. “ She says before closing the heavy metal door.
Without her, I feel tiny, that spark of rage is snuffed out and replaced with a cold sense of dread.
“You’re going to have to turn around sometime kid. “ The chained creature says.
I turn, slowly, resolving to make eye contact with the thing. I manage a second or two before looking away, the creature cackles, mocking me.
“Holy shit, they sent me an honest to God pussy. Whole family full of void fucked apes and they send me you?
The best part is, you don’t even get it. I can see what you’re thinking kid, I can see that tiny collection of hormones and goo you vainly call a brain going into overdrive trying to figure this out… “ Augustus starts.
The creature kept going, I don’t have an exact count but it was at least twelve hours.
I can only describe it as a verbal assault. Augustus drew from some dark wells, how it knew half of the things it did scared me as much as it’s clawed hands or, piranha-like teeth.
I lost something that night. The fears that thing drug up, the insecurities it played on, the secrets it knew, it crushed any childlike notions of safety or understanding the world I had.
Don’t take that the wrong way, I don’t mean it toughened me up. It broke any sense of confidence I had, took away any feeling of safety. That God Damned thing in the trenchcoat, changed me.
I’ve lost track of how long it’s been since I’ve slept, but I’m brought a tin plate heaped with eggs, sausage and for some twisted reason, brown beans. And realize it’s been at least a day since I’ve eaten.
I sit around an abused, graffiti carved picnic table with an eclectic combination of family I’ve never met. Syl sips a tea I can smell from ten feet away and looks at me like I’m a used car.
“I’m always right soft boy. Remember that. “ She says.
It takes a half dozen guys built like construction workers, with Sylvia following behind whispering things that wilt vegetation, to wrangle the creature into the back of an old, reinforced horse trailer.
The inside is covered in totems, runes, and other spooky looking errata. The entity becomes sluggish and disoriented as the heavy wooden doors close, and get sealed with a massive brass lock.
My mind begins to wander on the three hour trip through the back country of the UK. The sun sets, and my brain screams for sleep. That scream is silenced by the sense of mounting dread as we get closer to our destination.
We pull up to an abandoned theme restaurant, the parking lot is full, the windows are boarded, and the walls covered in graffiti. The place is huge, more the size of a small stadium than a diner.
The parking lot is full, the sputtering, sparking neon sign flashes “Faron’s Funhouse. “
It’s a few minutes outside of a town I forgot to catch the name of. We can see lights on the horizon, but there’s a feeling of wrong surrounding the building that makes them seem a million miles away.
A half dozen ‘cousins’ of mine move Augustus into a strange, almost coffin-like box made of wood, steel and glass, covered in trinkets and symbols. The thing sneers groggily from within, it’s mismatched eyes rolling in it’s skull.
I don’t hear Sylvia approach, I notice her as she smacks me in the back of the head hard enough to make my ears ring. The old, cruel woman is walking toward the doors of this meeting place.
“Eyes forward, sneer on your face, and walk like you know where you’re going. “ Are her only instructions.
For once, they’re clear and simple. What I see inside easily keeps my attention, and I’m equal parts scared and pissed off, so looking edgy and miserable is my default state.
At one point, this place was exactly what you’d think. I know you’re all expecting it to be a run down, rat infested haunted house now, but it was, stranger than that.
The place was well kept on the inside, but everything was either in use or repurposed to house the couple hundred eclectic customers milling around. In the centre, is a massive Lucite Cube, crystal clear and housing a ball pit, jungle gym and what looks to be a functional canteen, complete with a deep fryer and popcorn machine. It’s a couple hundred meters a side, and shaped like a flawed rectangle.
Smoke hangs in the air, my aunt greets old friends in a handful of different languages, I smile and nod, still trying to understand what the hell this place is.
We see Augustus being wheeled to the Lucite box, Sylvia cuts a laughing Cyrillic conversation short, and her and I make our way to the box that barely restrains the hatred and death inside.
At the other end of the Lucite Cube I see a few people dressed in blue and maroon uniforms ( if I were to guess vintage, from when this place served shitty food instead of violence.), they surround a massive, hulking, lanky thing. It’s obscured by smoke, and poor lighting, but it’s nine foot frame, and unnatural gait are clear.
The box holding Augustus sits about ten feet away from me, inside the massive cage. The front opens, my instinct is to step backward, get as much distance between me and the thing inside as possible, but instead, I’m shoved, before I can catch my balance, a workbook clad foot is in front of me.
I fall and stumble into the cage, I turn around to try and get out as fast as I can, I’m standing inches away from the creature, but I see Sylvia closing the clear, impermeable door.
It hits me then. For the first time since this ordeal started, I realize how grim things are.
Just like everyone else here, I’ve been raised on spooky shit packaged to be marketable. Little monsters, The Adams Family, Harry potter, hell let’s throw Pokemon and the like in there as it’s basically just dog fighting with a cute hat on.
And I thought what was happening to me, was somewhere on the Venn diagram of those things.
But as I see the impassive look on the face of a woman I’ve known since I was a child, ( at a distance or no.) as I’m locked in here with God knows what, I get it. I really get it.
His laughter is like an ice pick, I turn to face him, Augustus brushes himself off, casually looking around the massive arena.
“Just hit ya didn’t it, bud? “ He says, walking over to me, his steps impossibly quick, almost insect-like, “You’re not my trainer, or my wrangler, you certainly aren’t my fucking partner. “, the entity grabs my chin between two clawed fingers, “ You’re a bait dog. Something for me and that new blooded walking pun to fight over. “
My blood runs down his thumb, his grin cracks his face like a rotten melon, the monster pulls down, throwing me to the floor.
A buzzer sounds, and a three minute timer, projected in transparent red appears on the walls of the Lucite arena.
“If I’ve got to hunt you down in this shit-hole, things are going to be a lot worse for you. Stay put, bud. “ The trenchcoat clad thing says, casually walking toward the creature on the opposite side of the arena.
Closer now, I see it clearly. Inside of a pristine uniform, is a twisted attempt at the human form. The torso is lumpen, asymmetrical, but lean. It's arms nearly drag on the floor, yellow, infected looking flesh, weeping pus like a snail’s foot.
It's eyes are black caves, with just the hint of something deep within. It’s face is blank, a torn, haggard looking grey tongue runs over rotting green teeth.
The kid beside it looks around my age, he’s big though, just as confused and afraid as I am. He wears a similar uniform to the creature, but his looks, abused, torn, blood stained. Like it's been handed down from one unlucky owner to the next.
As the buzzer rings, the lanky, disgusting creature moves in a flash, tearing off the kid’s right arm and beginning to chew it.
The blood didn’t set me off, as terrible as it was. It was the three seconds between the act, and the poor kid realizing what happened that pushed me over the edge.
He started to scream, a horrible trapped animal kind of noise. He backs away from the monster beside him, gripping the crushed and torn remains of his forearm.
Augustus laughs, his trenchcoat drags on the floor, leaving a streak of blood as he walks.
“Man after my own heart.
So, I say, we split these sides of beef for two minutes then talk shop for a bit. Fuck these pretentious apes and their show. “ Augustus looks up to the massive thing. It remains impassive, gnawing on the hand.
“Don’t be like that. We both know two halves are better than one whole . Win-win for both of us“ Augustus gets a noise that sounds like an angry sewer pipe, and a dismissive wave of a long snake-like arm in response.
The thing in the trenchcoat shrugs, turning around and stalking toward me.
“You have no luck at all kid, I was going to let you go last.
But the pinworm back there wants to be a dick about things, so looks like things are getting started early. “ Augustus grins, his mouth opening shark like.
I stare down certain death, Augustus radiating fear, seeming to become more demonic with each step toward me.
From behind him, a noise.
I would have just assumed it was some part of the worm-like, filth ridden thing eating. Augustus clears up that misconception.
He turns, shaking, body language that of a wild animal.
“Was that a fucking snicker? A giggle? Are you fucking laughing at me, you literal fucking worm. “ He’s panting, hands twitching like dying insects.
He stands, inches from the other creature, dwarfed by it, teeth grinding, muscles straining.
The worm thing casually tosses the flesh bare hand toward Augustus. As it touches his coat, the arena erupts into a kind of wild, senseless, limitless violence.
It doesn’t feel like watching a fight, it’s more like a car wreck, or natural disaster. Pieces of jungle gym turn into lethal shrapnel as the blurred, filth spewing scrum destroys them.
I see the timer, 2:15. My mind starts to catch up, and I see the other kid, pale, whimpering, and trying in vain to staunch the blood spurting from his arm.
I’m running, low and likely poorly, pulling my belt from my pants, and thanking myself for actually listening when I was forced to take a first aid course for a summer job last year.
The kid is scared, he tries pushing me away, but I’m determined, and not down a couple pints of blood. I pull the belt with two hands, pull it through again and twist, it’s ugly, it’s not perfect, but the flow of blood begins to slow, then stop.
We crawl behind a prize counter, decades old candy and stuffed animals surround us as we cower. A liquid filled roar loud enough to crack the cheap glass cases fills the room.
The kid is looking rough, blood still trickling from the torn stump of his forearm. I see some plastic bags and get an idea.
I lean over to get them, and feel something strange, at first I think I pulled a muscle.
Then there is a deep, burning pain, instinctively I pull away, and turn around.
The kid is on his knees, sanity has left his eyes, a cheap hunting knife in his remaining hand he has a look of panic and determination on his face.
“We have to win. “ he says, lunging at me with the blade.
He’s slow, and I avoid it, but not by as much as I’d like. Blood runs down my back, for a moment I wonder how bad I’m hurt, but it doesn’t really matter right now.
I retreat, but the only thing keeping us from being torn apart by the whirlwind of shrapnel caused by the creatures is the counter, I can’t escape.
It's a stalemate, I’m no athlete, and the kid is built like a rugby player, but he’s missing a hand, and delirious from blood loss. I plead, I try and reason, and I dodge crazed strikes by increasingly narrow margins.
Something large, either thrown or knocked loose destroys the counter behind me. Suddenly all is chaos. I’m thrown into the kid in the uniform, plaster dust surrounds us in a grey cloud.
By the time the air clears the kid is on top of me. I have his wrist in one hand, keeping the split tip of the blade inches from my face.
The angle is too awkward, I can’t get any leverage. It’s not a stalemate, it’s a war of attrition that I’m losing.
I catch a glimpse of the two creatures. The worm thing is striking at Augustus, who stands still, limbs moving in arcing blurs deflecting the blows and tearing off chunks of foul, tainted flesh.
The tip of the knife begins to dig into my cheek. A drop of blood hits my eye.
I grab the makeshift tourniquet with a free hand and roughly yank forward. The kid on top of me screams, bloods begins to pour. Torn flesh and a gore soaked belt hit the ground.
For a moment the weight on me eases up, and I push the knife forward. But the kid, he’s too stupid or far gone to just back off. As I feel is strength start to fade, he presses himself harder.
I expect him to back off as I begin to drive the roughly sharpened back edge of the knife into his neck. But he doubles down, leaning forward, trying to press the knife toward me.
For a moment, every other fucked up thing going on around me doesn’t matter. The world is small, silent, and consists of nothing more than the image of the knife ripping away a fist sized strip from the kids neck.
He backs off when he realizes the extent of the damage. Staring at me shocked, as if just not realizing the consequences of his actions.
He dies slowly, poorly, and within inches of me. I feel no victory, no sense of being a winner, just a dark pit in the back of my mind. The loss of something that comes with taking someone’s life.
I stand, shell shocked, staring at the corpse. My safety the last thing on my mind.
The worm thing is hurt, and attempts to dive into the ball pit, but somehow, defying physics, Augustus grabs it, holding the half ton monster out with one hand.
He arcs the thing, slamming it into the floor behind him, the spray of gore and viscera rivals pyrotechnics, the force leaves a blood filled crater in the floor.
Without missing a beat Augustus starts to walk toward me, making a token effort of flicking pieces of bone and organ from himself.
I’m frozen, I know nothing I can do could stop whatever he has planned.
The creature picks up a jagged piece of lumber, and looks at the clock, “We’ve got 45 seconds of fun left kid. “ he says with a sneer.
But as he passes the counter, and sees the corpse the look of imminent violence turns into amusement.
“How’s it feel to be a child killer, bud? “, Augustus laughs, “Not that I can’t tell from the look on your face.
Fuck me, that knocked some gears loose didn’t it? “
The thing walks forward, looking me over like a collectable.
“I can’t let that go to waste, now can I? “ he slaps me lightly, “It’s going to be a fucking blast watching you break down kid, wonder what drives you nuts first, this kid being in your dreams, or the fact that, at some point I’m going to get bored and start giving you all the pain you feel you deserve? “
Of course, I made it out alive. It’d be kind of hard to have posted this if I didn’t.
But now, I sit in a dingy room in a farm house half way across the world from home. Surrounded by family and monsters, all of which seem out to get me. Being forced to risk my life in some kind of blood sport.
Maybe I’ll be back, maybe I’ll be dead by the next time I get a chance to post anything. If anyone has any help, please, post it in the comments. I’m in a dark place here and no one else seems to be on my side.

Note: will edit in a note later, brain mush.
Note (edit): Thanks to u/tulpacat1, u/Giant_Acroyear and u/Thirsha_42 for helping me edit!
Patreon / Kofi/ Paypal
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Memory transcription subject: Andes Savulescu-Ruiz, Human Director at the Venlil Rehabilitation and Reintegration Facility. Xenomedical Grand Complex patient.
Date [standardized human time]: December 11, 2136
I slipped in and out of consciousness for a while before I was actually lucid. Long enough Larzo headed home to take care of his hensa and take a shower at some point. Melody apparently had an automatic food dispenser, but was probably still freaking out. Plus it would be terrible if she snuck out and was spotted by an exterminator.
Hours blurred together enough that I couldn't really tell the difference between gaps where he wasn't there because he went to the bathroom or the cafeteria, and when he wasn't there because he went home for a few hours. The fucking stationary sun haunting the window also didn't help.
Once I was lucid, I could almost feel it. An invisible timer, tied up in my blood and whatever they pumped in the new blood. Tick… tick… tick… tick. Exactly like it was before the implant. Life as the gaps between explosions. I am better prepared now. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be fine.
What if I jumped head-first out of that window?
I took a long deep breath. Yeah, it’s not going to be fine. Had to get used to taking deep breaths all the time now. Stimulate the vagus nerve.
The human doctor came by at some point. My sense of time was completely shattered, with the combination of VP’s sun and random naps as dictated by whatever cocktail of drugs it was they had me on, but it seemed to my mind that she came in a reasonable period of time after the surgery.
“Director Savulescu-Ruiz? Are you able to discuss your condition?”
Larzo wasn't there, but I had no idea if he’d be back in an hour or six or what. I rubbed my eyes and pressed a button on the side of the bed to tilt it up. Not a good idea to be sitting up by myself after an abdominal injury.
“Yeah, I… Yeah. Start with the worst thing.”
My tongue felt weird. What the hell did they put in the alien anaesthetics that made my tongue feel so weird? Second time in three days.
“Well, we had to do an emergency hysterectomy,” she said. “Your file has been updated with all of our notes.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I saw it. Insane luck. She could have punctured an intestine. At least she didn’t hit anything too important.”
When did I see my file? I remembered the updates to it, but it was kind of a blur. It felt like my mouth was just… saying some indeterminate number of plausible-sounding words in a row. Dr… My eyes landed on her nametag, Roth, didn't seem to notice anything odd. It’s like the entirety of my verbal production is operating somehow on manual and automatic at the same time. I felt around for my pad to double-check those anchorless file-update memories. They seemed to be on the money.
“Indeed. I’m glad you're taking it so well. We’re… Running into some issues trying to recreate your implant. It seems to have been some sort of highly customized model..?” she half-said half-asked with a cringe.
“Yeah, it was from the McLean clinic in Montreal,” I heard myself say. Am I dissociating? If so, is this a function of the drugs or the new blood accelerating the effects of the implant’s loss? If not, what exactly is this weird psychological distance between my thoughts and my verbal output? It's not derealization. Yeah, it's probably dissociation. Metabolic or psychological?
Dr. Roth went through a whole face journey of ‘oh, great, we’ll just call them up’ to ‘oh shit, they bombed Montreal’. She pressed her lips together.
“I have the specs,” I tried to reassure her, but she didn't really look thrilled to hear that.
“I’m afraid it’ll need a redesign either way. It was kind of on the larger side, and…”
“I no longer have that kind of real-estate. Right,” I finished. The next two more convenient places (the ovaries and the tubes attached to them) would mean a minimum of halving the size of the implant and spreading its tasks asymmetrically. That would probably suck to deal with long-term, which meant I shouldn't do it. Instead it would have to be split into at least four implants. Maybe six. Some subdermal, some ovarian, maybe a couple of them intramuscular or spinal. It would take an eternity to figure them out.
“We’ll be able to make some variable dermal patches for you, since so many of your treatments were bound up in release timing,” she added. A weight I hadn't noticed suddenly vanished from my chest.
“Fantastic! Oh, wow, that's so good to hear. I thought I was going to have to juggle like, eighteen new pills…”
I realized I was afraid of that only after I said it. Why is my brain doing this? Is it a serotonin problem? Dopamine? Endocannabinoids? GABA? I know it's some sort of failure of integration…
“I’m afraid we can't deliver a few of them, especially the ones for your EDS, via dermal patch. You’ll still have to deal with some pills.”
I nodded, “makes sense.”
“But hopefully it'll make things easier. You should set up an appointment with a pharmacist, to go over some potential replacements. I know that quite a few Zurulian treatments are more efficient than ours for EDS specifically, so you may be able to turn this into a one-pill regimen. Especially given how many other compounds you take, which may also be replaceable. I’m afraid the Zurulians don't seem very… familiar with the idea of bodybuilding, so you’ll have to navigate that through therapeutic terminology, but with your background that should be fine.”
I ignored the bodybuilding comment. I definitely crossed some sort of aesthetic threshold in the last three weeks. It feels normal, though. Need to review old photos. “Yeah, I should be able to get the information out through questions of muscular atrophy and joint pain and so on.”
Larzo arrived, and gave Dr. Roth a nod. She nodded back.
“I procured your sludge. How are you feeling?” he asked, offering me a protein shake.
I chuckled, and accepted the protein shake from him. “Thanks, bud. I’m fine”
He let out a skeptical little scoff at that.
“When it comes to the psychiatric treatments you’ve been undergoing, uh…” Dr. Roth glanced at Larzo, and I gave a little head-tilt as if to say he’s fine, he’s not gonna throw me into a PD facility. She looked a little relieved and continued the sentence. “We have a few different options.”
“Will there be—that is, will um, will Andes—” Larzo paused and stared at me for some sort of clue. I could not decipher what the fuck he wanted me to say, and so just turned to Roth to address the topic.
“Yeah, psychiatry-wise, I’m going to need something serotonergic and uneven,” I told her.
That gave her pause “Uneven?”
“Yeah,” I went on, the words again feeling mostly like they were falling out of my mouth semi-involuntarily, “one month of steady doses for anything serotonergic makes everything worse. Hypotheses are in the file, but we're not actually sure why.”
She looked through my file again. “I see… You’ve never been psychiatrically hospitalized before…”
“And I would like to keep that streak going. I do well with pseudo-psychs.”
She gave me a quick nod, scrolling through my psychiatric history. “And no prior history of abuse despite having access to stimulants, cannabinoids, SSRIs and benzodiazepines, so I suppose that’s safe enough. Will sending the patches with them to the address on file when they’re finished work for you?”
I nodded. “That’s perfect, thank you.”
“Now, I also wanted to discuss… Well, you don't have to be discharged right away, but given how well you are recovering, that there have been no complications, and the stampede…” She tilted her head one way and another to let the implication sink in. They needed the bed.
Shit. How long was I out?
“Of course! Oh, fuck, I–”
I tried to get off the bed and failed miserably. She put a hand on my sternum to stop me.
“There is no rush. A nurse will be here soon. I just need your consent to be discharged. You’ll get a cane with a forearm grip, a spare so you can use them as crutches, and a wheelchair. Ideally, you should use the wheelchair for the next few days, and try to maximize rest. You can use the cane or the crutches for small bursts, but don't push yourself until the abdominal matrix is fully healed.”
I nodded. My head was starting to hurt. Tick, tick, tick…
“Do you have any questions?” she asked.
“Nah, I’m good.”
She nodded and left. Larzo kept looking at me like I was about to burst into flames any second now, and he wasn’t sure where exactly he’d left the fire extinguisher.
“Would you like something else to eat? It is my understanding that you should not have anything too strenuous, but… Perhaps your usual habits are not the best when it comes to uh…”
“I’ll get a cup of enriched jello to go when we're heading out. You know, thanks for sticking around, you didn't have to–”
“I most certainly did,” he spat. The venom in his voice nearly made me burst into laughter.
“Whoa… Okay, I’m sorry, I–”
“Good!” he shouted. “Be sorry! You could have died!”
I scoffed. “The death rate for stab wounds is like five percent, that doesn't–”
Larzo jumped up on his seat and glared at me with a fury I had never seen on his face before. “A medical implant inside your body was damaged so extensively that you had a major organ removed due to irreparable electrical and chemical burns, Andes. You could have died.”
Why do you care? I thought. The thought was stupid. I knew he cared. I knew I should care. It was oddly difficult for me to grasp it, like the cognitive instability of a visual illusion with two different, perfectly natural interpretations. Still, even if that intellectualized, distant understanding was all I had, it was enough for me to stop being shitty about it. Deep breath. I pressed my lips together for a long moment and sighed.
“You’re right,” I said. “I should have been more careful.”
His ears fell down and he slid back down his seat. “Indeed you should have.”
“I'm sorry I was reckless, and I’m sorry I worried you,” I added. I was getting a headache.
“As well you should be,” he huffed. Still, he looked happier after my apology.
The nurse arrived. He was a burly takkan with a sing-song voice I found kind of distracting even as I was trying to pay attention to it. Once he was done removing the sensors and IV line from my body, he wandered off to get the mobility aids.
Larzo started fidgeting with his visitor’s badge.“Andes, I uh… I wanted to ask…”
“Yeah?”
“Well it, um, about your medical history…”
I looked at him expectantly. Wait, when did he look at my medical history?
He sat there, awkwardly not asking whatever he wanted to ask for long enough that the nurse came back with the mobility aids. The wheelchair was cool, in that I could put the canes in the back. This one at least had a little motor, but the controls were finicky and not designed for human hands, so it looked like I’d end up working it manually a lot of the time instead. The canes themselves were very interesting, because they could become forearm crutches and axillary crutches with a little unfolding and twisting around. They seemed fragile and finicky at first, but turned out to be shockingly stable once I actually tried to put my weight on them.
Then I had to get off the bed. The headache was getting worse as the vestigial anaesthetic was metabolized away. I slipped and landed on my bad leg. I felt the pain all the way up to my hip and down to my toes. It was like a wave rippling out from the new bone. Fucking kill me.
“Are you alright?” Larzo asked, presumably seeing the agony on my face.
“It's fine, it’s fine, I just–I put weight and–”
“The bone is set, this might have to do with the new nerves,” he told me. It made sense. Fresh nerves could often itch, or ‘zap’, or just hurt, and that was usually a good sign. The fact that I could move my foot easily enough implied they were growing faster than average–probably because of all the neurogenic compounds Larzo bombarded my system with because of the concussion.
It didn’t make it hurt any less.
After some undignified limping and replacing the bottom of the cane with a bigger base (did species with tails need less help balancing after a lower limb injury? Am I just a clumsy idiot?) I sat on the chair. As predicted, the controls were super annoying, and just like before, Larzo was pretty eager to wheel me around instead of letting me pick our direction, destination, or travel speed. Given the headache, and how I was starting to get a little drowsy, I just accepted it.
He got me some enriched jello, and we got a cab. It cost twice as much as a normal cab, because the accessibility premiums on VP were apparently fucking ridiculous.
“How are people with permanent disabilities supposed to get around here? What do you just rely on the fucking ‘herd’ to constantly have their back? What is the elderly-accessibility UN-HABITAT score? They have to fucking have one by now–”
“Andes, I will pay for the cab if–” Larzo offered.
“I can pay for ten cabs, it’s the principle of the–what, do disabled immigrants just not exist here? Everyone’s family is always close-by? Their terrifying ‘predator attacks’ never leave someone shit out of luck? This is an urbanized society, it can’t possibly–”
The headache was definitely getting to me.
I had to get off the chair, help fold the chair, help put it in the back, limp back to the door, sit down, avoid hitting my leg on the back seat because of the stupid design of the stupid alien car seats. I should have just died on the table.
I took a long deep breath. My head was killing me. One in binary is one. One is one. Two is one-zero. Three is one-one. Five is one-zero-one. Eight is one-zero-zero-zero. Thirteen… After a few seconds the frustration seemed to subside.
What is going on? It was kind of early for the intrusive thoughts to kick in, nevermind death-seeking ones. Probably an artefact of the bloodloss, the cocktail of things they put in my IV, physical trauma from being hit by a car and stabbed, residual leaks from the damage to the implant… the overwhelming, anchorless sense of fucking everything up.
It was definitely not going to be fine.
“What do you need?” Larzo asked, which startled me because I hadn’t been moaning in pain or anything, but all the frustration was probably written on my face.
“I don’t know. A distraction? Yeah. Let’s just… I need something to focus on.”
I grabbed my pad and started looking through my email, motion-sickness be damned. That’s when I found a chain of emails I did not remember sending or receiving, with Dr. MacEwan.
Starting from the last one I remembered…

From: Andes Savulescu-Ruiz
You can be both! My life has been pretty hectic lately, but I would love to meet. How has the past month treated you?

He’d responded just before the stampede.

From: Bernard MacEwan
Haha, indeed I can. I would love to catch up as well. It's been rather calm, all things considered.

Alright, that’s good. I scrolled to the next message.

From: Bernard MacEwan
Are you ok? I saw on the news that one of the directors of a rescue facility was injured.

What the hell? Why am I on the news? Who else had seen that? There was a massive stampede with who knew how many deaths, but my personal fuckup was public knowledge?

From: Bernard MacEwan
I've seen more news saying it was you but that you were transported to a hospital. Everything's chaotic now so no one can give me a straight answer on your condition. I hope you're ok.

That was... A lot more investment than I expected.
“Did Dr. MacEwan try to call the hospital?” I asked Larzo.
He furrowed his brow. “...I have no idea. Why do you ask?”
“He said ‘no one will give me a straight answer’.”
He made a little noise of understanding.
Well, alright then. This was at least proving to be a pretty good distraction. We were already in a different area of Dayside City. I scrolled down to see a message I didn’t remember sending. From twelve hours earlier. Which means I was awake twelve hours ago…? By my pad’s clock… I’d spent nearly twenty hours in the hospital. Poor Larzo.

From: Andes Savulescu-Ruiz
I am so sorry I got stabbed, I didn't mean to worry you, sir.

My hand collided with my forehead. That would only worry him more!

From: Bernard MacEwan
What!? You were stabbed! Don't apologise for that and certainly don't feel that you need to apologise for how I might feel. Now, I'm glad you're responding because that means you're doing alright, well enough to type at least. But I know what you're like, always zipping off all over the place because you can't sit still. Listen to your doctors and listen to this one when they say take your time and rest.

I kept reading the thread. The next message I sent was from ten hours back

From: Andes Savulescu-Ruiz
Oh, don't worry about it! I have to rest anyway because I got run over by a car. Any tips and tricks for cane purchases?

“Andes, is something–is something new wrong?” Larzo asked, seeing something on my face. I let out a groan.

From: Bernard MacEwan
I'm sorry, what? You got stabbed and then were run over by a car!? Good lord, I've never been religious but someone's watching over you. As for the cane, I do indeed. For now stick with whatever the hospital gives you, their equipment is suitable for recovery and getting used to using one. If you need one in the future for day to day use let me know. I have a friend who makes excellent quality canes. He even goes as far as to personalise them for the individual.”

Attached was a link to his friend’s website. I felt like I was going to puke, and I couldn’t tell how much of that was motion sickness. Next message from nine hours back. How awake was I?
“Hey, Larzo, did I say anything weird while I was under anaesthetic?”
“Oh, you said many things,” he answered with a chuckle. “You were very insistent on Dr. MacEwan’s kindness, and… Something to do with repurposing translator technology to operate in the peripheral nervous system. Which… I didn’t think was possible to do.”
I’d have to share my thesis with him at some point. “Please remind me not to send emails while high in the future.”
“I shall do my best,” he said with a little chuckle. My eyes kept scanning the email thread.

From: Andes Savulescu-Ruiz
Oh no, I got hit by a car first, then stabbed. I was running an improvised ambulance thing during the stampede. Thanks for the contact, I'll probably only need it for a few months so I'm looking at modular designs for personalization purposes. Got to see the new Zurulian bone paste in action!

When did I look for modular designs? I flipped through some of the websites open in my pad and sure enough, there were several different lists of Best Canes from Earth websites.

From: Bernard MacEwan
My goodness, you've really been through it.
Good on you for getting out there and helping. I saw the images on the news. I knew they had a tendency to panic, but the scenes were awful.
You're welcome, I'm sure they'll be able to fix something up for you. They may be a bit pricey but they're certainly worth far more than he charges, don't tell him that haha.
Is that so? Circumstances aside, it must've been fascinating to see! Some of their sciences need work, but the medical advancements our new friends possess are like magic!

Dr. MacEwan is so delightful.

From: Andes Savulescu-Ruiz
Oh they are! I have suture bots in my facility. Do you want to come by and visit? I'll be out of commission for a couple days, but maybe the 16th?

I should just jump out the window right now. I slammed my head against the back of the car seat. It hit in just the right angle and I hissed in pain. Larzo gave me a glare and I accepted his tacit admonition.

From: Bernard MacEwan
Of course, I'd be delighted to visit your facility! That date is perfect. I've only heard a little about what goes on there, but I understand yours handles the child rescues? It sounds like you're doing great work.

That’s where the chain ended. Good. Ugh. The car stopped. The motion sickness was awful and I was an idiot for disregarding it.
We got out, I got on the chair, we wheeled through my apartment building, then I had to get off the chair and limp down the stairs. Some assholes were playing Pink Floyd loud enough for me to instinctively cover my ears, which made the whole process incredibly unpleasant. I’d have to find my noise-cancelling headphones when I got home.
Once downstairs, I had to help Larzo slide the chair down, and then I had to get back on the chair while he wheeled me over to my door. One of my neighbours—a Kolshian—rushed out the moment I rolled past her door.
“Human! I have tried my hardest to be tolerant, and allow you to live your life, but you simply must stop that racket!”
“...What?” I squinted at her in confusion.
“All the partying, the shouting, the human music,” she added.
“What in the world..?” Larzo echoed my thoughts as we stared at her in befuddlement. She seemed a little more concerned by my look than his, but she held her ground.
“The past two paws have been nothing but noise!” she spat.
“I’ve been at work!” I spat back.
“Well, then I suggest you tell whoever your guests are to quiet down.”
With that, she stalked back into her apartment.
“Ridiculous… Just because I’m human, doesn’t mean–” I started, only for the song to change to one of my personalized AI-instrumental late-night research mixes. “Okay that is definitely my music.”
Larzo rolled me over to my door. I tapped my key against the reader, and the door opened automatically.
On the other side was a crowd of maybe a dozen dossur partying on my couch, with another two dozen spread over the counter, by the window, and on the ground in front of the TV playing a racing game on it with my controllers. They were so invested in their little rave, not one of them noticed us. I connected to the speakers and turned them off. That got their attention.
Once they saw us, the crowd froze in place, staring at us in terror. Ah… Blissful silence.
I gave Larzo a look, silently checking that I wasn’t hallucinating the whole scene because of the drugs in my system. He flicked an ear in confirmation. The moment dragged. One of the ones on the counter–a smaller one, though they were all tiny–fell off some sort of makeshift tight-rope between my fridge door and faucet and directly into the trap that I had not set up with a loud SNAP.
The sound made the crowd scatter away from us and rush out through my small basement window.
Two dossur remained. One on my counter, trying very hard to pry open the newly-activated trap—which they had tilted up, why had they tilted it up? They could have just harmlessly landed on it if it was set up normally!—and the other one inside, scrambling, letting out terrified squeaks.
“...By your sacred man of bats…” Larzo mumbled.

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Harmful Alternative Post - I made this for April Fools, but also a lot of the ideas are ones I want to explore in my own original works in the future, so I'd appreciate thoughts.

I know my childhood was fucked up, both pre and post making the worst career choice possible. But the sad thing is, compared to where I’m at now, it was downright quaint.
That’s a word I want to focus on right now.
Quaint.
I doom scroll through this sub as much as the rest of you. Lately I’ve noticed the things people are running into are bigger, stronger, more mind boggling, more esoteric.
Now, a more cynical man would chalk that up to folks getting worn out on terror. Being exposed to so much constant horror related content that they need to keep raising the stakes to get that thrill.
Not me though. No, unfortunately, it’s hard to be cynical when you’ve seen the overstuffed cornucopia of evil reality has to offer.
I see it for what it is, the supernatural equivalent of animals fleeing from a forest fire. These things, these entities and little Gods , they would have been content to stay below the surface, to keep at their schemes and brutality behind the scenes.
But, it’s started. That infinite wave that has managed to wash away entire corners of existence. And it’s driving the things in the shadows out.
But right now, to you thousands behind your screens, that means nothing. It won’t till you’re staring at it from five feet away. And when that time comes, all the quantum physics, reality shifting information in the world won’t mean a damn thing.
No, what you’re going to want is some down to earth knowledge.
Something, Quaint.
Within the world of old Gods and new monsters we find ourselves in, I can’t think of anything more quaint than a good, old-fashioned slasher. I’ve given you a couple tips on these kinds of guys in the past, probably the most likely thing you’ll encounter, actually. Tonight, let’s have a look at how things tend to play out when someone lacks that information.
It’s almost a year after the incident at the church. A year of living under a fake name, making fake friends, and living a fake life.
The thing Pockets neglected to mention ( one of many, unfortunately.) was that, while “ The universe is the best fixer out there. “, what the surviving members of that unfortunate group saw, wasn’t all that spooky. Mostly just me acting like a lunatic, and a bunch of death and destruction that could be just as easily be chalked up to a psycho late-teen.
The place I’m in is a cabin in name only. Really, it’s a nice little house out in the middle of a forest in northern Ontario.
Who’s house? Well, to the 20 or so young adults and late teens at the party, it doesn’t really matter.
To me though, it does. And as I listen to the repeatedly copied cassette blaring overly aggressive rock, I try and get myself psyched for what has to happen.
It's been a year or so of deep cover, of research, of going to a school I didn’t know, of having a very specific group of friends. Hiding who I was, even who I used to be. But tonight, it happens.
“Earth to Ernie. “ Shaylee says, smacking me in the side of the head.
The 5 people around me are my closest friends. The most important people in the one room dwelling right now.
Shaylee sits in the loveseat across from me, as always, her arms and hands are covered. Her ruddy skin and blond hair at odds with the dark foreboding aesthetic she’s trying to convey.
Beside her is Toby, huge guy, he says he’s six three, but really, we are looking at closer to seven feet. He wears a polo shirt he’s sure will get him laid, and due to being built like a lumberjack, has never been asked for I. D. In dozens of beer runs.
Viktor and Vincent, two twins trying their best ( and failing) to disguise that fact. Vincent wears a full studded leather jacket, despite the fire roaring nearby, his brother a dress shirt that seems more suited for thanksgiving with family, than the alcohol fueled rager we find ourselves in.
Sitting beside me, is my best friend, Symon. He’s tall, lanky, and pale. He unintentionally pulls off in jeans and a yellow “Have a nice day “ shirt, what Shaylee barely accomplishes with Tim burton Esque clothing and a couple hours of makeup.
“Sorry, just stressing about the physics project. “ I apologize, draining half a beer as a gesture of contrition.
“No worries. “ Viktor says, tilting a can at me, finishing it, and tossing it haphazardly behind him.
It’s a little after ten, I swear I can hear every tick of the oak grandfather clock near the front door.
The night in the church, I thought that would be my initiation into whatever the hell Pockets does. But it barely got my foot in the door.
Tonight though, tonight is how I show “The Bosses” I have what it takes.
“Okay, so, who wants to see a card trick? “ I say, I smile, actually, I grin. I don’t feel it though, what I need to do here, it’s going to be rough. I wish there was another way.
Symon nods eagerly, the rest look a bit curious.
I reach into my backpack, and pull out a deck of cards. I break the plastic wrap and begin to shuffle.
I pass each person a card, it takes me no effort to make sure they all get the right ones.
After a handful of seconds I tell them to look at their cards but not to show anyone.
“You guys know what a soldier’s deck is?
It’s a special deck of cards with important information on them. Usually people, sometimes places or vehicles.
The military does this so recognising the things on them becomes second nature. Everyone loves cards. “ I say.
The looks I get are confused, the response I get, is angry. Except Symon, he seems, hurt.
“What’s this? “ Toby says, throwing his card aside.
My stomach churns, my pulse races, I feel like shit for what I’m doing. But I can’t show it.
“It’s what it says on the fucking tin Toby.
I know about all of you, that’s why I came to this shitty little town.
Things are going to get really dangerous here, very soon, I suggest listening to me. “ I feel the tension in the air thicken as I talk.
“Are you okay Ernie? Seriously, did you take something? “ Shaylee starts.
I turn to her, starting to feel the pressure. I don’t have time to convince anyone.
“Take off your gloves then. Before you say another word about it, take off the gloves. “ I challenge.
Vincent starts to talk, Toby cuts him off.
The massive guy’s voice has changed, it’s deeper now, strangely resonant. He’s the first to understand.
“This a threat? “ he says simply.
“Think of it however you want. I’d say this is me asking some friends of mine for a favor.
I’m not here to hurt you, or your families. “ I say, hoping the implication shakes them, “ Who I’m after will be showing up in about, 45 minutes or so.
Now, him, he will want to kill the whole, rotten lot of you. Supernatural pups or not.
Ironic, considering the guy is cursed himself, but I don’t think I need to tell you how unstable those ‘monster hunter’ types are. Especially one who’s saddled with a real case of self hatred after a century or so of immortality. “ My friends understand what I’m saying, clearly they don’t like that I do .
“So, this was all, a set up? “ Symon asks.
I sigh, taking in a large breath.
“You want me to feel bad?
Sy, you drink God damn spinal fluid. No way around it.
Shay, tell me, how many more years before you can’t go out in public anymore? How many years before you have to start taking folks memories?
Then we’ve got Toby, who, just by my calculation has a body count of a half dozen.
Oh, and the God damn hive mind, V squared. Everyone know there’s s a couple of them in about 80 different cities?
And I’m supposed to feel like I’m taking a heel turn? “ My rant is supposed to be dismissive, but it comes across as defensive instead.
“Things are more complicated than that Ernie. “ Symon pleads.
I wave a hand dismissively.
“ Not interested.
The guy showing up, he’s had a lot of things thrown at him. But not what all of you have.
Maybe you guys do nothing and end up splattered. Maybe it’s a cakewalk.
Not my issue.
What would be my issue is if you try and leave. At that point, what I said earlier, about families, no longer applies.
And by the way, my name’s Andrew. “ After hearing my plan out loud, saying it makes me feel, wrong.
But it’s the only way I could think of, the only way I could show I have what it takes. And there’s no backing out at this point.
“Anyone seen Chuck? “ a short, round guy of about 18 is yelling loudly to various people and cliques.
The lights flicker for a moment. No one seems to pay it much mind, other than our group.
The knock cuts through rowdy party goers, blaring music, and thick, awkward tension between my friends and I. To this day I can remember the exact sound, the starting pistol for this race to hell.
I recognise the dark haired girl that opens the door, but feel bad I can’t remember her name.
Something falls into the cabin as the door opens, at first the girl doesn’t react, trying to figure out exactly what she’s looking at.
Once she realises the two large, dripping pieces are a body, she begins to scream.
Chuck has been seemingly torn in half, and beaten well beyond the point of recognition. The only indication as to who this may have been is the gore soaked, half shredded Ramones shirt he was wearing.
The reaction spreads like wildfire, within a minute or so, the cabin is chaos.
“Not even any orders ‘Andy’? “ Toby says, venom and rage dripping from his tone.
“Motherfucker, you’re an ogre. Figure shit out. “ I say as the lights flicker again, then cut out.
Toby’s eyes glow a dim blue in the darkness. I feel a sense of fear and dread as I realise the kinds of forces I’m screwing around with here.
People rush to the door, someone slips on the blood slick hardwood floor. In the darkness people begin to crowd, fall and block the exit.
I heard the window open a couple seconds after the lights went out. The things I’ve wrangled here stand, each seeing clearly in the gloom. Their gaze, on me.
The music starts, jarringly, the lights turn back on. There’s no sign of whoever is attacking, but plenty of evidence of their handiwork.
Three more bodies, killed feet from the milling crowd, without so much as a yelp of pain.
Long thin knives are driven through their chests, they sit in a triangle formation in the centre of the room. A note written on yellowed, ancient paper, has a statement, scrawled in thick, black ink.
“I’m owed 5 demons. “ It says simply.
Me and my unlucky companions understand, the note just ads to the fear and confusion of the other partygoers.
You know how the next few minutes go. Cut phone lines, disabled cars, folks catching fleeting glimpses of a massive bearded man in a dark green suit.
“You’re a sick piece of shit Andy. “ Shaylee says as she begins to walk outside, motioning for Toby and the rest to follow.
“I didn’t set this up. “ I say, finding myself following her, “This was going to happen either way, I’m just trying to throw enough stuff at this guy to stop him. “
The mask is starting to slip. This edge-lord killer vibe I’m trying to cultivate, it’s not convincing them, and to put a point on things, it’s not convincing me either.
“Why didn’t you say so? Everyone, let’s give the man of the fuckin’ hour a hand. “ Toby says, as the six of us make it to the treeline.
I should be bunkered in the cabin, waiting for these things to throw themselves against the Slasher, but instead, I’m here. Pleading my case.
What can I say, I was 18.
“There” I say, catching him a few dozen feet into the forest.
St. Patrick.
Of course, not the Saint Patrick, no, this guy, about 150 years or so ago was a monster hunter. Took to styling himself after the original though.
Something happened along the way, the story varies a bit, sometimes it’s a deal with an entity, sometimes it’s a piece of cursed kit. But either way, he became, something else. Stalking the world, going scorched earth rooting out ‘sin’ and ‘demons’.
As you can guess, soon those definitions got twisted, and stretched, until the man was no different than the things he hunted.
He watches us, calmly, I stand away from the group of creatures of the night I’ve corralled. They talk among themselves, I hear anger, but I hear a lot more fear.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I brought a backpack full of ‘fuck you’ in case the entities didn’t want to cooperate. I expected resistance, I expected violence that would have to be met with it’s equal.
These kids were supposed to be wild animals, young, sure, but still, the things legends are made from.
I fucked up.
I can see it in Shaylee’s tears, Toby’s trembling , Symon’s hurt looks toward me, and the twin’s silent conversation .
It’s a shitty feeling realizing you’re wrong, infinitely moreso when lives are on the line. The thing shedding blood and staring at us, it’s just a hazard. What I’ve done is a combination of stupid, reckless and cruel that can’t be justified, it’s not right.
I’m not that guy. Thought I was, or at least wanted to be. But as I stand here in the midst of my handiwork, I understand I have to try and stop this.
Make, things right.
I begin to run toward the Slasher, the entities, still actually try yelling at me to stop. My heart fucking sinks.
The dead eyed killer looks curious, standing perfectly still he makes no move to hurt me.
I stand in front of him, and while he’s not as wide, or tall as Toby, I feel miniscule next to the revenant.
“You have to have some good left inside you. “ I start, “You wanted to protect people so much, you were willing to do… this, to yourself. “
The thing laughs, a dry, wheezing, mocking chuckle.
“Why? After a God Damned century, why? “ I scream, daring to make eye contact.
Slowly the thing raises a finger, pointing to it’s lips.
I see the frayed green and silver thread, the worn, suture holes, and the crude cross stitches holding his mouth shut.
I don’t see the limb that strikes me hard enough to dislocate my shoulder, and launch me, tumbling along the ground to slam into Toby’s leg.
“What the hell do you think he is, an Anne Rice Character? “ Toby says, “ Holy shit Andy, I can’t tell if you’re a worse monster hunter or human being. “
Toby begins to walk toward the Slasher. The young not-quite-man begins to warp and change.
Bones crack, flesh begins to swell and gain mass. Toby starts to scream, not a battle cry, but a wail of pain that echoes through the forest.
Toby stands before the killer, an asymmetrical mass of muscle, bone spurs, and torn clothing. Tears pour down his eyes, saliva pours from his wailing maw.
Symon offers a hand, I take it, not able to look him in the eye. Fear and shame stripping away any delusion I had of being some kind of badass.
The real badass stands in front of the force of nature stalking us.
The hunter shrugs off a civil war style gunny sack, he rolls his neck, massive, dry tendons creak and pop. He holds his hands out to either side, inviting toby to do his worst.
The nearly ten foot ogre throws lopsided, looping blows that fell trees before they land. The first handful do nothing, the hunter laughs softy, barely reacting.
The thunderous noise causes the partygoers to begin to filter out of the cabin.
“Get back inside! “ I try to scream, but the sounds of conflict drown me out.
Toby’s cries of pain get worse as his body deforms further, blood pours as bone plates and new muscle groups form.
A blow from a fused, almost mace-like hand makes the Slasher wince, the next, manages to tear a long, shallow furrow out of its impossibly thick skin. With bleating, childlike sobs Toby keeps up the assault, the blows now forcing Patrick to defend himself.
The hope, the feeling of a light at the end of the tunnel is palpable.
Knowing what I know now, all things being fair, Toby would have been able to destroy the False Saint. Slashers are great at appearing invincible but at the end of they day enough bad things happening to enough important parts, and they die like anything else.
But the world isn’t a fair place, or, the good die young.
Take your pick.
The Slasher is on the ground, Toby raining down brutal, graceless strikes that drive the body of the turned hero into the ground inch by inch.
Toby begins to spasm, a wave of pain overtaking him. He’s to young to control what’s happening.
The hunter snakes a hand to his bag, pulling out a small bottle.
I’d tell you what was in it, in case you ever find yourself face to face with an ogre. But to the best of my knowledge the last two died sometime in 2020.
Before Toby can get his senses back the killer smashes the bottle into the ogre’s face.
I’ve seen a lot of friends die in my life, what happened to Toby when that liquid hit him is one of two memories I’ve had expunged.
As our savior dies our hope is dashed like an egg on cement. No one has to tell anyone to run, we just do.
The crowd at the door stand frozen, we scream at them to go inside, but they simply stand stunned at the display of violence, and wrong they just witnessed.
In the business we call it’ Hell Shock’ grim pun, I know, but accurate. The human mind can handle wrong in small doses. A couple fleeting glimpses of spirits in a haunted forest, no problem. But seeing two physics defying creatures collide at the scene of a paranormal mass murder, that throws some soda on the ol’ circuit boards.
What most people hear is a tinny whistling noise, Viktor and Vincent however, stop running mid stride, clutching their ears and falling to the ground.
I look back, and see Patrick stalking toward them, he swings a flat white object in quick circles on the end of a piece of rough twine. It emits the sound disabling the twins.
Symon pulls me forward, breaking my fear induced daze.
Most of the partygoers have got some sense of reason back and filter inside. Symon, Shaylee and myself start ushering in the last few enraptured people, ignoring the screams, and brutal tearing noises from behind us.
The group is scared beyond reason, the walls between us and the Slasher feel thin as paper. Most are discussing making a break for it, I understand how badly that would go.
Fear and cowardice lead to indecision. The false Saint doesn’t storm the place, he bides his time. Running a wickedly pointed green blade along windows, humming tunelessly as he stalks around the cabin he lets us know he’s in control.
Someone stands too close to a window, they’re snatched in an instant, becoming nothing more than a trailing scream and painful memory.
The group huddles in the centre of the cabin, tension rising, a handful crack and try to run. We hear mechanical snapping noises, and the sounds of butchery.
My shoulder throbs, I think I may have broken a rib, and with every passing second the situation keeps sprinting further down the road to hell.
“Andy! “ Shaylee says, getting my attention, “ We need to get them out of here. “
As bad as I feel, I laugh.
“What about us? “ I say, my petulant tone makes me want to punch myself in the face.
Symon looks to me, he doesn’t have to say anything.
“We’re all fighting on different sides of a war, but they’re just civilians. “ I say.
No one seems to disagree.
I find my backpack, opening the heavy canvas bag with one arm isn’t happening.
“Sy, little help? “, no sooner do I say this than Symon grabs my dislocated arm and yanks.
I’m screaming before I hear the crunch, before the pain hits. My vision blurs, I puke a handful of chips and cheap beer.
“I meant to open the bag! “ I scream, clutching my now in- place shoulder.
I chuckle, a morbid little noise, but not long after Symon does the same. After a moment or two, Shaylee begins to join in.
It's a moment, a moment brought on by knowing, in all likelihood we die here.
The morbid chuckle turns into manic laughter. A fear fueled sick sounding thing. When it stops, Shaylee is the first to speak.
“To answer what you asked Andy, about a year and a half. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 18 months or so before I start to look too screwed up to be walking around.
Won’t even be able to legally drink before I look like I should be living in a gingerbread house somewhere.
I can herd those people, get them away from here, but I need you two to stall that thing outside. “
“We’ve got nothing, you saw what it did to Toby. I have guns and knives, cheap guns and knives. If Toby couldn’t slow him down, Symon and I sure as hell can’t. “ My voice shakes, I hear the panic in it.
Symon looks deep in thought. When he talks, there’s a weight to what he says I’ve never heard.
“You picked the wrong card.
You got Toby, Shaylee, V squared, but me, you were a little off the mark.
Kind of hurts.
If I keep doing what I’m doing now, I don’t have to eat or drink anything weird, no physical changes, nothing. That all changes though if I hurt a person. Actually, it happens once I’ve made the decision to. “
I knew this was a possibility. Pockets, the prick refused to lend a hand while I planned this, and I couldn’t quite pin what Symon was down.
“This guy isn’t a person… “ I begin.
“He is, beyond the curse, in every way that matters, he’s as much of a person as you or any of those potential murder victims.
I'll be giving up any chance of a normal life. If I’m lucky, in a decade or two, I’ll just be insane and dangerous.
I can do this, Patrick, our friends, they’re all physical things. If I give in… I won’t be.
But I need a promise. Once this happens, you leave me alone. Hands off, no matter what. You pretend I don’t exist. “
It might not be a deal with the devil, but it isn’t far off. But I have no choice, I can’t let the civilians die.
“For what it’s worth, sure. “ I reply, the decision hangs in the air like a bad smell.
Shaylee takes off her gloves, in contrast to her youthful looks, her hands are pale, thin skinned and streaked with dark black veins.
She walks through the crowd of confused frightened young adults and with nothing more than a subtle brush of a hand, has their attention.
Symon stands, I smell ammonia, and turned spices. The air seems to still and stagnate.
“I need a couple minutes. Get him in here while Shaylee gets the prey out the back. “ He says facing away from me.
This pistol I bring feels like a toy, but I’m not expecting to hurt him with it.
By the time I get outside he’s crouched, moving faster than should be possible toward Shaylee’s group.
I might not have speed or strength, I might have a nerve damaged shoulder and a cracked rib, but I didn’t need any of that. My weapon, my only advantage was my ability to be an absolute prick in only the way a kid like me with a life like I’ve had can be.
Now, I’m not going to put what I said to take Paddy’s attention from the crowd here. Back in the 80’s we thought some terrible things were okay for casual conversation.
What I will say is that young Andy informed the twisted corpse of his opinions on it’s motives, intellect, and sexual history in enough detail that the kid wound up with an empty gun, a knife up to it’s hilt in his forearm and a rage fueled corpse dragging him by the foot into the cabin.
I notice it instantly, before the door shuts of it’s own accord, and more importantly, before the hate blinded monster holding me does.
The cabin is twisted, warped, a scent of industrial cleaner and fetid basement makes me gag.
The room seems massive, the walls twisting and swaying if built on water.
The sense of power, of evil and wrong is palpable. The type of alien cousin-of-emotion that starts cults.
The creature drops me, I try and hold the wound in my arm shut. I’ve got no fight left in me, all I can do is watch, and hope.
A back door opens, it seems a half kilometer away, but I hear Shaylee’s voice clear as day.
“They should be fine where is… “ She doesn’t finish her sentence before the hunter draws a revolver that could crush the pawn shop POS I brought.
The report is somehow muffled, but the bullet blows a fist sized hole in Shaylee’s leg. She hits the ground screaming, and starting what will be a slow death if she doesn’t get immediate medical attention.
Before the Revenant can turn the hand cannon toward me, I hear a voice.
Young, faint, female, “Why did you leave? “ it repeats over and over.
The ghoul’s eyes widen, it tries to flee, but the door, flimsy, and free of so much as a deadbolt won’t budge.
Symon walks out of a patch of shadow, a few inches or so above the ground.
He looks different now, no eyes, just fist sized patches of unnatural darkness, his hair moves and twists as if having a mind of it’s own, his movements are like film cuts, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“That’s right Patrick of Connell, I know everything about you now.
I could destroy you without lifting a finger. Just drag back every mistake, every sin, every forgotten failure you’ve made. I have that reach. “ Symon smiles the grin twisting and warping his face.
He points gently, and suddenly, the hunter seems human again.
I think Symon must have overplayed his hand as the fallen hero sprints toward him, if anything he’s faster than before, his strides splinter wood flooring.
He's on the lanky entity in a moment drawing knives from hidden sheaths and stabbing in a brutal frenzy.
But Symon simply isn’t there, the hunter finds himself holding nothing more than a yellow shirt with an ironic logo.
Symons laughter screams from every angle, but below it is another noise.
Slowly, a chorus of dozens, if not hundreds of voices begin to plead, wail and threaten. From the shadows, faces begin to form like snowflakes, grey faces with hateful glares, and dark promises, both directed toward Patrick.
His blows pass harmlessly through the ghostly grey forms, but as the swarm begins to pull themselves from whatever afterlife you want to believe in, their whisp-like hands hold the hunter fast.
I watch for a moment, as they work like ants, the gibbering rising to a disorienting level. They don’t kill the hunter, but they break his arms, his legs, they make sure he’s going no where.
I see Symon standing beside the back door as I sprint towards it. He holds up a hand as I’m twenty or so feet away.
I can’t move.
Symon’s voice cuts through the din.
“Leave her. “ He says.
“Fuck no. “ I reply.
He stares at me, those pitch black voids giving nothing away.
“You still don’t get it do you?
We are not friends, we can’t be friends.
Things like us, sooner or later, if we start hanging around the prey, it goes bad for everyone involved.
It’s not a preference, it’s a rule of fucking nature Andy.
There are no friendly Ghosts, no werewolf boyfriends, no hot vampire ladies looking for love.
You have your world, we have ours, and the best of us, on any side, know it needs to be kept that way.
Now, leave, let me be what I am. “ There is mania bordering on insanity in Symon’s sourceless tone.
I leave, my injured, exsanguinated pace letting me hear the insane cacophony of the unreal behind me behind me for much too long.
As Pockets and I were driving down a shitty highway to the next freak show, I asked when I’d be getting into The Organization.
“One cluster-fuck you managed to walk away from, and you think they're getting a desk ready for you?
The ego on you kid.
Few years at least, but if I told you that, you’d have been expecting me to hold your hand, and I wanted to see what you're capable of. “ Was his reply.
It was a few months before I could talk with him about anything other than work.
Danger, that’s something I expected, but what he put me through that year. Letting me get close, letting me see those things as people, before letting the world throw it in my face that they weren’t. It showed me a side of him I’d never seen before, and I didn’t like it.
Only forgot the lessons I learned that night once, but that’s another piece of advice, for another holiday.
Keep safe.
Andy

For anyone who wondered what happened before, here's the last piece of advice I had for you.
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/s/mJzPCVAWWY
I know my childhood was fucked up, both pre and post making the worst career choice possible. But the sad thing is, compared to where I’m at now, it was downright quaint.
That’s a word I want to focus on right now.
Quaint.
I doom scroll through this sub as much as the rest of you. Lately I’ve noticed the things people are running into are bigger, stronger, more mind boggling, more esoteric.
Now, a more cynical man would chalk that up to folks getting worn out on terror. Being exposed to so much constant horror related content that they need to keep raising the stakes to get that thrill.
Not me though. No, unfortunately, it’s hard to be cynical when you’ve seen the overstuffed cornucopia of evil reality has to offer.
I see it for what it is, the supernatural equivalent of animals fleeing from a forest fire. These things, these entities and little Gods , they would have been content to stay below the surface, to keep at their schemes and brutality behind the scenes.
But, it’s started. That infinite wave that has managed to wash away entire corners of existence. And it’s driving the things in the shadows out.
But right now, to you thousands behind your screens, that means nothing. It won’t till you’re staring at it from five feet away. And when that time comes, all the quantum physics, reality shifting information in the world won’t mean a damn thing.
No, what you’re going to want is some down to earth knowledge.
Something, Quaint.
Within the world of old Gods and new monsters we find ourselves in, I can’t think of anything more quaint than a good, old-fashioned slasher. I’ve given you a couple tips on these kinds of guys in the past, probably the most likely thing you’ll encounter, actually. Tonight, let’s have a look at how things tend to play out when someone lacks that information.
It’s almost a year after the incident at the church. A year of living under a fake name, making fake friends, and living a fake life.
The thing Pockets neglected to mention ( one of many, unfortunately.) was that, while “ The universe is the best fixer out there. “, what the surviving members of that unfortunate group saw, wasn’t all that spooky. Mostly just me acting like a lunatic, and a bunch of death and destruction that could be just as easily be chalked up to a psycho late-teen.
The place I’m in is a cabin in name only. Really, it’s a nice little house out in the middle of a forest in northern Ontario.
Who’s house? Well, to the 20 or so young adults and late teens at the party, it doesn’t really matter.
To me though, it does. And as I listen to the repeatedly copied cassette blaring overly aggressive rock, I try and get myself psyched for what has to happen.
It's been a year or so of deep cover, of research, of going to a school I didn’t know, of having a very specific group of friends. Hiding who I was, even who I used to be. But tonight, it happens.
“Earth to Ernie. “ Shaylee says, smacking me in the side of the head.
The 5 people around me are my closest friends. The most important people in the one room dwelling right now.
Shaylee sits in the loveseat across from me, as always, her arms and hands are covered. Her ruddy skin and blond hair at odds with the dark foreboding aesthetic she’s trying to convey.
Beside her is Toby, huge guy, he says he’s six three, but really, we are looking at closer to seven feet. He wears a polo shirt he’s sure will get him laid, and due to being built like a lumberjack, has never been asked for I. D. In dozens of beer runs.
Viktor and Vincent, two twins trying their best ( and failing) to disguise that fact. Vincent wears a full studded leather jacket, despite the fire roaring nearby, his brother a dress shirt that seems more suited for thanksgiving with family, than the alcohol fueled rager we find ourselves in.
Sitting beside me, is my best friend, Symon. He’s tall, lanky, and pale. He unintentionally pulls off in jeans and a yellow “Have a nice day “ shirt, what Shaylee barely accomplishes with Tim burton Esque clothing and a couple hours of makeup.
“Sorry, just stressing about the physics project. “ I apologize, draining half a beer as a gesture of contrition.
“No worries. “ Viktor says, tilting a can at me, finishing it, and tossing it haphazardly behind him.
It’s a little after ten, I swear I can hear every tick of the oak grandfather clock near the front door.
The night in the church, I thought that would be my initiation into whatever the hell Pockets does. But it barely got my foot in the door.
Tonight though, tonight is how I show “The Bosses” I have what it takes.
“Okay, so, who wants to see a card trick? “ I say, I smile, actually, I grin. I don’t feel it though, what I need to do here, it’s going to be rough. I wish there was another way.
Symon nods eagerly, the rest look a bit curious.
I reach into my backpack, and pull out a deck of cards. I break the plastic wrap and begin to shuffle.
I pass each person a card, it takes me no effort to make sure they all get the right ones.
After a handful of seconds I tell them to look at their cards but not to show anyone.
“You guys know what a soldier’s deck is?
It’s a special deck of cards with important information on them. Usually people, sometimes places or vehicles.
The military does this so recognising the things on them becomes second nature. Everyone loves cards. “ I say.
The looks I get are confused, the response I get, is angry. Except Symon, he seems, hurt.
“What’s this? “ Toby says, throwing his card aside.
My stomach churns, my pulse races, I feel like shit for what I’m doing. But I can’t show it.
“It’s what it says on the fucking tin Toby.
I know about all of you, that’s why I came to this shitty little town.
Things are going to get really dangerous here, very soon, I suggest listening to me. “ I feel the tension in the air thicken as I talk.
“Are you okay Ernie? Seriously, did you take something? “ Shaylee starts.
I turn to her, starting to feel the pressure. I don’t have time to convince anyone.
“Take off your gloves then. Before you say another word about it, take off the gloves. “ I challenge.
Vincent starts to talk, Toby cuts him off.
The massive guy’s voice has changed, it’s deeper now, strangely resonant. He’s the first to understand.
“This a threat? “ he says simply.
“Think of it however you want. I’d say this is me asking some friends of mine for a favor.
I’m not here to hurt you, or your families. “ I say, hoping the implication shakes them, “ Who I’m after will be showing up in about, 45 minutes or so.
Now, him, he will want to kill the whole, rotten lot of you. Supernatural pups or not.
Ironic, considering the guy is cursed himself, but I don’t think I need to tell you how unstable those ‘monster hunter’ types are. Especially one who’s saddled with a real case of self hatred after a century or so of immortality. “ My friends understand what I’m saying, clearly they don’t like that I do .
“So, this was all, a set up? “ Symon asks.
I sigh, taking in a large breath.
“You want me to feel bad?
Sy, you drink God damn spinal fluid. No way around it.
Shay, tell me, how many more years before you can’t go out in public anymore? How many years before you have to start taking folks memories?
Then we’ve got Toby, who, just by my calculation has a body count of a half dozen.
Oh, and the God damn hive mind, V squared. Everyone know there’s s a couple of them in about 80 different cities?
And I’m supposed to feel like I’m taking a heel turn? “ My rant is supposed to be dismissive, but it comes across as defensive instead.
“Things are more complicated than that Ernie. “ Symon pleads.
I wave a hand dismissively.
“ Not interested.
The guy showing up, he’s had a lot of things thrown at him. But not what all of you have.
Maybe you guys do nothing and end up splattered. Maybe it’s a cakewalk.
Not my issue.
What would be my issue is if you try and leave. At that point, what I said earlier, about families, no longer applies.
And by the way, my name’s Andrew. “ After hearing my plan out loud, saying it makes me feel, wrong.
But it’s the only way I could think of, the only way I could show I have what it takes. And there’s no backing out at this point.
“Anyone seen Chuck? “ a short, round guy of about 18 is yelling loudly to various people and cliques.
The lights flicker for a moment. No one seems to pay it much mind, other than our group.
The knock cuts through rowdy party goers, blaring music, and thick, awkward tension between my friends and I. To this day I can remember the exact sound, the starting pistol for this race to hell.
I recognise the dark haired girl that opens the door, but feel bad I can’t remember her name.
Something falls into the cabin as the door opens, at first the girl doesn’t react, trying to figure out exactly what she’s looking at.
Once she realises the two large, dripping pieces are a body, she begins to scream.
Chuck has been seemingly torn in half, and beaten well beyond the point of recognition. The only indication as to who this may have been is the gore soaked, half shredded Ramones shirt he was wearing.
The reaction spreads like wildfire, within a minute or so, the cabin is chaos.
“Not even any orders ‘Andy’? “ Toby says, venom and rage dripping from his tone.
“Motherfucker, you’re an ogre. Figure shit out. “ I say as the lights flicker again, then cut out.
Toby’s eyes glow a dim blue in the darkness. I feel a sense of fear and dread as I realise the kinds of forces I’m screwing around with here.
People rush to the door, someone slips on the blood slick hardwood floor. In the darkness people begin to crowd, fall and block the exit.
I heard the window open a couple seconds after the lights went out. The things I’ve wrangled here stand, each seeing clearly in the gloom. Their gaze, on me.
The music starts, jarringly, the lights turn back on. There’s no sign of whoever is attacking, but plenty of evidence of their handiwork.
Three more bodies, killed feet from the milling crowd, without so much as a yelp of pain.
Long thin knives are driven through their chests, they sit in a triangle formation in the centre of the room. A note written on yellowed, ancient paper, has a statement, scrawled in thick, black ink.
“I’m owed 5 demons. “ It says simply.
Me and my unlucky companions understand, the note just ads to the fear and confusion of the other partygoers.
You know how the next few minutes go. Cut phone lines, disabled cars, folks catching fleeting glimpses of a massive bearded man in a dark green suit.
“You’re a sick piece of shit Andy. “ Shaylee says as she begins to walk outside, motioning for Toby and the rest to follow.
“I didn’t set this up. “ I say, finding myself following her, “This was going to happen either way, I’m just trying to throw enough stuff at this guy to stop him. “
The mask is starting to slip. This edge-lord killer vibe I’m trying to cultivate, it’s not convincing them, and to put a point on things, it’s not convincing me either.
“Why didn’t you say so? Everyone, let’s give the man of the fuckin’ hour a hand. “ Toby says, as the six of us make it to the treeline.
I should be bunkered in the cabin, waiting for these things to throw themselves against the Slasher, but instead, I’m here. Pleading my case.
What can I say, I was 18.
“There” I say, catching him a few dozen feet into the forest.
St. Patrick.
Of course, not the Saint Patrick, no, this guy, about 150 years or so ago was a monster hunter. Took to styling himself after the original though.
Something happened along the way, the story varies a bit, sometimes it’s a deal with an entity, sometimes it’s a piece of cursed kit. But either way, he became, something else. Stalking the world, going scorched earth rooting out ‘sin’ and ‘demons’.
As you can guess, soon those definitions got twisted, and stretched, until the man was no different than the things he hunted.
He watches us, calmly, I stand away from the group of creatures of the night I’ve corralled. They talk among themselves, I hear anger, but I hear a lot more fear.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I brought a backpack full of ‘fuck you’ in case the entities didn’t want to cooperate. I expected resistance, I expected violence that would have to be met with it’s equal.
These kids were supposed to be wild animals, young, sure, but still, the things legends are made from.
I fucked up.
I can see it in Shaylee’s tears, Toby’s trembling , Symon’s hurt looks toward me, and the twin’s silent conversation .
It’s a shitty feeling realizing you’re wrong, infinitely moreso when lives are on the line. The thing shedding blood and staring at us, it’s just a hazard. What I’ve done is a combination of stupid, reckless and cruel that can’t be justified, it’s not right.
I’m not that guy. Thought I was, or at least wanted to be. But as I stand here in the midst of my handiwork, I understand I have to try and stop this.
Make, things right.
I begin to run toward the Slasher, the entities, still actually try yelling at me to stop. My heart fucking sinks.
The dead eyed killer looks curious, standing perfectly still he makes no move to hurt me.
I stand in front of him, and while he’s not as wide, or tall as Toby, I feel miniscule next to the revenant.
“You have to have some good left inside you. “ I start, “You wanted to protect people so much, you were willing to do… this, to yourself. “
The thing laughs, a dry, wheezing, mocking chuckle.
“Why? After a God Damned century, why? “ I scream, daring to make eye contact.
Slowly the thing raises a finger, pointing to it’s lips.
I see the frayed green and silver thread, the worn, suture holes, and the crude cross stitches holding his mouth shut.
I don’t see the limb that strikes me hard enough to dislocate my shoulder, and launch me, tumbling along the ground to slam into Toby’s leg.
“What the hell do you think he is, an Anne Rice Character? “ Toby says, “ Holy shit Andy, I can’t tell if you’re a worse monster hunter or human being. “
Toby begins to walk toward the Slasher. The young not-quite-man begins to warp and change.
Bones crack, flesh begins to swell and gain mass. Toby starts to scream, not a battle cry, but a wail of pain that echoes through the forest.
Toby stands before the killer, an asymmetrical mass of muscle, bone spurs, and torn clothing. Tears pour down his eyes, saliva pours from his wailing maw.
Symon offers a hand, I take it, not able to look him in the eye. Fear and shame stripping away any delusion I had of being some kind of badass.
The real badass stands in front of the force of nature stalking us.
The hunter shrugs off a civil war style gunny sack, he rolls his neck, massive, dry tendons creak and pop. He holds his hands out to either side, inviting toby to do his worst.
The nearly ten foot ogre throws lopsided, looping blows that fell trees before they land. The first handful do nothing, the hunter laughs softy, barely reacting.
The thunderous noise causes the partygoers to begin to filter out of the cabin.
“Get back inside! “ I try to scream, but the sounds of conflict drown me out.
Toby’s cries of pain get worse as his body deforms further, blood pours as bone plates and new muscle groups form.
A blow from a fused, almost mace-like hand makes the Slasher wince, the next, manages to tear a long, shallow furrow out of its impossibly thick skin. With bleating, childlike sobs Toby keeps up the assault, the blows now forcing Patrick to defend himself.
The hope, the feeling of a light at the end of the tunnel is palpable.
Knowing what I know now, all things being fair, Toby would have been able to destroy the False Saint. Slashers are great at appearing invincible but at the end of they day enough bad things happening to enough important parts, and they die like anything else.
But the world isn’t a fair place, or, the good die young.
Take your pick.
The Slasher is on the ground, Toby raining down brutal, graceless strikes that drive the body of the turned hero into the ground inch by inch.
Toby begins to spasm, a wave of pain overtaking him. He’s to young to control what’s happening.
The hunter snakes a hand to his bag, pulling out a small bottle.
I’d tell you what was in it, in case you ever find yourself face to face with an ogre. But to the best of my knowledge the last two died sometime in 2020.
Before Toby can get his senses back the killer smashes the bottle into the ogre’s face.
I’ve seen a lot of friends die in my life, what happened to Toby when that liquid hit him is one of two memories I’ve had expunged.
As our savior dies our hope is dashed like an egg on cement. No one has to tell anyone to run, we just do.
The crowd at the door stand frozen, we scream at them to go inside, but they simply stand stunned at the display of violence, and wrong they just witnessed.
In the business we call it’ Hell Shock’ grim pun, I know, but accurate. The human mind can handle wrong in small doses. A couple fleeting glimpses of spirits in a haunted forest, no problem. But seeing two physics defying creatures collide at the scene of a paranormal mass murder, that throws some soda on the ol’ circuit boards.
What most people hear is a tinny whistling noise, Viktor and Vincent however, stop running mid stride, clutching their ears and falling to the ground.
I look back, and see Patrick stalking toward them, he swings a flat white object in quick circles on the end of a piece of rough twine. It emits the sound disabling the twins.
Symon pulls me forward, breaking my fear induced daze.
Most of the partygoers have got some sense of reason back and filter inside. Symon, Shaylee and myself start ushering in the last few enraptured people, ignoring the screams, and brutal tearing noises from behind us.
The group is scared beyond reason, the walls between us and the Slasher feel thin as paper. Most are discussing making a break for it, I understand how badly that would go.
Fear and cowardice lead to indecision. The false Saint doesn’t storm the place, he bides his time. Running a wickedly pointed green blade along windows, humming tunelessly as he stalks around the cabin he lets us know he’s in control.
Someone stands too close to a window, they’re snatched in an instant, becoming nothing more than a trailing scream and painful memory.
The group huddles in the centre of the cabin, tension rising, a handful crack and try to run. We hear mechanical snapping noises, and the sounds of butchery.
My shoulder throbs, I think I may have broken a rib, and with every passing second the situation keeps sprinting further down the road to hell.
“Andy! “ Shaylee says, getting my attention, “ We need to get them out of here. “
As bad as I feel, I laugh.
“What about us? “ I say, my petulant tone makes me want to punch myself in the face.
Symon looks to me, he doesn’t have to say anything.
“We’re all fighting on different sides of a war, but they’re just civilians. “ I say.
No one seems to disagree.
I find my backpack, opening the heavy canvas bag with one arm isn’t happening.
“Sy, little help? “, no sooner do I say this than Symon grabs my dislocated arm and yanks.
I’m screaming before I hear the crunch, before the pain hits. My vision blurs, I puke a handful of chips and cheap beer.
“I meant to open the bag! “ I scream, clutching my now in- place shoulder.
I chuckle, a morbid little noise, but not long after Symon does the same. After a moment or two, Shaylee begins to join in.
It's a moment, a moment brought on by knowing, in all likelihood we die here.
The morbid chuckle turns into manic laughter. A fear fueled sick sounding thing. When it stops, Shaylee is the first to speak.
“To answer what you asked Andy, about a year and a half. If I’m really lucky, I’ve got 18 months or so before I start to look too screwed up to be walking around.
Won’t even be able to legally drink before I look like I should be living in a gingerbread house somewhere.
I can herd those people, get them away from here, but I need you two to stall that thing outside. “
“We’ve got nothing, you saw what it did to Toby. I have guns and knives, cheap guns and knives. If Toby couldn’t slow him down, Symon and I sure as hell can’t. “ My voice shakes, I hear the panic in it.
Symon looks deep in thought. When he talks, there’s a weight to what he says I’ve never heard.
“You picked the wrong card.
You got Toby, Shaylee, V squared, but me, you were a little off the mark.
Kind of hurts.
If I keep doing what I’m doing now, I don’t have to eat or drink anything weird, no physical changes, nothing. That all changes though if I hurt a person. Actually, it happens once I’ve made the decision to. “
I knew this was a possibility. Pockets, the prick refused to lend a hand while I planned this, and I couldn’t quite pin what Symon was down.
“This guy isn’t a person… “ I begin.
“He is, beyond the curse, in every way that matters, he’s as much of a person as you or any of those potential murder victims.
I'll be giving up any chance of a normal life. If I’m lucky, in a decade or two, I’ll just be insane and dangerous.
I can do this, Patrick, our friends, they’re all physical things. If I give in… I won’t be.
But I need a promise. Once this happens, you leave me alone. Hands off, no matter what. You pretend I don’t exist. “
It might not be a deal with the devil, but it isn’t far off. But I have no choice, I can’t let the civilians die.
“For what it’s worth, sure. “ I reply, the decision hangs in the air like a bad smell.
Shaylee takes off her gloves, in contrast to her youthful looks, her hands are pale, thin skinned and streaked with dark black veins.
She walks through the crowd of confused frightened young adults and with nothing more than a subtle brush of a hand, has their attention.
Symon stands, I smell ammonia, and turned spices. The air seems to still and stagnate.
“I need a couple minutes. Get him in here while Shaylee gets the prey out the back. “ He says facing away from me.
This pistol I bring feels like a toy, but I’m not expecting to hurt him with it.
By the time I get outside he’s crouched, moving faster than should be possible toward Shaylee’s group.
I might not have speed or strength, I might have a nerve damaged shoulder and a cracked rib, but I didn’t need any of that. My weapon, my only advantage was my ability to be an absolute prick in only the way a kid like me with a life like I’ve had can be.
Now, I’m not going to put what I said to take Paddy’s attention from the crowd here. Back in the 80’s we thought some terrible things were okay for casual conversation.
What I will say is that young Andy informed the twisted corpse of his opinions on it’s motives, intellect, and sexual history in enough detail that the kid wound up with an empty gun, a knife up to it’s hilt in his forearm and a rage fueled corpse dragging him by the foot into the cabin.
I notice it instantly, before the door shuts of it’s own accord, and more importantly, before the hate blinded monster holding me does.
The cabin is twisted, warped, a scent of industrial cleaner and fetid basement makes me gag.
The room seems massive, the walls twisting and swaying if built on water.
The sense of power, of evil and wrong is palpable. The type of alien cousin-of-emotion that starts cults.
The creature drops me, I try and hold the wound in my arm shut. I’ve got no fight left in me, all I can do is watch, and hope.
A back door opens, it seems a half kilometer away, but I hear Shaylee’s voice clear as day.
“They should be fine where is… “ She doesn’t finish her sentence before the hunter draws a revolver that could crush the pawn shop POS I brought.
The report is somehow muffled, but the bullet blows a fist sized hole in Shaylee’s leg. She hits the ground screaming, and starting what will be a slow death if she doesn’t get immediate medical attention.
Before the Revenant can turn the hand cannon toward me, I hear a voice.
Young, faint, female, “Why did you leave? “ it repeats over and over.
The ghoul’s eyes widen, it tries to flee, but the door, flimsy, and free of so much as a deadbolt won’t budge.
Symon walks out of a patch of shadow, a few inches or so above the ground.
He looks different now, no eyes, just fist sized patches of unnatural darkness, his hair moves and twists as if having a mind of it’s own, his movements are like film cuts, his voice coming from everywhere and nowhere.
“That’s right Patrick of Connell, I know everything about you now.
I could destroy you without lifting a finger. Just drag back every mistake, every sin, every forgotten failure you’ve made. I have that reach. “ Symon smiles the grin twisting and warping his face.
He points gently, and suddenly, the hunter seems human again.
I think Symon must have overplayed his hand as the fallen hero sprints toward him, if anything he’s faster than before, his strides splinter wood flooring.
He's on the lanky entity in a moment drawing knives from hidden sheaths and stabbing in a brutal frenzy.
But Symon simply isn’t there, the hunter finds himself holding nothing more than a yellow shirt with an ironic logo.
Symons laughter screams from every angle, but below it is another noise.
Slowly, a chorus of dozens, if not hundreds of voices begin to plead, wail and threaten. From the shadows, faces begin to form like snowflakes, grey faces with hateful glares, and dark promises, both directed toward Patrick.
His blows pass harmlessly through the ghostly grey forms, but as the swarm begins to pull themselves from whatever afterlife you want to believe in, their whisp-like hands hold the hunter fast.
I watch for a moment, as they work like ants, the gibbering rising to a disorienting level. They don’t kill the hunter, but they break his arms, his legs, they make sure he’s going no where.
I see Symon standing beside the back door as I sprint towards it. He holds up a hand as I’m twenty or so feet away.
I can’t move.
Symon’s voice cuts through the din.
“Leave her. “ He says.
“Fuck no. “ I reply.
He stares at me, those pitch black voids giving nothing away.
“You still don’t get it do you?
We are not friends, we can’t be friends.
Things like us, sooner or later, if we start hanging around the prey, it goes bad for everyone involved.
It’s not a preference, it’s a rule of fucking nature Andy.
There are no friendly Ghosts, no werewolf boyfriends, no hot vampire ladies looking for love.
You have your world, we have ours, and the best of us, on any side, know it needs to be kept that way.
Now, leave, let me be what I am. “ There is mania bordering on insanity in Symon’s sourceless tone.
I leave, my injured, exsanguinated pace letting me hear the insane cacophony of the unreal behind me behind me for much too long.
As Pockets and I were driving down a shitty highway to the next freak show, I asked when I’d be getting into The Organization.
“One cluster-fuck you managed to walk away from, and you think they're getting a desk ready for you?
The ego on you kid.
Few years at least, but if I told you that, you’d have been expecting me to hold your hand, and I wanted to see what you're capable of. “ Was his reply.
It was a few months before I could talk with him about anything other than work.
Danger, that’s something I expected, but what he put me through that year. Letting me get close, letting me see those things as people, before letting the world throw it in my face that they weren’t. It showed me a side of him I’d never seen before, and I didn’t like it.
Only forgot the lessons I learned that night once, but that’s another piece of advice, for another holiday.
Keep safe.
Andy

History Lesson
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Alex got a crash course in being comfortable with someone else dressing him. It didn’t work particularly well, and Neya’s assertion that it was not anything she had not seen before did not help.
Neither did Carbon saying the exact same thing when she got out of the shower.
Still, Neya had gotten it done. Alex was now wrapped in a traditional, formal version of the Tsla’o daman, which... was not really his style. The lengths of fabric contained in the multitude of packages were dark red, very nearly brown, and impressively light. The first part to go on, the sa-daman, was effectively a loincloth, reminding him very much of a speedo. The ad-daman came next. It started as a several kilometer long strip of fabric, and was more like a tube top with one wide strap running over his left shoulder, carefully twisted and turned and knotted occasionally. It started just above his belly button and stopped shy of his armpits.
“One would store all manner of items in the ad-daman. Currency, identification, trinkets, idols, charms, small weapons. Even larger weapons, as I believe Carbon stowed the Captain’s sword in hers.” Neya cooed that last bit, eyes shining with delight for a moment as she ushered him to the bed to sit. “Just like the Wandering Blade.”
“That... doesn’t change the fact I’m wearing a tube top.” Sure, pockets in the shirt was a neat idea, but it wasn’t improving his outlook on this particular article of clothing. The exposed midriff was not working for him. Maybe if it went all the way to the waist, it would be more palatable.
“I am wearing a ‘tube top’ and you do not seem to be complaining about it.” Carbon added helpfully, as she was already done with the two main parts on the torso. It appeared to be exactly the same as what Alex was wearing, but in a deep navy blue. Now she was working on wrapping her hand, already halfway done with it. “Nor when Neya wore something similar earlier...”
“I’m not complaining that it exists.” Alex had spent plenty of time as a younger man appreciating its existence, as a matter of fact. He was pretty sure the issue wasn’t that it was traditionally women’s clothes - it was one shoulder away from being a tank top, and he’d just spent a day wearing a makeshift skirt. The more time he had to ruminate on it, the more he found himself gravitating towards the actual problem being the fact that he was being dressed. Like a child, or worse, like royalty. “It’s just not my kind of clothes.”
Neya pulled a chair up and patted her lap. “Foot, please.”
He obliged, and she rested his heel on her knee, staring intently at it with a roll of fabric in her other hand. “I... Think I can make this work.” She did not sound at all like she could, but she set to the task anyway, growing in confidence after the first few loops.
The thinner pieces were treated with something that stuck to itself, but not to his skin, or as it crept up his ankle, his leg hair. It looked like a foot wrap you’d use for kickboxing or other martial arts, but likely would not stand up to that sort of abuse. “Alright, I actually kinda like that.”
“Really?” Carbon sounded surprised.
Which was fair considering he’d mostly kept quiet so far instead of complaining constantly, and she knew him well enough to know that was what he was doing. “Yeah, it looks cool.” He nodded, switching feet when prompted.
Neya started her work again, casting a glance at Carbon.
She picked up what Neya was asking about with a quiet chuckle. “That means it is good.”
“It does.” He agreed, his attention turned to what Carbon was doing now, as she had finished her hand wraps and moved on to the rest of the outfit. Pants first, black with that motif of vines repeated in a shade of plum that barely stood out from it. It sat low on the hips, cinched closed with a length of flat braided rope. Then the boots, supple black leather with floral silver details, the opening running down the outside with buttons and speed hooks to pull it closed. She had them on and laced up like she’d grown up doing that, pants tucked in and bloused.
Neya was wrapping his hands now. It was loosely familiar thanks to a brief interest in boxing as a teen, but the pattern was different. The ‘tape’ here didn’t support much of anything, the overlapping patterns clearly more for show than function. “Why is Carbon’s like that?” He asked, noting that hers were way more simple.
“Because I was doing my own. That style requires two hands.” She said with a shrug as she disappeared into the bathroom, a pile of dark green items fresh from the steam closet draped over an arm.
“I guess I am hogging the help right now.” He watched her separate everything into two stacks, one of which was obviously larger than the other. Alex smirked and snorted a brief laugh as he realized all of it was in British racing green.
“It is for a good reason.” Carbon had the belt out, threading two parts onto it. A sort of inverted house shape split down the middle, and a longer, narrower band. As she put it on the layout fell into place, the wider of the two looking like a coat tail, the split points terminating at her knee, the narrow strip more of a loincloth that went to her shins. Both were embroidered with a simple line in glittering gold thread.
“Done. Do you think you will need assistance with the rest of your regalia?” Neya patted his last hand, finished with all the base layers now.
Alex flexed his hands and looked at the almost glove-like wrapping, running nearly halfway up his forearm. They looked kinda cool, too. Maybe like something a street fighter would wear. “Nah, I think I got it from here. Thank you.”
“Of course.” She said, bowing slightly and stepping away.
The pants were straightforward. They were just pants, though Carbon did step in to tie the rope in a particular knot. His lacked the decoration, but he was new to this. That’d probably come sometime in the future, the thought of which killed the mild enthusiasm he’d managed to work up. He turned his attention to the boots.
There were going to be some stylistic differences, due to the difference in physiology in this area. Their heel was always off the ground, the foot far longer than a Human’s, and all the footwear he’d seen Carbon wear had half as much sole as his. This did not stop the surprise of unveiling what turned out to be a pair of wedge heel boots. It was a pretty significant heel, too, maybe eight or ten centimeters. It would give him a foot angle much closer to what Tsla’o had, which he assumed was the point.
Otherwise, it matched Carbon’s. Black leather, silver adornment. Tiny stars and waves carved into the metal. How had they gotten these made so fast? Did they actually have a cobbler onboard or were these printed all the way through? Probably some combination of the two. Well, whatever. It was a dinner, he wasn’t going to be standing that much anyway. He shrugged and slipped it on. “What the hell.”
He got a pair of curious looks for that.
“Why are there toe sections?” He asked, each one slotted into its own space save for the pinky and ring toes, which had to share a nook. Tsla’o had four toes, so in retrospect... No, he wouldn’t have expected individual toe spaces anyway. It wasn’t uncomfortable, yet, but it was weird.
Neya was the first to respond. “Do your shoes not have that?”
“No, just one open area.” Alex set his mind to just deal with this oddity for the time being, lacing it up like Carbon had done. He knew how a speed hook worked, and there was a very modern latch hidden at the top that held the single lace tight. Novel. Now perfectly well aware of what he was getting himself into, the other boot went on without a hitch.
Everything was going well until he tried to stand up and found out all that heel was soft foam. Alex lost his balance and pitched back onto the bed with a startled yell, ultimately glad that he was sitting there instead of at the table or on that hard wooden bench. He laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. “So uh. Nobody else uses their heel around here, I guess?”
“Are you hurt?” Carbon rushed over to the bed to check on him, worry laced through her voice.
“Nah, all I hit was pillows.” He sat back up and stood up again with a bit more caution this time. Yeah, he was going to have to have a discussion about what works for human feet with whoever made these. If he was careful, he could lean back a little and not pitch over now that he knew what to expect. “So, how important are the boots?”
“They are a part of the regalia, so... fairly important.” Carbon said, Neya nodding in agreement.
“So no substituting them for something less like to land me in sickbay?” He looked over, and down, at her.
“If you earnestly believe you are in danger, we can substitute something.” She didn’t sound like this was a good trade off. It was official high level stuff, after all. There were expectations that didn’t involve showing up in sneakers.
Alex shifted his weight back and forth, resting on the balls of his feet and seeing how hard it would be to adapt to that. “Hey, last night, you asked me if I was self conscious about being tall. Is there like a cultural issue about height?”
“Not significantly, I had just noticed you seem taller than many other Humans.” She shook her head, getting back on her feet and only coming up to his shoulder now.
“Alright.” He was rapidly convincing himself to wear the boots anyway, even if they were hard to walk in. “So I’ve gotten the impression that some folks have a, shall we say, less than kind impression of Humans. What was it, like wild animals among the stars? I’m the tallest person in the room already, but with these things I’m pushing two meters. How does towering over everyone else like that play into those stereotypes?”
Carbon was pondering that in earnest, claws extended as she idly stroked her chin with them, staring off into the distance.
Meanwhile, Neya had started to develop the most evil grin he had ever seen on a Tsla’o about halfway through his question. Utterly wicked by the time he’d finished speaking. “Oh. Those self-absorbed pieces of-”
“Neya.” Carbon held a hand out to her. “I agree with Neya’s sentiment if not her choice of words. I am sure that the Empress has invited people who have avoided you so far. If they still believe Humans to be brutes, despite all of what has been done for us, finding themselves staring up at a giant will be a shocking experience. And if you carry yourself with Tsla’o decorum at the same time... They will find it a particularly difficult hill to climb.”
“Alright, that sounds fun.” At least he’d be entertained, while fulfilling his role as chaos agent for Eleya. He returned to the task of getting dressed, the belt with the weird combination of coat tails and loincloth flap in place, and then the final piece - an asymmetrical vest. Same color and gold details as the rest of the outer layer, held closed with a trio of gold buttons, but only going over the left shoulder. The entire right shoulder was exposed, his rather obvious bite mark on display. “So is this the newlywed version? Do we get sleeves in the future or something?”
“It is, yes.” Carbon was practically beaming, so pleased that he figured that out. “We would wear these for perhaps a year, then they will be displayed in our true home, when we decide on one.”
That was kind of interesting, even if he felt silly wearing all of this. For a year. Neya was just waiting for something to do, so he called her back with a wave. “Check me over, everything on straight? Looking properly regalia-like?”
She adjusted the blouse on his pants, straightened the buckle on the belt, checked the golden studs in the helix of his ear, and gave him the all clear.
“Thanks. So, let’s go over how I should be acting during this little shindig. If I’m going to play the part, I want to make sure it’s going to land. Dinner etiquette was pretty easy, what else should I be prepared for?”
There was about an hour and a half to kill before the dinner and they spent most of it giving him a rundown on what was expected of him outside of how to behave at the table. Nothing seemed to be particularly alien, but they are both social species. As a high ranking member of the court, he was actually expected to mingle less than a mere senator or governor. People would be allowed to approach him. So they could, to a certain extent, pick and choose who had direct access. It would be suspicious if he were to exclude anyone so early in his royal career - though he could keep meetings short.
Before they left the cabin, there was one last item to wear. A lightweight cloak in raw, densely woven fiber of some sort, completely unadorned save for a simple wooden hook to hold it closed. The very definition of what a commoner would wear, except hundreds of years ago and not on a spaceship. He slipped his external translator on, slinging it over one shoulder under the cloak. It felt a little bit like he was going to an alien renaissance festival now.
They got a lot of looks on the tram. Wherever they were going was past the conference rooms, and each batch of people that got on went through the same routine: they’d spot him and stop, and look up with startled eyes. He’d smile politely, give them a carefully measured nod, and they’d look down and see all the fancy clothes peeking out from under the cloak. Then they’d notice Carbon standing next to him and everything would click into place for them. The reaction there varied. Most nodded politely back before they went along their way, a few even smiled. The rest were at least wise enough to not respond negatively to the giant Human and his remarkably violent wife.
Alex and Carbon made their way to a waiting room, the cloaks apparently only for travel as they were immediately taken by an overly polite hostess and hung up. They went over everything again and found that he’d retained just about everything on the first try, despite it being something he was so viscerally disinterested in.
Colonel Lhenan and the Sergeant arrived shortly thereafter, as Carbon was quizzing him about table manners again. They had much more formal jackets on now, charcoal fabric with a high, heavily decorated collar and double row of silver buttons running down the front. All of their rank insignia was stitched in silver, and a substantial column of awards kept Lhenan from floating away.
Carbon excused herself again to speak with the Colonel. The last time they had to catch up was spent finding out they were using stolen hardware, which really doesn’t count.
Alex stayed put in a nearly Human sized chair, sitting carefully to ensure he wouldn’t crease his finery. Fortunately for him, Sergeant Zhensen was quite the chatterbox.
"It's humorous you should mention that. I have found that taking a casual demeanor with Humans, even those in your- in their military, puts them at ease. Most curious indeed, as they all know that I'm military as well." She leaned back in her chair and gesticulated as she spoke, contractions slipping into her English after she learned that Alex wasn’t much for formalities.
“Really? That’s kind of surprising. I always get stink-eye when I act too casual.” Alex had shut his translator off, the delay annoying when he was talking to someone who spoke English well. Only took a second to power it back up anyway.
She took a drink of water and smiled, setting her glass down on the table between them. “From officers, yes?”
Alex drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Yeah, actually. Enlisted personnel don’t seem to mind as much.”
“Is that not curious?” Zhensen glanced over at the Colonel and then back to Alex with a knowing look. “I’ve come to think there are many similarities between our people, more than most would acknowledge.”
“I’ve come to that same conclusion, actually.” He was sure Carbon had, as well.
Stana rolled the base of her glass on the table, watching him intently. “That is good. As I said earlier, there is dissent among the military about you... it is quiet, but it is there. Were you Tsla’o, none would speak ill of you, but since you are not they feel it gives them an excuse to decide how the Empress should make decisions.”
Alex took his time digesting that. “And what do you think?”
“She did not become the Empress by accident.” She shrugged, taking another drink. “I also feel it deeply unwise to question someone once called Kshanevo.”
“Translator’s off, what’s that mean?” He was sure he’d heard the root of that before. Anev. It reminded him of the name of the first ship Carbon had served on, as well. Hadn’t it been a battleship? Or was it a dreadnought...
She took a moment to consider the best translation for him. “It is, hm... Butcher. You know. Someone who cuts up meat.”
“Butcher?” He was just a little incredulous. Then a little less so as he recalled being shown her memory of torturing a man for information by gouging his eyes out. Thumbs sinking into hot, gela- Alex interrupted himself with a quiet dry heave. “Oh okay.”
“It was a dark time after the Emperor was assassinated. I had not been born yet, but I work with some who were there.” Zhensen gestured towards the Colonel. She was very nonchalant about this, none of which had made it to Alex before. “She killed the assassin herself, did you know? Stabbed him to death in the street with his own weapon. Had the Keslon Shen all hunted down and executed. I am told the river running through the citadel was choked with blood and ash the next time it rained.”
That certainly changed his view of Eleya. “Are you putting me on?”
“No, I would not.” She finished off her water. “Unless you ordered me to, then it would be my duty.”
“No... Just...” Alex shook his head. That was too close to talking about some wholesale executions to be making jokes. “I didn’t really see that kind of thing in her.”
“They were a blight on the western lands and her actions have always been just, before and since.” She considered her empty glass and shrugged again. “I believe her reaction was so violent because of grief. They were very close, much closer than many Royal couples before them.”
“Huh.” Alex felt like he should have more to say, but that was all he could really muster at the moment. Zhensen's words reminded him of how Tashen spoke about Eleya and Carbon.
“Indeed. Do you want more water?” She indicated his glass, nearly untouched.
“No. No, thank you.”
Her head dipped in assent and she stood, wandering over to the bar nestled in the corner.
At least that explained why no one ever mentioned the Emperor, despite the marking that Eleya wore that indicated she was entwined. He had been curious about that, but there had just been so much going on the last few days that he had forgotten to ask about it.
Alex’s introspection was cut short when Tashen opened the door and stepped inside. He was looking pretty good for somebody that had been beaten so badly a few days ago, not a single scar on his face from those metal-capped gloves. The secretary looked them over and seemed relieved for a moment before he ushered Eleya in. Alex stood and flipped on his translator. Everyone was finally here, the event seemed to be ready to get underway.
“The other guests have arrived and are seated.” Tashen singled out the Colonel and sergeant Zhensen, directing them to the door that led to the dining hall. “Honored military guests, please. You will be announced lowest rank first.”
The two of them lined up as instructed, Tashen fussing over them for a moment before he sent them on their way. As they departed the waiting room the Sergeant gave Alex a nod and possibly a wink. If it was, he wasn’t sure how he should take it.
“Dearest niece," Eleya said, pleasant though reserved, her eyes lingering on the proof of entwinement on Carbon’s shoulder "Would you take your seat first? I think it would be wise to have the young prince be seen at our sides.” She was as smooth as she always was, any indication of the altercation between her and Carbon invisible.
“I would, and I concur. It would be wise.” Carbon gave her a shallow bow and turned, a sly smile on her face as she glanced at Alex before disappearing down the hallway.
“Alex... Dearest nephew.” Eleya closed on him, smoothing his jacket out and looking him over, also spending some time inspecting the bite mark he was sporting. “You wear this better than I had expected. I am pleased with that.”
Alex's mind wouldn't stop flipping between thinking about Eleya stabbing someone to death and her memory of gouging out someone's eyes. He laughed uneasily. “Yeah, it’s actually pretty comfortable, except for the boots. Absolutely killing my calves.”
“We all suffer for tradition. This... This throws everything off.” She shook her head and slipped his translator off his shoulder, handing it off to one of her body guards before he could grab it back. The device disappeared as it was covered by the cloaking field. “That is perfect.”
“But... Look, not everyone is supposed to know about-”
Eleya reached up and pressed a finger to his lips with a smile. “I told you that you would do things for me and this is one. Keep your secret and listen. I am curious to know what others say when they do not know you can hear... Are you not?”
 
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*****
Eleya had a rough time after the Emperor was assassinated, and she made it a very big problem for a select group of people. I have learned that I am not a big fan of writing detailed descriptions of clothing, or at least I am not practiced at it.
If you're curious about just how bad the height disparity is with those heels... So was I. Half the people there are going to be making eye contact with Alex's (thankfully hidden) nipples. His calves will be jacked though.
Going to keep links to art posted down here from now on, too. Should I be hosting this somewhere other than google drive? Imgur maybe? Willing to hear out any opinions. Carbon reference sheet. Art by Tyo_Dem

A Physical Therapist I saw today suspected I have Ehlers Danlos Syndrome within the first 10 minutes of meeting me. Is that too soon to tell or are they experienced enough to know and recognize it?
A year ago I had nerve compression in my shoulder that was diagnosed as brachial plexopathy on an MRI (arm was partially paralyzed for 2 months but regained function) Now my shoulder feels crunchy and poppy and unstable. Like it's very loosey goosey but I thought it might be from me not conditioning enough after my arm being paralyzed. I also thought scar tissue might explain the crunchiness but now I feel like my wrists and shoulders pop and move way more than they used to but I can't say that I have ever dislocated anything. Also I have SI joint dysfunction which is why I sought treatment. It became so painful. It isn't as painful now but still every day something back there pops or shifts when i stretch my hip out to the right. My hip and MRI Xrays were all normal except for gluteal tendonopathy in my leg and bursitis in my left hip. I haven't gotten an MRI of my lumbar spine or shoulder yet but I have orders for them. I am torn between getting those or saving my money for the specialist because this is all getting expensive fast.
All of this happened in the same year. She saw that I was hyperflexible and that's when my anxiety kicked in and I mentioned EDS (because I researched that before when a previous PT mentioned my hypermobility). Her eyes got wide and she said yeah...that's what I am suspecting. I have been researching a lot of stuff because I have felt so off for so long and EDS was one of them. Also I thought sacroiliitis from the pain in my sacrum and not being able to make sense of how I injured myself (except for twerking a lot asymmetrically. I twerked a lot in dance classes last year)
She said she's worked with people with EDS before. Then we started doing a checklist, but she said she can't diagnose it. I didn't meet all the criteria. I didn't grow up dislocating things. I can't touch my thumb to my forearm. My skin doesn't seem that stretchy? On my neck some but not on my hands or forearm. I don't have fatigue currently in that I don't feel the need to lay in bed all day or nap, but I am emotionally stressed not knowing what is going on with me.
My shoulder thing seemingly came out of nowhere (barring the stress of my cat dying if that can trigger nerve compression) but the SI joint seems to have come after I was doing a lot of dancing and bad sitting that stressed my lumbar spine last Fall. But perhaps I was already weak connective tissue wise and so that's how I did damage there. Gradually from weakness. There's no direct trauma which is why she suspects connective tissue issue.
Only time I had fatigue in my life was when I was working full time and was a full-time student so I was understandably tired, and needed naps, but I was always able to keep up with my housework, go to the gym, do fun stuff outside etc. I have felt healthy joint and muscle wise most of my life, until last year when all this started out of nowhere.
The previous PT I was seeing a few weeks ago was prescribing me stretches when I am already hypermobile, so I had a bad feeling about it as the pain was all in my SI joint and I felt like I needed to strengthen the area, not keep stretching it. Also that PT was sure it was lumbar radiculopathy but I have no symptoms of that. Maybe some sciatica when you push on my butt but it doesn't shoot down my leg or originate in my back. No numbness or weakness (but also not sure how they classify weakness? I can walk fine. I can squat. Stand on one leg for a while etc)
I am scared beyond belief. I can't work. I have to force myself to eat. My nightmare of having health issues that are difficult to afford or even know about is happening has come true. If I do have EDS, I need to get tested for the vascular type because that's dangerous. Would I have had issues related to my vascular or organ systems already if that was possible? So far, my issues are in my shoulder joint (that originated with nerve compression) and SI joint and hips.
My primary care doctor, I believe, thinks I am a hypochondriac but he's the only one who can write me a referral. I messaged him tonight and asked for a Rheumatologist referral because I don't care if he thinks I am crazy. I know something feels systemic and off. I know my body and I just want my body back. I am okay with the realization it might never come back the way it was, but I'll be damned if I let someone stand in the way of me finding answers, especially now that a professional seems suspicious of EDS.
Does this sound like EDS? Do you think my doctor will write the referral now that a PT suspects it? My world has fallen apart. I can't find a new job right now but I need my body to work but my anxiety and fear of reinjuring myself and having no money prevents me from working. I was on the path to making a good life for myself then it all fell apart due to health issues.

-4 weeks later-
Commandant Wrawkins stepped into the Grand admiral’s fleet office one of the defense platforms over top of New Brittania. “Wrawkins, come, sit.” The grizzled old Human gruffed, non-too happily throwing all formality out the window.
“Grand Admiral?” Wrawkins pressed the question into his statement as he settled down into the indicated furnishings, “I assume I am being reprimanded?”
“No, I have come ordered you here to have a frank conversation with you… about Operation Icarus Rising.” The admiral said severely, “Horace, I have seen the records of that happened in your last encounter… You served with Frank Harrison; and by all accounts, he now commands the most powerful single warship to have ever existed in this galaxy. I need your measure of the man.”
“Frank… is Frank. I assume you have read his file?” Horace began, waiting for the admiral to nod once, “Then you know what kind of man that childhood tends to forge. Under my command he was obedient, but headstrong. He often pressed my orders to their absolute limit, especially when innocents were involved. Knowing what I know now, I am ashamed I did not see his hand in the saving of much of the crew during the Origami incident. It is his M.O. If He is indeed in command of The Shadow, we can consider her at least as a non-aggressor to our navies.”
“Until we threaten innocents… hell claim the day…” The admiral amended.
“Well, yes… I just do not see that happening any time soon. The only other reason I see that vessel becoming hostile is if we continue the standing operation. I believe that to be… unwise.” Horace admitted.
“Is this loyalty talking Commandant, or reason.” The Admiral’s voice held an edge of careful challenge trimmed in warning.
Horace regarded his commanding officer for a moment before responding, “Both. This is not on the official record, but I had received… reports… from his Corvette, new replacements concerned by Franks style of command and, I quote, “Fanaticism”. We received a transmission from one of the resistance groups deep in K’ree territory while we were to support during our search. I had chosen that day to board his ship to observe this behavior for myself. The fleet responded, and I watched as That man, with his commanding officer in tow, break formation. He took us straight through the core of the enemy formation, my whole fleet in tow, to place himself between a beleaguered Transport. He went toe to toe with two K’ree Destroyers at close range, all the while shielding that transport. I would have relieved him of his post right there, but I saw his crew. They… never… wavered. He didn’t even have to give the order. When the transport was called out on the bridge, I watched the course and speed data move just a split second BEFORE he gave the order. By the time he had finished speaking, his forward batteries were already on target and firing. His crew acted with a speed and unity I have yet to witness anything, before or since. His maneuver shattered the K’ree formation, and the Transport survived to make it to their jump point.” Horace finally fell silent as his word sank home.
“I see. Commandant. Consider everything you have told me, and what I am about to tell you, Classified to the highest degree. I am in agreement with you, pursuing the Shadow is not in our best interests. I also have intelligence reports from Origami and the Rawk Eklere incident. The infiltration of your ships systems only confirm that he has access to our networks and intelligence gathering data-net. We have yet to find any actual tampering, but I suspect that Frank has access to everything we do.” The Admiral leaned forward in his seat, resting his forearms on his desk, “I am reassigning you and your task force. I want you to reach out. Your group has encountered this vessel twice and survived. I am authorizing an off-book mission for you and your crews. I wish to open an established communication route between us and Harrison. I agree that we are in agreement on his intentions, but I must be sure before I completely kill Icarus.” He finished; eyes boring into the Revinan across from him.
“When do I leave.” Was all Horace stated.
-2 years later-
Commandant Horace Wrawkins settled into his seat as the vessel flashed into real space. He was not on Sacred Talon this time, he was aboard TNS Vengence. The Corvette class light Cruiser was a deliberate choice for Wrawkins. The Captain of the vessel was hand picked by Frank Harrison himself after his resignation. Captain Vincent Byrne, a Firey Irishman with a penchant for High-risk Missions, had retained the majority of Vengence’s original crew from Icarus. Captain Byrne had not so much as blinked when Horace approached him with this mission. “Franky boy’s got himself the Shadow? Well Fook me sideways, dis I got’ta see. When Do’we leave, Sir.” Was all he had said before departing on this seemingly one-way trip.
“Captain, I’ve a new contact, 330 mark 015. Its beacon reads Harrison’s retirement vessel. She’s coming along side.” Reported the sensor station.
“Whel’. Hale’em, If you please.” Captain Byrne ordered as he leaned over to the Commandant, “Dis is your show, sir. Let’s see what Ole Franky has up ‘is sleeve.”
Horace suppressed a chuckle at the colorful Captains casual amusement, standing just as an image appeared. Frank, accompanied by the same female being flashed into existence on the viewer, “Commander Harrison, it’s nice to get a chance to talk without staring down each other’s batteries.” He opened cordially.
“Commandant Wrawkin. It is good to see you well. We were surprised to see your olive branch; you have our attention.” Frank responded.
“I wanted to thank you, your actions in the defense of Origami, the terraforming ship, did not go unnoticed. However, my command has some… reservations… of a ship so completely out of the chain of accountability Operating with access to our complete information net. We know it to be true, your digital intrusion during our last interaction is proof enough.”
“Forgive me Commandant,” The woman next to Frank entered the conversation, “My entire existence in your galaxy has been one of being hunted, I do not take kindly to being attacked. Francis… Captain Harrison has been helping me temper my reactions. I presume that no crew were hurt in our last meeting?”
“No, all things considered, you were quite gentle with the Kidd. That is part of what we wish to discuss. The Federation is willing to consider you an Ally, and cease the search for you; but trust is hard built with a reputation such as yours.” Horace stated, “I understand you have lifetimes of experience to doubt us. As such I am authorized to adhere to any reasonable requests. As you can see, I have brough a ship and crew you will be familiar with.”
“Aye I do, Sir. I see Vincent getting comfortable in my chair,” Frank smirked at the Vincents over the top expression.
“Oi! Franky boy, you left’it empty all on your’own. Tis such a fine chair, Seem’d a shame ta’leave it empty.” Vincint grinned back before getting serious, “All Da’boys are here Franky. The replacements all wer’ put on leave Fer’dis. My call, not his. Me Boyos are all here wit’cha Franky boy.” Frank nodded, respecting the Iron in the Irishman’s eyes.
The woman next to Frank looked over to him for a moment as something unheard passed between them. Frank thought for a moment and gave her a very clear “are you sure” look before turning back to the screen.
“You have put some very serious consideration into this. We wish to reciprocate, on one condition.” Frank stated.
“And that would be?” Horace asked carefully.
“Upon the conclusion of our meeting, Elli will be going through the entirety of data collected from the following events. She is willing to meet you formally, but She will be keeping her secrets. She will sterilize your data banks before we depart. It is harsh, but non-negotiable, I’m afraid. There is much, she wishes no Government to ever know. If you can agree to that, Commandant. We can begin.” Franks tone was wantonly formal as he held Horace’s gaze.
“Commandant, Oi speak for me crew. As master of ta’ Vengence, Oi accept the Terms.” Vincent spoke up once more.
Horace just shook his head in resignation ‘fuck it, I’ve come this far’, “you have your answer, Commander. So, what is it you wish to do for our meeting. We have a conference room ready for you here, if you like.”
“You have been more than considerate,” Elli spoke up before frank could, “I wish to return the favor. You, and captain Vincent are formally invited to tour… me.” she stated as her eyes began to glow in earnest.
The void to port of Vengeance flashed as a visage from myth and legend flashed into real space less than 500 kilometers from the Vengence.
-10 years later-
Rawk lay in the infirmary bed once more, he was covered in a thick blanket as he was missing a substantial portion of his insulation feathers. Frank was currently asleep on a couch that Elli had insisted on placing there if He insisted on staying with his Father in his final days. Rawk had been given the miracle of 9 more years of life, and his mind wandered through the fullness of experience that he had been honored to take part in. Elli had taken them out of this arm of the galaxy, her assimilation of Humanities Vanta Drive system into her own hyperdrive concepts had produced a hybrid drive that bent space and time to its will. Most of the growing United Federation was within a week’s travel, and it had taken them but 2 years to reach the black between galaxies. Rawk had born witness to a view of the Universe few ever got to see with their own eyes. The Federation, with the aid of intel gathered by Frank and Elli had brought an end to the Renegade K’ree attacks within 5 years. Elli had decided that show was going to participate in the final assault on the Guerilla forces stronghold, jumping in just as the battle was starting to unleash her fury alongside now UFN Vengeance as they showed no mercy to the Murderers who wished for nothing but blood. She had departed without a word, customary to her legend. Vengeance had turned off her transponder for a “Classified mission” after the battle. That classified mission was a crew wide party in one of Elli’s massive holds as they Celebrated the true end of hostilities. It was here that Vengeance and her crew chose a new path with unanimous purpose. The number who knew her were few but Being a part of something again had begun to heal old wounds left by lifetimes of horror. There was just one last thing to do. Rawk prayed she would understand.
“Eli?” he asked softly, so as to not wake Frank from his slumber. The familiar cascade of Nanites rose from the ground as Eli appeared before him in her human form.
“Rawk, are you ok? I’m not registering any pain. What’s wrong.” she asked, softly matching his volume.
“With me, my dear. No, I fear I am coming to an end just as expected, but I must speak with you. Its about Frank.” Rawk whispered.
“I don’t understand.” Eli gave him a confused look.
“He cares for you.” Rawk said simply, Eli simply looked at him in confusion. “My dear, sometimes it is incredibly easy to see that you are an ‘inorganic’.” He chuckled triggering a light cough before the nanites in his system suppressed the convulsion. “He cares for you, as more than just captain and ship.” He said once his body calmed.
“I care for him. He is… close… to me. I am a ship… I’m not human. I cannot give him human companionship, not really.” Eli said sadly.
Rawk coughed out another chuckle, “Oh Eli, you can reconstitute yourself at will, command a starship with a thought, and give this old buzzard 9 years of glorious life, you already have given him companionship.”
“But not… love..” Eli admitted finally, “I can’t.. be.. with him. I don’t even know if he feels like that about me.” She said, turning to lean against Rawks bed, looking over the sleeping Man on the couch.
“Oh, he does. He has for a long time.” Rawk smiled at the speed at which Eli spun around to face him, face filled with shock.
“How.. I’m.. a ship.. This” She pointed at herself, “Is not even really me… he has never said anything.”
“And he won’t, He cares for you too much. He won’t because he doesn’t want to hurt you. My dear, if you want him to be more than your captain, you will have to tell him. Know this, you are much closer to Human than you realize. I would know, I raised one.” Rawk’s chuckle turned into a cough as the nanites finally began to lose the battle to keep his core functions running. “Promise me, Talk to him. For me.. for the both of you.” Rawk wheezed as Eli shook Frank awake.
“Francis… its time…” She whispered, deep sorrow bled from the ragged edges of each syllable.
Frank stood slowly before walking up to His fathers bed, taking the old mans wing claw in one hand, “Hi pops.” He said through unshed tears, “It’s ok, relax. I’m right here.”
“Francis….” Rawk croaked out quietly, “I’m at peace… Honor me with one request.”
“Anything.” Frank whispered, “What is it.”
“Eli is stronger than you give her credit for, li… listen to her. Promise me.” Rawk got out.
“I will pops, I promise. Rest now.” Frank fought the lump in his throat as Rawk’s eyes faded. His breath rattled a few more minutes before ceasing forever.
Later that evening, Frank sat in the captain’s quarters. A bottle of Scotch sat next to an almost completely untouched glass poured hours ago. Frank began to reach for the glass, hands shaking slightly as he took but the second sip since he poured the amber liquid into the crystal. The door chimed just as he set the glass back in its place. A small smile flashed across his features at the amusing paradox of being carried inside a ship that insisted on asking permission to disturb his privacy.
“It’s open” Frank said weakly, sitting back in his chair as Eli entered the room.
“If I don’t get to hide in my partition, you don’t either. Please don’t shut me out, Francis” Frank watched the waves of apprehension and fear flow over her features.
“I’m sorry. I guess I have been hiding. If you’re willing, I could use some comfort right now.” He stood walking over to the small couch as they both sat, “I’d offer you a drink, but I never did ask if that was possible.”
“Normally, no. Tonight, I should be able to.” She reached for his forearm, and Frank froze from pouring a second glass as the warmth of her hand registered.
“Eli, how did you manage that.. This is the most realistic avatar you have managed. You feel… Human.” He said, taking her hand and feeling it over in his, “How did you manage it?”
“I never had a scan of your species females, so I couldn’t grow… this. My previous captain never considered me as anything more than a machine. When we had the party with Vengeance, I asked a few of the female crew for permission to scan them.” Eli reached up and touched his face for the first time with flesh and blood fingers. “Wow… so much sensation. So much detail... The human females gave me permission, and I used what I learned to begin the process. Its an older style of Avatar, usually only used in emergencies when a ship's AI needed to be able to operate in energy deficient environments.” She explained, smiling as he leaned into her touch slightly before catching himself.
“What made you choose now. We are in no threat of….” Frank was interrupted as she leaned in and kissed him on the lips.
“Francis, I don’t want you just as my captain. I built this body because I want to be Yours… Humanly yours… You see me as more than just a warship, I want to be more than just a warship to you.” She whispered, releasing his lips from hers as she pulled back, still holding his cheek in one hand.
Frank’s shocked look turned into one of something older as he reached for her. Touching her face, her hair, her arms. She shivered as he reached around the small of her back and the sensation of his touch electrified her new organic senses, as he drew her to him. Her arms wrapped around the back of his head as she guided her lips to his once more.
This time, Francis kissed back.
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-1300 years later-
Nobody knew where the Tal’Mortak came from. The K’ree Ascendency had steadfastly refused to join the United Federation for over a thousand years. They fell first, almost over night as a wave of Insectoid ships bull dozed their way through the last few K’ree held planets. Now they jumped into New Arcadia, one of the Terraformed colony worlds on the border between the K’ree and the United Federation.
Plasma, MAC fire, and Phaser beam lanced and flared their defiance as the combined species defense fleet of 355 Ships stood against the tide of an armada numbering thousands.
Grand Admiral Mawrkus Wrawkins, descendant of one Admiral Horace Wrawkins, was on the front line with his men. He stood on the bridge of the Terran made Supper Carrier UFN Enterprise, ancestrally named from the first. Her Heavy MAC batteries vibrated the very deck plating under his feet as His wall of Ship born flesh and blood barely held their ground, fighting a slow retreat toward the planet. He had no business being in the front line of a delaying action. He was at a conference on New Arcadia when the attack was picked up, but He refused to run. He would die with his men.
He needed to hold 12 hours, as his presence on the battle field had scrambled every ship within a 2 parsec radius. 1200 ships burned to his aid, if he could hold. The Tal did not have powerful ships… but it didn’t matter, the latest estimates numbered the invading armada above 30,000 vessels of all shapes and sizes, every new scan increased that number.
“Signal Britania and Talon’s Bane! Reinforce the left flank!” He belted out over the bedlam of noise that was a bridge during combat. He had been intentionally stripping of his Flag ships escorts in ones and two to shore up the defenses. The fast attack frigate Britania, named for world whose orbit beheld the failed attack that had started the K’ree invasion roared off to staunch the breach slowly forming on his flank. She was closely followed by the Revinan Cruiser Talon’s Bane. The two ships added their weight of fire to the Carnage before them.
The line held for 10 hours before the Tal changed tactics… All at once, waves of thousands of small fighter aircraft were loosed from the larger ships at the rear of their hoard-like formation. The defenders launched their own fighters, all 850 in number.. The space between the two fleets quickly devolved into a carnage filled, spiralling swirl death’s dance as craft engaged each other at distances considered “knife fighting” in the vastness of space. The Federation pilots proved their metal, and soon a cycle of sorts was created. Federation pilots were hot landing on Enterprise and any other ship they could find compatible ammunition on. It didn’t matter where the pilot had launched from, or who his home ship was. Every available hanger and weapons armory was opened to any surviving pilot who made it back, rearming and refueling them in minutes just to do the same to the next fighter to show up depleted of ordinance.
Once again, Federation technology held supremacy as the fighter wielded the reapers blade with terrible purpose. For every 1000 Tal fighters sent, only 100 made it through the fighter screen in one piece, but they made it through to reveal their terrible strategy. The Tal fighters did not slow, they did not evade.. Each Tal fighter that made it past the fighter screen accelerated to full power. They fired every weapon on board before slamming bodily into the shields of the beleaguered ships of the Federation fleet.
It was too much. This pin prick added to the Maelstrom of weapons fire began to tip the scales, and Federation ships began to die. 13 fighters hit Enterprise directly on before she could focus her point defenses in place. Her weight of fire was holding off the rest for now, but a flash outside of the observation windows on the bridge heralded the death of another Frigate. The UFN Tokyo bled burning atmosphere and chared bodies as the asymmetric thrust of failing engines heaved her out of formation. The Tal pressed their new advantage as Enterprise was forced to split her fire to hold the line.
“God’s Dammit! Where are those reinforcements!!” Bellowed Mawrkus, His mind was not on his own existence... but the countless citizens and innocents on the planet below. The scattered reports from the K’ree refugees reported that these Tal chose to eat as they waged war, devouring their foe as sustenance to continue the fight.. sometimes that foe was fortunate enough to be dead first.
“1 hour 30 minutes admiral” Growled his flag captain as another fighter impact rocked Enterprise, her shields began to spark and flicker as she was focused by no less than 300 Tal capital ships.
“Captain, I’m getting some strange readings… we have something off our port quart…. OH MY GODS….” The crewman got out just as an entire rank of Tal ships evaporated under a withering barrage of Particle cannon and volley of Plasma Carronade.
Admiral Mawrkus Wrawkins fell to stunned silence as a void black mass, still twice the size of UFN Enterprise, roared into view. Her iconic final Drive Cluster glowing with blue-white flame as her flanks bellowed their Hatred into the Tal fleet. The Behemoth of Myth and Legend was not alone, separate lances of energy reached out, detonating one of the Tal starfighter carriers with a single blast.
“Jesus Christ! Admiral, That’s the Vengeance!!! She… She’s with!!” One of his Human crew cried out as he recognized the now Void black painted Terran Corvette, long thought lost. The Vengeance ripped into view rippling off its own smaller versions of destruction. She mimicked her larger companion as thirty more enemy ships burst. Vengeance rejoined the titanic harbinger of death, the mighty hand of Time and Space, Guardian of the Helpless for Generations.
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​
“Ready for another pass, Love?” Frank smirked as Eli bared her teeth at the enemy. They had been mostly through a refit when the K’ree had been obliterated. They could not make it in time to aid them, Elli’s rage at the loss of innocents of any species was lit anew as they had to watch entire worlds be feasted on by this new Horror.
“With pleasure.” She growled...
*Franky, we got’a mothership signal, 282 mark 114. You ready, V?* Came Captain Byrne’s voice over comms. Vengence had split her crew up between her and Shadow. Two crews, one family. Eli had copied her factory reset and installed her in Vengeance’s mainframe. “V” had become as fiery as her captain.
*Lets fookin go* came a lilting soprano.
Frank grinned fiercely, “Execute.” Was all he said.
-Fin-

So... I've got two concepts in mind (Btw this will fit in with a whole world I've recently [literally as I'm writing this] decided to do). You can vote on the concepts if you like, both will probably be in this but one gets the title really..
Concept 1: A Variable Race: All Dwellers being the same at base (digitigrade biped, crustacean like organic and grown on person body armor, fur, multi-jawed mouths [think Bonnie of The Twisted Ones I believe it is], sometimes uneven proportions or overall asymmetric) each with the main ability of sped up evolution/healing, it would work like getting your arm cut off then having it grow back with a second forearm or something along those lines but also with different abilities from the range of which I'm currently working on.
Concept 2: Interdimensional Parasite: this is pretty simple, it infests and infects life from other dimensions and twists it into an amalgamation of what it was and creatures from its "dimension" as well as having the same forced evolution/healing.

4th Wall here! If you like this Universe we are diving into together, consider supporting The Black on Patreon! If not, Just clicking and giving a view is more than enough. Thank you to the regular suspects in the comment section, I enjoy all of your comments, even the constructive critical ones!!
If this is your first episode to read, feel free to start at the beginning! I truly hope you enjoy what you find!
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“I failed…”
The all-too-familiar pain and anger in those words hung in the air between them casting a menacing shadow of events left unsaid.
“They wouldn’t kill me… I stabbed two more of them before one of them got a tranquilizer needle in my side through the suit… I had my suspicions before... but a needle long enough, durable enough, and sharp enough to get through an exo-suit was a very particular sort of tool… They knew... they knew we were coming… they always wanted a prisoner… I… I was…” Jacob’s voice faltered and wavered as if he hit a brick wall, until he was stopped by a hand on his arm.
“Don’t… I can guess. You do not need to tell me… you have relived enough...” He turned to see Hera’s own flowing tears.
“I was medically “retired” shortly after, I guess they thought I was too broken to be a threat. I needed something, so I took online classes and got a Captains certification for our interplanetary merchant marine... “His eyes fell to his hands, “I spent the rest of the war hauling cargo between colonies and outposts. I wanted off... off of terra, out of sol… anywhere not part of the regime that murdered friends I considered closer than family… when the call came, I volunteered my freighter. I couldn’t get out fast enough…” Jacob finished returning his gaze to his XO. He smiled a sad smile and reflexively reached up and thumbed away a falling drop on her cheek.
Hera was too shocked at his story and his touch to pull away, she blushed slightly before smiling back and hastily wiping the other cheek herself. Her hand moved from his forearm to his bandaged hand, “Well, you are here now. Terra is a long way away.”
“It is,” Jacob seemed to brighten slightly, “It is” he said more firmly, squeezing her hand, “I guess I now fall into the Clint/Mac category of humans” His half sad smirk punched Hera in the gut.
Hera’s chest froze, shaking her head forcefully, “No.” she said firmly, “you’re not like them.” she said with finality. She paused as he gave her a strange look, “I don’t… I don’t...” she faltered lost for words... she searched, looking down and his bandaged hand in her’s.
“It’s ok. I know you didn’t transfer to the freighter life looking for lost connections. I know, humans are an intense experience… I don’t blame you at al...” Jacob was interrupted by the forceful pull of his injured hand. Hera pulled his hand behind her and pulled him into as crushing a hug as he had felt out of a Delmar. He felt her pull his whole body toward her and was too surprised to stop it. He cupped the back of his head and pulled it to her chest, resting it on her colar bone, as he found his face pressed into her flowing hair.
“Stop…” She whispered, “stop” she shuddered slightly as she felt his breath on her neck, “I don’t fear you. I don’t understand it... but I don’t fear you. Your every day self... It’s not a mask like theirs is. That’s their story to tell, not mine. I don’t fault them for it. I would trust either of them with my life.” Hera whispered, holding him tightly to herself, “You are a kind, caring person first, and a warrior second. Maybe it’s what happened to you, maybe it’s how you always were... I don’t know...” she finally relaxed her hold but did not pull away. She kept him there in her embrace for a few moments as neither one stirred.
“Ok….” He said, “ok..” she felt him take a deep breath before His entire body seemed to uncoil all the tension form the past few hours. He finally moved, but not to pull away. A lightning bolt made her shudder as his lips met her neck, first at the crook, then the feeling of his lips worked its way up until it reached her ear before she could regain composure. In that moment, she wanted much more. But it was not the right time. Gently pressing on his shoulders, she felt him let her move him away from her.
He finally sat back enough to see her face, “Not yet” she panted, she could see the confusion in his face, “God’s I want to, but not yet.” He sat back to let her gather herself.
“Too much?” He asked,
“No, just too fast” she said. “How much do you know about Delmar Culture.”
“Not much, just the basic, “keep it in your pants, they aren’t like us” speech we all got when we volunteered.
“Ah.” Hera nodded and spent the next few minutes filling in the gaps before going silent to let Jacob think.
“So that’s why you jumped to get on a human commanded freighter, you wanted time to sort things out” his resignation rang clearly in his tone. “I can’t say I blame you.”
“Yes, but I don’t want to push you away. Please don’t take this as a no.” Hera squeezed his good hand before cupping his face in her hands, “One season, let us get to know each other. Let us both heal together, instead of adding more.”
“I think I understand, buy why the specific season?” Jacob asked.
A Feral smirk finally broke through hera’s features, “Because Its tradition for the parents to be involved. And They will be home this Refit. I want you to meet them before…”
Jacob raised an eyebrow, “Before what?”
Hera only smiled, leaning in and latching her lips onto his neck ‘turn around is fair play’ she thought before she nipped him and let out a low hum. She smiled as she felt him stiffen before she pulled away. “Before.” Was all she said before standing and stretching, admiring the shocked possibly a little bit confused look on Jacob’s face ‘I wonder how the hunter feels about being hunted’ she thought before Jacob barked a laugh
Jacob ran a finger over the two little welts on his neck that didn’t quite pierce the skin, “I guess my little Magnolia has fangs” he chuckled at her confusion before capturing her in a blur or movement. He held her to him and leaned in to take in the smell of her hair, “I guess we will see who hunts who” he whispered into her ear, partially melting her soul under his touch. He let her go before reaching for his shirt, “It’s really late, Lets see what Martin has in his fridge.”
“You’re the phantom raider?!? He’s been bitching about someone raiding his kitchen for months!” Hera blurted out.
“And you’re not gonna tell him” Jacob said sternly.
“Tell him what? I thought I was the only one doing it.” Hera laughed.
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Excelsior was a little more crowded than normal. Warren bounced slightly as he worked his way down the halls of reduced gravity. It had been a painstaking search of Eleria. The result was 2500 cryo-pods found with a total of 912 survivors, almost all of them teenagers and young adults. Older Elerian’s appeared to have succumbed to the passage of time and the rigors of cryo-status long before Humanity had learned to forge bronze. What was left was a largely adolescent, and woefully lacking in number remnant of the once prosperous Elerian people. This resulted in just under 1000 young, confused, impulsive and terrified. Warren rounded the corner just in time for a side door to open and a slender familiar hand to shoot out and grab his arm before pulling him into the side room. Warren was taken by surprise long enough to stumble into the small conference room before the door slid shut and was locked.
“Jezz? What the hell?” He asked before the teenager loudly shushed him.
“They will hear you!” she whispered.
“Who will hear me” Warren said, just a bit more quietly.
“The rest of the survivors… They’re driving me insane” Jezza put her back to the door and sank down to the floor in exhausted exasperation. “They found out… about my dad…” She mumbled finally, pulling her wings around her slender frame in a familiar expression of fearful timidity.
“Oh...” Warren set his data pad down on the table before settling down next to her. Eleria had been a Global Monarchy. The Monarch of Eleria was also head of the military, elected for life with past military experience being a requirement for eligibility. Her Father was the Monarch for 20 years before the Vorath attack that had murdered her planet. One of the survivors had recognized her as a member of the first family, and now the entire “remnant” reflexively looked to her for leadership. This wasn’t news to warren. She had told him the day they had snuck off to the Observation window the day they met. She and warren were fast friends, and she leaned on him often when she felt overwhelmed.
“Pappa was so strong. They expect me to speak for him… To save them somehow… when we don’t even have the numbers to restart our people…” her muffled voice bled its sorrow and anxiety from behind her shroud of feathers. “I’m not him… I don’t think I can be Him...”
“I know. We were really hoping to recover at least some adults... It was just too much time...” Warren scooted over, wrapping the bundle of feathers, wings, and all in one arm as she leaned up against his shoulder.
“Warren, what are we gonna do… Atticus keeps telling me there is hope but won’t say more... we need millions more survivors to restart our race… and our world has unrecognizable.” She peeked her head out from over the top of her winged cocoon and laid it on his chest. She couldn’t see warren’s flash of happiness as she did it.
“One step at a time. First, we go to Sol, get all of you a full medical work up and correction. You guys survived, but 35 million years frozen took its toll. We need to get you to propper medical facilities, so we don’t lose more of you.” Warren let her think for a moment before she slowly unfolded from herself.
“Then that’s what I’ll tell them... My people were fiercely loyal to Pappa. I guess I’ll have to play the leader a while longer...” She groaned, standing at last and visibly steeling herself, “Thank’s” she said, giving him a small hug, “See you at the mess for dinner?”
“Sure, But I need to get back, I am technically still on shift.” Warren scratched the back of his head awkwardly, making Jezz giggle before she unlocked the door.
“Until Dinner Lieutenant” She teased before opening the door and releasing her impromptu captor.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Captain Yasushi stepped into the medical ward of Excelsior just to be startled by a small waddling figure of an androgenous looking Corth as it greeted him, “Ah, Captain” the mostly natural sounding voice said, “Good to see you, in the flesh. Well, mostly anyway” It said in Atticus’ voice.
Yasushi recovered his composure almost instantly and instead scoweled down at the animatronic faximaly, “Care to explain yourself, and this?”
“Precautions Captain, precautions. You don’t want a foreign, alien, possibly rogue Artificial intelligence running free in your ship’s computer core... and I would prefer to remain… Compiled... as it were. I felt this was a healthy solution. The Corth heavily used Nanite Technology in our Cryopod fall back plan for Eleria. It’s in the circuitry, in the hosts, but more importantly, in the recovery systems. Since we have been using the Bio Beds for our reanimation attempts, I have been extracting and collecting the Recovery Nanites. I finally attained enough to construct a body, of sorts and transfer myself to it. It’s not perfect. It contains a heavy dose of what humans call “uncanny valley” as it were, but it got me out of your computers. It seemed like the logical thing to do.”
Yasu sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, “I wont fault your logic, but please… Notify me or another ranking officer the next time you decide to do something… asymmetric.”
“A point, Captain. I understand. Anyway, my new ‘body’ was not the reason why I requested this meeting. I believe I have found something, but I require a…. favor.” The apprehension was apparent in Atticus’s voice.
“Go on, I’m listening” Captain Yasu stated with pained neutrality.
“How much do you know about the current Unity.” Atticus’ careful tone was noticed.
“We know that they are aware of Humanity, and the Corth had a hand in Humanities development. Our relationship with them is… Tenuous. I know very few Corth remain. I have not been briefed beyond that.” Captain Yasu responded.
“ ‘had a hand’ indeed. Captain, I will be privately recording a message to both Sol and to whoever you have in charge of your connection to Unity. This was well before my time, but I recognize my fundamental teachings anywhwere.” ‘Atticus’ turned and began tapping furiously into the medical console, clearly done with the conversation.
“Make it quick, we depart for Sol within the hour,” the Corth simply waved a hand in dismissive acceptance still typing furiously on the console. Yasu just raised an eyebrow before shaking his head and turning to leave the infirmary.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The cacophony of voices was overpowering as Jezzaria stepped back into the meeting room filled with the remnants of her people. One of the younger boys noticed her and called out, rendering her sneaky entrance irrelevant as all of them clamored towards her asking a million questions at once. Jezz tried to quiet them, but her voice was lost to the din of adolescent impatience. An ear-splitting high-pitched sound cut through the voices, silencing everyone. Jezz looked over to see a sentry guard pull two fingers out his mouth and give her an abbreviated human salute.
“Alright, one at a time!” Jezz tried to remember her voice projection lessons, and silently cursed her disinterest at the time.
“What are we gonna do” a little girl asked first hugging a stuffed toy she had brought into her pod with her.
“We are going to go with these nice people to see their home, for now.” She said kindly before booping the little one lightly on the nose and nodding to her slightly older brother holding her hand.
“Is it true? No Adults are coming?” another, older boy asked.
“yes.. It’s true. Our parents sacrificed themselves so we could live. We were asleep for to long. Im sorry” Jezz spoke loudly, “We will be going with these Humans, our world is not as we remember it. It has no cities, no infrastructure, no medical or agriculture. We cannot live there right now. We are going to a moon over their planet, where gravity is closer to what we remember. I know many of your last memories before the cataclysm were of what your next homework assignment was, or what grade you got on the next test. We will all have to grow up quickly.”
“Why, we will die out anyway!” one kid yelled followed by murmurs from the older kids.
Jezz steeled herself, “We may... but doing nothing will ensure that we will go extinct. I have hope, and I will keep it. We go with the humans. We learn, we catch up. And we prepare to return. It may be a long time before we can return home. And it WILL be unrecognizable. But we will return. I promise. You look to me because of my father. You honor me. I will keep his legacy. He never made it to a pod. Atticus revealed to me that he died with his men, Defiant to the last. WE face our own fight against extinction. Will you rise to his example with me?”
It started mall, a little girl clapping, but it grew into a cheer before Jezzaria raised her hand and commanded silence. “Get some rest and get your secondary checkups. We all have been marked by our long sleep. We will need time to heal and time to learn. Go rest. Tomorrow begins our life’s work.”
Excited Murmuring was the dominant sound as the survivors filed out. Some returned to their bunks, others to the mess hall. Some of the rest started walking to the infirmary. Jezzaria stepped out into the hallway to see a Warren talking to the soldier who had silenced the crowd. He turned to see her, and a proud grin crossed his features, “Ready for dinner?”
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To all you regulars here. thank you all for the support. It means allot!!

Link to Book 1
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/s/8sBzSGw13A
Years, enough of them that I’ve started to believe everything I went through was some drug induced hallucination. Missing fingers, scars, there’s no real reason they couldn’t have mundane explanations. And with every day that goes by that thought becomes more and more comforting.
In the years since the mountain, I’ve really gotten my shit together. Nothing better than a few months of a drug fueled death march to make a guy really appreciate it when he gets a second chance.
I did my share of drifting, wanted to put some distance between myself and….well fucking everything really. But I’ve settled in a place that vainly calls itself a city in the middle of “I dare you to find booze here. “ Utah.
I do night shift at a scrap yard, since the supernatural misadventure, my welding skills are a bit shot, but I can still run a cutting torch good enough, and not doing it drunk or high helps a bit.
I don’t mind my unimpressive job, or my less impressive apartment. Better than being strange bedfellows with a murderous clown, on the run from some kind of cursed media mogul. Which, for those of you who are too lazy to have read a little backstory, is pretty much how I spent the most important part of my life.
Name’s Kevin by the way.
But now that I’m back in the free world, there is one thing I do mind.
People.
I don’t have a social circle, I talk to my boss when I absolutely need to, and if I can avoid a face to face interaction, I’ll do it.
I see everyone else going about their lives, without a God damn clue. Folks with kids, walking around ignorant as sheep about the shit in the shadows around us.
I don’t hate other people, fuck, if anything I envy them. But I just, can’t. I can’t sit there talking about the mundane shit I cherish so much, when all I want to do is drive into their brain, that right behind the world we live in, is every fear we have, and about a million that we couldn’t think of.
Tried letting a couple folks in, telling them what I know. What I’ve seen and done. Went exactly as well as you’d expect.
So, my life is lonely, but it’s also crank free, and probably won’t end with me sitting in a pool of my own blood. I figure that leaves me somewhere in the ball park of even.
But, I wouldn’t be back here, if things stayed, even, would I?
I ignore the buzzer for obvious reasons, if I were in a cartoon, a cloud of dust and a few angry spiders would have came flying out of it. But whoever is operating the other side presses the button relentlessly.
“Bro, you’re a couple numbers off, okay? Stop. “ I say into the old, beige speaker.
A minute or so of silence, but then the harsh analogue buzz starts again.
“Who in the hell…” I say putting on a pair of worn out sneakers and making my way to the front lobby.
I stop dead. Backlit by a flickering streetlamp, is a tall, lanky man. The jeans and faded New York Dolls t-shirt throw me off a bit, the ancient Grateful Dead baseball cap even further, but it’s him.
I shake my head and turn, Mike pounds on the glass door, his pale fist shaking the thick pane. I make eye contact, and as much as I want to turn my back on that part of my life, the look of fear in his eyes makes me open the entryway.
We sit in my kitchen, shitty instant coffee in front of us. Mike smells like he hasn’t showered in a couple of weeks, it’d be redundant to say the state of his clothing.
“Are you okay? Jesus, last I heard didn’t you find some cult that was supposed to get you back where you came from? “ I say.
I had some contact with Mike, for a while. Art caught him, imprisoned him, tortured him, but he came out the other side somehow, never was too clear on the details.
But I just couldn’t be around the guy, every time I heard his voice, I felt broken ribs. Every time I’d see him, I’d remember scrambling for our lives in a God damned living forest. It was cold, but it’s what I needed.
“Yeah. “ he says, laughing, a sick, high kind of dry snicker, “ I was on the way home. Those crazy old bastards figured out all the steps.
But then he took them. “
“Who, and who did he take? You’re not making sense Mike, even for you. “ I reply.
“Who the fuck else Kev? “ Mike says, that harsh aggressive edge barging it’s way into his tone, “And the only two people that relied on me.
Back when we were in the mountain, I said I needed to get back, they were the reason I needed to get back. They were the only thing in this entire fake God damned universe I gave a shit about.
And he took them. Actual fucking kidnapping. “
Mike slams his fist on the table, I’ve seen where this kind of mood can go, and slide my chair back.
“So, you, for some reason, had possession of a couple kids. I’m not going to look much deeper into that part. And then, Art took them? “ I say, trying to piece together the puzzle, “Why? If he wanted to fuck with you, why wouldn’t he have just nabbed all three of you and started in on some torture? “
Mike glares at me, I can see I touched a nerve.
“I saved them. And that Demonic piece of shit wants them because they can help him. They were born just south of human, and things like Art have all kinds of uses for them.
I thought I found them somewhere safe.
I was wrong Kev, I need help. “ Tears start to fall down the pale face of the killer.
So, I want to say something here. I read all of your comments my last run through. Every single one. You guys really seemed to want to like me, personally I don’t understand it, but you do you.
That being said, what I say next, and my reasons for saying it, might make you rethink that a bit.
“That’s a sad story man, but hear me when I say this, really listen.
I want nothing to do with it, you, Art or anything scarier than the IRS. “ I keep my voice calm, I don’t want to rile Mike up, but I want him to know where we stand.
He keeps eye contact as he pulls out a folded picture and slides it across the table. The two girls, maybe 10 or 12, have a strange otherworldly look to them.
“I can’t leave them with him, and the longer I stay here Kev, the more this place, your corner of reality, changes me.
I hoped it was just the path and the mountain, but no, every day in this place is twisting me. Kinda makes me feel like Junior. “ Mike ends this with a mirth free laugh that goes on for much longer than it should.
“Mike, maybe back home you’re a soldier or a superhero . Me? I’m just some dickhead who is trying his best not to be some junkie.
And do you know how you quit drugs Mike? You cut them out of your life. It’s the only way, you keep hanging out with scumbags and users, you will inevitably become one.
Want to know what I hear in your story? You started fucking around with some evil cult, then you started babysitting some paranormal kids. And if I was a betting man, I’d guess a few more semi intentional brushes with the beyond between A and B, am I wrong? “ My rant gains steam, Mike’s face gives me my answer, “ What did you think was going to happen?
Sorry Mike, dead kids, no dead kids, I’m not doing this kind of shit again. And I say that knowing full well how you handle things. Kill me bud because the only way I’m running Into hell with you again is if you drag my corpse behind you. “ I expect death , but Mike stands, no suddenly appearing knife, no jaw shattering punch.
“I thought more of you Kev, but I get it. “ He says, as he begins to leave the apartment.
I start to relax, not the reaction I was expecting, but I have to say, much better than the alternative.
Mike opens the door, and for a moment, it seems like his stance, and body language are different. Probably just nerves on my part.
“You might want to keep an eye out Kevin, it’s been a while, but remember, the things you did on the path, had echoes in reality. Might come a time when you find yourself needing friends in low places. “ Mike leaves after dropping this bomb, and I spend most of a day off sick to my stomach.
Regardless of the fight for survival on the path, here, it put innocent blood on our hands. I didn’t know if what Mike said was a guilt trip or a threat, but either way, it was screwing with me.
When I wasn’t watching over my shoulder for the cops I was seeing Mike in every tall guy and dark alley. My normally solitary life began to turn into a rearview watching nightmare. A constant fear of a knife in the back or a boot on my door making me lose sleep and weight as quickly as any upper.
I’m half way thinking of skipping town as I get to work, my boss, Kamal, is tinkering with the engine of an old sports car, good guy. Little bit on the shady side, but in all the right ways. Everyone here has a bit of a past, or, conversely, not enough documentation of a past, if you catch my drift. We are all paid under the table, but we are paid well, and the fifty something dark skinned man has done more than one favor for the assorted misfits that staff this place.
Tonight though, it’s just him and myself. Him working on the car, me cutting cracked engine blocks and brake rotors for scrap.
The work gives me time to think, which in my current situation might not be a good thing. Too many ways shit can go sideways at the moment, too many dark paths for my mind to take.
I turn off my torch, the last of the scrap I plan to cut before I eat my 3:00 am lunch cooling from red to a dark slag grey.
“ 20,000 “ I hear someone say.
As I turn around I see Kamal backed up against a tool chest about as tall as he is. The man well inside of my boss’s personal bubble is a six foot flesh slab of a guy in a black turtleneck and brown leather coat.
The aggressor is bald, tattoos I can’t make out peeking from above his shirt collar.
“I can’t pay that, be reasonable. It’s just a storage shed. “ Kamal says.
I take a cool piece of scrap about the size of a television remote and slip it in the back pocket of my welding overalls.
I walk over, not trying to hide, not trying to come in aggressive.
“Then we keep using it, as before. “ The large man shrugs.
“I can’t, it’s not just me, if cops come crawling around here, most of my employees will wind up in jail. The risk is too much. “ Kamal pleads.
The man notices me and turns just fast enough to let me know I should proceed with caution.
“Easy, I’m not here to get hurt. Just want to see if I can help. “ I say, holding my hands out to my sides.
“You have 20k?” the dead eyed criminal says.
“Nope, but pretend for a minute you are talking to a guy who knows a couple of things and has the ability to strip a car down in an hour and a half.
Why the squeeze here? Folks really looking at 20K to relocate some swag? “ I keep my racing heart from showing in my voice. I’m calm, and just south of friendly.
The man shrugs, I continue.
“Yeah, probably more like a dime, but your looking to make a little on top.
But 10k, damn, even that’s a bit on the ‘everyone hates you’ side of things.
How about, you give me a week, whatever I find a place for, you tack on 50% everyone wins. Kinda. “
The man seems to think for a moment, mulling the idea over. And then, in a flash of violence, turns and throws a straight punch that knocks Kamal out, slamming his head against the steel toolbox.
“Fuck your offer. “ The man says in his maybe, eastern European accent.
He stalks toward me with violence on his mind, I’d run, but I think of Kamal.
I’m sure you’ve put the foreshadowing together by this point. I grab the piece of steel, I don’t try to cave in his skull, even if I was capable of this, it’d attract a hell of a lot more unwanted attention.
If you’ve never been hit full force in the liver, you have no idea the amount of debilitating pain it delivers. This is what I try for, and to a small extent, succeed in doing.
I swing accurately enough to hit, with enough force to send a bone numbing shock up my wrist. The massive man reacts with a look of shock and pain, veins bulging, tendons standing out hard enough to burst the buttons on the cuffs of his jacket.
He stops, inches in front of me, breathing heavily, skin reddening. Obviously experiencing massive amounts of pain.
Then he grins, slapping me on the shoulder. His grip is like a bear trap.
“You ever watch a drop little man? “ he says, appraising me.
“Once or twice. “ I say, no longer able to keep the panic from my tone.
The big man begins to walk, leading me away from the unconscious form of Kamal.
“Then maybe you can do your boss a favor….”
And that’s how I found myself two states over, sitting in the back of the most child abduction insinuating cube van I have seen in my life.
Driving, is my temporary boss, Heinrich, the creepy, stoic meat slab from the scrap yard.
8 of Heinrich’s associates join me in the muggy, cramped van. We half sit around a crate big enough to make the journey alone barely worth what I’m getting paid. Kamal’s debt included.
The van rocks to a halt, the dusty stagnant air reeks of body odor and flatulence. When the back rolls up the sudden burst of cool night air damn near feels like taking a hit.
We're at a construction site, parked under the skeleton of a large building, temporary RockCrete flooring above us, and the silent hulks of machinery all around.
For it’s size the crate is light, only takes myself, a twenty something kid with face tattoos and square jawed clean cut guy with heavy military vibes to lift it.
I’d give you their names, but this isn’t the kind of outing where folks get to know each other that well.
The couple of hours before the buyers arrive go by in a typical boring fashion. Despite what film has you believe, these kinds of high end/low stakes illicit deals seldom go south. No point, you want to buy, they want to sell.
The buyers are a group of ancient men, expensive suits are the order of the day, and expensive security by the looks of it as well. These guys are a half dozen pros, not like the methadone clinic looking crew Heinrich decided to bring.
One of the tactical vested bodyguards takes a pry bar to the crate.
“Oh fuck off. “ I say, under my breath.
I was expecting drugs, guns maybe, And despite the terror both of those wreak on the world I’d have been okay with that.
Guessing from the artwork on the boxes, few hundred VHS tapes contained a lot of things I’m not okay with. Violence of every stripe displayed in a gaudy tasteless fashion.
The man to my left, a soul patch sporting guy with curly black hair and resting ‘Sick bastard’ face, snickers.
“Worse than that, I hear those tapes show a new movie every time. Souls of the actors in them. “ Sick Bastard whispers sounding jealous as opposed to disgusted.
This is not something I would have signed up for, but I’m also not suicidal. I’m surrounded by armed men with a lot of cash on the line. I’m assuming SB is full of shit, but just at face value, fuck anyone who’d watch this kind of twisted crap, supernatural or no.
Something hits me, I count heads and confirm my suspicion. I try to run through the assortment of nameless faces from the van, but before I can, I hear it.
“And now, the end is near and so I face that final curtain” My heart sinks, I know the voice, and I know what’s coming.
Heavy footsteps above us as the assortment of thugs look to each other, confused, hands on pistols and cut down shotguns.
I hide.
“My friend, I’ll make it clear, I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain” The lunatic is doing a spot on Sinatra, but his rage and insanity begin to creep into his tone.
The Rockcrete floor above the open crate begins to crack and buckle. Old men shout orders, and the bodyguards scramble to move the case.
“I’ve lived a life that’s full, I travelled each and every highway” “ Mike’s voice travels like a wraith, and a chunk of the flooring above the crate smashes to the floor, the bloodied and torn face of the missing member of the group, a little accountant looking guy who didn’t know how to conceal a handgun for shit sticks through the hole.
In a film, everyone would start shooting upward, in real life, everyone wants to keep this whole situation as silent as possible. Indecision grips Heinrich’s men.
“And more, much more, I did it, I did it my way” Mike finishes a verse and the round man crashes through the ceiling followed by a half pallet of bricks.
They hit the crate but the damage is minimal. The bodyguards spring into action going to remove the body and get their clients merchandise.
I can’t say I saw it coming, but I knew, a mutilated mercenary wasn’t going to be all Mike threw down.
The man is soaked In a thick yellow fluid, all but 2 of the tactical team notice this too late.
A single strip of paper, maybe a receipt or torn bit of newsprint floats down from the ceiling. An orange flame brightly burning in the gloom of the night.
“Regrets, I’ve had a few, but then again, to few to mention. “ Mike cackles as the crate, man, and most of the tactical team are engulfed by an almost explosive rush of flame.
My heart pounds, and I regret taking this job about as much as telling Mike, basically, to fuck off.
Then I see it, and SB must not have been as full of shit as I thought.
Ghostly grey forms begin to scream out of the burning crate, some violently entering the dead or dying members of the tactical team. They tear back out of the burning men, making them spasm and cough as they vainly try to save themselves.
I realize something, the ‘clown at the door ‘ theory ( a clown in a circus is funny, a clown at your door at 10pm is scary. To boil it down.) of fear, holds very true in real life.
See, on the path, the creatures, and entities, it all became mundane. It was what made the path, the path.
But seeing actual tortured souls, in the real fucking world, freezes me in fear.
“I did what I had to do, and saw it through without exemption “ Mike falls from the hole like a shadow, The old men and their remaining guards give up on the burning pile of plastic and moral failings, and burn rubber out of the construction site.
The military guy takes a shot, Heinrich scowls at him and points into the shadows where Mike should be. Before the thug can follow, SB soul patch and all is dragged into the darkness, Mike’s song doesn’t even break tempo as the wet, sounds of the man’s life being ended ring out from the darkness.
A wet piece of gore rolls out from the shadows, eyeless, Sb’s head stares at Heinrich, his men and myself. Most break, running for the street, they break ankles on trip wires, tear themselves open on cleverly hidden bits of barbed steel, but despite this limp and drag themselves to freedom.
The soldier takes aim, and advances into the gloom, tiny pistol mounted flashlight finding no target. At first I think he’s waving Heinrich and myself forward, to get into position, but his arm movements are exaggerated, then one knee starts to buckle, his pistol hits the ground and as he turns I see the last four inches of about a foot of rebar sticking out from his chest. Blood fountains from his mouth, I scream, Heinrich sighs and begins to take off his coat.
I start to run, “Stay! “ Heinrich screams, something in his voice stops me cold, as I look to him, something is off.
As he takes his shirt off, his muscles twitch and coil unnaturally under his skin, and Mike saunters from the darkness, half serrated yellow grin dripping with gore. He fixes Heinrich with a lunatic stare.
“Yes there were times I’m sure you knew, when I bit off more, than I could chew… “ Mike drones as he sprints at the massive man.
The clash is a dirty scrap between alley cat and snapping turtle. Mike producing knives and bludgeons seemingly from nowhere, as the large man takes the punishment, and every so often connects with a looping brutal blow that breaks ribs or sends the clown flying.
They break, exhausted, though Mike clearly having had the worst of the encounter.
In a moment Mike goes from nearly doubled over, to holding a massive clearly homemade revolver. Before Heinrich can react Mike’s fired four times, each shot putting a fist sized hole in the shirtless man.
For a moment Mike looks smug, but as Heinrich’s body begins to twist and warp, the look of confidence is wiped away.
The holes heal, and what is standing before us, looked like the first draft of a werewolf.
Eight feet and easily four hundred pounds of wiry, long patchwork fur, twisted asymmetrical limbs, and an elongated jaw full of strange, flat teeth.
Despite it’s deformity it moves in a blur, Mike has no time to brace before it grabs him, throwing the clown through the tin wall of a storage shed.
It lopes after him, leaping through the hole it created.
I could have ran, probably should have, but maybe, I’m not just some asshole, or some junkie. And if that is the case, running isn’t an option.
The discarded shotgun I pick is still hot from the slowly smoldering crate, faces of souls not lucky enough to escape, slowly freezing in the cooling plastic. I don’t know how much it will do, but maybe I can distract the thing long enough for Mike to get away.
I jog, and at first I hear the sounds of combat, gunfire, rage, and screaming. But after a second of quiet, I hear a wet, percussive noise, I’m 60 feet away, I start to run.
I see a few stray drops of blood fly from the shed, I drive myself forward, shotgun awkwardly held to a shoulder. I try and block out the mental images the brutal, tearing and crunching conjure.
The night is silent, I aim at the hole in the wall, waiting, heart racing, certain death on the other side of scrapyard aluminum.
The canine creature is torn up, one eye a torn mess, ribs gleaming in the scant moonlight. Intestines spill from leather skin, but these wounds staunch and heal even as it drags itself over the jagged tin wall.
I take aim, seeing this unnatural thing, the harbinger of my death stalking toward me. Hoping I can finish the job Mike couldn’t but knowing I won’t.
Before I can fire, a black gloved hand, dripping with gore springs from the shadows, it’s fingers digging hard enough into the dogman’s shoulder to pulp bone.
The look on the things face, as it’s dragged into the darkness of the shed is almost pathetic.
Pieces too small and mangled to identify fly from the shed, and following them, dripping with blood like the victim of an unholy baptism, is Mike.
I notice the eyes first, black like spilled ink, tiny, firey red spots in the center.
He was grabbing me long before he should have reached me, moving like a nightmare. He holds me aloft with one hand, I struggle to hold on to his forearm to catch a breath.
“Mike, I know what this is, it happened with Art. “ I choke out, but even before he replies with a shake of his head and a chuckle, I know I’m wrong.
He walks up a rusted stairway, and holds me above the hole in the ceiling. Black acrid fumes from the fire stinging my eyes.
I beg as I see him let go, it takes a moment for it to hit me that I’m not falling. Though I am completely immobile.
“Oh Kevin, I’m not one of Michael’s little rage born quirks. I’m no snipe or fairy like you’ve seen and vainly coined yourself an occultist.
I am the darkness, I am the bad man, I am the fucking ripper. Though you can call me Demitrious.
Your friend and myself have a pact, once he gets back to his dim little corner of reality, I’m given a from of my own once again. But he can’t do that without a rudder.
I’m sick of wrestling control for minutes, spending endless hours trapped in the fucking void that is your friend’s skull. “ the voice isn’t Mike’s at all, it’s pompous, and full of dark power, “ You will be his rudder, if not, I will flense the body and soul of everyone and everything you’ve ever held dear, ending with yourself.
Do you doubt I can do this Kevin? “
As I float over melted plastic and dully flaming wood I honestly answer, “ No. “
The thing borrowing Mike’s face grins, “ Do not tell Michael of this, I worry he’d take, extreme, measures if he knew the extent of what I am capable of. “
I’m moved slightly to the side and begin to drop, it takes everything in me, to land one foot and throw myself to my right, avoiding a long fall into a lethal landing.
When I get my bearings and look to Mike, his eyes are simply bloodshot and twitching, gone is that looming aura of evil and power. He wears his underdog grin and looks at me in triumph, “ We killed a fucking werewolf! “
Neither of us really did, but I agree to the fictional memory Demitrious implanted in Mike’s brain. A tale of me overcoming fear, and Mike preforming feats more akin to a comic book than the brutal supernatural slaughterhouse we live in.
I tell Mike I’ll help him out, not like I have any choice. And the next day we find ourselves driving across the country. Me, Mike and whatever the hell is living inside of him, on our way to a conversation with the one person on this side of reality we know has any connection to the mountain.

Aye Guys...
Dunno How To Start This... I Have Severe Self-Esteem Issues To The Point Where I'd Do Just About Anything To Make Myself Feel Attractive....Even Plastic Surgery On Every Part Of My Body If I Could Afford It... I Have A Very Asymmetrical Face But I've Always Been Obsessed With Piercings. Looking For Suggestions On Piercing SetUp.
My Dream Piercing Is Dimples 😍 Bridges, High-Nostrils. Also Considered Dahlia's. Do You Think I'd Be Able To Rock Them....!!?? If Not, What Others Would Make Me Attractive... Which Piercings Do You Think I Can Pull Off??
I Also Have My Nipples. Full Chest Piece, Half Leg Sleeve, Forearms, Face Tattoo And A Few Others. So, I'm Decently "Modified" Already. Oh. I Have Also Had My Eyebrow Done In The Past.
I Jus Wanna Be Able To Look In The Mirror And Not Wanna Hurt The Woman I See... Piercings/Tattoos Make Me Feel Better About How Disgusting & Unappealing I Look.
For Reference: Several Pictures So You Can Understand What I Look Like. I Jus Turned 30. I Know I Look Like A Teenager. It's Genetics. One Of The Main Reasons Why I Hate Myself. But I'm Not Worried About How Piercings Make Me Appear Younger....
P.S. ....
Sorry This Is Rather Long. I Have No Friends & I Figured This Might Be A Safe Space To Talk & Get Advice...

Us left-handed people make up around 12% of the population, which makes us pretty common. But if you took a look at video games characters, you'd think each of us could make a solid buck in an old-timey freakshow, as a shocking transition act between a bearded woman riding a(n almost) headless ostrich and conjoined twins juggling chainsaws - because left-handed characters are so rare, let alone playable ones.
So let's bring forth those few games who remember we exist, and allow you to play as a left-handed character in a way that affects gameplay, or at least appearance. And while I'm certainly happy to hear which of pre-Wii Legend of Zeldas had a left-handed Link, I'm particularly interested in games where there are also playable right-handed characters, ie. handedness is either a customization option or tied to a particular hero.

Good examples

In Minecraft, you can make your character either right-handed or left-handed. This is visible to you, to other players, it's consistently applied in all cameras and previews, and also changes your UI so the "offhand" slot is on the left for the righties and right for the lefties. This is especially noticeable on player skins with asymmetric forearms.
In ganking-loving micro-MMORPG Aberoth, your character is randomly generated as either right-handed or left-handed, though you can pay real money to have it changed. Handedness is visible to everyone, and is particularly important since it changes which side of bends or doorframes you can stand behind while poking a stuck mob with your good hand.

Bad examples - do not post

In Team Fortress 2, you can't be left-handed. You can only swap the camera view horizontally, so the equipped appears as if you're holding it in your left hand, but all the text is now backwards. This affects nothing and is only visible to you.
Once upon a time in Tibia, you could put your weapon in the right slot (representing left hand) and your shield in the left slot (representing right hand), and pretend that means your char is left-handed. This didn't affect anything, and other players couldn't even look at your equipment back then.

Hi all,
28F, 110lbs, 5’4 USA.
Images
Medications: Topamax for migraines, carvedilol to lower heart rate.
Recent conditions / Symptoms: High HR (can reach 160 when doing absolutely nothing). I have been dealing with purple/ blue, and red feet (previous posts), currently being treated with cardiovascular but no diagnosis. Numbness in legs (cardio thinks small fiber neuropathy), autonomic neuropathy, weight loss, tingling scalp
In May I noticed a hard lump on the outer part of my armpit and thought it was just my bone, however when my arms were raised there was a clear asymmetrical difference I had never noticed before. I noticed the lump double size come August and decided to schedule an appointment with my GP as a second lump also appeared directly in my armpit. My left armpit also felt very hard, puffy, and pushed out compared to my right when lifted.
GP scheduled breast ultrasound, however the tech was only able to get limited images of the primary lump because it was out of the “breast” region. The areas that were scanned were deemed normal.
The lump has yet again grown, and when my arm is raised the outer area of my arm and shoulder immediately feel pain. This pain can sometimes go to my forearm and there is a tingling sensation all the way to my fingers. The pain lasts for a few minutes after dropping my arm down.
GP scheduled another breast exam. Is it possible something was missed on the initial images? Reaching out in hopes someone can take a look over.

First Previous Wiki
John could tell that Paizma was suffering from something. He didn't know exactly what had happened since he'd left, but she was distressed. He wasn't someone who could deal well with emotions, but he knew people who knew people. There were so many things that could be wrong, but it was still somewhat good to know that she and he shared the kinship of real emotion.
Grief and fear were the most true emotions anyone had. They weren't things that would just go away instantly. No, they left deep scars on people, scars that they often carried for years or decades. With the latest life expectancies, it would likely be centuries.
Sometime between his first demonstration and her own, two nostrils had formed on her snout. She had a lot of human characteristics besides looking more like a gecko. Paizma's eyes continued to stare at him and perhaps into him. She had an aura and quality about her that was the mental equivalent of standing on the edge of a cliff. Something about her threatened to draw him closer and devour him.
The air was dark around her skin, in a way that seemed to draw not only light but even psychic energy in. While John didn't have the level of psychic energy that most did, with only small bars of energy visible on his cheeks, he could still tell that.
The hivemind had remained silent when he'd asked, besides telling him to try and figure out the problems himself. John assumed that meant talking to Paizma, which was a somewhat scary prospect right now. She looked at him, and he knew she could see his fear. Or however she detected it. Apparently she had a unique flavor of mind reading, one that the hivemind couldn't detect or defend against. He had no way of knowing whether she'd honored his request not to read his mind.
"I have to tell you something," she said. Her arms crossed, and she moved over to the small couch he'd barely managed to get on the ship. John didn't respond, he just sat down next to her at a distance that hopefully wouldn't feel overbearing. Even if she was an eldritch being of some sort, his looming over her might spark uncomfortable reactions from any primal instincts she had. Plus, he'd read that it was better to appear friendly and passive when around women.
She seemed to wait for him to tell her not to. Upon only receiving more silence, she let out a deep sigh, which had a tinge of alien vibration in it, like the bass of a trombone.
"I... didn't just happen to show up. I had seen Penny's actions in speeding space, and came here to try and get at her. With her being human and you being human, I assumed you could get me to her, not caring at all about what you'd want in the process."
John didn't see the problem. So what if she was doing something else? Wanting to see someone wasn't a bad thing at all. In fact, it was pretty normal. There were a ton of people who'd gotten Alliance citizenships just to apply for visas to travel to normally forbidden countries to see their family. He even knew a few of them.
"Well, I don't think it's that bad," John said. "You haven't done any harm, and I'm not going to hold a grudge against you for having different motives than you said at first. Though if you really do want to do some tourism, I'm afraid you'll need to be the one paying for it."
"What do you mean? Don't you own a ship?"
"I lease it. And docking charges are stupidly expensive. I only get a few hours of docking time a month from the Corps, which is only possible because Phoebe set up a foundation a few years back to fund it."
"She's pretty important, isn't she? Your species doesn't have any suspicion that she'll take over?"
"She sort of has, in many ways. She doesn't govern, doesn't disclose personal matters except under strictly and clearly defined rules, and just tries to make things better for everyone. About 11 years ago, there were people who tried to hack her online. Instead of trying to hit them with autonomous cars or even sending hate mail at them, she simply referred them to cybersecurity firms to deal with or ignored them. I remember a viral video of an angry anti-AI protestor shoving one of her androids down a flight of stairs."
"What did she do?" Paizma asked.
"Well, her android tumbled down the stairs, hitting the bottom in a blow that would have broken human bones. She laid there for a few seconds, with a cracked part of her forearm. She looked at the guy and made the saddest expression, then put her hands up and started backing away."
"Did she pursue charges?"
"No," John said. "If I think about it now, it was probably because she'd made the breakable androids for the purpose. But it snared a lot of hearts. It was hard for people to argue against Phoebe when the violence against her was so visceral, and she refused to respond besides either watching or leaving."
"A clear ploy."
"I suppose. But it convinced a lot of people she wasn't so bad, or something to fear. And the whole 'ending poverty' thing she did also helped."
"How was that economically feasible?"
"I have no clue, but the nerds who care about economics said something about how she made some sort of investment firm with the best profit margins possible, even beyond the ones with known histories of insider trading. And then she just started spending. She's funded post-war infrastructure in Africa, Asia, Europe, North America, South America, and Australia, increased housing availability and provided clean water, food, and air to basically everyone. Granted, there is still money, so there's people who have more and people who have less. But she's funding programs that lift everyone up. All she's got left are a few more Acuarfar and Guulin."
"So she didn't really end poverty, she just made it so that poverty no longer meant not having the money to buy food."
"A lot more than that. There's a bunch of countries on Earth that have given her awards. She got a few Nobel Prizes, too, before she asked the Nobel Foundation not to award them to her anymore. That was a whole thing as well."
"Hmm. John, I assume that you have a reason for changing the subject of the coversation?"
"Not really. I didn't want to talk about something that would make you sad. And we kind of already said everything needed to about your intentions. You wanted to see Penny, and I don't mind at all."
"Most people would get jealous."
"Why? I don't own you. You're free to go and do whatever you like. Why should I get a say in that at all?"
"I suppose it wouldn't make sense. You know, John, you don't seem so bad to me."
She moved closer.
"Why? Did I say something?"
"No. Well, yes, but... you know."
"I don't, really. You're the mind reader, not me."
Paizma smiled. "True. I just want to apologize for the way I've been acting. Apparently the word your people use to describe the problem is 'culture shock.' Wait, that's two words. Whatever. But I find it difficult to change myself to place less value on absolute respect, implied or not."
"You don't need to change yourself for us."
"Maybe not for you," Paizma said. "But for Humanity? I would, if I want to be seen as a non-hostile force. Given my show of power over Mercury, they're letting you talk to me at all because I haven't torn your head off, or tried to suck you into a gravity well, or anything else. The government talks about me a lot. All of them do."
John gulped. "Have you... uh, torn off people's heads before?"
"Yes. Several times."
"Was it necessary?"
"I'd say so," Paizma said. "The one time, there was this Sprilnav who really wanted to enslave me. He hit me with a few weapons intended to restrict my ability to move or flee. Then he..." she shuddered. "He had this tool to force a mind into stupor. To invade, and just take what he wanted... to try and bend me to him."
John frowned. "Is he still alive? Should I pay him a visit?"
"Why? What would you want to do?"
"Slavers deserve one thing, and that is death," John said. "I've seen what the Sevvi do to people. How the freed camps looked. How the United Legions were, back when I was a soldier."
"You were a soldier?"
"I was a soldier. They remade me into a new person. Not a man. And then the war came. Even wars of liberation, for a truly good cause, still have civilian casualties. Seeing that one family..."John pulled his mind away.
"I just can't forgive people who do that. At all. So I hope you made it painful."
"I did," Paizma said. "Thank you... for your understanding. John, I'm glad I met you."
"That's good to hear," he said. She stood up, patting him on the thigh before turning around.
"Well. I'm going to need some time to myself, to think about what happened. I'll see you in the morning, soldier."
"I'm not a soldier," John said. "Not anymore. Not now, not ever again."
"Alright. Sorry, then."
Paizma left again. John connected himself to the hivemind. It appeared next to him, looking at the door she'd closed. He asked, "Am I doing alright? Did I push things too far?"
"You're doing fine, John. Ease off the heavy topics if you can."
"How do I get better at talking? At the confidence thing?"
"Practice, really. It depends. You don't have to play to some strategy. You said you want to be there for her when she needs it, right? I can help with that," the hivemind said. "You'll have to do the conversations yourself. I won't do that for you, because that's creepy. But I can get you the money you need if you want anything, or if she does."
"I think Phoebe's got her costs handled."
"John, you don't have to pretend. If you want to buy her any gifts, we can help."
He blinked. "I like her, but not in that way. Not yet, at least. Everything's still too new. I kind of want to go back out and explore again."
"Then go ahead."
The hivemind's presence disappeared.
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Paizma watched the conversation John had with the hivemind. Sure enough, it didn't seem like he was being outright manipulated to try and court her, which was another theory she'd had. Instead, he was trying to hide his nervousness from her.
She didn't see it as a betrayal since this was a known factor to her. It was common for other sapient races to suffer from nervousness, particularly when they were trying to make new friends or try and acquire mates. Humans, for the most part, only took one mate at a time, and there was a serious negative culture in many parts of their society around 'cheating.' Paizma did wonder how the hivemind had changed that. Would it tell the people what was going on, or keep quiet? Both were somewhat reasonable reactions, though for different reasons. She didn't know how she'd choose if she had to deal with something like that.
And so far, few species had actually found her attractive. Since she hadn't been reading John's mind since he'd asked her not to, she couldn't know for sure whether he was trying to court her. She did have a small urge to peek in anyway but she suppressed that. After all, he had treated her nicely. He hadn't yelled at her, tried to force her to do something she didn't want to do, and was willing to give her space when she needed it. Considering that, she wouldn't mind actually courting him that much. The only unknown factors were how the rest of the galaxy would treat the Alliance.
Phoebe was trying to make an immortality treatment for humans, as several human companies had been trying for centuries. Given the Alliance's rapid advancement in technology and Phoebe's apparent altruism, then the Alliance might be able to do as the Sprilnav had done and convert to an ageless society. If the hivemind would expand itself over every person, then the main problems of long-term stress, insanity, and personality drift would also disappear.
So she essentially was making a gamble on the fate of the Alliance. Only a few nations had attracted even half as many eyes as the Alliance had within so short a timeframe. And none had managed to have both Luck and Entropy actually looking at them. So the Alliance was unique. Despite simmering xenophobia against the Sprilnav, they had also avoided all-out war with them, though it was coming.
Paizma had two options there, which was remaining passive or being active. Being active would place her in the crosshairs of similarly powerful beings as herself and the Progenitors, the Source, and maybe even Luck or Entropy. Fate's eyes weren't on John. Space's eyes were on her, as always.In truth, Paizma did feel a growing affinity for John. Quickly growing.
He was sweet, not in a completely innocent way, but in a genuinely lived way. Of course, they did have a vast age and experience difference. But John was intelligent, mature, and fully emotionally developed. Morally, she knew that there would be nothing wrong with forming a relationship with him. Of course, if they did have big problems, or if he died, then things could get problematic.
She sort of wanted to just forget this all and go back to space, though she didn't really want to leave him. He'd been nice to her. But now that she was in this wild mess of the Alliance, Paizma felt that she could get used to having some people around. Would John decide to remain a friend or attempt to court her? She did wonder.
Paizma waited a bit longer, thinking things through some more. The more she thought, the surer she was. She pulled her eyes back, squishing her conceptual form down to three-dimensional space. The gecko, as the humans would call it, returned.
"I've made a decision," Paizma said, opening the door back to John. He looked fascinatingly guilty despite only having been given a confidence talk. But it was clear that he still respected her. In fact, if she thought about it, his consulting the hivemind about making sure he was not being offensive or doing things wrong was a sign of heightened maturity and also willingness to listen to outside ideas.
Though it may show a bit of a confidence issue. But no one was perfect. Maybe she wouldn't have to change herself so much for him after all. Respect was very important to her, as well as agency. He didn't want to bind her or be mean to her. He wasn't like the Sprilnav who'd tortured her.
John gave her an expectant look. She smirked. It was a fascinating expression, yet it conveyed her attitude perfectly. She still had a lot to learn regarding expressions.
"I am willing to be your friend. Or more, if you ask it."
"Um... well. That's quite quick," John said. "But... I don't know what to say. I sort of have a... confidence problem. It's not a girls thing, it's just a people thing. It's sort of why I'm in the Corps at all, really. And... well, I kind of have these pep talks, meant to help with that. Well, it's like therapy, I suppose, but a little less, uh, formal."
Paizma grinned. Honesty. Yes!
Wait, why was she so excited? Why was she getting so invested? It was just common decency, right? Well, maybe it wasn't so common to her experience.
"So... what's your answer?"
"I'd like to see if this can work out. I mean, I did just meet you yesterday, so I don't know if I can really say you're my girlfriend. I, uh, also don't know about the whole gecko thing."
"I could turn into a human if you want," Paizma said. "But I can assume that all those words translated to a yes? But you want to take things slow? I'm sorry if I decided to do this all quickly. Feelings are sort of different with me than most species. I'm sorry."
"Yes. I... uh, was talking to the hivemind. That's my therapist. General encouragement, bouncing ideas off it, that sort of thing."
"Neat."
"Neat? I didn't expect you to say that," John said, now wearing an absolutely adorable blush.
"Well, I still have a lot to learn regarding slang. And I think that the hivemind's got the collective intelligence of every therapist ever? Plus a bunch of... what do you call it? Street smarts?"
"I don't think the hivemind would survive on the streets," John smiled. "Real ones don't need mind networks."
"I see," Paizma said. "Well. Are you okay with other people knowing we are in this friendship? Wait, there's another word. Fellowship?"
"I think the term is technically dating, but we haven't had any of those yet. It's where the two people go out to places they like, and get to know each other better. Or, as the nerds might say, learning the character story instead of the stat sheets."
"What is a 'nerd' in this case?"
"Slang for smart person. I think it dates back to the 20th century."
"Hmm. Well. It's an interesting word. By the way, am I making you uncomfortable with all this? I am somewhat unfamiliar with human romance customs."
"Well, they're different almost anywhere. The Pan-Andes Union has different customs than the United States of America, which has different customs than China. And then they have different customs than the people in Luna, or the Guulin in the Canadian Shield, or the Knowers, the Acuarfar, well, you get the idea. But in many of the 'western' areas, then girls being forward is somewhat unexpected. I'm from one of those places."
"Western?"
"Yeah. There's a bunch of history around it, but it basically denotes Europe, North America, Australia, and certain parts of Luna, Asia, and Antarctica, where those kind of blended together. I don't get it, since Australia is south of Japan and China. I guess I should've paid more attention in history class."
Paizma got that she was moving a little quickly. She was fine with slowing things down, then. "Well then. I'll see what sort of dating customs there are from your region."
And she did. In another room, phantom fingers tapped on a screen. She smiled, knowing she'd found the perfect activity. It had just the right level of intimacy and would likely get him more comfortable with being near her. And it would take all her thoughts off the big stuff going on in the Alliance that she'd definitely need to avoid trying to fix.
In truth, this would be a respectful relationship. She'd learn much more about Humanity this way, be seen in a better light, and, best of all, have a person who loved her. And genuine love had been something she'd watched but never truly had for hundreds of thousands of years. He'd already seen her true form, even touched her mind, and hadn't shunned her.
Well, perhaps that solved the mystery of why she was falling for him so quickly. She had a need for someone to share the burden of life with.
John smiled. "I see you have something in mind, Paizma."
"Oh, certainly. Tell me, are you okay with 'hand-holding?' Wait, why are you going so pale?"
"I haven't done that in a while."
"That's alright. We can wait. I don't want to ruin this for us."
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"Break it open," Samuel ordered. A massive orbital laser struck the shield of the invading Sevvi, lighting up Skandikan's landscape with white light powerful enough for him to see through his hands. Good stuff.
Inside the remains of the shield lay the ruins of the unit. The last bit of the secret landing party meant to disable the defenses still remained.
But Samuel would leave that to the super soldiers. They were the ones who would be handling that task as assigned. His job was almost finished. He had his men check up on the outer turrets. It wasn't a quick job, but it would help to keep them grounded. He allowed small celebrations of their victory and had some of the battle footage sent back to the cities.
It was necessary for morale, after all. The Alliance needed every win it could get. The main Sevvi fleet was still approaching, trading long-range lasers with the Defense Fleet. Samuel had read the numbers and tallies of the incoming force many times, like millions of Skandikan natives likely had. Even with the exceptionally high militarization of the colony, it wasn't likely that they'd be able to hold for longer than a month in the case of a full-scale invasion.
In particular, Brey had been delivering a special type of city shield specifically designed to absorb or reflect orbital lasers. Those things were ludicrously expensive, and normally reserved for more heavily populated planets or species homeworlds. Skandikan's situation must be truly dire for those to be coming. He was still coordinating the defense with the rest of the commanders when the hivemind manifested in front of him.
"What is it?" he asked.
"The Sevvi are firing a planet cracker. Tell your people to look away from the skies."
He did so, as the hivemind also relayed the orders in the heads of several visible humans nearby. Since it wasn't able to reach the Acuarfar, Guulin, or other alien species present, there were also broadcasts and amplified voices shouting warnings. He could barely hear the whine of sirens from the city as well.
"So that's it?" he asked. Planet crackers meant the Sevvi just wanted them all dead, no matter the cost.
"No. I'm going to try and stop them, if possible. Specifically by attempting to disrupt the beam. Or missile, if it's that."
"How?"
"Psychic energy, and a huge heap of willpower," the hivemind answered. It gave him a sad look, then a brief nod. Psychic energy vibrated on its wrists and hands, transferring toward him and filling him up a bit. He could feel the tingle in his arms, legs, and face. He'd be good to stay awake for a bit longer if need be.
"Assuming we survive, can we beat that main fleet?"
"Likely not without losing the entire Defense Fleet. However, whoever's in charge over there will likely pull pack if losses get too high, if we can endanger the biggest ships."
"Ah. Space naval doctrine, then. And are there countermeasures against relativistic ramming?"
"You mean shields? Yes. Or do you mean the portals? Because those also would qualify."
Samuel sighed. "Well. Oh, by the way, why not just put a bunch of stealth tech onto FTL drives and hit the enemy with them?"
"Too many signatures would create interference which can be detected. Maybe with Sprilnav-level stealth, or that shield-piercing ability some Sevvi ships have, we can do that. But not as we are now. And I doubt even the Vinarii or Cawlarians could do the same."
"Well, a man's gotta dream," Samuel said. He patted the hivemind on the shoulders. "Don't you worry about us. We'll be alright. You take the fight to the enemy, and you don't go down until you don't have legs to stand on anymore. You hear me, hivemind?"
"I hear you, Samuel. This'll likely kill me, or do something similar. It was nice knowing you."
"Make the bastards pay."
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Chesica passively observed the opposing hivemind of Skandikan thrusting itself forward to meet the Core Cracker. For a moment, he admired the enemy's bravery, before logic derailed his emotions. Even if the hivemind was able to stop the beam, it wasn't actually a sacrifice. Nothing made purely of psychic energy alone even qualified as alive.
The captains were joining various different networks to discuss defensive strategies. He listened to a few of them, but the gist of it was that they couldn't intervene without risking the Core Cracker's premature detonation. Interrupting a planet cracker, especially during the primary firing sequence, was only something necessary in the minds of the most brilliant tacticians, or the ones about to be executed for negligence and destruction of the God Emperor's property.
He quickly analyzed the readings, ignoring the advisors and officers shouting over each other. Luckily, he hadn't boarded the ship equipped with the Core Cracker, as that would have made him a target along with it. But this was unacceptable.
So, he instead gave the orders for the shields around the Core Cracker to be flicked off.Some of the captains expressed traitorous thoughts, but he couldn't exactly punish them from so far away, and especially when they were in a hostile system.
When the hivemind inexplicably managed to reflect the incredibly powerful weapon and blast it back at the Core Cracker, there was no shield to impact. His entire fleet's shield capacitors didn't get burned out, and he didn't lose the battle right there. Instead, the projectile slammed back into the Core Cracker gun, blowing up the massive ship it was attached to. The dreadnaught evaporated, representing a major loss of material.
Lasers and nuclear missiles continued to slam into the shields, particularly exploiting the new gap that had opened up in the Republic's defenses. Bright white beams appeared on the scanners, splashing over the shields. Some of the lesser ships were destroyed, and their local shields quickly overwhelmed.
The Alliance was tuning the lasers to different frequencies, increasing the capacitor load they impacted with. It was quite frustrating. And even after that, he still had the numbers to make a run at Skandikan. He could send some long-range lasers at the planet to hit the shields, hoping for a lucky shot.
However, he'd lose much of his remaining fleet power in the process, and the Alliance would be in a better position to strike him and the Republic if he attempted to take Skandikan now. With the easy option gone, he just had to find a new way. Even tying down this portion of the Alliance's fleet could mean the difference between victory and defeat. And while waiting the enemy out wasn't glorious, it was a tried and true strategy.
Eventually, there would need to be resupplies, and he could strike.Except he couldn't because Brey would be the method of those resupplies. There were no more cargo ships to blow up. There were no massive trade routes for food, metals, and electronics. No passengers to take hostage for various concessions. Chesica would need to have some novel strategies here.
Sadly, the Alliance wasn't large enough to require garden planets. He couldn't just bomb a farm. There were some farm buildings on the surface, likely vertical hydroponic or aquaponic farms. But they were under the shields of both the whole planet and the stronger city shields. There was nothing he could do right now besides go back and think. He couldn't charge into a battle head-on, no matter how much he wanted to. He'd lost many good people on board the Core Cracker. Chesica would make the enemy pay for that in blood a hundredfold.
"Should we regroup?" a captain asked over the channel. Others echoed the sentiment. Ordinarily, that would be seen as a potential seditious sentiment. But in this situation, Chesica had no time to care about that. And turning back in this situation was actually more strategically sound than continuing to drive against the Alliance's strong defenses. He'd destroyed many of the orbital stations and defenses. All that remained were ships and ground guns.
"Yes. Withdraw, but into careful groups. Avoid the Alliance's battlecruisers. It is likely that Brey will try something, so keep the psychic suppression up."
Chesica would make another go at this later. This was only a strategic withdrawal, not a retreat. He was in control. He'd learned more about the capabilities of his enemy and escaped with his life and the lives of most of his men. It was a valuable victory of information, if not of territory. In particular, he watched the hivemind on the sensors. It was drifting motionless in space.
It was inert. Would it reform? Most likely. But he did wonder where the humans got the strength to fight so fiercely. Was it their hearts, or was it their simple animalistic instincts at play? He'd heard tales of Sevvi having bursts of strength in desperate situations, so it wasn't too unbelievable that an alien species could do the same.
He cast his mind back toward the planet as the fleet's velocity went to zero in preparation for the orbital burn away from Skandikan. With the massive size of both fleets, there was little he could do directly. He'd need to watch for asymmetrical warfare. The Alliance was still shooting lasers and nukes at him, but at a lower rate than before.
With his fleet's evasive maneuvers, the missiles could do little at the gradually increasing range. Lasers, as always, were still a problem. The speed of light was slow in interstellar space but relatively quick for battles. The Alliance had taken out a lot of the stealth quantum link sensors, removing much of his battle intelligence network. So, he wouldn't be able to predict the trajectories of the lasers any better than they could.
Luckily, his fleets had already taken care of the nearby Alliance sensor satellites. Their stealth technology was fairly advanced, though still less so than the new military advancements. The God Emperor had started to implement new stealth designs with even lower energy footprints and even better gravity wave dampening.
He set his battle analysts to take careful notes of how much each ship had fired. If he could learn the capacity of their ships' missiles or even their lasers, then the battle would become trivial. He could whittle them down with psychic suppressors and hit-and-run swipes at pieces of their fleet.
And if they grouped up, he'd turn the high-caliber weapons onto them. He also had his VIs plot new possible battle directions based on the variable average fire rates and fire cones of the enemy ships. Chesica wouldn't try to bite off more than he could chew. He'd do this carefully. There was a resupply coming if he waited long enough. The Alliance didn't have that, at least if the scanners were right.
If he could rely on the God Emperor's grace to see him through, then he'd be more than fine. His fingers tapped against air, but the haptic feedback from his exoskeleton soon accompanied small taps of metal on the desk. He wouldn't have the ship go out of battle mode until they were safe, either, so the spacesuits would stay on for the foreseeable future.
"Sir?" a captain asked. "Should we play one of your speeches to increase morale?"
"Sure," Chesica said, unwilling to show his true feelings in that moment. "Though morale will remain high, as the God Emperor's grace is with us."
It's just a strategic withdrawal, he thought. There was no need for him to feel defeated. He'd learned valuable information. All it had cost was... a lot. He'd need to perform something exceptional to get out of execution if he returned home. When he returned home.
"Thanks, sir. Glad you're here for us. We'll beat them."
"We will. The God Emperor expects nothing but excellence from us all."
Cheisca's smile didn't reach his eyes.
Next

Hello, it’s my first time here, and I decided to come here because I don’t know what to do. Let me give some context.
I didn’t know what EDS was, or that it was even a condition, until my sister came to visit at the start of the summer. She’s got a PhD in Biomedical Engineering and her entire friend circle pretty much consists of mostly other medical professionals. When she came, she mentioned that EDS was something she suspected was in the family. Naturally, I was curious and asked what it was and why she suspected such. Her basic explanation aligns with what I’ve learned is the hypermobile form of EDS, and the basic signs she told me were all things I thought were normal for everybody.
My skin has always been fairly stretchy. I can pinch a decent bit off my neck and my arms without effort, and I hadn’t thought that was odd. Most if the time I’ve just been told I must have “extra skin”. I’m also overly flexible in my joints. My elbows aren’t straight when I fully extend my arms, they sort of ‘pop’ and instead of going in a like, my arms go crooked and the inside of my elbow turns to face up, if that makes sense. I can rotate my arms around to the point my elbow will bend towards my body instead of away from it when I bend my arms. I can also fully rotate my feet to face the opposite direction, and can press my palms fully to the floor easily without having to bend my knees. I always just thought I was naturally flexible in that regard, but I guess that’s not the case.
I didn’t think much of fitting the list of signs my sister gave. She is the one with a PhD in a medical field however, so I thought it would still be a good idea to run it by my family doctor at my annual physical. She’s treated patients with EDS before, and she told me that while she can’t diagnose me, it’s still a good idea to see a geneticist. I’m just worried I might be making a big deal out of nothing. I don’t want to convince myself I have something I haven’t even been screened for yet.
I was a bit nervous though so I did some poking around on google to read the stories of others with EDS as well as get at least a tiny bit more understanding of EDS as a whole. The more I read, the more I found I could relate. So I figured I could come here and describe some of what I’ve experienced and see if I could get the insight of the people here to see if I’m just worrying too much or if EDS really is something I should get screened for.
Besides what I’ve already stated above, there’s other issues. I’ve always been an easy bleeder. Even with the teeniest of cuts I seemed to bleed more than other kids, and as a teen and an adult I never grew out of it. It’s to the point that I was told I should get tested for a blood disorder, but all my tests came back normal. I’ve always bruised easy, too. My parents and friends have said it’s just because I’m on the pale side (I’m ‘mixed’. Both my parents are Mexican but my mom is paler than a ghost and looks like a white woman if you don’t know her) but even then it’s odd. I can’t recall a time I’ve never had at least one bruise, even though I’m not an athlete and frankly don’t even exercise much. I can’t even say it’s from heavy work; I have scoliosis. I avoid any hard labor simply because my back can’t handle it. I’ve pretty much woken up with a new bruise every other day and I never have any idea how I got them. Existing?
My joints are flexible, but also painful. I can’t do pushups because my elbows pop every time I lower myself down, even with the modified pushups. The area between my shoulder blades will also pop and crack. I can’t run long or just be on my feet long in general or my knees will start to pop as well. My hip pops every time I get out of bed in the morning, or if I stay crouched, sitting, or on my knees too long. And my TMJ/jaw joint I can pop at will and it often gets me in trouble at the dentist. They can’t use a standard bite block on me because it make me feel like my jaw is about to dislocate. They have to use those big hemostat like things that click and hold themselves open to keep my mouth wide without me feeling like I’m about to slip my jaw out.
I scar easily. My cat scratched me around the same time my sister came to visit. I still have two dark lines where his claws got me and it’s the end of August, even though the cuts weren’t deep and didn’t bleed much. My skin’s also pretty thin, if that matters any. I can see my veins easy on places like my wrists, and apparently my veins are hard to find whenever I need an IV.
I’m also just pretty weak? Tasks that come easily to others are difficult for me. I struggle to lift a twenty five pound weight with both hands, while my roommate can do so easily. We have the same job, we have the same diet since she cooks most of the time, neither of us exercise, and she’s shorter than I am and neither of us are tall to begin with (I’m 5’5 and she’s 5’1). She’s not the only one. It’s been that way with everyone. I’ve always been weak, and I figured it was just cause my wrists are tiny (I can touch my pinky to my thumb when I wrap them around my wrists) but even when I DID exercise (swim team in highs school for my sophomore year) I just never got as strong, and my endurance never improved either, even with heavy cardio training.
Then there’s pain. I have scoliosis, though mine developed as a young adult instead of as a kid or early teen. I attributed any back pain I had to my funky spine and left it at that. But the thing is, the pain never goes away. I don’t have any herniated discs or other alarming growths or whatever, and I have recent x-rays that show business as usual. But I never lose the pain. It’s every day. Even at night when I sleep. I have to take sleep medication otherwise I can’t go to bed because of it. Pain killers help, but not much. Even with them I can feel a dull ache. It seems to get worse during that time. Maybe because I become more aware of my body because there’s nothing else going on, but it’s awful.
My joints ache. Usually my wrists. It hurts to bend my knees. My spine is sore and hurting, and it’s always my lower back, the place between my shoulders, and the base of my neck. If it’s a bad day between my shoulders, then my sternum and chest feel like I’m being stabbed. My right shoulder is always aching, and there will be nights I get a random pain in my lower leg or forearm, like it’s the bone itself that’s hurting.
I get injured easy. I get sick easy. I’m always in pain, I’m always in and out of the hospital and ER. Which I guess is another thing. Every time I have to get my heartbeat measured, it’s on the high end. Even if I’m completely relaxed and fine my heartbeat will usually be around 100-103. I get pain in my side usually because I get ovarian cysts. Usually they go away, but a couple months ago I had one burst bad enough I needed ultrasounds at the ER.
I’m most worried about my headaches though. I get them frequently, and I’m susceptible to migraines. What concerns me is that I’ve been to the ER before and last Friday because, for some reason, I started showing the signs of a stroke. My left side went numb, my face became asymmetrical and droopy on one side, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t walk, I was on the fine line between awareness and confusion, and I kept twitching with no control of my movements. I know what a headache feels like. I know what different migraines feel like because I get them often, particularly ocular ones. The first time I had thought it was just due to an ocular migraine since I had a visual aura before it started, but the first time it also didn’t start until AFTER the aura faded and my head stopped hurting. I still just thought it was due to the migraine, and so did the ER doctor since my CT scan came back clear.
This last Friday there wasn’t a headache or migraine. It just happened, and I knew it felt different. I could feel it as it occurred and as always, my back and my neck were hurting. The signs came in and off to the ER I went. They took two CT scans, with and without contrast, as well as an MRI. Everything came back clear. There wasn’t an answer to why it had happened. I was just right as rain again like it had never happened.
I don’t want that to keep happening. I don’t want to be in pain every second of the day, and I’ve never been able to figure out why I’m this way. Why everything hurts, why I’m so weak compared to everyone else, why my joints hurt, why there’s never an explanation when I get hurt, the bruises, the bleeding, the headaches, and just the general not knowing of what is going on and why any of this is there and why it’s mine. I don’t want it. I don’t want it and I’m scared because I don’t know what it is. I just want someone to tell me why I’m like this. Why this is how I experience life and how I can make it go away.
I don’t know if it’s EDS or something else. I need to figure it out though. I’m tired. I want to be able to sit down without my shoulders hurting. I want to lay down without my back and neck screaming. I want to breath without my chest aching, and I want to do one fucking pushup without my elbows popping at me.
Where do I go from here? What questions do I ask? Am I panicking for nothing, or is this real?

I look down at what was Beacon Academy, the people, the school, and everything will be gone because one person decided to stab me in the back. I look up at the moon with my silver eyes and think back to 3years ago when my world changed, and I fell into darkness and become "lightning strikes the top of Beacon as screams and roar can be heard from all over."
Three years ago
The morning was bright; the sky was blue, the birds were singing, and, of course, I
Ruby: GOOD MORNING, TEAM, RWBY! It's time to get up and start the day! "Yep, that girl in the black long-sleeved blouse with a high collar and red trim on the sleeves, silver eyes, black hair and Her emblem appears as a large silver buckle on her wide black belt... that's me, or it was me! I was so upbeat and cheerful back then I wonder what happened to me."
Weiss: Could you keep it down, you dolt! Where all up! I know you run on surge, sunshine, and rainbow, but please calm down! "That bundle of joy and sass is Weiss Schnee, the next in line to the Schnee company who make all the dust for our world. She pales as heck and with cute blue eyes and long, perfectly white hair up in that oh so cu, I mean, cool ponytail; she also has a scar that runs vertically down her left eye and face. Now that I think about it, she has yet to tell us how she got it, and I should ask her sometime. But that is beside the point! She wears a thigh-length strapless dress with a faint colour gradation from white to pale blue at the hem. A small piece of black lace sits in the front of her neckline, and the hem of the dress is scalloped and stitched to resemble some snowflakes, with layers of white tulle under the skirt. Over this, she wears a bell-sleeved bolero with the same colour gradation as her dress from shoulder to wrist, lined in red and with a ruffled collar. On the back of the bolero is the Schnee Crest; she also wears a small apple pendant on a silver chain and thin, rectangular silver earrings. Her boots are white, wedged-heeled, and higher at the back than the front. They have a small silver decoration across the top of the foot and are lined in red. A thin white sash is tied around her waist with a pouch attached. "
Yang: Oh, ice queen, no need to be so grumpy! Ruby is just pumped for today, and so am I. "That voice of Authority is my big sister Yang Xiao Long or just Yang for short. She is the 3rd member of my team, and I say one of the strongest ones in all of Beacon Academy; her long blond hair is her pride, so don't screw with it under any circumstance unless you want to find out why her Semblance is called Burn. my sister wears a tan jacket that bares her midriff, with golden brown piping and short, puffy sleeves with black cuffs that feature two gold buttons. Underneath this, she wears a low-cut yellow crop top with her emblem on the left breast in black. I wish my chest would grow like hers did. A brown belt covered by a pleated brown piece of material reached from her hourglass boy, her hip to hip around the back of her waist, and her emblem emblazoned on the right-most pleat in gold. Underneath this is a long, white, asymmetrical piece of material reaching her knee on the right side and a pair of tight black spandex compression shorts that reach her upper thighs. She wears brown knee-high boots and orange over-the-knee socks, with the right sock pushed down just below the knee. A gray scarf is tied around her left knee, which I don't think Yang ever told me about it, but eh."
Weiss: it doesn't mean she has to scream and shout like a kid when we have alarm clocks to just that! It's not incompetent of a leader.
Ruby sighs and rolls her eyes as she is used to Weiss saying, "Just a kid."
Yang laughed and turned her head towards head toward the top bunk bed where a black tail could be seen waving in the air: come on, Blake, back me up here!?!
"the covers move off as a black hair cat girl stick her head out and yawns rubbing her eyes."
Blake: Well, I agree we should be loud so as not to wake the other teams up
Weiss: thank you. "She stands there proud of being proven right."
Blake: but I do agree today will be fun.
Weiss: Oh come on!
"The room bursts into laughter as even Weiss joins in"
"Blake is Faunus or a cat person; to sum it up, she has fair skin like Weiss. She has black hair and amber eyes with black cat ears, which she hides with a bow on top of her head which she hides her ear inside the loops. She wears a black, buttoned vest with coattails and a single silver button on the front. Underneath this is a white, sleeveless, high-necked crop undershirt and white shorts with a zipper on each leg, emblazoned with the YKK logo of the real-life Japanese zipper manufacturer. She also wears black low-heeled boots and full stockings with a colour gradation of black to purple at her ankles. Her emblem is visible on the outside of both thighs, just below her shorts in white. On her left arm is a black detached sleeve with a silver cuff around her bicep, and black ribbons are wrapped around both forearms. A small, loose, black scarf is wrapped around her neck, and a gray magnetic backpack is strapped to her back, hidden by her hair."
Ruby smiles at the team she is leading: I got the best team in the world, and today I show everyone team rwby being number #1. "She keeps it to herself, of course, not knowing Weiss is watching her and smiles a bit at Ruby with a small blush."
Ruby: So, team, are you ready for the Beacon Academy team battle tournament?
All three girls raise their hands in the air: HELL YA!
Ruby: and who is going to take number #1
The girls: We are!
Ruby: because we are?
The Girls: Team Rwby!!!