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

I am struggling with how to handle this situation.
We found a (stray?) dog and took it in. We immediately made posts on local pages, took her around the neighborhood, called shelters, etc. with no one reaching out to claim her. The next day, my husband took her to the vet, where she did not have a chip. The vet said she had been bred excessively and likely dumped. At this point, we were planning on keeping her if no one came forward, but she began biting my kids. In the interest of our children, we changed our mind, posted again looking for her owners, and heard nothing from anyone. I know not everyone is on Facebook, but if you were really looking, you’d have family searching on there or post flyers or contact shelters or something. Radio silence.
On day 6 of feeding and caring for this dog, a woman who lives on a rescue farm offered to take her in, and we accepted. We were clear about the whole situation, and she came and picked up the dog. Now, I will admit that it was actually just a horse rescue. I did not know that initially until my husband told me later, and I guess they had plans to keep the dog personally. Honestly, I was fine with that because no one was claiming her anyway and she was crated all the time at my house because of my kids.
A woman who had read the online posts messaged me on FB wanting to know why I deleted my posts about the dog etc. I explained the whole situation, everything I just told you. She asked where I sent the dog in case the owners were found and wanted to legally claim her, and I told her.
I guess she called them, because she messaged me back and said they only had horses and could I have taken her somewhere else. At this point I stopped responding because I don’t know this lady and honestly I just want to be done with it. A few hours later she send me a NASTY message telling me what a terrible person & liar I am, how my stories don’t match up, karma will get me, and mad because I deleted the post. I deleted the post because I was getting 500 messages to go check for a chip etc.
I would just ignore this completely, but I’m a teacher and we have a ton of mutual friends, principals, fellow teachers, etc. and I am concerned about what she might say. She didn’t post my name publicly but told people to message her if they wanted to know details about the shady person involved.
I did eventually reply and reiterated my role and that I had been honest about everything from the beginning. I was kind and told her I’m sure she sees a lot of shady people in the rescue community but that we were not doing anything for our personal gain, etc. I said that I appreciate that she cares for animals but that I appreciate that she not spread misinformation about me and that I am deterred from helping in the future because of the critical responses received.
What do I do? Maybe we should have taken the dog to a shelter, but we didn’t. We were trying to be kind to an animal in need but those FB pet groups are so critical and rude.
Owners still haven’t come forward BTW.

First / Previous
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Suzanne thought it was absolutely brilliant of me to put books on a flash drive for Sun. She explained that Sun wasn’t as sophant (her word, not mine) as she might seem, more of a repository of information, but she was fairly intelligent. It was how she was able to connect Andrew being in pain to the fact that I was friends with Andrew, and that I would want to know that he was in trouble. Apparently some of Sun’s species had given some ‘wisdom’ to others in the past and it had made its way into mythology.
The key fact was that she was not smart enough to protect herself and her kind from the clever, organized poachers. With that information in mind, it was fascinating for me to think of how Sun took in and organized what she learned. It was almost as if she was a walking, talking library.
On the topic of tours, my first one went wonderfully, and I’m almost hoping Suzanne lets me do more of them. I know not all the tourists are going to be as awesome as these people were, but Suzanne gave me a lot of slack when it comes to dealing with them. She actually said that being a smartass is not grounds for dismissal, and that if I’m sarcastic or facetious to guests who are being ‘daft’ and they complain, she really doesn’t care. Is this the perfect job for me or what?
There were four guests in this party, two adults who were sisters and two children of one of the women, brothers aged thirteen and seventeen. The tour was a birthday gift for the older of the boys from his aunt, since apparently he was passionate about animal protection and conservation.
When they arrived at the front gate, I was sitting at Andrew’s desk, going over the booklet of information one last time. When the visitors pressed the button that sounded the alert buzzer, I tucked away in a drawer and let them in. I did have a cheat sheet with information about the animals on my phone just in case, a brief notation of each of them and which enclosure they were in, but I really didn’t need to use it.
Exiting through the front door, I saw them walk up the path toward me. “Hi, I’m Ripley,” I said, holding out a hand toward the woman closest to me.
She shook it firmly. “I’m Denise. This is my sister Carla and my nephews, Wesley and Jason,” she said, motioning to each of them in turn.
“I heard it’s your birthday,” I said to Wesley, giving him a smile. “You’re interested in animal conversation?”
“Back where we live, yeah,” he said, nodding. “The animals that you’ve got here are incredible. I can’t wait to see them.”
“Well, I can’t wait to show them to you,” I said. “Right this way.”
I led them on the path around the building, toward enclosure one. Despite the horrific memories of the animal killing Stanley’s friends, I knew it was just an animal, and I had to push past my feelings on what had happened. Keeping a small smile on my face, I motioned to the enclosure. “Fiercely territorial and amazing hunters, despite their large size, they’re arboreal and known to dart from tree to tree with barely a sound. This is one of only about two thousand left in existence.”
“Two thousand, three hundred and fifty six at last count,” spoke Wesley, his eyes on the trees.
I blinked, surprised and impressed. “Well that was fantastic. Do you plan on stealing my job when you graduate?”
Wesley looked at me with a grin. “Nah, everyone knows Suzanne only offers humans this gig. And I want to help animals like this one get off the endangered species list. The zoos are great for awareness and fundraising, but then the money has to go somewhere. I want to be doing the real work.”
“That’s really great,” I told him. “I wish you all the best in that career path.” At that, we saw the animal climb down from the tree, wandering a few yards from the tree line. This was because 90% of the time, when humans were at their enclosure and making noise, whether it was speaking to each other or calling out to the animal, it was someone bringing them prey to eat. Or, in my case, enrichment toys to play with.
“Whoa,” Wesley whispered.
“How close can we get?” spoke up Jason.
“The warding starts at the fence,” I told him with a small gesture. “So, just there.”
Both boys wandered closer and I glanced at their parents. It seemed that Suzanne’s zoo had a serious reputation for high quality invisible walls, because they didn’t look worried in the slightest about the boys being hurt or killed.
“They prefer dense forest as their home and have been known to make their nests in trees up to twenty meter in the air,” I continued. “And when hunting, they’ve been seen dropping eight meters straight down. They have incredibly dense yet flexible musculature, which allows them to tackle their prey without injuring themselves.”
There was more information about the animal that I continued to rattle off, though Wesley chimed in at certain points with the info I was about to convey. That was highly entertaining and very cool. When I’d been in school, I’d never met anyone who had my level of passion about endangered animals. I wondered if things were better where these folks came from, but realized that considering there were so few of these animals left, I guessed not.
The animal paced a little bit, seemingly waiting to see if we were the kind of humans that came bearing food, before deciding we weren’t and climbing back up into the trees as easily as I would climb some stairs.
As we moved onto enclosure two, Jason spoke up. “Are there any animals here we can touch or feed or something?”
I sighed inwardly before slowing to a stop. “Well, can you show me your hands?” Jason looked bemused, holding out his hands. “I mean…they both look like they’re in great shape. You can stand to lose one.”
The two women chuckled and Wesley smirked as Jason shoved his hands into his pockets. “Very funny.”
Grinning, I started walking again. “The animals here are all carnivores and all predators. You get to see them, but that’s it.”
“Alright.”
When we reached enclosure two, I started on my next spiel. “We’ve got three reanimated dead in this enclosure,” I spoke. They were just coming out from the trees as we arrived, presumably having heard our approach. “Marissa, Connor, and Bradley. They were donated by families who knew where they would be exhibited. Their next of kin, whoever they are, can’t stand the idea of putting them down. But we need to make sure they don’t have access to corpses, because one of them plus one corpse equals two of them.”
“They eat flesh though, don’t they?” Wesley asked.
I nodded. “Oh, yeah, but it’s from bodies that have already been dismembered. There’s no chance of them being affected by the transformation because it’s all parts.”
“Oh, got it.”
The creatures with blueish-white skin had superhuman strength, which is why they qualified for the security of Suzanne’s zoo. They also were likely the source of any Earth tales of people being brought back to life as zombies, specifically draugr, according to my research. They smelled like rotting flesh, so even as I kept talking about them and giving a background to the people they used to be, we were quick to move on once Wesley had gotten a good, long look at them.
“Enclosure four’s animal is a vampiric spirit. He’s a small, hairy humanoid creature with pointed ears. He wears a hat, and if he somehow loses it, he freaks out,” I said.
“They eat horses,” Wesley noted. “Also anything that gives them the chance to sit on it, usually catching them by surprise while they’re sleeping.”
The creature came out from the brush, giving us a suspicious look. He wasn’t in his humanoid form though; for some reason, he’d chosen to shapeshift to a dog.
I nodded. “Yep, indeed. Once the prey is dead, then he’ll eat it, and he has a voracious appetite. We have two wolves and two bears in the forest, which is one of the reasons I’ve got some self-defense items,” I said, patting my belt where my pepper spray (rated for bear) and my taser. “But the wards keep them out of this area of the zoo, so it’s really not much of a worry. It’s also a known shapeshifter, preferring the form of a dog, as you can see, as well as a cat, a snake, or even white butterflies, though the last one is rare.”
“The white butterflies are supposed to be a sign of good luck,” Wesley said, glancing to me. “Too bad we got the dog.”
“Yeah, otherwise you might be able to talk your mom into getting scratch-offs on your way home, huh?”
Wesley smirked at me.
The next enclosure was Spike, and he was waiting for us, dripping wet from having just emerged from the lake. I gave the introductory information about him, which included his propensity for eating animal eyes, nails, and teeth. “Recently, I’ve given him some enrichment activities, and I learned he likes artichokes, pecans, and hazelnuts,” I said, taking a bag out from my cargo shorts. “Wesley, do you want to toss this bag into the enclosure?”
The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded excitedly. He took a look into the paper bag before wrapping down the top to make sure nothing would fly out. Then he chucked it underhand past the fence. It landed a few yards from Spike, who waddled over to it quickly and tearing the bag open, spilling out the prizes inside. As the animal ate the pecans and hazelnuts, Wesley asked, “How’d you figure out he likes those?”
“It’s not all about taste,” I told him. “It’s mainly the difficulty of getting them out of the shells. He’s used to having to work for the parts of his prey he likes the most, so this mimics that activity, and he enjoys the process. I tried a bunch of different foods to find a few he liked.”
“Cool,” Wesley murmured, staring at him.
We watched Spike eat until he’d finished and then he went back into the woods, leaving us to move onto enclosure five. Japanese camellia were plentiful here, a type of pink flower, and that was because they grew anywhere near one of his species made their den. “This girl spends most of her time in the lake also,” I said, as the creature made its way toward the fence separating us from it. “But as you can see, she’s just as curious as the rest about what we’re doing here and whether we have food for her. She eats fish mostly, but she also regularly gets live prey.”
This creature was a spider-like monster, having six legs with long claws on each, and the head of an ox with two sharp horns. She was capable of shapeshifting to look like a human, but I guessed that she wasn’t fond of it, since I hadn’t yet seen her in that form.
“She prefers the easy way of catching prey, so to speak, by hiding in the lake and pouncing when something comes for a drink of water,” I explained. “Apparently humans are some of her favorite prey. She has an advantage of being able to spit poison, which often hits her prey in the eyes. But it’s usually used in defense rather than offense, since it secretes a limited amount.”
“What kind of animal would even go after something like this?” Jason asked, staring at her.
“Never discount one of its own species when you’re thinking about what might attack an animal,” I replied. “There are places that are breeding all of the animals here, but competition for mates is common. That means an advantage in a fight, like poison or venom, can make or break who the winner is.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
“It can’t spit past the warding, right?” Carla suddenly asked.
“Oh, no,” I assured her. “We’re fine. The wards wouldn’t let anything cross over.” She nodded, appeased.
The animal in enclosure six was the ginormous seal-hippo, Fiona, and she was looking at us as if she was imagining sprinkling us with herbs and spices and stuffing us in an oven. “This girl is one animal I’m going to work on enrichment activities for next,” I told them. “She prefers to feed on crayfish, though she’s happy to eat any humans that wander into her territory. She’ll even make a sound like a baby crying to reel us in. I’ve heard it a bunch of times.”
“Can you get her to make the sound?” Jason asked, perking up.
I grinned. “Not on command, sorry.”
“What enrichment are you thinking of trying?” Wesley asked.
“Possibly food placed in puzzle feeders,” I told him, “since she has claws that are pretty dexterous. Maybe a piñata made out of newspaper with flour inside, or a scarecrow that mimics a human.”
“Awesome,” he muttered.
After a little more educational tidbits, we moved onto Yui’s enclosure. “What is that?” Wesley asked, smiling.
“I got Yui the closest thing I could to a ping-pong ball,” I replied. “She quite likes it.”
“That’s so funny,” he said as she came out of the trees in her spider form. “I mean, the idea of her being a bloodthirsty hunter who seduces men to their deaths and eats them alive, but then on the other hand, she likes playing with something like this.”
“It is a little funny,” I agreed. “But when it comes down to it, all the animals here enjoy activities besides hunting.”
“She can shapeshift to look human, right?” asked Jason, trying to be casual about knowing something factual like his nerdy brother.
I nodded. “She looks like a woman from a region of Earth called Japan. And she’ll use strategies like holding out a hand to shake to get you closer. She tried that on me when I first got here but, as you can see,” I said, holding up my hands and waving them, “I didn’t fall for it.”
The boys both laughed as they got closer to the fence, watching her slowly pace near the trees.
Next was Sun, but she didn’t make an appearance as I spoke about her species. “Well…unfortunately we can’t guarantee that every animal comes out to say hi,” I sighed. “But…oh wait, here she is.”
The green lion with several horns and many eyes along her flank came out from the forest. “Hello,” she spoke.
“Hi, Sun,” I replied. “We have visitors.”
“What’s that?” Wesley asked suddenly, pointing at the small plastic bag that was still where I’d left it.
“Oh! That is Sun’s enrichment,” I said with a smile. “I put dozens of books on a flash drive and found that she can read them just like she’d read a shelf of books.”
Wesley’s eyes widened. “Wow. I don’t think I’ve read about anyone trying that before. That’s really cool.”
“The books are new and interesting,” Sun spoke, drawing our attention. “I’m grateful for them.”
I nodded to her. “You’re quite welcome.”
The next animal, unfortunately, wasn’t there, and we waited around for ten minutes as we discussed him. He was large and reptile-like with red eyes, with its hind legs and tail making him look vaguely like a kangaroo. Then, enclosure ten was a terrifyingly disturbing creature, the not-a-centaur with no skin, that I’d only seen a few times while walking my route. It gave a good demonstration of its ferocity, showing its sharp teeth and snapping at us a few times.
“I’m thinking of trying salt licks and other horse enrichment like a big bouncy ball,” I told Wesley, whose eyebrows went up at that. “Maybe give him more things to forage like scattered grains or a box filled with pinecones and seeds. Foraging is a huge part of a horse’s life in the wild, and humans have to do a lot of activities like that to keep pet horses busy. Of course, he also loves the little salt-water lake that was built for him.”
We spent some time looking at the animal before moving past our last stop, the empty enclosure of the animal was stolen. Carla glanced at me with a sad smile, knowing what had happened, it seemed. I gave her a nod as we continued on our way, walking into the office. “So, I hope everyone enjoyed themselves!” I said with a smile.
“That was the coolest birthday present I’ve ever gotten,” Wesley said, looking to Denise. “Thanks so much, seriously.”
“It was my pleasure,” she said with a nod. “I’d never been here before, and knew I’d find it fascinating. Thank you for the educational aspect,” Denise said, glancing at me. “I learned quite a lot.”
“Happy to hear it,” I said, returning the nod.
As I escorted the guests out of the zoo and locked the door behind them, I reflected on how much I’d changed. The first time I’d seen Yui’s tarantula form, I’d nearly passed out from fear. Now here I was, walking tourists around like it was no big deal. Humans really can adapt to anything, it seems.
That afternoon, Suzanne had texted me that she was coming by after my shift, and I met her in Andrew’s office, shutting the door to the security room behind me. “How’s Andrew?” I asked first thing.
“He’s doing well,” she said with a wide smile. “Back on non-hospital food. He’s allowed to order food on his phone, and to hear it from him, that’s the best news he’d received in a long time.”
I chuckled. “I guess some clichés are true for a reason.”
“Indeed.” She took a breath. “All right. Ripley…I would like to discuss something with you.”
My face went slack at the serious tone in her voice. “I’m not… Am I being fired?”
“What? No!” she exclaimed. Then she chuckled softly. “No, it’s nothing like that. Just, here, let’s have a seat.” Suzanne walked over to the couch and sat at one end, and I took the other. “There’s something I need to tell you. Something I’ve kept from you, that I wanted to keep from you until you found your sea legs here.”
“Well…I have,” I said with a nod. “So, what is it?”
Suzanne took a breath. “I knew your mother.”
The words hung in the air for a moment before making their way to my ears. It was a perfectly logical sentence, and yet it didn’t make any sense. “What?” I finally managed.
“When you graduated college, I decided to move the zoo from Italy to within driving distance of your home,” she said softly. “Near enough to your town that you’d see the advert. We ignored any other applicants and I hoped you’d apply. Actually, I expected you’d apply. Not just for the money, but considering the field you wanted to go into. As soon as I’d found out your major, I knew.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. I pinched the bridge of my nose. “How do you know Patricia?”
“She owned the zoo before I did,” Susan explained. “Fourteen years ago…she was working to track an injured animal that we could bring into the zoo and she was killed by poachers.”
My heart calcified in my chest and a lump lodged in my throat. As my breaths became shaky, I stared at her in shock. “She…she’s really dead?”
“You suspected?” she asked softly.
“It…” I swallowed hard. “We had her declared legally dead after…I don’t know, seven years I think. My dad wanted to go after her for child support, but the police said…they said they couldn’t find…” Tears came to my eyes and I blinked them back before I met Suzanne’s gaze. “She owned the zoo?”
Suzanne nodded. “It was her baby, you’d say. When Patricia passed, I inherited it, which we’d discussed beforehand, a legal just-in-case that I never expected her to need. I’m under the impression that you were told she went to Africa for her photography career, but she was in fact going to remote areas back in my home world almost every time.”
“But I-I saw the photos,” I said, my eyes narrowing. “You’re telling me she put on a show of getting pictures that someone else took for us to see every time she visited? Did my dad even know?”
“I suppose that’s an accurate way to put it, putting on a show. And no, your father was never told. It’s not the way of things to tell humans unless it’s necessary. I won’t bore you with the details, but us and humans, we’re distant relatives, so we can still have children. But it wasn’t planned. Your mother fell in love with your father despite herself; she hadn’t meant to find love. Then she became pregnant with you and…well, the rest is history.”
“I think she had a different definition of love than the one I have,” I said tightly. “You’d think she’d have put her survival as more of a priority. Put being with the man she ‘loved’ as a priority. Her kids needed her. I needed her. She signed up when she became a mom. She could’ve screwed up all the time but she couldn’t even manage that one job: be there. When I was in the hospital, I kept thinking, ‘Where is she?’ and now you’re telling me that she put these animals above being there for her kids, and this whole time she’s been dead.”
“The hospital?” she asked, furrowing her brows.
“Never mind,” I said tersely, averting my gaze.
Suzanne hesitated before she nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for your loss, and not just for her death, Ripley,” she told me. “Patricia was…well, a ‘free spirit’ would be putting it gently. She always assumed the world would be there for her whenever she needed it.”
Staring at her for a long moment, I shook my head. “Why? Why come here and hire me?”
“I thought that would be obvious,” she said, smiling. “Your mother was so passionate about this place and once I found out your college major, I figured you would be as well.”
“Did you know that I hate her?” At that, Suzanne’s expression froze on the edge of shock. “She…she left us,” I whispered. “Didn’t tell us who she was or what she really did for a living and gave us no closure. And even when she was here, it was just visiting. Her real home was her work. She could give me all the presents she wanted, but even when she was here, half the time she was still on her computer doing work. It’s not like that stereotype of never making it to my tennis practice or something; it’s that it always felt like she was only partially here, even when I was sitting next to her. I don’t even know if I appreciate her turning me into a wildlife fanatic because it…it…makes me feel like I’m close to her in a way that’s just infuriating. She loved the animals more than she loved us.”
“Oh, Ripley-”
“Don’t,” I said, shoving myself to my feet. “Don’t try to convince me otherwise.”
“I wasn’t going to,” she said quietly. I pursed my lips. “I was going to say that I’m sorry that was the case. Your mother was…flawed, just like any other person. She had two loves in this world: her family and her work. And often, her work overcame her, her zeal for environmentalism getting in the way of being a good mum. She left your father trying to fill the role of two parents, holding your family together. You and your brother and your father, you all deserved better than that.”
My lower lip quivered but I bit down on it hard. It would’ve been a lot easier for me if she’d been speaking from a place of clueless reassurance about all this. But everything she said was making sense and that meant I didn’t have someone in front of me to be angry with.
“Why didn’t you tell me when Andrew hired me?” I sighed, sitting back down on the couch.
“Well, like I said, I wanted you to find your sea legs,” she said with a small smile. “I didn’t want the truth affecting whether or not you wanted to work here, whether you wanted to stay here after finding out about what the animals are. It would’ve complicated things, the emotions you’ll have to work through now that you know the truth. Whether or not you decide to give another tour, you also know what they’re like. That’s the benchmark I wanted you to reach before you found out about who you are.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who I-” My face went slack. “Wait.”
Suzanne nodded slowly. “You’re only half human. Your brother too.”
The room seemed to tilt on an axis for a moment. “That means I’m also half…what?”
“We call ourselves Eldritch, these days,” she replied.
My eyes bugged out. “What?” I exclaimed. “So you’re all, like, gods or something?”
Suzanne burst out laughing. “Oh no, goodness, no,” she chuckled. “It’s just a word. We live in a very different world from this one, and a few generations ago we discovered the word and it made its way into our lexicon. But it does mean you can see all the animals. Indeed you did, on the tour you gave.”
“Wait, no, I had the glasses that…” I stopped. “Did those glasses do anything?”
She gave a sly smile and shook her head. “Not a thing. You made incredibly quick progress, and then when it came time for the tour, all you needed was to expect to see the animals, and you did.”
Genetics. That’s what Andrew had said during our interview, that part of how many animals you could see was determined by genetics. I guess having a mother who was originally from the other dimension gave me all the genes I needed to see everything here. “Could I…visit your world?” I asked tentatively. “You said that my mom took photos of the animals there. Could I…” My voice trailed off, not even sure if or how I wanted to finish that sentence.
“Those who are half human, especially those who are raised on Earth, don’t come visit,” she said gently. “I could show you some photos of other animals, and I could loan you as many books as you’d like, but it’s simply not a place where you’d be safe.”
“Oh,” I said, leaning into the couch cushion as I pictured the animals in the zoo. “Yeah, actually that…makes sense.” I paused. “So, what now?”
“It’s up to you,” she said. “I wanted to wait until I was sure you were comfortable with your position here, and then put the ball in your court. And so it is. What do you want to do now?”
What did I want to do? It wasn’t that difficult a question, just a deep, serious one.
I wanted to thrive, as the animals did. This is my enrichment now, working at an incredible, wonderful, terrifying zoo. The experience so far hasn’t been perfect, and I know there are risks, but life isn’t about staying safe. It’s about learning new things and making a difference in the world. And, if you’re lucky, having a job that’s something really special.
​
THE END
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So this is an insane story that I've put a post on LegalAdviceUK to try get some advice from the legal eagles but that didn't really cover the full story. But having an informal chat in a comments section of this page about it and posting the legal ins and outs yesterday has given me some strength. And if I need to I will have the tub of cookie dough ice cream to comfort my big fat butt. So here we go a story which I've been trying to do for months without feeling nothing but shame and humiliation for allowing this parasite into my life enough to impact it like this.
So some backstory on my life in January 2023 I was working for Uber Eats as a delivery driver and had a Motorcycle accident. As a result I broke my foot, lost my insurance as Uber did everything they could to make sure it was invalidated to avoid responsibility for me. As a result I became jobless and homeless within a matter of days as I was already behind due to high insurance costs and low pay. I spent the next 9 months couch surfing and jumping from job to job until I finally settled working for a convenience store chain and leaving the city of Portsmouth for the town of Gosport across the way. I was settled with a roommate in October and I was doing well again.
During this I'd won a seat for myself into a semi major Poker tournament that I cashed in during August. I made £1300 for a weekend. In enters Mr S the person who will be the focus of this piece. He needed me to help him out with opening up some betting accounts for some online sports betting. He sweetened the deal by saying that he would invest in me to make my dream company come true, making a film business. He would invest £5000 into me to get me started which is all I needed because my plan was to work from home and get film clients and work up to an office. I too would invest £5000 over time. You see Mr S was a successful businessman in the community, a former sports personality and everyone loves this guy. Couldn't find someone to curse his name in a thousand miles I'm pretty sure. I had known him through my times as a poker player for nearly 12 years myself and I couldn't say I knew a bad thing about him. So I opened the accounts thinking nothing of it, then he asked to borrow money off me which I thought nothing of at the time as he said that he had it in cash and could pay me back in the morning as it was in cash not the bank apparently. He regularly did have this issue apparently because he worked in a cash heavy business (buying precious metals) and he was a regular at casinos. So I gave him the money. He paid me back some of it then made me wait another week to get the rest after I was calling him regularly to make him respond. This would be a recurring theme throughout the story.
After this issue was resolved I made a thought to push for the money to secure the investment. Mr S got the call and stated that we needed a business meeting in his office. So I asked to set up the business meeting which he regularly called to reschedule. After two months of this I got fed up of him brushing me off whilst he's borrowing my entire salary to gamble on and off when he ran out of his own money. So I changed the passwords on all the gambling sites to force him to take a meeting and pay me back the most recent amount he borrowed. I was naturally pissed off that this multi-millionaire was so reckless with his money that he was borrowing off of me and was constantly late paying me back. He paid me back and set up a meeting. He didn't make the meeting but assured me he was going to transfer me £3000 without one. He did not claiming his accounts were frozen by the government (I know I should have ran like a Gazelle from a Hyena at this point). Well I excused this behaviour because he reassured me everything would get sorted. This accounts frozen issue also became a recurring theme throughout the story too.
For a while Mr S didn't borrow any money off of me, he just used his own money (or some other poor sods), I kept asking him to invest into the business as I had opened a business account and I was investing my own money and borrowing money via a credit card. In total I put in £5000 whilst working a minimum wage job and using small amounts I'd earned through a bit of penny stock trading and poker, trying to get the money together. I worked 50-60 hours a week to pay for Christmas and invest in the business because of the fact that I didn't want to waste time. I set up business meetings, got business cards, bought equipment and got my friend who I will simply call Angel to work with me to put together a team. My friend Alf and a guy we found on LinkedIn I'll simply call J became our first team. We also found a lovely Graphics Artists online who I'll call Ally. Everyone was on freelance for now as we needed to get clients but we assembled the team. Mr S kept missing business meetings with clients that I set up for him to secure including three major ones that might have cost me a potential 6 figure contract that I spent two months setting up. Making County Football (Soccer for you Yanks) games on a Patreon page and YouTube for live streams. This mega pissed me off and Mr S reassured me he would get the contract back or getting a bigger one. I entrusted him with this task but as far as I can tell he never did anything for it.
On the night of his youngest child being born, whilst his wife was giving birth he spent his time playing online poker or sports betting, I know this because I had the transaction record and he even borrowed money off of me. He took a week to pay me £500 and I almost lost my brand new housing because of this. Thank goodness for my new friend and housemate being understanding of the situation and after this I put my foot down and said no more borrowing from me and if he asked again I would cut him off. I also insisted again that he should invest into the business. He made his excuses of the bank being frozen again and I told him to get his shit sorted out and invest because I'm getting annoyed waiting on him. I wanted to make an advert and without his money I couldn't do this.
So it comes January 2024 I lost my job with the convenience store after I stopped a shoplifter who'd assaulted me when I turned a corner. And by stop I mean used my big boy voice and scared the crap out of them. Don't know why they fired me for that but what do I care it freed me up and paid me £2000 to go away. I got a new job whilst also securing my first client. The client paid the first half of the money which they owed for the filming to be done and Mr S knowing this asked me to lend it to him for the purpose of gambling which I flatly shut down because it was staff wages for the project. When I told him this he said "I'm sure I'll have it back in time and if not they won't mind because they'll get experience." Yep you read that right he was willing to let the staff work for free so he could bet on horses. I told him that I would never put myself or him above my team when it comes to pay because we have no right to ask anyone to work for nothing when they are all multi talented individuals.
Angel was a video editor, animator, photographer, camera operator and lighting expert. She holds a Masters degree in film technology.
J was a camera operator who had worked on major TV documentary sets and was already taking a pay cut to work on this as an investment in the companies future. He held a BA degree.
Alf is a sound operator and musician with a masters degree in music.
Yep this guy wanted to not pay these guys so he could gamble recklessly. I semi caved though by giving him my personal money because he would repeatedly call me three times an hour over this. This was his tactic, begging and harassing me so he can get the money and then when I want the money back ignore and excuse the debt for a week. He regularly said he'd have it back in a day and it would take a week. He gave me £200 extra on top of this debt and said to put it into the business account to help pay for an advert. I did it and yeah that apparently was all I was going to need to make and distribute an advert in his mind. In reality it would barely cover the graphics and music for the advert.
Finally my old debts were catching up with me in March 2024 and I got myself an IVA (Individual Voluntary Arrangement) to protect myself and the company as a debt management option. This is because of the fact that old bills, credit cards and loans that I'd taken out were catching up with me that I expected to pay off by now. Which I might have done, had Mr S not been screwing around with the investment. In this process I had to shut down all the gambling sites to comply with the IVA. I called Mr S and informed him to which he promptly told me he was no longer going to invest in my business if I won't let him gamble and risk my IVA. According to him he was going to invest when he won £10000 and was going to give me half of the money as his investment forgetting he'd already won that and then some 2 weeks prior and I knew it. I called him out on this fact and told him to pony up or bugger off because he'd wasted 8 months of mine and my teams lives promising his investment and failing on every level. He exploded on me telling me no one talks to him like this, how dare I describe him as a con artist and a fraud. He demanded his £200 back which I flat out refused as I didn't have it. I spent it paying the Angel the money I owed her because she did extra work on the editing that I failed to secure the money for from either Mr S or the Client. She offered to work for less but I flat out refused that offer because it was my mistake and my problem to deal with.
Over the next 6 weeks now I've been harassed every few days over £200 to be paid back which I'm now refusing to pay because screw him. He lied to me for 8 months and as far as I'm concerned he stole money out of the company and then wants me to pay him more money to buy him out and disregard the team members so he can get his money when he's a multimillionaire and the team are like me on minimum wage and freelancing. So AITA for calling him a thief and con artist whilst refusing to pay him a penny so I can prioritise fixing the damage he had caused? If he'd had invested in the business the way he said he would and it was a normal falling out I probably would pay him out as the business would have been more likely on solid ground with an advert made and a chance for the business to thrive. But this was my lot. I've since been told I'm a worthless person because I won't pay him back and take his calls. I'm a terrible friend for letting such a small issue like me trying to sort out my life at the expense of Mr S's gambling life.
As it stands I haven't paid Mr S back, I still owe a small amount to Angel but am paying her back and I've taken a new job at my local Maccies to insure I do. I'm still looking for more clients to do film work with to get my team into the swing of it. Hopefully we do get more work as I have a wonderful team and I want them to get work with me and make a very successful future for us all. I'm looking into getting a start up business grant from the UK government as well so we can go forward properly as well.
So AITA for cutting Mr S out of the business, trusting him at all and risking so much on his word or for not paying him back the £200?
Click here if you are interested in seeing our first clients advert. I apologise to the great Lady Charlotte Dobre for plugging my work on her channel but I would love to have people view my teams wonderful work and hopefully get more work for the future here in Hampshire UK. Please DM me for details to hire us too we intend to make music videos, business adverts and commissioned films.
For all you reading/listening this short novel I thank you and I wish you well. I hope I get more business soon and I want everyone to know that we will be posting up Patreon work soon covering Entitled People and Neckbeard Stories from Reddit along with Documentaries that we might be making with Sky TV, English Heritage and also a planned comedy show in the style of a budget John Oliver Last Week Tonight. Again sorry for plugging myself Lady Charlotte Dobre and I send you love and respect because your videos make my days feel better when depression is biting my ass.
PS - That Ice Cream Tub didn't survive.

WPA – A Completely Average Roadtrip
Disclaimer: Not canon, and I don’t use patreon so please don’t spoil me. Also, any opinion held by a character is that of the characters and not my own. Enjoy.
Town of Ljosalfington, local time 14:00, week 7
Emma Booker
“Again Illunor, I warned you before that this is a utility vehicle, not a party rated smart-limo. I am already compromising more than I should by allowing you to use the sample cooler as a minifridge, one which I can’t even use!” I said as I loaded the materials I had just purchased into the back of the high-G All terrain fusion-ethanol-electric hybrid 24th-century legacy pickup truck that I had printed out earlier this week, carefully avoiding the heavy ordinance hard point.
“That is hardly an excuse for that abysmally cramped leg space barely fit for cattle, never mind the bare minimum for standard decorum suitable for nobility. If this is what a car is like, then I don’t see why you care for your technology,” complained Illunor, who was sitting around idly with a malformed garish bowl of icecream that he had stashed away from lunch.
“If it bothers you so much, perhaps you could help next time with your ‘bigger-on-the-inside’ magic,” I retorted as I slid the last core sample into the back before covering it up with a tarp and strapping it down.
I had originally planned to visit Ljosalfington by myself to acquire much needed exo-materials to test various mana manipulator configurations as I worked to develop my first wand as not all of the materials I needed were procurable locally from Elaseer. I eventually yielded, much to my regret, to allowing Illunor to come with me as he insisted on wanting to deliver a letter personally in town after Thacea had pointed out the wisdom of not travelling alone.
We continued our back and forth for a bit yet as I finished securing my payload a voice called out to me from the direction of the town.
“Excuse me a moment, I couldn’t help but notice but are you from the academy?”
I turned to see an elf dressed in a plain brown buttoned up tunic matched by a slightly shabby pair of trousers with what appeared to be a lute upon his back and a plain and unenchanted longsword on his belt gesturing at our robes. Mine especially were new and unusual, tailored by the academy to go over my armour and allow access to the anchor points and allow me to exit my armour with minimal hassle. Illunor scoffed at what was evidently a commoner’s arrogance at approaching nobility and turned his head away in disgust. I glanced at Illunor and shook my head before turning to face the new man. I had time to spare, and any opportunity to engage in a hearts-and-minds dialogue with the locals outside the bounds of the managed environment of the academy was more than worth the time to chat. Especially as most of the other locals seemed to be content in ignoring me.
“Yes, we are currently studying at the Transgracian Academy. I am Cadet Emma Booker representing the United Nations of Earth and Luna from Earthream, and my aloof compatriot is Lord Illunor Rularia of the Vunerian courts. We were just about to head back but are in no rush. May I ask your name and what brings you by?” I asked with my hand outstretched in greeting.
“Ah yes, yes. My name is Edhel Redoehdelnif, a wandering bard by trade like my father and his father before him. My apologies, Cadet Emma Booker, I am unfamiliar with Earthrealm,” said Edhel as he grasped my hand with both of his and shook it tepidly yet vigorously. Or rather, tried to, as the motors on my suit resisted his efforts.
“News doesn’t seem to spread all that fast around here, so it makes sense you haven’t heard of us. We’re a new realm, and only just got here. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Edhel Redoehdelnif,” I replied.
“Absolutely fascinating! And a knight no less, or perhaps a squire? I’m sure you have many stories to tell of Earthrealm. Say, by chance are you about to head back to the academy? I have business in Elaseer and the usual coach has been absent as of late so I would rather not go it alone,” said Edhel.
I was hesitant to bring a stranger back in the car with me, even if Illunor was present. However, the opportunity that meeting a bard presented was too good to pass up from an intel perspective and to win the favour of the populace at large.
“That is a great idea. I think I have room for one more…” I paused before gesturing towards Illunor, “provided everyone is ok with it that is.”
Illunor gave a huff and turned his head away in silence.
“Very well, I will allow this. But he will not be joining me in your sorry excuse for a coach,” said Illunor dismissively.
Illunor approached the backseat expectantly and the door opened for him automatically, allowing the dlc kobold to gracefully enter and lounge across the length of the seats, once again ignoring the seatbelts. I sighed as I made my way to the driver’s seat, and Edhel entered from the passenger side as he marveled at the automatic doors and the interior.
“What a strange carriage this is! Although I must say, shouldn’t you be retrieving your horses? I didn’t see any harnesses or sense any artifices,” inquired Edhel as he attempted to make himself comfortable on the car seat, lute in front of him.
“Oh no, this thing doesn’t need horses or magic,” I said with a chuckle as EVI started the car. The elf raised his eyebrows at the sudden hum of the engine and made an expression of alarm when the car started driving itself without my input. “See, purrs like a kitten.”
“Earthrealm must have some large kittens if they purr like that,” noted Edhel, “but you must be concealing the enchantments somewhere. Such a thing as this with such strange yet precise craftsmanship is only possible in the crownlands.”
“Nope, no magic,” I said cheerfully.
“Then how?” Asked Edhel.
“It’s rather simple really. Are you familiar with the workings of a mill?” I asked, deciding to keep things surface level and elementary to avoid provoking the IDOV threshold.
“Somewhat, though I confess to not being familiar with their workings. Are you suggesting this is akin to a mill?” Asked Edhel perplexed.
“It’s the same principal. A mill works by taking a source of rotation such as a waterwheel or windmill, transferring that rotation along a series of rotating shafts and interlocking gears, and finally putting that energy to work by rotating a millstone,” I began as the car pulled out onto the smooth cobbled road in the direction of Elaseer. A notification popped up in the corner of my vision indicating my recon drone swarm had shifted from a holding formation to a convoy screening formation, and while the roads were clear I kept the speed at 60km/h to account for my passenger’s apparent distaste for seatbelts.
“Rotation…” muttered Edhel. He turned to face one of the wheels and EVI pinged an alert for a probable match for a detection spell, “fascinating.”
“Edhel, what are you doing?” I asked.
“Oh, yes, perhaps I should have asked first. Yes, I can see how it all fits together. But the source of this rotation? I see no mighty river or great wind to power this, so where does it come from?” Asked Edhel, not really apologizing. Elven arrogance, it seemed, was not limited by class.
The act reminded me of Sorecar when he inspected my gun, but where the armourer had been respectful with it, Edhel was more flippant. I considered the possibility that he was a spy sent by one of her peers or the crownlands, though this did not mesh with the methods I had seen so far. Edhel may have been just overly enthusiastic. In either case, I quickly decided to only reveal the antique design for the ethanol engine, and not that of the batteries or the emergency coupler to my suit’s fusion reactor.
“Right, well please ask first next time. As to your question, I won’t bore you with the details, but the rotation is generated by creating a periodic sequence of explosions inside of a machine – a manaless artifice – called a combustion engine, said Emma.
“So that’s what that sound is…” pondered Edhel, “are these artifices typical in Earthream?”
“You are awfully inquisitive for a commoner,” noted Illunor as he inspected his nails for dirt, “and rather accepting of something which should be impossible.”
“I wouldn’t be much of a bard if I wasn’t, my lord,” said Edhel shifting uncomfortably in his seat, “perhaps some music might set the mood better?”
“That would be preferable, bard. I have heard enough of the Earthrealmer’s Road Trip Playlist and would like to listen to some music of real culture,” said Illunor.
The bard agreed and proceeded to awkwardly play a ballad about an adventurer who slew a hydra in some frozen wasteland. Partway through, I politely interrupted the Edhel to point out the seat controls much to his fascination and Illunor’s grumbling at their common nature, and after some adjustment the bard went on playing and I half-heartedly listened while I paid attention to the road and my drone feed.
Particularly after EVI detected something unusual and alerted me to its presence.
”Attention Caded Booker. There is a disabled vehicle blocking the primary route to destination. Heat signatures in the woods are consistent with that of an ambush.”
“Damn it,” I muttered.
I glanced at the drone feed to see a broken cart strewn horizontally across a wooden bridge over a brook. On the surface it looked like a pair of civilians who required aid and assistance, but off in the woods were several heat signatures, several of which held weapons of varying levels of enchantments. Occasionally one of the pair on the bridge would talk with them, suggesting they were in cahoots rather than hostages. I recalled crossing that very bridge not a few hours earlier, so the blockade was very recent.
“EVI, did we pass that cart on the way here?” I asked.
”Negative,” replied EVI.
I grimaced. I had been trained to handle road-side ambushes, but it was only something that was a theoretical possibility. Something that should only occur in a warzone or a corrupt and unstable polity. I knew I had the capacity to handle such an encounter, even non-lethally, but that didn’t change the fact that these were civilians and as such were the responsibility of local law enforcement. Combined with the fact that I had passengers I was responsible for and engaging the ambush was a risky option.
“EVI, give me a list of alternative routes,” I commanded.
”Affirmative. Here is a list of routes in order of recommendation,” replied EVI.
I looked over the routes superimposed on a map of the region and quickly dismissed taking a shortcut through the forest and cutting through farmland. A detour caught my eye that extended the journey by roughly ten kilometers and I immediately sent a pair of drones to scout it out before committing to the detour.
“Are you alright, Cadet Emma Booker? You seem distracted,” asked Edhel, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just focused on driving,” replied Emma.
“I suppose it must be quite taxing to command an artificed carriage of this complexity. Perhaps it might ease your mind if you were to regale me a tale of a hero of your realm?” Said Edhel, strumming a complex tune from his lute as he spoke as each and every pluck triggered a low-level spell.
“Well, that may be a problem. We don’t have any monsters to fight, and wars are a thing of the past,” I said while desperately tip-toeing the subject of aunt Ran, the subject of war, and our voyages through the cosmos, “though we are not without the adventurous spirit. We certainly have many stories of grand voyages. Some mythical and fictional such as The Odyssey as told by the Greek poet Homer and some historical such as the race to the south pole.”
“The south pole,” muttered the bard, “so you have explored all of Earthrealm then? I suppose that makes some sense, if you have artifices such as this then traversal of a globe would be quite manageable.”
“You are quite perceptive,” I said, not wishing to elaborate.
“A great performer knows his audience,” said Edhel with a charming, honest, almost human smile.
I felt a pang of homesickness as an intrusive thought reminded me that I could have gone to a real college surrounded by friendly faces my age, engaging in nightly holostreams and dreaming of adventures in the stars from the safety of a college dorm room. The sight of Illunor in the rear camera was the only thing that kept me grounded, as I almost felt like I was back at home on a road trip rather than returning to a fantasy feudal court, constantly evading death at every turn with the fate of humanity on the line. As such, and prompted by EVI, I barely had the wherewithal to take the planned detour.
A fact which did not pass by Edhel.
“I believe you may have taken a wrong turn, Emma,” he commented.
“Nah, I’m just taking the scenic route. I came from that direction on the way here, and you have inspired me to see the other road and I figure it should only add a few extra minutes to our travel time,” I said, gesturing at a paper map which I had referenced exactly once, “though on that subject, you seem to know these lands quite well. Do you have any recommendations on places to visit in the Nexus to scratch that itch?”
Illunor raised his eyebrow at the detour excuse, knowing full well this was not part of the plan. I worried that he might complain about the issue and but thankfully remained silent as he snacked on the contents of the misused sample storage unit. Edhel himself took on a more pensive posture.
“I’m happy to have been such an inspiration, Emma, though I am sure an explorer such as yourself has little need of such. I would normally suggest the skyward fountains of Verdellan or the cloud tides of Asturia, but that may be too casual for someone of your calibre. Perhaps the severed chasm or the fire marsh of Bhandahova may be more to your liking. Or perhaps…” Edhel leaned in, “I have heard rumours of a dragon in the glassy obsidian wastes of Vurcanar.”
I chuckled at that, knowing how I was fortunate enough to fish a dragon scale out of the nearby lake for the ECS. “The thought of going dragon hunting had certainly crossed my mind…” I mused aloud.
“Yet you sound hesitant. Perhaps it is too much for a newrealmer. Perhaps a slime or a dire rat might be more appropriate,” he said with a tease.
“No, it’s not like that! It’s” I stammered, before attempting to change course after realizing I had been goaded, “what I mean is, I was under the impression that dragons were an endangered species. Where I come from, hunting endangered animals is usually illegal, and big game hunting in general is frowned upon. We do make exceptions in the case of problem animals such as if a large predator starts hunting humans, but as a rule we prefer conservation and try to find ways of coexisting with wildlife such as the use of barrier fences and scaring away dangerous animals rather than being forced to cull their numbers. Having a species go extinct would prevent future generations from appreciating them and risks destabilizing the ecosystem they are a part of. Now if this dragon was actively razing villages and eating civilians and livestock, that would be one thing, but this does not look to be the case. I don’t imagine the Nexus has any settlements in this wasteland, and the dragon clearly wants to be left alone. Killing an innocent dragon would be murder.”
I grinned to myself after delivering a diatribe that would have made my tenth grade social and environmental studies teacher beam with pride, though by the expressions of my passengers my view did not appear to be shared. Edhel’s mouth was agape in shock and fascination, while the Venurian in the back seat merely huffed in disapproval.
“I assure you Newrealmer, there are no innocent dragons,” stated Illunor with a hint of terseness breaking through his otherwise regal demeanor.
“Illunor, I understand that Venurians have personal reasons for not liking dragons, but you can’t just extend that disdain to their descendants or those uninvolved just because they are the same species,” I said.
“If I may interject on your behalf, my lord, I believe I can address Cadet Emma Booker’s concerns,” said Edhel with a bow. Illunor nodded in approval.
“Very well, you may proceed,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord. My dear Emma, you must understand that dragons are not simple animals driven entirely off of instinct as it appears to be the case in Earthrealm. They are monsters. Intelligent, long-lived, violent, greedy, cruel, territorial, selfish flesh-eating monsters. They are evil by the very nature of their being, unable to change by their own accord, and unwilling to change when His Eternal Majesty offered them freedom from their nature. It isn’t that they want to be evil. As intelligent animals – intelligent monsters – dragons are capable of understanding morality, and many have tried to overcome their evil nature at great expense to themselves. A well intended and noble sentiment, yet a doomed one as like all animals, they all succumb to their nature in the end. Overcoming one’s nature is impossible,” said Edhel. His eyes took on a stoic, almost remorseful gaze as he spoke, and Illunor nodded with approval.
I was appalled by this claim, not by the contents so much as how blatantly false it was. As a representative of the human race, I was a living counterexample to his whole argument. We had remained physiologically unchanged as a species since the last Ice Age, and yet in spite of that, in spite of our many flaws, we had found peace and balance. If we could do it, anyone could do it.
“Will all due respect Edhel, that is nonsense. Monsters aren’t born, they are made. It is the mark of any intelligent species can adapt their behaviour to their environment for better or worse, and under the right care any so-called monster can grow to be a force for good,” I began, but while I searched for the right words Edhel shook his head.
“I appreciate your race is an empathetic one, Emma, your idealism is unfounded. As flesh eaters, a dragon must take the life of another animal or person to survive, or they will perish. As such, every dragon has taken a life. As long-lived creatures, they will have amassed a significant number of kills. As the land can only support so much animals, a dragon must be fiercely territorial and aggressive to remove competition, lest they starve. As such, even the most kind-hearted dragon alive must be violent and greedy, and their intelligence fuels this even more so if they know a bountiful land of morsels exists just outside their range.
Now perhaps a multitude of dragons may find a way to co-exist together in some settlement, but to support such a venture would require a large territory of prey, or a livestock animal. Perhaps they could support a large colony by farming grain for their livestock, but that would require effort on their behalf. As large animals, such efforts require a great deal of energy. Yet that size makes it easy for them to intimidate smaller races to do their labour for them, and to keep their client race in line dragons must be cruel. And even so, as their numbers grow so do their needs. As such, they must expand into the lands of their neighbours to survive until there is nothing left to devour, at which point they must turn against their own lest they starve. As such, it is the nature of dragons to conquer and devour. That is why there is no such thing as an innocent dragon,” finished Edhel.
I was speechless, not because I believed Edhel had a point, but because I was horrified at how easy he found it to rationalize the extermination of an entire sapient species. If this was how the elves thought, then it wasn’t the dragons who were the monsters. I suppressed that dark thought. Edhel’s thought process was a product of his culture, not a feature of his elven heritage. If there was any hope of peace between our people, I needed to show him there was another way of being. I needed to prove that co-existence was possible, no matter one’s nature.
I took a deep breath to steady myself before replying.
“That- that is a callous way of seeing things,” I began, though the shock was still there in my voice, “you speak as though there is no natural equilibrium with a dragon, that their only state of being must be to be cruel, to devour, to conquer. But I see things differently. In fact, I might wonder if a fledgling civilization might see the presence of a dragon as a boon rather than a curse. Being intelligent, the locals may be able to come to some agreement with the dragon. Perhaps they might leave some land as a hunting ground or offer up a share of their cattle or guard the dragon as it sleeps. In exchange, the dragon might allow them to build a town outside its mountain and protect them in times of danger. An equitable exchange. A civilization might even create artificial lairs to attract dragons for this very reason. True, some dragons may behave tyrannical towards their town, but a well armed populace of a large city would be more than capable of fighting such a threat, and a rational dragon might reason that threatening their own populace would put their reliable source of food and shelter at risk. You see, it’s all a matter of perspective.”
“You certainly are an imaginative one, Emma, to wonder up a quixotic world where the hare and the fox live together in harmony as equals. Even so, you seem to have ignored one key detail to such a society. What would happen should the dragon not be fed for months on end?” Asked Edhel with his eyebrow raised.
“The same thing as stranded a dozen starving, stranded Elves!” I spat back.
[Alert: Vehicle speed above recommended limit for conditions. Recommendation: slow down. ]
“I am driving slow!” I seethed, not realizing I had sped up with manual control enabled.
“I grow tired of this common prattle,” interjected Illunor just in time to prevent an awkward silence, “bard, play us another song.” “As my lord wishes,” said Edhel with a bow before turning to me with another smile, “perhaps a more soothing melody would be in order? A love song perhaps, to honour Cadet Booker’s compassionate nature?”
I said nothing as Edhel began to strum his lute again to the tune of a love story of a pair of doomed lovers named Ramian and Junette, hating his cheeky knowing grin that only served to get under my skin further as I focused on calming down and slowing the car back to a more reasonable pace before investigating a priority alert which I had been blinded to moments prior.
[Alert: hostile roadblock is absent, location unknown.]
Shit.
“Illunor, we may have a problem,” I said.
“Shush, Newrealmer, have you no class? We are almost at the best part! I’m sure it can wait,” replied the contextually clueless lizard.
I had never wanted to throttle Illunor as much as I did now.
“Illunor, shield, now,” I said with a raised voice.
“I don’t see-“ he started, pausing mid-sentence as his ears perked up.
[Alert: Multiple manafield and spell signatures detected!]
I took evasive maneuvers as Illunor tried to piece together a shield spell, fumbling it twice as panic appeared to set in and providing me with a reminder that Illunor was a civilian, not a soldier. A hail of arrows pelted the exterior of the truck, piercing but not penetrating the composite armour. I was tempted to do nothing but just drive away from the arrow fire, but a foreboding premonition of danger filled me as I recalled Sorecar’s hunter-seeker arrows.
Seeking to avoid that fate, I triggered the active defenses.
The smoke screens deployed around the vehicle, obscuring the sight of any who depended on visible light to see me. A barrage of decoy flares equipped with wooden cores shot upward at angles and diffusing to the side like a pair of giant wings which when combined with the MFD, short for mana-field dampener, inside the vehicle meant that the pelting hail of arrowfire softened to a whirr as the arrows whiffed over the top of the truck, retargeted away from the soft flesh of my passengers and even invoking friendly fire amongst the ambushers.
In the chaos, EVI and my drone swarm fed me complete tactical information on the ambush. Of the 26 individuals at the first blockade, 20 were accounted for, and 3 had died from friendly fire. Ahead at the bridge, 5 more of them were at the bridge where a barrier had been hastily erected to cage me in as the river valley was too deep to cross.
“Illunor, we need a bridge,” I said, taking stock of the wellbeing of my passengers.
The bard was huddled down low and suppressing his manafield, but otherwise rather composed. Illunor, on the other hand, was cowering in the gap between the seats with his hands covering his eyes and his tail tucked in.
“A bridge is no small request, Ne- Cadet Emma Booker,” replied Illunor, “and your ‘Emeffdee’ has blinded me to the outside of this moving death trap.”
“If I drop it, can you at least make a ramp?” I asked as I circled the battlefield. Or tried to, at least, as earthen ramparts emerged from the ground from a yet unseen source to cut off other avenues of escape.
“A ramp? Surely you don’t mean-“ he stammered.
“Yes or no,” I said.
Illunor paused, before taking an unsteady breath.
“Yes. But not with that Emeffdee,” he replied.
“Good. Steady your nerves and prepare to make a ramp ahead of us on my signal,” I said, “in the meantime, get your seatbelt on. This is going to be hairy.”
As I circled around to make my approach on the bridge, the final combatant made his appearance on a nearby tree, revealing himself as an elven mage. An alert focused on the air around him indicating he was preparing an unknown high-tier spell, and I locked the predator drone on him indicating the elf as a high-priority target if our escape plan failed, and I was forced to use lethal force.
If I was forced to kill.
It was one thing to know you may have to kill in the line of duty, but it was much harder to reconcile that with reality. No number of simulations could match the real thing, and a part of me wanted to simply offload the responsibility to EVI to keep my hands clean, but to do that would be betraying my duty as a human being. I breathed in deep and tried not to think about it, instead hoping to rely on the ace I held in my sleeve instead.
“EVI, ready the spell jammer,” I said unevenly.
“Acknowledged, the prototype Exo-Radiation Wave-Field Distruptor is primed. High risk target identified and locked, permission to engage?” EVI asked, forcing me to address the dreaded question.
“Negative,” I replied, “hold your fire. If the ramp fails, then you have permission to engage,” I said.
“Affirmative, on your mark,” replied EVI.
I lined up the truck with the bridge and bolted through the smoke, keeping a careful eye on the mage as I went. His spellform took on a more concerning shape as I accelerated, and I realized I could not afford to let him finish his spell. I triggered the spelljammer.
A terrible roar erupted from an array of speakers printed from mana-resistant materials that would have made Godzilla herself beam with pride. The sound was decidedly unnatural, gnarly, dubstep drop composed of an electric eel, a whale, a mountain lion, and a tyrannosaurus rex all being simultaneously assaulted by a swarm of angry cybernetic murder hornets as an equally chaotic wave of mana blasted outwards from the exterior of the truck, with the interior thankfully sheltered by audio and mana dampening.
The ambushing assailants cowered and panicked, and it was enough to cause the Elven mage’s spell to backfire in his face as his form exploded into ashes, meeting a horrific fate which I had tried so desperately to help him avoid. With all the combatants momentarily incapacitated or dead, I lowered the dampener and turned off the smoke.
“Ramp!” I shouted, snapping the lizard back to reality.
The Venerian nodded and hastily formed an earthwork ahead of us right before the blockade, and the truck leapt off the ramp with a not insignificant amount of air beneath our wheels. I braced for impact, regretting skimping on the shocks in the name of preserving materials, but the impact never came.
[Alert: Friendly spell designated ‘Feather Fall’]
Illunor thankfully had enough wherewithal to gently land the steel brick, and I sped off into the distance away from the trap that had unfolded behind us, leaving the interior of the truck in an awkward silence as we each processed our brush with death in our own way. “How many are dead?” I asked EVI.
“6 hostiles confirmed dead,” replied EVI.
I drove on in silence. Those were six deaths I had tried to avoid, and I became lost in thought as I wondered what I should have done differently to avoid the confrontation entirely.
Edhel broke the silence with a bout of laughter.
“Terrific! Absolutely terrific! Why, I can conjure up many a tale from this encounter alone! I live for this kind of inspiration!” Exclaimed Edhel a little too chipperly considering the circumstance.
“I would rather not hear stories about how I bravely ran away,” I moaned in deadpan sarcasm.
“You think too little of yourself, Cadet Emma Booker. It is plain to me that you are no ordinary rabbit. Make no mistake, I see it as a privilege to bear witness to the roar of a vorpal hare!” Said Edhel as he supressed his laughter, “though I am afraid with all the excitement that I must finish my song some other time.”
“How about I play some of our music?” I offered after the elf revealed his thrill-seeking side.
“Splendid, I would like that. Perhaps something of your ‘Roadtrip playlist’ you speak of? It sounds like a collection of your voyages,” said Edhel.
“That would be an improvement on the truth,” said Illunor dismissively as he eased from his state of shock, “it is little more than noise under the pretense of music.”
“Illunor…” I muttered to myself before turning the mic on, “no, no it’s not like that. I have terabytes of pre-recorded songs from various artists back home which can be played by… an artifice called a speaker. A playlist is a set of songs which are grouped together, usually to listen to in specific situations such as studying, partying, or travelling. The latter collection is what Illunor is referring to.”
I very deliberately chose not to reveal my ‘Unfortunate Daughters’ playlist.
“An artifice which plays music, and a magicless one at that. I must say, Emma, I fear for the bards in your realm,” said Edhel with a laugh.
“Your fear is misplaced, Edhel. Entertainers live like kings where I come from,” I retorted with a smirk of my own, “well, the ones with talent at least.”
“Well, well, I suppose I have to hear my competition!” Said Edhel with a laugh.
“Do as you must, though let it be known that I warned you,” said Illunor as he watched a play on his sightseer.
I had EVI compile a list of songs that left out content offensive to Nexian sensibilities or violating OpSec and as it compiled I mused over what type of sample spread I wanted to show off. Then it struck me. What better way to show off our culture than with some good old blue jumpers and nova rock! Sadly, jumpers were unavailable to show but I still had a whole list of modern artists to choose from.
Moments later, the car speakers sprung to life to the tune of ‘Innocent Youth of Mine. Edhel’s eyes lit up like a child visiting a zero-g gravity park for the first time, seemingly star-struck by the antique electric guitar and the synthesizer-drums in particular.
“What… what is this? I have never heard anything like this!” Proclaimed Edhel.
“Dreadful, isn’t it?” said Illunor, doing what he did best and pretending to hate it.
“Oh there is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own, “this one is called ‘Innocent Youth of Mine’ by ‘Cannons and Poppies’. It’s part of the Nova Rock genre.
“And those strange instruments?” Asked Edhel.
“Oh, you mean the electric guitar and the synthesizer. They are electronic instruments, taking advantage of channeled and modulated electricity to create near any sound we can imagine,” I replied.
“Channeled electricity… are you suggesting these sounds were made by some form of lightning?” Asked Edhel.
[Suggestion: Avoid topic of electricity due to OpSec risk]
I nodded at EVI’s warning, thankful that it caught me before I discussed the very thing that all of my equipment ran on.
“It’s not exactly lightning, but close enough,” I said.
“If I had not witnessed to your display of power earlier, I might have perhaps been more skeptical of such a claim, but I suppose a lady must keep her secrets.” said Edhel with a raised eyebrow and chuckle, “but I digress, this music is most interesting.”
“There is a lot more where that came from,” I said with a cheeky grin of my own.
“If I ever have a prisoner in need of torture, I will turn to you first,” replied Illunor, “if you are willing to subject your peers to this madness then I cannot imagine what you would force upon your enemies before dunking them in ice.”
“In your dreams,” I retorted.
I played a few other songs including Astrodesee’s ‘Meteor Struck’, the Martian classic ‘Hotel Cydonia’ and even ‘Switching to Warp’ before Elaseer emerged from the distance, and I pulled up outside the gate to drop Edhel off.
“Here already?” Asked Edhel.
“Well, yeah. I was just running a quick errand, I didn’t want to go too far,” I replied casually.
“That was a distance worth at least five days of walking by foot, and you call that a ‘quick errand’?” Asked Edhel. I shrugged, and he laughed.
“Well in any case, thank you for allowing me passage in your car. I must apologize for my lack of gift or payment…” said Edhel. “Don’t worry about it, it was on the way,” I replied.
“I see, how generous. Perhaps we might one day meet again?” Asked Edhel.
“Maybe, but I’m not sure how likely that is. The academy takes up most of my time,” I replied, “though you never know. I still have a lot of quest hours to complete.”
“Is that so? In that case, I hope we meet again! Goodbye Cadet Emma Booker and farewell Lord Illunor Rularia,” he said. “And good travels to you, bard,” said Illunor.
I waved off Edhel and drove back to the academy, Illunor still sulking in the back seat.
“Perhaps next time, you should steer us away from danger?” Suggested Illunor.
“I tried, but we were tracked,” I replied.
I groaned inwardly at the additional work needed to fix the truck. EVI compiled a list of upgrades for future engagements, batting away my idea for a ‘turbo mode’ and a ‘jump boost’. Though at the end of the day, meeting the bard wasn’t a complete loss. It felt good to talk to someone almost normal for once, and I hoped I met him again.
Edhel Redoehdelnif
I watched as Cadet Emma Booker’s vehicle went off into the distance, getting one last look at the Earthrealmer’s strange artifice before turning towards the gate. The voyage was an exotic experience, not unlike that of a fever dream or a peak into a world completely alien to my own. Indeed, it was a struggle to contain my excitement and enthusiasm and process the experience rationally as I made my way through the southern gates of Elaseer and turned the corner of an alley before entering an impossible structure that did not exist.
“You are earlier than expected,” said the shadowy figure of my handler as I made my way to the meeting hall.
“The Earthrealmer’s means of transportation proved far more expedient than anticipated, my lord” I spoke as I knelt before him, “even with her unexpected departure from the anticipated road and the ambush we traveled for scantly more than an hour.”
“Yes, I will require a full report from you. Perhaps you can shed some light on the ‘smoke dragon’ my men claim intervened on the Earthrealmer’s behalf,” said my handler.
“Smoke Dragon, my lord?” I asked.
My handler responded by activating his sight-seer, revealing how the ambush had appeared from the outside. The Earthrealmer’s uncanny artifice traversed down the road, a pair of manafields displaying proudly from within until the archers began their assault. The artifice then transformed as smoke billowed out from its pores and wings sprung forth above until it was the form of a mighty wrym with a pair of glowing eyes springing forth from its ever extending head where it then gave forth a terrible unholy roar which sent waves of mana outward. The mage working to seal the area and trap their mark vapourized in an instant as his spell backfired. It was apparent to Edhel that his exceptional experience in the carriage was merely a muted rendition of the events unfolding around them.
It would seem the hare had the shadow of a dragon.
“I do have some insight, though I must confess the Earthrealmer did very little in the way of direct action. I suspect she has some unseen means of commanding and scrying through her artifices,” I said, “one which does not utilize magic as we know it.”
“Such a statement is heresy,” said my handler, “but such special circumstances are your reason for being. I will require you submit your memories for verification. What is your appraisal of the new realmer?”
“The girl is far more dangerous than a surface appraisal would suggest, though she prefers to conceal that power rather than utilize it out of a misplaced sense of compassion. Her people appear to have a boundless creative drive through which such artifices are birthed, though again it is misdirected towards more common applications. I believe that if properly tamed, this human animal may provide us with great works of art,” I said with a bow.
“I see. Does the girl know you work for us?” Asked my handler.
“She may harbour some suspicions, though did not voice them outright beyond concealing her knowledge,” I said, “though nothing significant. Provided our next meet is under believable circumstances such as a festival she should view me as cordial.”
“She has indeed proven clever,” conceded my handler, “very well, I will make arrangements for your paths to cross again. Perhaps I will arrange for her to be a contestant at the next inter-academy tournament. In the mean time, prepare your report and don’t wander far. This is a priority assignment.”
“As you wish, my lord,” I said with a bow and a smile.
Emma Booker had proved to be an interesting animal indeed, and I hoped our paths crossed again.

It’s been 20 years since the final of the Champions League was played by Porto and Monaco.
It has also been 20 years since clubs outside of the top 4 countries (Spain, England, Italy and Germany) even reached the final.
(With the exception of Paris Saint-Germain in 2020, a team in a financial bubble of its own that doesn’t represent the reality of the other clubs from Ligue 1).
It’s been 13 years since the same Porto won the Europa League. Ever since it has fallen (together with the recently introduced Conference League) to clubs from the same top 4 countries that dominate the Champions League (interestingly enough Italy never won the Europa League in this period).

The top tier of european football has become de facto a Super League with the top 4 countries getting so many spots for the Champions League that it comes to represent half (!!) of all the participating clubs in the group stage.
I will repeat, 4 countries represent 50% of all clubs that participate in the group stages of the Champions League.
What was supposed to be a competition to bring together the best teams all across Europe has become a mini league almost exclusively played by the same clubs, many of them having won nothing in the previous season, in order to satiate the gods of marketing.

Is european football dead? Football as a show goes on and is more marketable than ever but this doesn’t mean european football – a sports competition for a whole continente – is alive and well.
From Lisbon to Belgrade, from Bucharest to Amsterdam, from Glasgow to Marseille the spirit of football diminishes, the impact of clubs that left an impact in the whole continente is now but a shadow. The best these historical clubs can do now is to feed other clubs that simply happen to have been born in the right country.

The supremacy of the current european elite has been a snowball from 2 main events that happened in the 90s: the introduction of the Bosnan law and the expansion of the Champions League to include more than 1 club per country (so for the first time non-champions were allowed to participate).
The Bosnan law (I’m not going to discuss how fair or unfair it is, just the consequence it had) allowed players to negotiate with other clubs if their contract was up. Free of their shackles to certain clubs they were free then to move to clubs with either more prestige, money or chance of titles. This mostly fair law had the consequence of weakening the weaker clubs, now unable to retain their better players. Richer and more prestigious teams could now hoard more and more quality players and at the same time now competed against weaker opponents.
The introduction of more spots per country in the Champions League (initially 2 but nowadays can be 4, 5 or 6) was a purely financial decision. Most countries have several well known clubs so the more of those famous clubs that partipate the more media attention and revenue the competition brings in. The catch is that the clubs and the countries that were richer and more powerfull suddenly started to snowball – there was now no incentive to play in a weaker league: why play for a dutch or portuguese club and have a chance to play the Champions League when you can just move to a richer league and reach european football anyway because 4th place grants that?
Now several clubs from the top 4 countries could year after year build strong squads, play top european football, rake in the money and benefit from the disproportionate growth funneled into them. On the other hands clubs from peripheral leagues grew at a much slower rate, their players raided – looking for better financial deals with little negative repercussions – and their UEFA ranking stalling (ensuring the extra spots didn’t trickle down).

After non-champions were allowed in (in 1997-1998) there has been a single year – that 2003/2004 season – where the finalists didn’t come from the top 4 countries (PSG aside, which in my opinion doesn’t count). 20 years later we are still waiting for another dark horse to break the mold but we better sit, the current status quo has almost perfectly pruned the chance of a club outside of the top 4 countries to win it. And even if they manage to beat all the odds and win we’re sure it will happen the same that happened to Porto in 2004 in the aftermath of their win: the winning team dismantled. Lightning isn’t allowed to strike twice the same spot.

Is european football (as in a football open to all) dead for good? Is there interest to bring back some balance? Is there something we could do?

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Freshly back and awake after a twelve day stint for my first time there. I knew that I wanted to go in general, and while I didn't have a firm itinerary planned out, there was one main goal that I had in terms of sites within the country. The main video game that I play is Beatmania IIDX, and it has internal trophies which are represented as badges. Your profile allows you to assign up to five of them as visible when you start a new round, and there are badges to earn for playing at least one round in every prefecture in Japan, as well as every subregion. Getting the Kanto badge meant that I needed to play at least one round in Tokyo, Kanagawa, Saitama, Gunma, Tochigi, Ibaraki, and Chiba. After five days, I had that complete, and now I have a permanent record of this trip within the game itself. There was also a time-limited event to earn points in IIDX in order to exchange them for goods, such as a hat, or a towel, or a new account card and a poster, and I managed to get that taken care of in somewhat dramatic fashion. I did some other things too.
Primary general points
· Getting Suica set on the phone and using it was generally painless. There were only two times where I needed to summon the help of a resident JR employee to clear up an issue with the gate not reading the card for some reason.
· Most vocal interaction which I had was the opposite of painless, because I continuously kept trying to speak Japanese and failing, and most people would realize that I was completely failing at it and responded with English (some with full on sentences, others with just a few words). There were a few rare times that I was able to express my intent in Japanese, receive a response, understand the response, and reply as necessary, but that was rare. Once English was invoked, I would stay with it, because that's what they were expecting. I've been self-studying the language for more than twenty years in varying degrees of intensity, and while my reading comprehesion seemed sufficient enough for this trip, and while I didn't expect my speaking to be as good because I don't have any opportunity to practice speaking, I came away bitterly disappointed in my vocal and speaking comprehension in terms of my interaction with people there. Even within the trip I could at least overhear common chitchat better, but any time I needed to converse with someone for some reason, I usually needed to have things repeated several times and broken down before I finally realized what was being said.
· You are going to be asked about separately buying a bag with every non-food purchase. Accept or immediately present one that you are carrying to indicate how your purchase shall be bagged.
· I never once had my passport requested for presentation.
· Only once did a person volutnarily reach out to address me, and it was just to ask me where I was from in English. Otherwise, everyone left me alone the entire time.
· Weather through the period was ideal. Mid to upper 70F/25C range and only a few days where it was rainy, and even then it wasn't a downpour. A while ago I personally resolved to only wear suits in public and I purchased a new pair of Mephisto shoes after hearing reports of the extensive walking causing problems for traveller's feet and shoes. My attire help up well; there were only a few times that I needed to avoid sunlight to not get too hot, and I have no issues to report from the shoes.
· I only got X'd out of a restaurant one time, and I think it's only because I wandered into it before it was ready for service. Otherwise, I never once waited in line for food, I never once went to restaurant more than once, and all food was acceptably priced for the portion and excellent for the quality.
For these per-day recounts, I wrote them contemporaneously at the end of each day, so you'll need to forgive me for some writing being in present tense and other writing being in past tense.
Day 1 - Travel, Sugamo, Ikebukuro
Non stop flight from Chicago OHare to Haneda. 12 hours. Good thing I usually don't watch movies, because that just means that all I needed to do was binge a few to make the trip go by.
Pre-trip research led me to choose APA Sugamo as my home base for the visit, and I think that it was a very fortuitious choice. I'll have more to say about it later.
Some awkward encounters happened right away upon checking in here. I was at the nearby Family Mart to buy some things and I didn’t catch that he was making sure I wanted a bag until he repeated it five times. Yes, I’ll take it. Before getting there I was coming down to ground level after checking into my room, and when that person saw that I would have been the only other person going down to the ground, they ducked right back out. I was warned on both of these kinds of things happening, so I guess it’s good to have that immediately out of the way. It would turn out that people deliberately avoiding me was rare throughout the trip.
Despite not sleeping on the trip, I had freshly arrived and had no sense of being tired, so once I had my stuff down, I went off to Ikebukuro right away. No picture or video truly conveys how crowded these areas can get. It can only be experienced in person to be understood.
I soon found Round One Ikebukruo and went right in. So dense and loud. It’s entirely alien to me to see no less than ten IIDX machines in operation and all of them in use. I dumped the money into random tickets, as I foresaw doing, but now I have to wonder if that was the right thing to do, or if it’s tied to that location. I guess I’ll find out.
The forecast is for rain so I need to be in a hurry to figure out where I’m going to go. There might be only one day left for me to get my time limited toys.
Day 2 - Kawasaki, Kanagawa - Utsunomiya, Tochigi - Oomiya, Saitama
My body decided that it only needed four hours of sleep this morning. Without doing more research, I somehow decided to assume that more of the Round One locations were close to 24 hours of operation much like Ikebukuro. Answer: no. I hopped on the train early and went to Shibuya first, but it was very quiet, so I decided to get some of the travels out of the way today and headed south to Kawasaki. I still needed to dawdle for a while until Silk Hat opened at 900AM, and when I finally was able to get inside, I was only able to verify that their store had several allotments of the campaign goods and all allotments were out. Played one round on a monitor that was surprisingly blurry, and I don’t know why that would be the case with a lightning model, but it was, so that was enough.
After doing all of that, I resolved to try to go to Chiba and Ibaraki afterwards. I figured that with Kanagawa and Tokyo likely all out, going to the outskirts would make more sense. However, there was an injury on one of the rails that threw everything off normal, and the train I found myself riding was bound for Utsunomiya instead. Seeing as how I was going to go there eventually, I rolled with it.
It doesn’t take too long to move away from Tokyo metropolitan area before you encounter more forest like areas and rice paddy fields. Halfway through the trip I noticed that two older women suddenly hopped off while the train was waiting to go to the next stop, and I followed them when I realized they found the express line. Utsunomiya has a substantial size to its area and buildings but it was very quiet on the streets there in midday. Walked a mile to Sega GIGO, found that they didn’t even have the goods tracker up. All out. Interesting buliding for it having several neon signs, all vintage and authentic at that. Getting to there from the south meant cutting through Saitama, so I knew I had enough time to make one last attempt there. Research shown two stores being near Oomiya station, so that’s where I ended up. Taito Station was immediately visible upon exit, and they have two IIDX machines specifically with 20 gram springs, which is closer to my home setup and that much lighter than standard 50 gram springs. The final hour drew near and I made one last visit to that city’s Round One. Unlike nearly every other place I went to so far, it only had one IIDX machine. However, and maybe because of that, their goods listing didn’t show everything as out. One painful language exchange later, I was able to discern that what I wanted was available. When you spend more than 3000 yen in a single credit, the game wants to verify if you really want to proceed. It does it again at 6000 and 9000. Yes, I really do. But, having made that money dump I was able to get my hands on the e-amuse card and poster with fifteen minutes left before the deadline. Mission complete. By this point in the day it was exceedingly difficult to even look at the screen so I was ready to come home, but not before getting some goods at the Oomiya Book Off and redeeming what I could for points at Round One Ikebukuro. By the end of the day the only thing that I could tolerate doing was to buy some chicken and nigiri from the nearby train station. Good enough. At that point in the day my body felt like it wants to rock back and forth after all the train riding done today. But, it ended up being worthwhile after all.
One nostalgic feeling I had the most strongly in the day was at the Utsunomiya location where the smell of it triggered past buried memories of yesteryear. I think I want to attribute it to the stronger second hand cigarette smell but I’m not sure - all the same I felt its presence strongly there. Also, I don’t see Oomiya (or really Saitama itself) mentioned as a fun place to go, but it might serve as an acceptable alternative to Ikebukuro, only not as massive in scale of human quantity. Depending on how the trip goes in total I may end up back there for IIDX playing, at least if I don’t find any other place that has 20G springs.
Day 3 - Akihabara
With the travels out of the way, it was time to keep things more regionalized and stick to one area, and there is shopping that needs to be done, so it was off to Akihabara and to see how much of other posted tales hold true. The answer is that it is a lot of it. Kotobukiya can stand to open sooner than noon. Super Potato is indeed priced for a market which wants to snap up anything cheap - I at least found Xi for under 500 and felt that it would have been a bit silly to buy only that, but it didn’t make spending 2000 on one single issue of Arcadia any better. I had no idea that Hey Arcade was right next to both of them; while it was assuredly nice to be there and see the row of Cave shooters among everything else, something got messed up with my registration of my new eamuse card with everything else, so that quickly added to my stress. Having to carry around a few hundred dollars worth of crap with every step didn’t help matters. At least I was able to help a person recover their lost phone by applying a bit of logic to the situation and deducing it to belong to the only person there who looked French, as it was on the Lock Screen. They were relieved, yes. Then, rain came, and it was more than I was anticipating, and I left the umbrella at the room, particularly since I knew I’d be shopping this day. It also turns out to have not mattered much, because I went to visit Bic Camera so that I could get myself a hair trimmer while here, and that turned into me finding a bunch of Kit Kats available, so that meant a second bag. The wind kicked out the rain and my umbrella. In trying to get as many gifts secured as possible, I found some gachapon, but it needed 100Y coins, and I didn’t need paper money in the trip yet. After fighting with maps, I found an ATM to get cash, and got the gachapon. I came home late with feeling rather crushed about the day in that I couldn’t take pictures very well with having to juggle weather and bagging considerations. There were some nice parts of the experience to be sure but between that and more gawking at Super Potato pricing ($135 for PS3 Caladrius? $6000 for Pulstar?) and seeing similar markups on other goods, I don’t think it’s unfair to say that there is a reputation that this area carries and the pricing is there to go with it.
Day 4 - Laundry Day. Shibuya, Harajuku, Shinjuku
I was so drained at the end of Day 3 that I fell asleep on the bed immediately after ending the night call, which meant that I woke up at 0200AM to a room that was fully lit. This meant that I needed to look up how to resolve my eamuse problem or else I wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. I did both. Awake at 0800AM meant that I had time to do laundry while I figured out what to do with the rest of the day. This meant that I was able to get more of Sugamo in pictures, and it was nice to be able to walk among the actual residences, and do other things like come across a school as it was actually in session. With them being close by and all in succession, I figured to get Shibuya, Harajuku, and Shinjuku visited. It turns out to have been a good day for it, as the temperature was perfectly cool and no rain came, and the sun came out only for a little bit. Shibuya somehow doesn’t seem quite as large in scope in person but the crowds were definitely there, and it is much more hilly than I anticipated as well. After wandering around and not seeing any arcade for a bit, I came across a series of coffee and cookie shops and remained strong to not indulge. It was there while looking at a Disney store (which gets tourists to take pictures of it for some reason) that the song Alone Again came on through the nearby public speakers. What timing. It drove me to finally get a treat for myself, and the frozen latte (black sesame and houji) and croissant (dark chocolate filing) were certainly good, it ended up costing more than the dinner I’d have later this day. I found a seclusion with a garbage can to eat the food and not carry the trash around, then an arcade soon after, and it was time to determine if I could fix the problem. Just like an easy click, it was. New to trash. Old to new. Done. Why did it have to be this way. Harajuku came next, and the environment there was distinct. This one in particular felt like it was an extended carnival atmosphere with the single tight knit market street and emphasis on fashion. A conversation with a freelance artist in the subway actually went well enough that I didn’t feel dumb. The same sensation carried to Shinjuku as well, only it was more spread out. Kabuki street was interesting to see in person, and I didn’t get any unseemly vibes from the place. Maybe it’s different later at night. A return home at a reasonable time allowed me to go down Sugamo’s market street a bit; most of it was closed, but it was interesting to come across the few remaining stores that were open by 0800PM, and more so the one that wasn’t. Coming back to the hotel I found a 24 hour ramen shop with nobody inside. The chef didn’t want to speak and only pointed to the ordering kiosk when I addressed her. The food came through a slot in the obscured window. At least her thank you as I left was a bit more warm, and the food was certainly delicious. To match with the matcha dessert that I bought from Sugamo station, I swung by a 7Eleven to get a drink, and found a milk tea for cheaper than a vending machine. The overhead music in the store was an instrumental version of Alone Again.
Day 5. Ibaraki - Mount Tsukuba, Miraidaira. Kashiwa, Chiba. Akihabara 2.
Awake at 0500AM on my own and knowing the current forecast meant that my envisioned plan for the day was quickly realized. Reaching the Tsukuba Express starting point from Akihabara needs you to get very far down into the ground before getting out into sunlight. I was on the ride early enough to see schoolchildren going about their commute, some of them being no older than ten and going about it unaccompanied. The people of Tsukuba seemed to be particularly helpful and cheerful that day, even despite my Suica issues at the gate. I didn’t ask his name at the counter but the man at the service desk was eager to speak with me about my career and what I was doing there. One asked where I was from on the way up to the summit and another caught my cable car ticket on the way down. There had to have been a few of them who saw my doing this climb in my business attire and thinking me to be a complete idiot if not outright mocking them for doing it that way while they employed the use of dual walking sticks and the like. I know I read some reports of the home stretch being difficult, but it did get pretty close to being an actual rock climb instead of a trail hike for that part of it. A quick stop to Miraidaira on the way back to get the Ibaraki play. The way the town center greets you upon leaving the rail gate struck me as incredible, as well as for how quiet it was. It was like walking onto a movie set. I did find the sweet shop after the play, and that was another painful interaction yet again. Oh well. Two quick stops down Tsukuba Express and one across from Tobu Urban Park line was enough to have a toe in Chiba, and I didn’t even need to leave the physical building of the train station to get to the basement level to find a machine for a play. Thank you, Kashiwa, you were great. Gunma is all that’s left. The descent from Tsukuba did take some earnest exertion, and after doing that the two stops, that put me back in Akihabara about when I anticipated; what I failed to anticipate is how much that place seems to drain on me. I think I just need to eat at an actual dinner time. Once I got back to Sugamo and had food it was a bit better, but while in Akihabara and being around that environment, and not finding things on a shopping list, I found myself just standing still and watching life pass me by. I hemmed and hawed a while for a maid girl’s hour of service for chitchat, but eventually I talked myself out of it because I just didn’t want potential trouble, just like her name. Komaru. I thought about doing this once just to say that I did, but I ultimately decided against it. You cannot go to this place with the expectation that you will find anything unless it is advertised and new. If you are looking for anything used, don’t count on it being there. You also cannot go there without having a strong resolve to not engage with the touts, because it becomes disheartening to see them do their job and blankly stare at the world when they're forced to stand out there and do nothing. Back to Sugamo to find a place that advertised Wagyu but the price they wanted was more than I wanted to spend. The ramen and seaweed & rice servings were fine, but they advertised endless drink and I didn’t receive that. All for $20? No, son. I did better than that elsewhere, I’ll know better now. Long day.
Day 6 - Tokyo Flea Market, Nakano Broadway, Ueno.
The weather couldn’t have been better for this weekend. I’ve read reports that the flea market held near the horse race track will be arbitrarily cancelled regardless of what is reported on the website, but my gut instinct told me that it would occur today, and it did. Turns out that a flea market is a flea market which is a flea market, no matter where it happens. Same allotment of clothes and stuff that few people really want to buy, although I was able to find myself some neckties at least. I probably overpaid based on what I saw later in the route, but that’s fine. They look nice. I settled on some shot glasses for a gift as well, but I’m surprised that I can’t ind something ornate that isn’t part of a sake set. Seated in the shade with a chocolate churro while rap music played in the background - it’s like I never left home. A woman came to sit across from me for the sake of sitting down; she was from Holland and today’s her last day in the country. Her husband came with food eventually. She had three weeks here and went to several places (allegedly, she didn’t list them out) and I asked her about Nakano Broadway. She didn’t make it there. It’s a good thing that I did - this is probably the kind of environment and market that people expect of Akihabara now, and maybe that’s how Aki was years ago, but it’s different from this. What’s more interesting is that Mandarake has a larger presence here than in Akihabara (so it seems to me), and their stores had floor after floor of any and every kind of pop culture product that’s been made in the past sixty years at least. Buttress that with extensive watch and jewelry stores and a slender arcade in the basement, and it’s a very well centralized microcosm of the country’s economy on the whole. I actually made a point to have dinner earlier than usual this time and found a place to serve some deep fried pork cuts served with rice and soup on the side. It was enough, and very well made. The day had not ended and my bag was heavy with several books purchased there, so I reported back to base briefly and decided to try visiting somewhere else, and settled on Ueno. Just as I arrived, a festival was underway where local teams of people made an elaborate show of carrying a home made shrine to a temple. Streets were officially blocked by police to allow the procession. In following the line I came up against makeshift food and amusement stands with the traditional toy gun shooting and goldfish catching. It appears that this is an official “start of summer” festival and I was able to watch it all happen in front of me. That was the good part of the day.
Day 7 - Tachikawa / Kunitachi. Shinjuku 2.
One of the games that I've never played is Beatmania III The Final. I've played some BM3 7th Mix years ago, but not The Final. I found a location that has one - World Game Circus in Tachikawa. In looking around that area before the trip, I saw that there was a nearby shinkansen museum, and not much else, so I figured that going to both places would make that walk worthwhile. Turns out that it wasn’t a museum in the proper sense of a dedicated building. Rather, it was a bullet train engine car on the side of a building that was unrelated, and that was it. A cute interaction happened here - when I approached the car, I heard some children running around inside, so I approached cautiously without knowing if I was encroaching upon someone else's alloted time or something. Once the children saw me, they gave a hearty irrashaimase as I entered, and the boy stamped a paper and presented it to me. Perfect. Despite it not being a typical musem, the card did have some interesting content, and it's good to see some kind of commemoration for their achievements and progression in that industry regardless. They have a lot to be proud about there. Off to WGC. Maps wasn’t lying about the walk taking twenty minutes. It's a good thing that I looked it up on streetview beforehand, because I otherwise would have walked right past it without knowing it was there. Then there it was, and there I confronted a past that I couldn’t visit again. Sure, I got to play BM3 The Final at last, but my timing was off, my hands were off, there wasn’t much I could do. Along with that I can say that I’ve played on a Beatmania II cabinet, and that was better than 5th Style at least. But that was it, that was all I could stand to do. It was right there and I couldn’t bear to put up with it more than a few rounds at best. Dream big, because only disappointment follows if your smaller dreams ever are fulfilled. I don’t know why finding IKEA back in Shinjuku was so difficult, but it took a while. I bought a bag, and then I bought a bag because the other bag was at the end of the register, which makes sense. I did feed myself before getting back to the Taito station to play some songs, but it still wasn’t good enough. All thumbs. Ended the day with laundry since the timing worked. Speaking of making dreams big, it’s time to cross another one off the list tomorrow. I can’t wait.
Day 8 - Takasaki, Gunma. Oomiya, Saitama 2.
It’s a good thing that I only needed to get to Ikebukuro to transfer over to the next stop, because that’s where that particular run ended for some reason. I wonder what was up. Speaking of things getting messed up on trains, I managed to find my way on a train that needed a separate ticket, which I didn't have. The conductor found me right away and had me disembark at Uraja for me to wait for the proper transfer. The weather forecast said there’d be rain, and the travel forecast said it would take two hours to get there, and neither lied. I feel like I had more people staring at me in Gunma than other places. I will say that I found the Takasaki station area to be rather charming, with the stores that it had inside and the emphasis on the music culture there. It’s one thing to offer a piano to the public to play, but it’s another to have a public willing to use it. This location had both. Having what was essentially a Bic Camera built into the facility was a nice touch too. The Leisure Land arcade was sandwiched between other floors that had its own offering of gaming stuff, so that was an unexpected bit of a fun thing to look through. The area was clean and sparsely populated, and it wasn’t picked clean of all matter of things that would normally get snapped up, so that was interesting. Finally, I made it over to the machine. They had separate fans for each location. I got the songs and then the medals came, and that’s that. Kantou Seiou. I would have stayed a bit longer but I wanted to have the medals show up right away, and my internet wasn’t cooperating, so that’s all I could do. I think there was an Internet cafe that I could have used in the facility, but I didn’t want to deal with an awkward conversation. I did get some Lawson on the way out, as well as some trinkets from the local Gunma-chan store as well as some mini croissants and some macademia cookie things. More vocal awkwardness. Omiya was one of the stops on the way back, and I found a place to serve omrice, so that’s another one off the list. No shoes allowed inside. The value wasn’t there but the service was good enough, as was the flavor. The machines with the 20G springs are indeed legit. Back home in time for some McDonalds, and that’s another food-checklist item marked off. Takoyaki mayo dipping sauce - somehow it’s both salty and sweet. While returning to the hotel, I did happen to encounter an argument amongst two teenaged locals where the guy ended up half-heartedly kicking the girl and getting her to cry. I wonder what their argument was about. I didn’t play hero, but someone else did so enough to prevent an escalation and called the police over.
Day 9 - Sugamo, Tokyo Sky Tree, Akihabara 3, Kanda
Up early enough to decide that I should at least visit the Sky Tree while I'm there just to say that I did, and that I should visit the Sugamo street market upon its open since it was right there in front of me. I'm glad to have done so. With everything open, this felt more like what one would think to expect from a flea market environment that's operated and supported by the local populace. Small stores were open both sides of the street that go on for many blocks, and some tents and tables were set up to sell second hand goods as well. I was able to find someone selling a US Morgan dollar and he wanted only 2000Y for it, so that was an easy buy. If I would have known better to anticipate this area, I wouldn't have felt compelled to buy kitchy tourist crap that is expected as gifts elsewhere. If you are looking for a place to idly shop around that doesn't get extremely crowded and has an authentic local feel to it, consider making a point to come here. Off to Sky Tree. Getting the combo ticket for the second deck was worth it just for the lack of crowds on the upper area. If you're going to come here, consider getting a phone selfie stick or something of the kind so that you can take pictures against the windows without the structure scaffolding obstructing your view. On the subject of shopping again, this might be another area to consider visiting just for the sake of the specialty stores to be found here, such as those for chopsticks or hairpins. To close out the day, my wife reminded me to look for something from the Square Enix cafe, so that meant swinging by Akihabara yet again. Since it is within a walkway, it was a bit of a pain to find this place even with using maps, but I eventually found it and got what she wanted to find. Played some IIDX at Game Panic, which was surprisingly small and the one machine that was avaialble to play had some 2P turntable issues, so that didn't last all that long. Dinner was at a nearby place that specalized in tofu, so that was a good ramen serving with that infused. For the evening, I wandered south to Kanda to get night pictures, and found it to feel pretty similar to Ueno.
Day 10 - Ginza, Tokyo, Kanda & Akihabara 4
Launrdry in the morning. I also wanted to say that I went to Ginza in my time here, and I didn't research anywhere to go to keep it a surprise. It was a bit warmer and sunnier than usual that day, and I stuck to the main road for most of the walk, so I can't say that I found too many points of the interest along the path that I walked starting from Yurakucho station and heading out that way. High class store for high class people, and that's too rich for my peasant blood. Similarly for Tokyo proper itself, I suppose I'd have to needed to wander far away from the Yamanote vicinity to find points of interest there, as I didn't encounter anything that was remarkably distinctive here in comparison to other areas that I have previously seen. Continuing north across Nihonbashi brought me to Kanda and eventually to Akihabara yet again, as if it was a magnet that pulled me inside every time. For the sake of trying a different place I chose to play some IIDX at the Leisure Land arcade there, and I'm glad to have done that, as those machines were probably in the best coniditon that I encountered within that area. Dinner was at Tenkaippin, which I didn't realize until after I placed the order was cash only. The clerk didn't request it beforehand but I voluntarily left my passport there to show that I would return, and promptly went to the same ATM that I had found days prior in order to get the cash to pay for the bill.
Day 11 - Haneda T3, Nishi Nippori, Nippori, Uguisuidani, Otsuka, Shibuya, Shinjuku, Ikebukruo, home.
The end. I resolved to take the subway over to Haneda today to get the one luggage over there and stored, and it’s a good thing that I did - there’s no easy solution for getting over there without encountering a crowd. If anything I wonder if Yamanote is actually better. Regardless, I got that much done. With the day left to go, I ventured to Nishi Nippori and I needed to summon the map several times to make sure I found the location, as it was as obscure as it could get. Just a sign on the ground for the third floor, a stairway that led to the back, an elevator that had no decoration, a single room that housed everything. Arcade PCB kits on shelves, joystick panels in exposed boxes, nicotine odor from years past - it was like I was transported to 1995 upon entry, beyond the fact that the games weren’t as old. Most of them, they did have a lot going for SF3 3rd yet. I was able to take care of some game business in a hurry since I was the only one there. It was a very pleasant respite for play in comparison to most of the other sessions. The region itself felt much the same as this arcade - old and well worn, as in well lived. Venturing south to Nippori led me to stumble upon a shrine and cemetery just by following some stairs. Usuigudani was cleaner but mostly had hotels as points of interest. Back home to buy some mochi while mochi was for sale in midday. Then to Otsuka, thinking that I would wander to Ikebukuro, but I ended up wandering back to Sugamo instead. Whoops. Meal at Sugamo, then back out to return to Shibuya and Shinjuku at night to catch evening shots, when I hadn’t done so before at these places. Good thing I did that to get Golden Gai area shots at night. With the night winding down, I decided to have one last IIDX play at Round 1 in Ikebukuro to symbolically end where I started.
Ending arcade comments
· Although the upkeep is generally better and more consistent than the US, some machines will have hardware issues here too. I was surprised by the blurriness with some of the LM IIDX machines.
· Densha De Go on the propert large cabinet is nice but quickly becomes very expensive.
· Bombergirl is OK enough and having the dedicated detonator button that pops up for hitting the base is a cute touch.
· Chase Chase Jokers feels rather clunky and I'm not sure what the game is trying to do. Interesting side screen concept at least.
· Nostalgia is delightful and would probably find a small fanbase worldwide if it had more exposure.
· Favorite IIDX locations are Taito Station in Oomiya for the light keys and Leisure Land Akihabara for the high quality of the LMs there. Honorable mention goes to the Game Versus loctation in Nishi Nihonbashi, but that might not be worth it for a dedicated trip unless you go there first thing in the morning.
Ending overall comments
This was a life altering trip for me, as would be expected. While I'm glad to have made the journey, as to be expected, I will only want to return after making an extensive redoubled effort into speaking and hearing comprehension, because I know that I came across like a blubbering idiot so many times, and it's truly aggravating because I generally know what I want to say and most of the words that are used to say it, but it just doesn't come out of my mouth properly when it needs to be done.
I welcome any questions you may have, as that will help for me to recall the memories and have me write them down.

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

Disclaimer: I do not speak Korean. This is purely translated by machine with a lot of cleanup afterward. With that in mind, I am open to criticism to improve these translations. Enjoy!
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Chapter 415
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The battle commenced with alarming rapidity.
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As a thick fog cascaded across the wilderness like a tidal wave, tens of thousands of monsters amassed before him. Hovering above the ground, the dark-skinned Grand Mage, Magic Johnson, declared the start of the conflict with a single, potent command:
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「Fire Cannon.」
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Swoosh.
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Mana surged around him, conjuring five flames from the ether. They swelled, taking on the form and fury of cannonballs, before hurtling forward.
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Whoosh, Boom!
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The black tide of monsters was cleaved in two. The searing heat charred flesh and bone, liquefying the very earth beneath them.
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This devastating spell incinerated a thousand creatures in an instant.
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Yet the relentless tide of monsters pressed on, undeterred, as did Magic Johnson.
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「Water Blaster.」
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The air, once dry as sand from the Fire Cannon, now held a damp moisture.
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Spreading his arms, Magic Johnson summoned a colossal wave that towered behind him.
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It was a defiance of the laws of nature.
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It was pure magic, a display of unparalleled might from the preeminent War Mage among his peers.
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「Cover them.」
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Gone was the jovial, smiling visage of Magic Johnson. In its place was a look of deep, intense determination.
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With a sweeping gesture, he cast a vast, dark shadow over the advancing monsters.
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Crash!
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Powered by mana, the wave crashed down, its immense pressure exploding the bodies of the monsters.
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As the flames dwindled and the ground soaked, Magic Johnson was already prepared for his next maneuver.
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「Strike down. Lightning Rain.」
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In an instant, dark clouds swarmed above the monsters, unleashing a barrage of lightning bolts.
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Crack! Fizz!
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- Roar!
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- Aaaargh!
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Lightning ravaged the sky and earth alike.
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Blackened gargoyles and griffins toppled from the sky, while the wet earth conducted electricity.
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Living monsters cringed and keeled over, screaming in agony, as the undead disintegrated into ash.
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Amidst this awe-inspiring chaos, a groan of disbelief was heard.
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「This is the power of a Grand Mage...」
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The impact of merely three spells was staggering.
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Countless monsters lay dead or incapacitated, a significant portion of their legion shattered.
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Yet, even the Grand Mage, the sole architect of this devastation, could not escape the overwhelming exhaustion that followed.
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「Fuck. If I'd known this would happen, I would've saved a few more spells.」
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Magic is a complex art, and for Magic Johnson, a master of wide-area spells, the toll is as profound on his mind and mana as the devastation he wreaks.
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Considering the mana he had already expended at the front lines before this, he had reached his limit.
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「Mrs. Chen. I guess I'm getting old too.」
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「Step back. We old folks need to stick together and help each other out. And...」
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Fei Chen, discarding her whiskey bottle, quickly snatched the bow at her side.
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An arrow made of mana materialized on the empty bowstring.
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「It's Ms. Chen, not Mrs. Who decided I was married?」
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With a huff, Fei Chen released the string. The arrow, blazing with light, tore through the air and the dense fog with a sharp twang. Then:
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Boom!
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A colossal explosion ensued.
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Fei Chen observed as a Death Knight, hidden among the throng, was annihilated without a chance to utter its final cries. She drew her bowstring once more.
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Twang, twang, twang!
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Arrows transformed into beams of light streaking across the wilderness, each one obliterating scores of monsters.
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If Magic Johnson ranks among the top three Grand Mages and is the foremost War Mage globally, then Fei Chen is the unrivaled archer of her time.
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But...
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- Roar!
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- Screech!
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The legion, numbering in the tens of thousands, surged forward, undeterred.
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For every ten monsters felled, another ten emerged. For every hundred slain, another hundred rose.
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These beasts, veiled in thick fog, were more formidable and ferocious than ordinary monsters. Now, only a direct confrontation remained.
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As the monstrous legion advanced, both veterans stepped forward to meet them.
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"Ares Guild. Formation B. Break through them."
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Click-clack!
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Under the composed direction of Lee Jeong-Ryong, the elite guild members, who had remained unscathed thus far, moved in unison.
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Jin Tae-Kyung, having observed them from a distance, turned to the suicide squad he had assembled from the western front.
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"Everyone, Formation J."
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「Yes!」
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「Formation J! Assume the formation!」
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With resolute voices echoing in unison, the suicide squad sprang into action.
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Behind Jin Tae-Kyung, Wu Hei-Xing, who had been rallying a small contingent of Red Guard Gang Hunters, grabbed a member of the suicide squad and asked,
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「Hey, kid. What exactly is Formation J?」
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Recognizing Wu Hei-Xing, Shao Shen frowned and replied,
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「It's a combat formation decided by my Hyung.」
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「So, what does it mean?」
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「Jonna. He said it means to fight with everything we have.」 [Note: "Jonna" is a Korean slang for "fuck it".]
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「…!」
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Momentarily speechless, Wu Hei-Xing watched as Lee Jeong-Ryong and Jin Tae-Kyung charged forward.
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Prince Felix and an army of ten thousand Hunters were not far behind.
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「Aaaaaaah!」
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- Roaaar!
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Humans clashed with monsters.
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Monsters clashed with humans.
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The battlefield erupted into a cacophony of roars and murderous intent, as both sides hurtled across the wilderness, weapons and claws in deadly encounter.
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Squeal, crack!
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The brutal battle had commenced.
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​
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* * *
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​
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I leaned back, tensing my shoulders. With a swift motion, I hurled my arms forward, channeling all my strength.
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Swoosh, flub-flub-flub!
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White Flames shot from my hand, carving a path through dozens of monsters.
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Seizing the fleeting opening, I plunged into the melee, my limbs a blur as I struck at any foe within reach.
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Smack!
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My fist connected with the skull of an onrushing Lycanthrope, smashing it like a grape.
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Before the beast’s cranial fluid could splatter the earth, I was already airborne.
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Click, whoosh!
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I landed, locking eyes with a towering undead troll, its dim gaze meeting mine at four meters high.
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Before the undead troll could wield its club, my palm slammed into its chest with crushing force.
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Thump!
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Intense heat burst forth, sending smoke billowing from the creature’s seven facial orifices. Struck by this lethal blow, the troll was obliterated instantly, its regenerative abilities rendered useless.
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- Wicked human, behind you!
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I know, I know. Who asked you anyway?
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I muttered under my breath, whirling around just in time. A lance, dark with malevolent magic, whistled perilously close to my neck before soaring off into the distance.
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The lance had been aimed to catch me mid-leap — a clever attempt, but they had underestimated me.
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"Damn it. Why are there so many Death Knights? This isn't a chicken restaurant." [Note: I'm not sure what this is referencing. The best guess I can offer is that he's commenting on how crowded the battlefield was, similar to how crowded a chicken restaurant can get in Korea.]
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Dodging the lance, I landed smoothly and immediately found myself facing a Death Knight barreling toward me on a skeletal steed.
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- This is the end!
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Whoosh!
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The Knight shouted as he swung his sword, which glowed with a dark magic. Though his power didn't match an S-rank Hunter, it was certainly comparable to a top A-rank.
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Maybe...
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'This Death Knight was once a Hunter too.'
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That thought crossed my mind as the specter of Lei Fei flashed before me, instilling a sudden pang of bitterness. Meanwhile, the Skeleton Warlord issued a shrill cry.
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- Avoid it, human!
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Pfft!
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As if dissolved by an unseen force, the magic on the sword faded into nothing.
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The Death Knight, looking dully at the mystical spear blade protruding through its chest, gasped feebly.
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- How...
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"This is the end."
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Echoing the Knight’s earlier proclamation, I drove my spear downward.
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"Whoever you were, you fought hard."
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Screech, thud!
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The skeletal horse and its rider split apart, vanishing into the ether. As before, I conjured White Flames to carve through the encroaching monsters, then asked aloud.
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"Why aren't you begging for food now?"
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- Ahem. What do you take this commander for?
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Sizzle!
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"Lazy bum. You say you don't want to fight but you drool over situations like this."
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- What!
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"Why, aren't I exactly right?"
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- You agreed, you cunning human, that I wouldn't participate in the battle! And when was it that you said we mustn't let other humans find out that I exist?
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"Excuses. So, do you want to eat this magic or not?"
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- ...
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Crack!
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"Hey. Can't you hear?"
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- Hmm. I don't really want to eat.
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"...What?"
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Swoosh!
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Caught off guard, I narrowly dodged an incoming attack.
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After dispatching about ten monsters with a sweeping strike of my spear, I posed a serious question,
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"Why's that? Do you want to wither away to nothing?"
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- Umm... I don't know. I just have a feeling.
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"A feeling?"
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- Yes. I'm undead, but sometimes even undead get moody. Just let me be.
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"...Since when do the undead get moody?"
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Normally, this one would have pounced like a starving dog. Why the sudden change?
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'Do undead go through puberty?'
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As much as the Skeleton Warlord is an odd monster, this was nonsensical.
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I stopped pondering over it and resumed slicing through monsters when suddenly,
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Kaboom!
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An area about ten meters in diameter was engulfed by an aura, or rather, Sword Qi.
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In an instant, the frontline was cleared, and a figure gently descended.
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"There are too many monsters. It's impossible for the entire suicide squad to break out."
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I understood exactly what Lee Jeong-Ryong meant.
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"You mean, we should go with a select few elites?"
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"That's right. Get ready."
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As Lee Jeong-Ryong spoke, I ducked as a crescent of Sword Qi whistled past, slicing through several large monsters as if they were mere cheesecake.
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What if that Sword Qi had been aimed at me? If Lee Jeong-Ryong and I were to face off...
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"You, me, and Wu Hei-Xing. The three of us should be enough."
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Licking my parched lips, I responded,
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"That's quite strange."
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"What is?"
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"You never know until you fight. We won't know how strong the Arch Lich is until we face it."
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"There are three of us who are S-rank Hunters. No matter how strong the Arch Lich might be, it's no match for us."
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Us...
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It's a comforting word, yet why does it leave such a sour taste?
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Perhaps it's due to the individuals included in this 'us.'
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Nevertheless, I had committed to the suicide squad tactic since I had proposed it. From that perspective, Lee Jeong-Ryong's proposal was optimal.
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"Let's do that. Where is Wu Hei-Xing?"
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Crack!
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No sooner had I spoken than Wu Hei-Xing burst through the horde, slashing his way through.
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In stark contrast to the pristine Lee Jeong-Ryong, Wu Hei-Xing appeared battered, yet his eyes sparkled with unabated vigor.
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"Luckily, you arrived in time."
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「Hmph. As if monsters like these could stop me.」
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Hadn’t he nearly succumbed to these very 'monsters like these' just an hour ago?
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I was internally chiding Wu Hei-Xing's unimproved mental state when it occurred.
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"Mr. Jin Tae-Kyung!"
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The call came from Mr. Choi, sounding across the battlefield.
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Between the swarms of monsters, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Mr. Choi’s face before it vanished.
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Then, something gleaming arced through the air and embedded itself in the earth near me.
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'This is...'
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It was unmistakable — the [Hero's Soul]. From his obscured position, Mr. Choi called out,
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"I won’t join you, but take this sword. And... be careful!"
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His words were heavy with implication. Without a word, I grasped the [Hero's Soul].
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Beyond the throng of monsters, the darkened cityscape loomed.
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"Let's go."
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Lee Jeong-Ryong offered a gentle smile.
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Previous Table of Contents

DO NOT COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS. I am NOT OP. Original post by u/OddDot5178 in AITAH
trigger warnings: possible transphobia, possible mental health issues, manipulation
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NOTE: Because everyone will wonder, I am addressing this right now. While OOP's child identifies as non-binary, she uses "she/her" pronouns and presents as a female. This is why OOP refers to her as her daughter.

AITAH For Not Wanting To Raise My NB Daughter's Baby? - Feb 7, 2024
My daughter came to me at 16 and said she was non-binary, but only sometimes. Like, some days she would feel more male than female and some days she would feel like neither. She wanted me to ask her every day what day it was and then refer to her as that pronoun of the day.
I told her that wasn’t going to fly. Growing up, I spent a lot of time on LJ (Livejournal) during the ol’ ‘bun-self’ and ‘zen-self’ ‘zir-self’ days. People who think this is new to this generation are fooling themselves. I told her that I would call her the pronoun she wanted, and do my best to remember it day to day, but she was going to have to tell me what she wanted for that day. I wasn’t going to play a daily guessing game.
This went on for about a week or two until she finally seemed to grow tired or bored and just said I could call her ‘her’. Though she still identifies as non-binary. Fine. (At least when it was going on she wanted ‘she, he, or they’ — I’m sorry but I couldn’t have done fox-self/fox-them with a straight face).
So that’s the pronoun story and looking back where I think things started to go off the handle. Here’s my real question.
My daughter is now 18, pregnant, and seems to have lost her god damned mind. Or I’m an asshole. You choose.
This year has been a struggle. She wanted to take a break year before she goes to community college, but can’t keep a job. Apparently, retail situations are too phobic against her non-binary state. (My child looks/acts/dresses exactly as a young adult female btw. When I ask how people are being phobic against her, she gets as prickly as a cactus so I really don’t know the details.). She’s been through 4 or 5 jobs this year, quit all of them. She won’t consider call centers that aren’t face to face because she doesn’t like to talk on phones, and is apparently looking for a remote job without any luck.
She’s been unemployed since Thanksgiving (she quit her last job on Black Friday, in fact) and I was on the verge of laying down the law, telling her she either needs to go to school this upcoming semester full time or get a full time job or move out with her friends.
But now she’s come to me and she’s 5 months pregnant. She’s very angry at me, says it’s my fault because:

• I didn’t put her on puberty-blocking hormones when she came to me 2 years ago.
• She believes I am in fact trying to ‘feminize her’ by getting her birth control. (The pill.). She’s been throwing her prescription away.

This is where I might be the asshole. I called her a little idiot. We don’t use that sort of language in my house, and I never call people names — especially my own child — but at that moment I could just see red.
The hormone thing is a non-issue IMO because this is the first time I ever heard of her wanting hormones. What was I supposed to do? Go back in time?
As for the birth control! It’s also the first time I’m hearing anything about this! There are non-pill options that don’t have estrogen. If that was her want, all she had to do was ask and I would have driven her to the doctor myself! Or she could have taken the car she has and done it. She has her own medical card, even! Though to be fair, I don’t know how she would have managed the co-pay without a job. I know for a fact her old high school gave out free condoms like candy because her friends were always giggling over flavored sample packs and even blew a few of them up like balloons and left them around the house one time. She had all the birth control she could ever want and used none of it.
It gets worse.
We’re way past the date of abortion (again, I would have helped her if this had been her wish! We live in an abortion protected state and can afford it!). She’s known she was pregnant since about 2 months and has come to think of her baby like a sibling. She expects me to raise it like it was mine. That this is my duty, in fact, because she says it is my refusal to accept her non-binary state that led to her being pregnant. So she was going to get a brother or sister and I was going to have another child.
You can say my language grew … sterner to versions of ‘Get your head out of your ass’ and ‘Congratulations, mommy, you have some hard decisions to make’, and I said I would absolutely not raise her baby for her.
She also refused to say who the father was. Now that I’ve cooled down, I’m really hoping she has a secret boyfriend. She does have some friends who were born male, but now also don’t identify that way. We didn’t even get there as I lost my mind when she said she thinks of her own baby as a sibling and wants me to raise it like my own child.
She’s locked herself in her room loudly wailing, I feel like crap warmed over. She’s been in there for 12 hours, and as she has an attached bathroom, probably won’t be coming out until she gets hungry. Considering it’s been half a day I think she has snacks stored.
I also don’t know where to go from here. Being pregnant sucks and messes with your head, so I’d like to blame that and the fear she must be feeling, but … I have the bad feeling I either raised a spoiled brat or someone with an emerging personality disorder.
So I need to know from people who aren’t emotionally involved, and maybe some people who are more in tune with this whole nonbinary thing than I am.
What do I do to help while also making her responsible for her own child? How can I help my daughter accept she must do basically the most feminine thing you can do (give birth and possibly breast-feed) while being sensitive that she’s non-binary? Am I just a big asshole here?
Typing all this out it feels like my daughter is lost in crazy town. I'm still not raising her baby but at what point do I drag a legal adult to the hospital?
Edit: You might disagree with my choices or wording, but I'm reporting people who call this bait. It's not.
Edit2: It's the middle of the night and she has decided to pack some of her clothes and stay with one of her friends. (One who I suspect is the baby daddy). Before she left she told me that she already called the police and let them know that she was 'leaving of her own free will and was not in danger'. Like I was going to report an 18 year old adult as a runaway or something? It was insulting.
I told her she needs to work out details if she wants to adopt with the father, and she was welcome back home when she had a plan in place.
It was short because I heard her on the way out. I think she just meant to leave without saying anything.
Thank you for your kind comments and advice, Reddit. I'm going to sleep.
Commenters agreed that OOP's child wasn't thinking straight:
Comment 1:
NTA.
I hate to say this, but; I sincerely hope OP's daughter chooses to give up this baby for adoption, because she's a confused hot ass mess. I don't blame OP for not wanting to step on the crazy train and raise this baby.
Comment 2:
Let’s be honest: If OP says yes to raising this child as her own, it will be the first of several. Daughter won’t take BC, so she will continue to have unprotected sex and get pregnant. She decided a couple years ago that she’s NB, expected her mother to understand that and know everything about it, and is now rewriting history to blame her mom for her now being pregnant. My head is swimming, and she’s not my daughter! There will be more babies.
Comment 3:
NB here OP.
You are SO NTA. I feel sympathy for your kid because they sound like they are so confused, maybe have body dysphoria and are now facing a life altering situation with no way out. They must feel so trapped. So they turn on you. It's easier for them to yell at and blame you instead of accepting responsibility. They are looking for a way out. We all keep changing and growing and your kid is SO young they seem to not know who they are yet and now they have to face looking after a baby when they know deep down they can't even really take care of themselves.
But my GOD the thing they did that was really stupid was chucking BC away. That is actually wild. Your kid needs to learn the difference between gender enforced stereotypes and actual biology. With biology it unfortunately doesn't matter what gender you are, the biology doesn't care, it still works the same. They NEED to learn that and differentiate.
Like I said, NTA OP. What a shit situation. I hope it gets better. I really do.
Comment 4:
NTA, your child is in fact a little idiot, with behavior that would be an absolute nightmare had you not been their parent. Also birth control isn’t a form of feminization, it’s a form of responsibility when you’re born in a body with a uterus and want to have sex that can result in pregnancy.
OOP's response:
Ugh, I wish I had those words when she hit me with that one. I sort of sputtered for a few minutes.
Comment 5:
Oh man, this is a can of worms within itself.
I wish I had better advice but just...I feel for you and the position you are stuck in.
The ONLY thing I can think of is, referring to breast feeding as "chest feeding" might make your NB daughter accept it more.
But like...there's a whole other level of things you need to get through first.
First and foremost, therapy, ASAP for your kid. Because she needs to get her head sorted out. Assuming you will just take this kid and raise it for her is...problematic to say the least. And she's got a deadline coming obviously, so therapy ASAP.
Also appointment for pregnancy checkups asap!! Has she had any? An unmonitored pregnancy can lead to complications
You might also be able to get her a social worker to go through pregnancy checkups, birthing extra.
Your kid needs a big sit down conversation about accountability for your own actions. And about how she might feel like part of YOUR actions lead to this, there was also many many choices she could have made to prevent this, that she chose not too. And at the end of the day, it was HER choices that led to this, not you.
OOP's response:
Thanks for this tip. I've written it down. The reason I mentioned she was NB because using 'breast' instead of 'chest' is the exact type of thing to send her into a pissy-fit when she's in the wrong mood. I know this may sound like a little thing, but she's always been... well, dramatic.
Because it's the internet and things are anonymous I'll admit that I am absolutely dreading pregnancy and afterbirth mood swings. Especially since it will all involve very womanly things in every intimate way. On top of the sheer stress of a newborn? Yes, I'm not looking forward to it at all and am already preparing to endure the storms.
Our conversation wasn't productive (it was an argument and she's still not out of her room) but I don't think she has had any prenatal care. That will change if I have anything to do with it.
Thanks again.
OOP commented with some of her concerns:
Yes. My worry and regret have so many places to go and a big part of it is for the baby.
This has been a bad day. :(
Responding to a comment regarding her child's entitled attitude:
Oh believe you me I have been kicking myself up and down on top of everything else. I don't know how she got to this point, but she's there now.
I wish I did have that time travel machine she clearly expects me to have.
She also clarified her overall views on the matter:
I'm on the fence. If she acted at all like she didn't have a gender (I believe that's what NB is) then I could take it more seriously. But she dresses as a woman. She puts on makeup, wears dresses during the summer, enjoys feminine things? We watch horse videos on youtube and squeal over the new foal videos. She's never been a tom boy, even.
But I was like, okay this isn't hurting her. I'll let her have this and express herself. Maybe it'll turn into something, maybe it won't. And after the first few weeks, she even dropped changing pronouns every day.
Her mentioning being NB faded and then started up hard again when high school ended and she started working retail.
I try to be understanding. Retail is hell and I'd personally only work it again if I was at my last resort. But recently it does seem to be an excuse not to work. And now she has a baby on the way.
This may not be the place for it, but I'm just worried she's regressing to a more child-like state. I don't know if she's struggling with being NB or if she's using NB as an excuse to shield herself from the world. Ugh. I guess the internet won't know, but I'm just flat out worried.
​
AITAH has no consensus bot but the comments were largely NTA.
​
Update: My NB Daughter Wants Me To Raise Her Baby - Feb 17, 2024
Hi,
This is an update to this post (Long story short my 18 year old NB daughter wanted me to raise her baby, and she told me she thinks the baby as her sibling. We had a blow-out, she locked herself in her room for most of a day, and then took off with her friends/her lover)
So this happened a few days ago but I didn’t update because I needed to get my head around it. It still doesn’t make sense.
Daughter finally unblocked me. She and the person who got her pregnant wanted to talk to me at a public place. We chose iHop.
Although I suspected I knew who her lover was, I was disappointed to find out because they have been a part of my daughter’s friend group since high school and was the only one I ever had a problem with and kicked out of my house.
They are trans now but two years ago the friend group was watching a movie in the living room, and every time I’d pass by, he (he was a he then) would lock eyes with me and make really obnoxious, loud, orgasm sounds like that scene in Harry Met Sally. I told him to knock it off and grew sterner when he did it again.
Then when I was in the kitchen, he somehow snuck up behind me and was miming jack-off movements with his hand. I turned around and caught him at it. He was still fully clothed, but it was startling and freaky. I kicked him out.
So now I’ll just call them Sperm-donor because that’s what they are.
I’m still calling my daughter ‘my daughter’ and ‘she’ because I still haven’t been told not to by her otherwise. So get off my case on that.
Anyway, the iHop meeting was a shit-show. Sperm-donor sat with my daughter and went on the attack. Sperm-donor’s points were:

• I was poisoning my daughter by “making” her take birth control. (I only helped her get the prescription and would have done everything I could if I knew she didn’t want to take the pill. There are other methods!)
• It will take years to “fix” my daughter after all I did. (Not giving her hormones even though I had no idea that was what she wanted. She dropped even wanting to change her pronouns after a few weeks.)
• Abortion is a sin and I am a monster for suggesting it. (It’s past the date anyway.)
• I am further abusing her by not taking care of the baby while she fixes herself. (I guess they meant it as a temp situation which was also new to me.)

So apparently even though I’m an abusive monster, a bad mother, and so on, I’m even worse for not taking in their baby. At least no one suggested that I raise it like my daughter’s sister anymore. That might have been my daughter’s thought on it.
Sperm-donor did most of the talking while my daughter just sat and glared at me, nodding along.
It was kind of a whirlwind, Sperm-donor pounded the table a few times, and even the waiter knew not to bother us after drinks, lol. I’m surprised we weren’t asked to leave.
There was a lot said, mostly by the sperm-donor who really seemed to be steering the ship. I asked why sperm-donor couldn’t take care of the baby and sperm-donor said their parents were even worse than me. I guess my daughter and sperm-donor taking care of the child they created is out of the question.
I told them that I would not be raising their baby for them and that adoption is the best bet. They said that if I don’t agree to raise it, they’ll make sure I’ll never see the baby ever.
I won’t raise their child for them. So that’s that, I guess.
I feel so many flavors of worried and angry and then worried all over again. I’ve been around the block and it’s never a great sign when the person you’re with makes an enemy of your family. That’s what sperm-donor has done by painting me as an abuser and failed mother who also won’t take in their baby. Sounds like sperm-donor has cut themselves off from their own family too. So I’m worried my daughter is in a very controlling relationship with someone who convinced her to stop birth control because they think hormones are too feminizing somehow and that she needs to be “fixed”. But they still want me to raise their baby.
I’m angry that my daughter can just hear this crap and nod along like, yeah, that makes total sense. She is not stupid. I think she’s love blinded.
I’m sad and worried for the baby. A couple commenters suggested I wanted nothing to do with the baby because I wouldn’t agree to raise it as my own. No, in a perfect world, I would want a normal grandmotherly relationship. Or at least know that the child is safe and has been adopted into a loving family.
I don’t care what my daughter does with her gender, or her body as long as she doesn’t hurt herself. I want her to be in a happy relationship with someone who values her for who she is. Sperm-donor kept using the word ‘fix’ which I see as another terrible sign.
It’s bad all around. My house is empty. It feels like my adult daughter has run off to join up with some weird church/cult thing who tells her that up is down. That not using birth control and not getting an abortion and then expecting others to take care of the child is all a-okay. Oh and that she’s a problem and needs to be “fixed”.
I texted her and said I would be there for her, but sperm-donor was still not welcome in the house. I think I’m blocked again.
She’s a legal adult. I’m not sure what else I can do at this point? In my low points, part of me thinks maybe I should agree to take the baby and then immediately make sure it’s adopted into a loving home. But I get the feeling that sperm-donor won’t make that easy, and right now my daughter does what he says. Also I’m not sure if that plan is even possible. It sounds Hollywood.
I have an appointment to speak with a councilor, but the soonest I could get is April. Some of my friends think I should take the baby in either to get them away from the parents or because they think it’s my duty, or both.
The only silver lining in this was that they both seemed sober. I don’t think there’s drugs involved.
Am I reading this wrong? Am I the asshole here?
Commenters agreed that sperm donor's comments made no sense, and that OOP's child was probably stuck in an abusive relationship:
Comment 1:
For your safety, I would change the locks and put up camera, Sperm-donor seems unhinged. I’m a firm believer in better safe than sorry.
Comment 2:
This baby will be used as a pawn in his never ending psycho drama. If they do not and cannot raise their baby, the best solution is adoption. Otherwise, the father will make your life a living hell.
NTA
OOP's response:
I couldn't figure out a polite way of saying this, but yes. That is my suspicion if I take in their baby. Sperm-donor implied it would be temporary while earlier my daughter said it would be permanent. I think sperm-donor will refuse to sign over paperwork when the time comes or try to leverage it in some way.
Comment 3:
NTA also it sounds like your daughter is in an abusive relationship with this person. Sorry your daughter has been brain washed by this crazy person. I would definitely contact this sperm donors family and if they seem sane warn them about how crazy both of spoke to you.
OOP's response:
That is my fear, and not a bad idea to contact sperm-donor's parents. This has all happened so far, I feel like I'm in shock and I'm very worried.
Comment 4:
Pretty wild that a trans person is saying abortion is a sin. None of this is anything like what you're going to hear from any healthy LGBT community, who are quite careful to make sure not to support people in delusional or antisocial behavior. Definitely get therapy, sounds like your kid has some serious mental health problems if they're being influenced by whatever wackos put these ideas into their head. You're going to need support in coping with this madness. NTA by a country mile. You are in no way "abusing" your kid by refusing to take responsibility for their bad choices.
OOP's response:
Thank you and yes, I don't want to minimize my daughter's role in it but the hard anti-abortion thing surprised me too. A lot of what they said contradicted itself. It felt like I was sitting across from two people who were in their own wacko bubble.
I know it's not a LGBT thing. I wish someone from their community would knock some sense into them, if its even possible at this point.
​
OOP hasn't posted since the last update.
Reminder - I am not the original poster. DO NOT COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS.

Hi everyone,
Here's the summary/outline for the second half of Day 2 of Safe House. Sorry again for the length; they did a lot of talking-based activities today, and I wanted to try to translate and explain a good portion of it for you all. Hope this helps!
Video Link: https://www.youtube.com/live/GkCLXss5hHI?feature=shared

• They're relaxing and playing Uno when we join them
• 15:30 PD asks Earth to go collect some snacks from the front door (sponsored by Snack Jack)
• 18:30 Earth starts reading the directions for the next medal game (also sponsored by Snack Jack. King of the Day divides everyone into two teams of 4. Each team in charge of "protecting" one flavour of Snack Jack. One person from Team A will sit blindfolded and try to protect the Snack Jack while all members of Team B will have two minutes to try to retrieve the Snack Jack while wearing bells on their bodies to make their movements louder. The blindfolded person can order everyone in Team B to move and stop, and each time they call stop, they have the opportunity to make one shot with a water gun. If they successfully hit a member of Team B, that person is eliminated from the competition. If someone from Team B successfully retrieves one bag of Snack Jack, opens it, and eats one piece, then Team B wins. If this has not been completed within the two minutes, Team A wins. The person with the water gun can only shoot up to 10 times in total during the 2 minutes. The team positions will change and they will play again. If both teams successfully steal, the team that steals the soonest within the 2 minutes wins. Winners get one medal each
  • 20:15 Luke decides to pick his team based on the three lowest-scoring people on the ranking board, hoping that he can help carry them to a victory and help them get one medal
  • 23:00 They go to the play zone/pool area and start strategising. Team B will attempt to steal first, and Luke will be the blindfolded person from Team A. There's some brief confusion about which flavoucolour each team is supposed to protect and steal.
  • 28:30 PD helps to go over the rules one more time and serves as the referee. Everyone on the stealing team needs to start by touching one of the walls of the room. Blindfolded person has to spin five times before the game begins.
  • 31:30 Luke didn't know that the eliminated people have to go stand behind him, so he mistakenly shoots Mix, but it doesn't count
  • 38:00 The next stealing team is strategising, and PD says that they have 15 more seconds to talk before they have to take their positions.
  • 40:00 The protecting team's "cheering" is a bit suspicious. PD asks them to be quiet, but they don't listen
• 46:00 Dinner. Menu includes soy sauce chicken with rice, pad gaprao beef with dried chili, pork gyoza, and banoffee pie for desert (in the fridge). They decide to eat directly out of the containers so there will be fewer dishes to wash. As usual, there's some awkwardness at the beginning because everyone wants to eat, but they want to think of something to talk about so the audience don't get bored
  • Dinner highlights: 55:00 They decide to exchange ghost stories tonight. Neo asks Luke if ghost stories is as much of a thing abroad as it is in Thailand. He says that he has one friend who has a personal ghost story that he can share: When Luke's friend was around 7, he was running around another friend's basement when he ran into an elderly woman doing some laundry. He later asked the parents of the house who that lady was, and they said that there's no one there, but they had an elderly maid years ago who died. So after that, the friend didn't like to go into basements anymore.
  • 58:45 Earth asks why Western ghost stories always seem to take place in attics or basements
  • 1:02:00 The guys ask if Luke has heard of the type of Thai ghost that wears old-style ceremonial clothing and does Thai traditional dance (considered very creepy).
  • 1:06:00 They bring dessert to eat outside. They get inspired to start playing on the large floating rafts in the pool while still clothed, and PD warns them to at least take off their mic packs first if they're going to do that
  • 1:14:30 They snack on some items from the seafood fridge, and then relax for a while in the area in front of the medal board. Pond gives some dance pointers.
  • 1:26:00 Some English/Thai lessons. They discuss how the direct translation of the Thai term for "living room" means "room where you sit leisurely" (or if you translate it even more literally like how Luke does, it translates to "room where you sit down and play"). Neo struggles a bit and blames it on Luke "unclear pronunciation." Luke gives some sentences for Neo (then Earth and Gun) to translate to Thai
  • 1:29:45 They think about what else to do, and they suggest several traditional Thai games, one of which is the "live fish/dead fish" that I explained previously. The topic of being blindfolded comes up, and they mention that when Luke was playing the Snack Jack game, he handled the water gun as if he were a cowboy. They start playing the live fish/dead fish game, but PD intervenes and invites them to come play the next medal game
• 1:38:30 Medal game (sponsored by the black inhalers). King of the Day will pair everyone up. Each pair will be tied together at the waist and hands, and all the pairs need to walk around the house together in order to try to find the two random mystery items somewhere around the house that have been scented with the peppermint scent of the black inhalers. The two pairs that find these two mystery items will get one medal each. Some of the pairs struggle a bit because they were smelling the inhalers too much at the beginning, so everything was smelling like peppermint to them.
• 1:51:30 Relaxing time
  • 1:55:45 Since everyone is planning to take a shower, Pond is a bit lazy to shower, and he s that his says uncle once told him that if your heart/soul are clean, your body is automatically clean, so he might use that excuse. He wants to go downstairs to make a Thai omelette (a little extra salty), but since he didn't shower in the morning, he'll shower first and then go make food.
  • 2:03:00 Small jam session in the larger bedroom
  • 2:22:00 Pond and Phuwin wish a happy birthday to P'Golf if he's watching
• 2:26:00 They do a game/activity where you answer questions and then the book will interpret aspects of your personality based on your answers. Gun reads the questions and interpretations, and the rest of the guys choose which option they want from each question
  • General statement: the answer choices are numbered 1-3 or 1-4. The numbers in Thai are 1=neung, 2=song, 3=saam, 4=see, so maybe you can hear which options each person is talking about when they're deciding which fits best with each person. Sometimes Gun also reads them as A, B, C, D.
  • 2:27:00 Question 1: When you sing karaoke with your friends, what type of song do you choose?
    • Rock: don't feel the need to overcompensate to express your uniqueness or individuality
    • Current chart hits: (Gun didn't read it because no one chose it)
    • Old songs: wants to be different/unique. You're a bit dramatic sometimes and sometimes it's like you're in a drama/lakhorn
    • Don't like to karaoke: Really wants to be unique/different. You might not be good at singing, but for the things you're good at, you're so good that people around you will compliment you and grow your ego even further
  • 2:33:45 Question 2: When you go to a roadside noodle stall, how long will you wait until you start to get a little impatient about the wait time? (as a qualifier, they make their decisions based on the assumption that the restaurant is not that crowded)
    • 3 minutes: No one chose it, but Gun read that it means that you are a bit selfish and you prioritise your needs and feelings over others'
    • 8 minutes: you have some patience (~50%). You can do a pretty decent job with enduring hardships and uncomfortable situations
    • 12 minutes: patience level ~90%. You might have a hard time believing in yourself or standing up for yourself
  • 2:37:30 Question 3: Close your eyes and imagine a bunch of flowers. What colour are these flowers? (at first, some of them didn't think of any of the listed options, or they thought of multiple colours). The guys made comments throughout this question that the interpretations were either not accurate, or that they seemed unnecessarily harsh. Hahaha. [also, this was quite a difficult question for me to translate because a lot of the words and concepts mentioned are quite specific in Thai and don't have direct/clean translations to English, but I tried to keep the translation as concise as possible, so I apologise]
    • Red: You have a high level of confidence/pride (90%). You put your full effort into everything and want to demonstrate your abilities and power. However, your level of confidence might turn out to be a bit of a curse because others won't want to be close to you
    • Purple: Confidence/pride 50%. You can think a little highly of yourself sometimes. You can hold grudges for a long time. You are probably talented in the arts.
    • Yellow: Confidence/pride 40%. You can change your mind easily and quickly. You're a little idealistic. Stay humble, and your self-confidence will grow naturally with your achievements
    • Blue: no one chose it
  • 2:42:20 Question 4: Imagine a person in your head who you might want to go and get to know (they also comment throughout that some of these interpretations are harsh or inaccurate. Like the further along in the game they get, the worse they feel about themselves. But then they realise that the name of the book they're reading means "Why is your heart cruel?" and the moral of the book is that everyone has some non-ideal qualities, etc.)
    • Colourful: no one chose it
    • Clean/classic/neat: The person in your imagination doesn't get lonely easily. They can be stubborn and demanding.
    • Trendy fashion: The person in your imagination likes to change to fit in with people around them. They get lonely easily
    • Own individual style: The person in your imagination gets lonely only sometimes. They can be serious/intense and can pull some energy from those around them
  • 2:47:40 Question 5: You're at a restaurant with a romantic partner, and you're both full. Someone brings a dessert for your romantic partner that happens to be a favourite dessert of yours. What does your partner do? (They found the question confusing, so they changed it to ask what they themselves would do. But then there was confusion about who was the person bringing the dessert, like if it's a potential romantic competitor or just the restaurant employee, etc. They never fully understood the question or agreed on the conditions of the hypothetical situation. It wasn't until Gun started reading the interpretations that they started to understand that the point of this question is basically to anticipate how likely you are to cheat in a relationship. It's not clear to anyone because the question isn't worded well, but they're interpreting it as if a potential romantic competitor handed a dessert to your romantic partner. If your partner eats it, then I suppose it means that they're not being faithful to you because eating the dessert means that they're showing the competitor that they have a chance? It's honestly a poorly worded question, and everyone was still confused at the end)
    • Don't touch it at all
    • Try it a little bit ("nit neung" in Thai so you guys can understand what they're discussing)
    • Eat half of it
    • Eat all of it
  • 2:55:30 Neo reads Question 6: if you and a romantic partner are feeding animals, which animal would you both choose to feed?
    • Snake: no one chose it
    • Tiger: You do everything fully; if you want to do something, you do it. You might prefer romantic partners who are older than you
    • Elephant: You are chill and easy-going. You hope that you can find someone supportive
    • Monkey: You prefer to be friends first before becoming romantic partners
  • 2:59:00 Question 7: If you're travelling out of town with someone you're romantically interested in, which method of travel do you choose? (it doesn't specify how far you're going)
    • High-speed train: Your prospective partner wants you
    • Train: no one chose it
    • Car: You and your partner want to get to know each other better
    • Plane: Your partner wants you to be more bold and wants to spend more time with you
  • 3:02:00 Question 8: If you and a romantic partner are walking up a mountain to admire a view together, what view would you most want to see? (this question is more explicit than they're openly talking. They're basically talking about sexual preferences and making innuendoes, but censoring as they go)
    • Sunrise
    • Another mountain
    • City scape
    • A cloudy/foggy cover scene
• 3:06:00 Relaxing time. Pond still wants Thai omelette like he did before, so he and Phuwin go to the kitchen to make one.
• 3:15:30 Fan Talk
  • Group 1 Highlights: Most of them stayed up late talking last night because they haven't seen each other in a while. Mix slept earliest and also woke up one of the earliest. Their throats are still sore from the chicken sounds competition from the morning. They playfully tease Luke about being King of the Day, like how it's easier for people in larger bodies to make louder sounds, and also that apparently American chickens sound weird. They mention how he was thoughtful to pick the three lowest-scoring people to be his team later so he could try to help them get a medal. They recapped the black inhaler game and said that the ones who smelled them too much before starting the game couldn't smell anything because the smell was lingering too strongly in their noses. Neo also talks about how the others pranked him to push him into the pool earlier. They're feeling increasingly more comfortable with each other, so they're looking forward to seeing how their relationships develop throughout the rest of the week. At around 3:22:00, Neo mentions that before, he thought Mix was quieter and "cooler" than how he's shown himself to actually be these two days. They are a bit surprised at Luke as well because he can switch between super playful moods and super serious moods when it's time for competition because he really wants to win. They all agree that Khaotung is the "dark horse" because he's more quiet and low-profile but he's one of the highest scorers. They enjoyed the Snack Jack game a lot, and around 3:26:00 they make fun of way Luke handled the water gun; it made them feel like they were in a thriller film. The second defending team tried to defend their "cheering" to help Earth when he was blindfolded
    • Fan Comments: They wanted to hear Khaotung more. They ask about things they might have forgotten to bring, and Neo said that he brought only four pairs of underwear for the week. Khaotung admits that he was a fan of Gun's before joining GMMTV. Fans complimented Neo's humour and requested more jokes. Someone said that they looked like four cats, so they tried to synchronise their head movements to look like a group of cats. Fans said that Gun was cute with his childhood blanket.
  • Group 2 Highlights (3:38:15): They made fun of Neo for not exercising with Luke, but he said that at least Neo woke up and went down, but he only exercised a little before giving up and going back to sleep. They agree that Neo is the life of the house, and the experience would probably be a lot less exciting or entertaining without him. Luke enjoyed being King of the Day, but he was a little frustrated that he and Earth didn't find the scented toilet paper in the black inhaler game because they walked past it but couldn't smell it. They all really enjoyed the Snack Jack game, and again, they said that Luke looked so cool and intense when he had the water gun. Luke learned that he always pointed the water gun correctly initially, but he kept second-guessing himself and moving his aim before shooting. They're all finding the house and the environment easy to adjust to, and they're all feeling happy. They're all playfully perplexed by how much energy Neo has, and they also agree that Khaotung is the dark horse. At 3:47:00, Pond and Earth bond over the fact that in all GMMTV competitions they've every participated in, they've always scored very lowly. Earth says partially jokingly that he has sometimes gone home and asks, "Am I just truly not good?" They have faith that Pond can perform well in any activity with a physical component (especially dancing), and Mix and Gun are probably best at activities that require cunningness/craftiness.
    • 3:50:00 Fan comments: Luke tries to answer an English comment, and he successfully translates them to Thai. Luke and Phuwin give statements in English. People ask when they're going to finally play a full game of "live fish/dead fish." People make fun of Pond for being lazy to shower, and he reiterates the saying his uncle told him about having a clean heart/soul. They also address the comments asking for English subtitles. They say that Mix eats the most in the house, but he gains a lot of happiness from food. They hope that they'll have the ghost story session tonight.
• 3:58:00 Relaxing/leisure time. Gun and Khaotung are making crispy fried shredded imitation crab with truffle salt.
  • 4:06:30 Pond, Neo, and Luke play darts. Phuwin joins later. Luke explains the rules to Khaotung.
  • 4:19:00 Phuwin plays around a bit with a guitar. Others later join to sing a bit. Khaotung and Luke continue playing darts.
  • 4:34:30 Gun and Earth play with one of the cameras. Neo joins.
  • 4:42:00 Neo, Luke, Khaotung, Gun, and Earth play Uno [sorry, I don't know the rules]
  • Gun and Phuwin make some noodles and share them with the guys around 5:09:00
  • 5:13:00 Khaotung and Phuwin make a different type of instant noodle and discuss their preferred ways to prepare instant noodles
• 5:29:00 Ghost stories
  • 5:30:00 Pond's story: A story of a friend of his. It takes place in a dormitory that is next to a temple. They keep interrupting him, so Pond keeps repeating the phrase "dormitory next to a temple" many times, which makes everyone laugh and continue interrupting him. Pond's friend was living with a roommate, and the roommate had to pray in the evenings. Pond's friend was on the top level of a bunk bed, but every night, he heard the roommate sit almost like they're praying, but they're always facing an empty chair like they're talking to someone. One day, the roommate asked Pond's friend if he could sleep on the upper bunk with him, and Pond's friend was confused but agreed. At night, Pond's friend heard a voice asking if the bedroom was full yet and whether another person could come sleep. (There's a belief in Thailand that if you hear voices talking to you in the night, you shouldn't reply to them or engage with them). They sat up and looked around, and there was no one else in the room who could have asked that. After that, Pond's friend wanted to move to a different room/dormitory.
  • 5:34:30 Add-on to Pond's story; takes place in the same dormitory building. The guys jokingly ask if it was next to a temple before letting him continue. There was a small room/passageway inside that they believed was a passageway for ghosts. Every day at 02:00, people will hear knocking sounds and sometimes door slamming from that area. These sounds even continued when the students were mostly away at their homes. A few times, things were falling off of shelves. The remaining students investigated but couldn't find anything. In that room/area, there was a closet/wardrobe with a mirror next to the bathroom. In the mirror, they could see a woman sitting hunched over in the bathroom, but they couldn't see anything when they turned to look directly in the bathroom.
  • 5:39:00 Earth's story. Earth tells Mix to tell it instead because he's better at storytelling. Once Mix was at the house of a friend of his (implied to be Earth's house). He was showering upstairs, when he heard someone opening and closing a door. He later asked the owner of the house, and they said that they never went upstairs because they were sleeping downstairs. Mix demonstrates the walkway to enter the bathroom/powder room, and how when you can see the mirror immediately upon opening the door. One time, Mix opened the door and saw a man standing. At 5:41:50, PD pranks them by playing a loud slamming noise to scare them. Mix continues the story: The man he saw walked straight into the area outside of the bathroom and disappeared into some of the furniture.
  • 5:43:20: Add-on to Earth/Mix's story. A different day, someone came to collect Mix at the house. The person who came to collect Mix at the house saw someone standing by the front of the house when they arrived, but at that time, Mix and the owner of the house were still sleeping inside. Quick additional story: Mix was in the bathroom once, when he heard someone trying to forcibly enter the bathroom. He opened the door and saw nothing.
  • 5:45:30 Earth's story: He went with a friend on a vacation where they stayed in a two-bedroom bungalow that was made of wood, including the furniture. Earth was having trouble sleeping, and at one point, he heard some noises. He tried to sit up to investigate, but he couldn't move anything in his body. In his peripheral vision, he heard a woman (he's basically describing sleep paralysis). He starts praying a bit and slowly, his condition improves until the vision of the woman disappears and he's able to move.
  • 5:49:00 Neo's story: He sets the story in his old school without saying the name, but he mentions so many descriptors like the location, history, etc., that everyone makes fun of him that it's clear which school it is already. He was staying in an athlete's dormitory. The badminton players used to have ghost storytelling sessions where they would talk about the ghost of that building. People would see a person in a white outfit on the stairs, specifically on the flight of stairs on the fifth level. (there are two sets of stairs, one on each short side of the building, and there's a small passageway where if you wanted to, you can pass to the opposite stairwell. This passageway was the haunted one on the fifth level, so people were afraid to look or walk though that area. Neo didn't believe the stories, but one time, during the regular evening dormitory inspections (around 22:00 every night), the inspector was passing by. Neo's bedroom was in a location where the walkway outside that section had a dead end, so you could only walk in one direction and then walk back the other direction in order to leave. Therefore, the boys always waited for the inspector to pass by the window twice before they knew that the coast was clear for them to continue talking, playing on their phones, etc. However, this time, the inspector only passed by the window once. The boys waited in silence for the second passing, but it never came, so eventually four of the boys decided to open the door and look for the inspector. They looked toward the end of the hallway where the person must be if they haven't walked back past the window again, but there was no one there, so everyone wondered who that must have been who walked past the window once and disappeared.
  • 5:56:45 Mix's story: In his house outside of Bangkok, the structure used to be a small apartment building but got turned into a house. Mix's father bought it, split it in half, and rented out the other half. When Mix was younger, he was watching television with the room door ajar (his room was next to the head of the stairs). The light from the TV could illuminate the area outside of the door. One day, outside his door, he saw an elderly lady dressed in a traditional dress of Northern Thailand. Mix followed her out onto the stairway until she disappeared. The next day, Mix told his father about it, and his father stoically told Mix that the previous owner of the house was an elderly lady who died by falling off the stairs and breaking her neck. Apparently in the other half of the house they were renting out, the tenants tended to not stay long before moving out. At one point, a friend of Mix's father rented the half of the house for a short lease, and the friend said that he kept hearing and/or seeing a male walking around the house, even though he lived alone.
  • 6:02:00 Phuwin's story: he lives in a Chinese-style house, and this was during a Chinese festival. Phuwin's father lit some incense to pray around 16:00 (late afternoon). (usually incense sticks take a couple of hours to burn out). That night, a little after midnight, Phuwin's father felt like something wasn't right, so he went down to investigate. In Phuwin's house, people usually go upstairs around 22:00 and don't really come down for anything. Phuwin's father saw that the incense he lit >8 hours prior were still smoking, and as he looked at the incense, they caught in flame (incense are supposed to just smoke until they run out, not be actively on fire). So Phuwin's father thinks a ghost was warning him to come and put out the incense so the house wouldn't catch fire, but it was still very strange that the incense was burning/smoking for >8 hours.
  • 6:05:00 Everyone says goodnight to the viewers

I finished another Radiant Dawn run on the hardest difficulty and felt the bug to talk about tier listing again. Thanks for indulging me. My list:
https://i.imgur.com/8d4aPNg.png
Some commentary, from worst to best.
F Tier:
Lyre - This character has literally nothing going for her. Lyre has terrible bases, the worst class in the game, bad growths, and no endgame potential beyond being a mediocre filler unit. I can't imagine a worse character in Fire Emblem. Maybe Sophia. Even if you wanted to do an all-Laguz run, she can't crack the top 10. She isn't even force deployed on any maps. I cannot think of a single positive thing to say about Lyre.
Fiona - With even worse bases than Lyre and a baffling availability schedule, Fiona should be the worst unit in the game, but at least her class is solid. Female Silver Knight has bad caps overall, but good weapon types, speed, and a top-tier mastery talent. If you can endure the grind, you can make a unit with real contributions in the endgame. I feel like the game designers hate this unit, though; they make her arrive in a map themed around rescuing, but don't even let you recruit her to do any rescuing. The very next map is indoors. After that, we go to a swamp which is once again themed around rescuing, but Fiona isn't even available! After that? Another indoor map! Then another swamp! Then more cliffs! 3-13 is considered an indoor map and penalizes horse units! Literally the first map with wide open spaces to take advantage of cavalry classes that allows you to deploy Fiona is in Part 4. Her class level and bases are even bugged (allegedly). I can't believe how this game is engineered to ruin Fiona, and it's a miracle that she isn't the worst unit in the entire game.
Kyza - While he can be crafted into a tolerable lategame unit (better than many on this list who rank higher), there just isn't any reason to do so. He's got a terrible class (only cat laguz are worse), bad bases, and joins in a big pile of units that are a hundred times better at everything he can do. Need a tank? You've already got Brom and Gatrie on the team, and they don't untransform halfway through enemy phase. Kyza has the crown for most forgettable, pointless unit, but at least if you do train him for the experience, you get a unit that can kind of do something late game.
Makalov - Easily the worst of all cav units, any chance Makalov has to be good late game is betrayed by his poor class caps. He nearly escaped F tier by having a few useful turns in Part 2, but after some consideration, I honestly think he's more of a liability than helpful. The only units he can reliably hurt in Geoffrey's Charge are the ones that give you bexp if you spare them. I don't even like putting out fires with him; let the yellow units do it, so they don't run off and get themselves killed. Makalov is just a trainwreck of a character. At least he gets Sol.
Pelleas - As a secret character with a completely unique weapon type, you'd think unlocking him gets you access to some outstanding lategame growth unit with a big payoff for all your hard work. Nope. You get the worst mage in the game instead. While I give him a glimmer of usefulness for the potential to learn staves, you have to invest heavily in him to get there and it's just pointless when even Tormod can do the same thing for cheaper. I can't imagine a run where I'm relying on Pelleas as my 12th string healer for the tower. If you haven't really looked into the numbers, and you decide one day "I'm doing a Pelleas run!" you're going to find his bases shocking. What were they thinking here?
D Tier:
Sephiran - Kind of an easter egg at the end of the game, I considered not rating him at all (like the Burger King), but eh, he contributes something against Ashera I guess. Can't say much more here. Maybe, in an ironman, if you've lost all your non-Micaiah staffbots, you'll be glad when he joins? For barely squeezing out a microniche he escapes F tier.
Sanaki - Maybe I'm underrating her, but I just don't see the point. She needs heavy investment (particularly in seraph robes) to be able to survive the bosses of the tower. When she joins, she's just another subpar mage who doesn't even have the decency to learn staves. Her one saving grace is that she doesn't count against your 10 tower selections, so if you slap a paragon on her and get her battle ready, she can bless Meteor or something and make some contributions. The resources (including combat xp) you pour into her are better used on your real tower units.
Astrid - I considered dumping her in F tier. What the heck happened to the star paragon unit of Path of Radiance? Somehow, she's turned into a turd of a growth unit with atrocious bases, mediocre growths, and wacky availability. I only pulled her out of the gutter because of her class, and even with really awful strength and defense caps, she can turn into a solid tower unit. I've used her before and found she was legitimately not a waste of space as early as 4-1, where she was popping falco knights. I could see her be a good bird sniper in the Izuka map. Still, like all bad growth units, she's just not worth the effort.
Kurthnaga - While he can be fun to train, again, why? He provides the least useful of all dragon auras and just takes XP from your many units who still need it. Maybe make a Kurth juggernaut once for the experience, and then never again. If he joined at the start of Part 4, I can imagine him getting boosted a couple tiers, but nah, you can't be picking up new projects this late in the game.
Meg - Often times called the worst unit in the game, she is...somewhat underrated... as a midgame tank. A project unit for sure, and not worth it, but Meg does grow into a strong unit around 1-E and for all of Part 3. She can solo Ragnell Ike and the field of laguz in 3-13 pretty easily. You've got better options for that, but I do recommend experiencing a Meg run once just to see that it can be done. Ultimately, though, Meg can't escape D tier because her awful class caps betray her in the end, and her best attribute (speed) gets cut off at the knees.
Vika - The Tormod Squad all suffer from the availability curse, but Vika has it worst, since she desperately needs training to be viable at all. As if laguz weren't bad enough already, they can't take Discipline or upgrade weapons by any means other than the long, dark strike rank grind, and Vika has no time at all to do it. That leaves only her joining maps to recommend her, and she can do things like poke-canto or rescue villagers in the swamp, so that's something. If you force yourself to train her, she does gain incredible speed, but hitting twice for 0 isn't impressive. Her class also has cat-like gauge drain, and she can't gain any experience in part 1 due to bizarre laguz xp math, leaving Vika no angles to improve.
Stefan - Thrown in at the end like an afterthought, Stefan is (I would argue) the worst of all the Tower Gotohs, that is, the units that just join at the very end to make sure you have high level units for the tower. With bad luck and a fairly bad class, the only reason I can recommend bringing Stefan is if you want an Alondite unit and you don't like Renning for some reason. He just doesn't serve any purpose. He even joins in a map that locks down his movement. Take his sword and bench him.
Ena/Gareth - I put them together because they fill the same role: buffing your units to fight Ashera. While Gareth is legendary for getting wrecked by magic, Ena is arguably worse, as Ashera's physical attack can kill her too. While that's not nothing, I can't justify taking someone out of D tier when their entire purpose is to help a faster clear in one map, and you don't even really need them.
C tier:
Tauroneo - I had a hard time rating Big T. He pops in to dominate just a couple of chapters before disappearing until part 4. He's the worst Marshall, but gets boosted a tier over Meg because of his efforts in part 1. Marshall is a pretty bad class, but if you want one anyway, you've got two much better options that have tons of availability, so don't bother.
Heather - In a game that doesn't care much about thiefy stuff, Heather just doesn't have a key role to fill. She gets you a couple of stat boosters, which you can promptly feed to your units that cap everything anyway. I'll give her a leg up out of the worst tiers because she can rescue you in Oliver's Mansion if you ran out of chest keys, and the Fortify Staff is really, really good.
Muarim - Unlike Vika, he dominates his few part 1 maps, and he's still viable in Part 4 with his bases. Not bad! Unfortunately, with so little time to train him, you really have to invest heavily to get him tower-ready, and why bother? He's got an awful class and competes with much better units. I suppose he gets a slot in an all-laguz run.
Tormod - He kills that obnoxious wyvern rider on the swamp map. I give him a whole tier for that, because man, that thing is annoying. Beyond that, he's helpful for several part 1 maps, and he can be trained up to use staves for the tower.
Leonardo - The worst member of a great class, Leonardo will absolutely wreck with Double Bow, but the road to get there is harrowing. Only his prf bow's speed boost gets him out of D tier. Maybe even F. He's just such a liability for so long that I can't recommend him.
Ilyana - Strange that in a game where availability is so restricted, the number one most available character is so bad! She was great in PoR, too, but thunder magic has been substantially nerfed. I give her a lot of credit for her join map, which is arguably the hardest map in the game, and if you really work hard to level her, she gets staves with an excellent magic score. As with most units this far down, though, she's just outclassed by all the better options who do the same thing, and you don't need that many backup staff units.
Ranulf - Force deployed for what feels like a dozen chapters, Ranulf mostly hangs around to shove people and occasionally do some damage. He's got the worst class in the game, but unlike Lyre, has great bases that give him a nice little midgame role and then not much else. If you manage to feed him experience in Part 4, he's somewhat endgame viable, as long as you don't have much competition for the laguz gem.
Nealuchi - Like Ranulf, the old bird has a bright spot in the middle of the game where he's got some utility, but is best ditched when his time is up. I find him essential for 2-P and 2-1, a good contributor for 2-E, and then...well, that's a C tier unit.
Kieran - Bummer that he's so reduced here versus PoR, but at least his class gets better caps than most cavs, and he's viable as Geoffrey's sidekick for those odd chapters in Part 2/3. I can't hate him. He's easy to train and turns into a viable, if underwhelming, tower unit, but joining Ike's crew so late in Part 3 hurts him, as he is immediately outclassed by like two dozen people that you've been training for ages.
Lucia - She gets a big boost for being essential for 2-1 and viable in Part 4. If I was going to train a bad trueblade, I'm picking her over Stefan at least, but her lack of availability and bad class push her to the middle tiers.
Renning - An unfairly hated tower gotoh, Renning is your best freebie Alondite user, and has tolerable enough bases to hang out and contribute with your actual good units. He's just mediocre compared to anyone you've actually built up yourself, and he's clearly worse than Giffca and the royals. Many people do their ironmans with all royals banned for the challenge, and if that's you, Renning suddenly becomes a valuable backup unit that I would maybe bump another tier. As-is, he's just mid.
Volke - Ditto what I said for Renning, except he uses the Baselard instead, doubles auras without help, and can instakill people. I usually take Stillness off and give it to Micaiah, though, so his durability is a problem. Volke is like a super-trueblade and worth considering if you are low on viable tower units.
Giffca/Mufasa - The lion king and his shadow are virtually the same unit, except that Giffca has to use a laguz gem to transform for some reason (Guess he was borrowing his boss's formshift scroll last game?). I usually refuse to use them on principle, but I can't count that against them. They absolutely wreck the Tower but serve no other purpose. As the best of the Tower Gotohs, I can't justify higher than C.
Nasir - The best of the dragon auras, Nasir enables some aura one-rounding strategies that make a big difference. Still, we're talking about one dang map. When I made this I struggled with whether or not he should be down with Gareth and Ena, but I'm giving him a lot of credit for his special aura and his invincibility versus magic.
Sigrun/Tanith - The lesser two of the three Seraph Knights, they have one of the best classes in the game, but mediocre bases and growths. There's only one Wishblade, unfortunately, and while Seraph Knight is the best class to use it, that just means there's no reason to bring multiple of them unless you want to goof off with triangle attack. If Marcia turned out poor or you didn't use her, I recommend grabbing Sigrun (higher base level) for the Wishblade and training her up in Part 4. If you aren't training these units, they still get credit for flying utility in the desert.
Ulki/Janaff - Can't decide which of the twins are better here. With insane bases and no xp gain at all, these guys show up in part 3 to help shove people and generally help out when someone is in trouble. While they stay viable to the end (to the delight of the zero percent growth community), I don't get too excited by their lategame contributions. The laguz gauge is their Achilles Heel in part 3; I just can't justify relying on them.
Bastian/Oliver - My hottest take of this tier list, I have argued for a long time that Oliver is underrated as your Renault/Yoder character; that is, your staffbot gotoh who fills in to rescue ironmans. Bastian serves the same role, but slightly better. If your Micaiah is bad or untrained and you haven't leveled any of the project mages, these guys are your strongest staff users.
Devdan - Just as forgettable here as in Path of Radiance, Devdan suffers from bad bases and availability, and as the worst member of a meh class, there's just no reason to invest in him. I give him a lot of credit for major contributions in two key chapters without being a liability, and if you do train him, his superior caps make him arguably better than Kieran in lategame. Oh, and in part 3, he can climb that one ledge to keep it open. That's...something.
Calill - Helping out on a couple more midgame maps than Devdan, Calill is never good, but she can chip a bit here or there and usually isn't a liability. Anyone who can do anything in Elincia's Gambit gets a push in my book. If you do wind up making good use of her and slap on a crown, she's another backup staff unit with okay stats.
Lethe/Murderkaiser - The cat and tiger duo once again shows up midgame with good stats, bad growths, and a spot waiting for them on the bench. I find that they make a great contribution in part 2, remain viable in part 3, and...well, they exist in part 4 I guess. Mordecai can be built into a viable tank thanks to having vastly more time to grow compared to Muarim, and better everything compared to Kyza. Lethe has dramatically better strength than her idiot sister. Too bad the bad classes keep them out of the good tiers.
B tier:
Edward - We're getting out of the riffraff and into some viable units. While Edward is one of the weaker Dawn Brigade growth options, he is super helpful in numerous key early chapters where you desperately need it, and he can grow into a complete powerhouse. Just watch his growths as he naturally levels throughout part 1, and if he fails to pop off, bench him. If he crushes those strength and defense growths, though, he's an excellent choice for a Part 3 carry, as he's on the shortlist of units who can solo 3-13 - not the best one, but much easier to level than Meg, for example. His luck sword is I guess the worst of the DB prf weapons, but it's still decent for a long time, before you toss it for Alondite. If he didn't fall off in late part 1, he'd be A tier. Also, he's got a bad class and competes with at least one or two better units for that precious Alondite.
Soren - With magic nerfed in this game, Soren has no chance of breaking into the highest tiers, but he sure tries. I'd argue he is the best mage in the game. He's not too difficult to train, hits high magic numbers, and turns into the game's best staffbot (arguably) by endgame. While I'd rather bring a free Bastian than a high effort Soren to the tower, Ike's BFF gets a big boost from his super high availability. I never feel like he's a drag on the party.
Rhys - Like Soren, but you don't need to wait for staves, alright, Rhys probably snatches the prize of lategame staffbot from Soren, but not by much. He's hurt by awful physicals, which can make him seem like a liability, but your list of part 3 staff units is sparse, so he's going to contribute a lot every run, no matter what you have planned for him.
Mist - She's much weaker than Rhys in every way, but when she promotes, she gets Canto, which is wonderful for a frail unit. While Florete is bugged (or sucks by design, depending on who you ask) and there is no Sonic Sword, Mist is still viable as a mobile healer who won't let you down through the entire game. I know I keep saying different people are the "best lategame staffbot" but I swear this is the last one, it's really Mist.
Zihark/Volug - I paired them for nearly identical availability and the legendary earth/earth affinity, which gives them a niche in certain difficult part 3 maps where their contributions are invaluable. Neither character scales well into endgame (there are better options for trueblade) and they aren't invincible like Big T, but at least they show up for work. Use them as Jeigans in part 1 and tanks in part 3, then say goodbye.
Micaiah - Often called the worst lord in the game, she...probably deserves it. Oh no, I'm about to call her the actual best staffbot, aren't I? No, she's difficult to raise up due to being such a frail liability all game and having forced promotions. She gets big credit for a couple key Thani nukes early game, and she's a force deployed physics bot from 3-13 onward. Have I overrated her? Maybe, but I like healers.
Geoffrey - With a couple chapters designed to make him look good, Geoffrey is essential to clear the game, but his class caps keep him from getting into the elite levels. I find that he levels quickly in part 4 (without paragon, even) and holds his own. I really wish he joined with Kieran and the others. By endgame, he's a viable filler unit.
Nolan - A godsend in the early chapters, the Dawn Brigade would have died in the cradle without Nolan. He gets an amazing prf weapon and is easily viable as a part 3 carry, but I find him inadequate to solo 3-13 or reliably fight Ike. His strength and defense growth is just too poor, and he lacks the avoid to make up for it. Still, he has the best beorc class caps in the game, and after being reliable and useful for so long, you can reward him with careful bexp abuse to make sure he can slam the tower bosses with 62 attack power. There's something satisfying about seeing a human inflict lion-like damage to gods.
Laura - I always see her at the bottom of tier lists, but your only healer in part 1 (Micaiah doesn't count) deserves some love. She's a huge liability on the field, but think about how much harder Part 1 gets if she dies. She stays viable in part 3 (I usually savior backpack her with somebody) and is, yes, another top tier lategame staffbot. For being an essential unit for so long, and for having endgame potential, I can't see lower than B tier.
Simba - The lion prince needs paragon and some effort to get rolling, but boy does he! As an acceptable alternative to those cheating royal laguz, Skrimir is just an unstoppable powerhouse who can solo entire maps in part 4 if you let him. Until the white dragons show up, Skrimir is never in danger from anything other than his own stupid laguz gauge, which is why he's not in A tier. If you haven't tried slapping paragon and adept on Skrimir and letting him eat all of 4-P, try it once, it's hilarious.
Royal Trio - I put Nailah ahead of the bird brains for her availability, but they all have the same role: hold your hand through part 4. Tibarn can actually die to the crossbow guy in 4-2, which makes me laugh, and Naesala is downright mortal by comparison. I like to leave Pass on Nailah from part 1 and give her chest keys for Oliver's Mansion. All of these units are insanely strong and help trivialize the tower, which is why I don't bring them.
Singing Siblings - I know, putting Rafiel lower on the list than the others is blasphemy, but he's barely around through the whole game. He's widely accepted as the best tower bird (though I prefer Reyson), but other than Oliver's Mansion, what hard missions does he help out on? Rafiels' role is to help fight dragons and gods, which is a pretty good resume, so he's up this high. Leanne wins my heart for Elincia's Gambit alone, but she also helps make the bridge and desert maps more tolerable.
Marcia - A hot take here, but Marcia has a lot of availability and a positive, if underwhelming, contribution through most of it. By lategame, she turns into an excellent flier (Seraph Knights are truly amazing) and is, in my opinion, the single best Wishblade candidate in the entire game. Marcia never crushes this game like she does Path of Radiance, but I'm here for her.
Boyd - Notoriously tough to get rolling, Boyd has those insane Reaver caps and a lot of time to reach them. While he's just a project unit in part 3, he does crest that hill eventually and turn into a complete wrecking ball who trivializes the rest of the game. He easily hits 40 strength and isn't that tough to train up to 35 speed with bexp. He's the game's best Urvan user (as his caps are easier to hit than Nolan) and I only don't put him higher because it's a bit of a struggle to get him going.
A tier:
Rolf - People are going to lose their minds over this one. I'm always astonished how many people don't know that Rolf has 75% strength growth! Snipers are easy to level and have a great payoff, meaning that even if Shinon wins your double bow, you'll never regret bringing a second killer deadeye through the whole game. Imagine if Leonardo had Rolf's growths. Little bro is like Dmitri, but in the Wii era. Don't sleep on Rolf. He's amazing.
Nephenee - Sometimes overrated, sometimes underrated, Nephenee has top notch availability and is an essential unit for several chapters, and while she can get lost in the Greil Mercs spam, she quickly turns into a stellar well-rounded infantry unit who can carry the game. She's never bad and turns into another excellent Wishblade user, who I only put below Marcia for the tower due to lack of flying/canto. Due to high availability and never needing particular training attention, though, Nephenee skirts into the top tiers.
Mia - Unlike Path of Radiance, Mia starts viable and quickly takes off like a rocket, turning into your best Trueblade. Lacking only one strength in her final caps versus Edward, she's easier to level and, imo, your best overall Alondite unit. Because she is around so long and always helpful, she gets a bump.
Brom/Gatrie - Brom almost gets the nod for being an essential unit for so Part 2, but his falloff is noticeable, and his endgame potential as a Marshall is worse than, say, Nephenee. Gatrie picks up that slack and remains as one of your best Greil Mercs for the rest of the game. I could see someone valuing Brom's early contributions more and swapping this order. Both units suffer from the usual Marshall problems: bad caps, bad movement, competing with far better units for the best items.
Titania - The stalwart ride-or-die arch-paladin of Tellius, Titania doesn't carry hard like she does in the previous game, but she's immediately dominant and stays that way virtually forever. She has reasonable class caps (compared to other cavs, anyway) and is fine to bring to the tower, but you will notice a dropoff. Regardless of tower viability, she's so damn strong for so long that I can't rank her any lower.
Oscar - While he starts weak and is imprisoned by truly awful tier 2 caps, Oscar is still solid and provides that lovely earth affinity through a ton of chapters. Once he breaks into tier 3, he's immediately one of your best units, and stays that way for a long time. I almost rated Titania higher, but I think Oscar surpasses her and is a candidate for an early crown. If not for those tier 2 caps, he'd be S tier.
Shinon - Embarrassed by the "9 strength incident" in Path of Radiance, Shinon hit the gym and turned into a powerhouse from the moment he joins until the end of the game. He's never not great, and he only gets better as he gets his outstanding third tier caps and SS rank weapon. While he usually needs bexp to hit str and def caps, that's more a function of the highish caps than any weaknesses in growths. Shinon is almost breaking into S tier. If he was a flying archer, he'd be the next Haar.
Aran - The wrongest opinion in all of Fire Emblem is that Aran is bad. Just wrong, wrong, wrong. Aran starts as a weak unit among numerous other weak units, is easily trainable, and quickly pops off - 75% strength growth, again! - to turn into a juggernaut that surpasses everyone except the royals. By Part 3, Aran has made the rest of the Dawn Brigade redundant, and by 3-13, he's a walking god. I always laugh when I hear commentators talk about how difficult part 3 is, then minutes later, mention how bad Aran is. Well, of course it's hard if you don't use the best unit! I only keep Aran out of S tier because of DB availability and because his class caps keep him from stomping as hard in the tower, where he rarely doubles.
S tier:
Jill - Flying utility gives her the bump into the upper echelons. Slightly harder to train than Aran, she benefits immensely from the str and def items (which are useless to Aran, who caps immediately) and turns into another juggernaut. While she stays weaker than Aran throughout most of the game, the mobility is a factor, and she grows into one of your best endgame units. If you had to average the two games together, Jill is probably the best character in Tellius. Or Titania, it's hard to say, but it's definitely a canto redhead.
Sothe - Play this game: a trickster god deletes one character from your rom, permanently. Seize squares and game over conditions get reassigned, but you now have to play the rest of the game without that unit, forever. What's the absolute worst unit to lose? I cannot think of a worse unit to lose than Sothe. Is the Dawn Brigade even possible without him? I'm sure someone has done it. After making the game playable, Sothe falls off hard, but he can be trained into a sub-par Volke if you want. I contend that Tellius literally could not be saved without him. So why isn't he the absolute top tier? Well, I guess I'm weighing the rest of the game higher, but I'm not 100% convinced that's right.
Elincia - What a glow-up from PoR! The devs nerf her in 2-P to keep it difficult, but as soon as she gets her weapon, she turns into a flying healer who also wrecks things. I think she's a lock for the tower, even if you are dedicating six tower slots to royals and lions. While a weaker staffbot than some others I mentioned, she's good enough. And she flies! Elincia is just awesome.
Reyson - Speedrunners and LTCers prefer Rafiel for a better Turn 1 against Ashera, but I like Reyson's high movement and canto, and you have laguz gems by that point. As for the rest of the game, Reyson has by far the best availability of all herons - which isn't saying much, I know. I just wish this game wasn't so weird with dancers.
Ike vs Haar for the championship - People have debated between Ike and Haar since the game came out. I put Ike 2nd because, while he carries harder with Ragnell, he's still a normal (albeit stronk) infantry swordlocked unit for a long time before then. Haar saves your bacon in Part 2 (twice) and then carries Part 3 just for fun afterwards. He also has the best boss convos in 2-P and 4-E-2. Ike gets the boss convo award in 4-P, so this most critical of category tips the scales toward Haar. The real answer is availability + domination = top of the top tier. As if Haar wasn't stupid OP enough, he gets the best beorc defense cap in the entire game, because why not? He even beats out the Marshalls on Strength! And his mastery skill is better! Honestly, what were they thinking here? While Ragnell Ike is the strongest unit in the game, Totality Ike is only the second strongest.

Chapter 26 - The Infinite Beckons
Previous Chapter
“Okay, this part’s a little tricky.” Ma’et gestured out the shuttle’s cockpit. “You got lined up easy enough, and our velocity’s at a relative zero to the ship. The bay door’s open. Now you engage the lateral thrusters while monitoring the distance from the shuttle to the bay’s interior wall. Come in too fast and you’ll damage them both..”
Trix looked over at the controls, and the neatly gummed labels that the humans had placed over the English text with her own language. She gingerly pressed the ‘Lateral Thruster’ button, then as the control knob next to it lit up, she twisted it slowly.
An earlier misadventure when lining up the ship and the shuttle where she’d twisted the control knob much more rapidly made her much more cautious about giving it too much power too quickly, yet the shuttle slowly drifted - away from the ship. “Other thruster, feathers.”
Chagrined, she dialed the thruster back to zero, then rotated it the other direction. The ship immediately stopped moving away, and instead drifted into the hangar bay. Trix watched as it drifted past the door, staring at the distance readout until it dropped into the yellow and immediately swung the knob the other way. It took a couple of tries to get the velocity back to zero, but she managed it.
“Beautiful. Now we engage the grav plating which lets the ship’s internal grav pull us down as it ramps up, and close the external door via the console over there.” Ma’et gestured to the remote console, and Trix scanned it, punching the buttons as she found them.
“Nicely done. Go ahead and hit the engine shutdown. In the old days there’d be like, thirty steps to it but nearly all of it is automated. But lucky you, you get to read all about the manual sequence since taking over in the event of computer failure is one of a pilot’s duties.” Ma’et chuckled and squeezed Trix’s shoulder. “For now, that’s good enough. Go ahead and open both the lateral boarding door, and the rear loading door. Also extend the rear loading ramp.”
Trix did, then glanced over at Ma’et. “Anything more?”
“Nope. First day on the job, and you’ve done the first job successfully. Not perfectly, but pretty damn good for your first time piloting off planet. Go ahead and head back to talk with the Captain, and I’ll handle the rest.”
Trix unbuckled the acceleration harness (Though, she felt zero acceleration during the entire trip so she couldn’t fathom just WHY Ma’et had insisted on her buckling in) and moved past the much smaller woman as she left the cockpit.
In the back, Josh was already outside the ship, grabbing a handtruck. She watched as he pushed it up the loading ramp to the stack of boxes that contained the food and equipment she’d need for the next few weeks of existence here in space. “Why aren’t you using one of the gravity belts?” She gestured over to the wall where the belts were hanging.
“Eh, this stuff’s fairly light and those have a limited lifespan. I don’t want to burn out the Keplite cores on stuff we can just move by hand. They’re expensive.”
“Oh. What’s Keplite, anyway? Ji and Min have mentioned it a few times.” Trix glanced over at the large belts with their big circular pads in the middle.
Before Josh could answer, Alex walked in between them. “Ji, Min! We’re going to be converting the room across from yours back into crew quarters for Trix. Gonna need you two to move the Spider. Is there room here in the hangar for it?”
“It’ll fit better if we assemble it and use packing mode.” Ji countered, as he hopped out of the shuttle. “It’ll take a day or so. We’ve got it spread all out in there.”
Alex turned over to Trix and beckoned. “Follow me. Gonna give you the full tour while they’re unloading." He took a few steps back, then lifted his arms wide to gesture to their surroundings. "This is obviously the hangar bay. Shuttle's the big thing you were just flying. Below us is a small cargo hold, empty right now. Not gonna show you unless you happen to like large empty boring-ass boxes.” He raised an eyebrow, and Trix quickly shook her head. "Alright. Most of the shit in here is just maintenance tools and loading gear. Nothing exciting. Ramp to main transit corridor here."
They walked out into the hallway. “Okay, well through that door’s opposite the hangar is the fabber bay. The fabber is a huge machine that manufactures stuff for us, like a 3D printer. Do you guys have anything like that?” Trix shrugged, and Alex continued. “Well either way, it can make virtually anything from a bed to a bomb to a computer. The more complex and difficult items take a hell of a lot longer to make. It’s also a major power hog since the manufacturing process uses extremely powerful fields, both magnetic and force. In other words, if you need something and we didn’t bring it with you we can make it here.”
He walked down the hall a bit, and gestured to the doors on either side. “Launcher bays, 1 and 2. Normally we use ‘em to launch beacons, buoys, sensors, things like that into space. If someone tries to start shit with us we CAN use them to launch missiles but we have very few of those available. We’re not out here to get in fights, but if we have to defend ourselves we pack a big punch.” He opened one of the doors and walked inside. “The big hatch over there is the manual tube loader. The ship can auto-load various things but if we need to put something into space that isn’t already in storage, that’s where we do it. If Ji tells you to climb in yourself, he’s joking and you should hit him because it only exists to launch shit into space.”
Trix laughed at that, but she had learned enough of Ji’s sense of humor while working on the car to understand the sentiment. “Will I even be in here at all though?”
“Maybe. If something needs to be manually loaded, we use these. Back when we were at the derelict ship I had to send a battery over to help out while we planned our rescue. You might be asked to do the same.” Alex shrugged and lead her out into the hall. “Last thing here is the ship’s primary armament.” He reached over to the side of the hallway and pressed a hatch release. The compartment it lead to was incredibly small and tightly cramped.
“We don’t use it much outside of scaring off pirates or relieving stress, but this is our primary weapon out in space. Eight-chamber five meter long rotary railgun. Fires one round every 1.2 seconds that travel roughly a million kilometers per hour when fired stationary, or closer to 280 kilometers per second. It fires either solid armor-piercing unguided slugs or flak munitions that are used to produce clouds of metallic debris. The former will shred a ship’s armor and pulverize anything inside. The latter can overwhelm particle shields and damage exterior components without nearly as much penetration. The reason I’m saying all this to you,” He tapped the top of the cannon where it joined to the ship. “This thing’s got a super limited firing arc. Meaning that we can only shoot what we’re pointed at. If, by some miracle, we get into a fight out there then our ability to shoot back is gonna depend on your ability to fly the ship while facing the enemy.”
Trix swallowed heavily as she tried to imagine just how powerful this massive cannon was. She glanced over at the side of it, to the twin belts that fed in ammo. Each round it would fire was longer than her forearm and thicker than her waist.
“That’s the worst case scenario though. In reality, if we get into any shit out there, fighting is the LAST thing we want to do. Negotiation to avoid hostility first, escape second, fight last.” Alex shooed her out of the compartment. “That said if we encounter any low-yield junk out there then we’ll get some target practice in. If you’re game then we can let you try targeting for a bit and unload some kinetic mayhem while things are dull.” He grinned wickedly, as he manually pulled the hatch back into place, sliding two large locking levers into place.
“Okay, that’s it for this deck. There’s stairs on the far side leading up to the tech deck but the ladder here’s quicker.”
They climbed up the ladder, with Alex leading and Trix following. Her wings banged against the ceiling as she climbed, and it took her a few moments to get them tucked in tight enough to get through the hatch but with Alex’s help they got up there.
“Tech deck. Mostly. In the front of the ship here right under Bridge access is the exception, the pool room.” He opened the door and they walked in together. “Mainly used for observation but the pool there is great for relaxation. You can adjust the temperature with the controls on the wall there, goes from chilly to full on hot tub. Adjustable depth from 3 to 10 feet, and the pool walls are display panels. If you use a breather it’s fun to turn the display to external then go down underwater and relax while staring at the stars. Do you swim much?”
Trix nodded. “Sure, there’s a river a… couple kilometers? I think? I’m not good with converting distances yet. Anyway, it’s near the hab and we’d go there when I was younger and didn’t have as much to do in the fields.”
“Cool. Well, feel free to use it but just a word of warning you might want to check if anyone’s in first. Swimwear is optional and since the crew is a pretty tight family we don’t usually get embarrassed if we’re seen swimming in the buff.” Alex waved over at the control console. “If you’re not sure the big green button on the outside is the comm button, just ask if anyone’s using it.”
“Ji brought me in here when we came up to do the medical scans. He showed me Kiveyt from orbit for the first time. Do all human ships have a room like this?” Trix reached over to dip her hand into the water. It was quite warm to the touch.
“Nah. This ship wasn’t originally designed as a scout ship or survey ship. It was originally a yacht. Big luxury vehicle for rich people to fly around in space and have fun in. Throw parties. Most of the ridiculous amenities it has I got rid of ages ago, but that left a huge amount of space we filled up with all the launchers and sensors and whatnot. I kept the pool though because I love soaking after a long day.” He pressed the door control and they left the pool room.
“Just past the pool room on either side of the ship we have collection dishes for D-space particles. Those are EVA only, so you won’t be dealing with those. They let us collect extremely powerful particles which lead back here.” Alex spoke as he walked, and turned the corner into a much, much larger room.
“This is the ship’s main power supply. Charged particles enter the torus reactor and discharge energy which is converted into electrical power and routed through the ship. Those bottles over there…” He gestured to four massive grey metal canisters on the wall. “Contain the actual particles. They’re made of the strongest materials we have because if one ruptured, the ship would instantly explode from the inside out. Don’t worry,” Alex quickly raised his hands. “The chances of that happening are virtually impossible. This is the single most well-protected location on the ship.”
He gestured to the other side of the large room. “Over there’s the terminals that Min is usually at. She and Ji are in charge of all engineering. That means power, propulsion, all computer systems, and the like. Well, the physical parts of them that is. Ma’et is our computer geek when it comes to integration, programming, and all the fun software shit.”
Alex left the room, and gestured to the other side. “I’m sure you’re familiar with medical over there. Let’s do us both a favor and not have to go there much. Otherwise I’m pretty sure Kyshe will gut me.” He didn’t stop to show her inside, and they reached the main staircase. “The back half of the ship on this deck is all propulsion access and maintenance. I’m more or less our damage control guy, along with Ji and Min. For them it’s because they’re smart as shit and for me it’s because I had to learn how to maintain my own ship. Most common damage out here is stray micro meteors or debris while we’re parked and the particle shields are down. Sometimes worn out components inside. Again, no EVA for you so the only thing you’ll need to worry about for DC is being an assistant to one of us while we fix shit.”
They went up the stairwell to the uppermost of the three floors. “There used to be an observation bubble above us, but I had it removed because it was useless. Even if I covered it with ablative plating it was a massive wart on top of the ship that served zero practical purpose. Anyway, the top floor here is where you’ll spend 90% of your time on the ship. Back here…” Alex started walking to the rear of the ship, and walked through a large open doorway. “Mess hall. We generally have two kinds of meals here - when we’re on long deployment, the food extruder over there can produce rations. They’re not amazing but they’re quick both to make and eat. It’ll also make reasonable meat and dairy substitutes. If you want a real meal though we usually keep the good stuff in deep freeze so it takes a fair amount of time to be ready. Other than that the bev dispenser is over there. Water and various juices on tap all the time, alcohol is restricted only to meals only. We all get together for breakfast and dinner though, since it’s just a good way to socialize. Tonight expect a big meal in celebration.”
He walked out of the mess, and opened a door to a large open area. “Rec room. Not used a whole lot because most of us use haptic suits for exercise and recreation but we don’t have a suit that’ll fit you or your wings, so I want you to be in here twice a week at least. Ma’et is a great partner for any exercise that doesn’t involve fighting, unless you like bruises in which case she’ll happily go a few rounds with gloves on. Pilots don’t get the level of exercise you’re used to on the planet working fields so exercise up here will be pretty damn vital.”
She looked around the room, then hurried to catch up to the captain as he walked out. “On the other side of the hall from the Mess is general storage. Cleaning supplies, a small laundry unit if the one in your room quits working, random odds and ends. Also a few extra bunks just in case we need them. Unfortunately I am going to have to have you spend one night in here while we get your room cleaned up and ready for you.” He walked in, and over to one of the walls. “Bunk folds down from here. Looks, uh…” He glanced at the fold-down bed and back at Trix. “Looks tight. Do me a favor and see if you’re gonna be OK there?”
It was very close, but Trix laid down on the sleeping pad and adjusted until she found a good comfortable spot. “For just one night, this will do…”
“Alright, no worries then. We’ll have your room ready quick as we can.” She got off the pad and Alex gestured for her to follow. “Quarters themselves are here, 4 on either side of the main hallway. Myself, Josh, Ma’et, and Amanda on the right in that order. Ji, Min, Your quarters, and the last was converted into a mechanical room for Par. Speaking of…”
He walked into the last room and knocked on a large hatch. “Par, would it be alright if I introduced our newest shipmate?”
“Of course, Captain.” The hatch slid silently open revealing a large, intricate array. Circuit boards were laid out in rows and wires ran between them in perfectly neat, ordered channels. In the center of it all was a large oblong egg-looking object. “Trix, may I present to you Parathanelias Sigma-822.”
Several rows of lights lit up along the side of the egg, and the pleasant musical voice she’d heard so often came from a small speaker alongside it. “It is a pleasure to meet you in person, Trksehnoarala.”
Trix stared at the open hatch then gestured behind her. “I thought you were in those floating metal balls…?”
“The spheres you mention are my remotes. None of them are large enough to house my primary systems. In a way, they are my eyes, ears, and limbs. My true nature is integration here within the ship itself, and I make up for my limited mobility in person by having the greatest mobility of any other member of the crew.”
“He also has an avatar in VR of an organic human, but most of the time he uses the floating spheres to interact with us and the rest of the world. His core,” Alex gestured to the egg-like central object, “houses his base personality and his most important memories. The rest of this is extra storage for less critical information. I’m a bit jealous because his most important memories will always be preserved forever in perfect clarity. The rest of us get to have our memories fade with time, but his will be eternal.”
Alex stood there mutely for a moment then shook his head. “Anyway. Back to the tour. Thanks Par!”
“My pleasure.” The hatch slid silently shut and Alex and Trix left the room. “This room has been empty for long enough I pretty much gave it over to Ji and Min for a long while.” Alex walked into the room next to Par’s. “It’s kind of a mess but we’re going to get it cleaned up then it’ll be yours.”
There was no bed in the room, and the tables against the walls were covered with electronics and quickboards. In the center of the room, a huge metal contraption was spread out. Eight large jointed legs were wired in to a big central circular turret. Above that, a multitude of ‘limbs’ extended out - one a large grasper with clawed metal fingers, another ending with an odd cone-shaped implement with a blackened tip. A third was a huge metal pipe jutting out, and a fourth looked to be a number of small openings to place something into.
Trix gestured to it, “What is THAT thing?”
“That’s the Spider. It’s a long-time project the Twins have been working on. Pretty much since they joined the crew, really. It was meant to be a mechanical walker for the military but… well, that’s their story to tell.” Alex snorted. “There’s going to be enough time to go into the details later. Point is, before we even start leaving the system we’re gonna move this out, get a full king sized bed in here for you, some more storage, and so on. That door,” He gestured to a door on the other side of the room, “Leads to a hygiene unit. Full on shower, no bath but if you want to soak the Pool’s down a floor. Aside from no tub it has a deluxe toilet, sink, and a small cleaning unit for clothes.”
Trix cautiously stepped around the large disassembled robot, and opened the door to peer inside. The hygiene unit was much larger than she’d expected, and she was grateful to see that most of the facilities was familiar to her.
“Okay, one last stop and it’s the most important.” Alex walked out into the hallway and Trix rushed to catch up, almost tripping as she hopped over a piece of scrap cable along the floor. “I’m sure this will become your second home on the ship real fast. The bridge.”
They walked down the hall through a small access corridor into a large, wide open space. A large chair sat in the center with a number of controls and articulating arms present on the back. In front of it, a number of control panels were arranged in rows. The front of the bridge and both sides were dominated by massive window screens that showed the area the ship was currently facing. She could see one screen to the side with a display showing Kiveyt, first as a small dot with a zoomed-in and blown up image next to it.
“The door back there in the corner leads to a briefing room, nothing special there but a table and chairs. The big chair in the middle is mine, but if you ask super nicely I’ll let you sit in it.” Alex grinned, and pointed at the console in the very center of the bridge, in front of the Captain’s chair. “But that station over there is primary navigation. Josh is there quite a lot of the time, though just as often I navigate from the Captain’s Chair or Ma’et controls the ship from her neural interface. As of now, though, I bequeath ownership of it unto you - for the next few weeks, at least.”
Trix walked around the bridge staring at everything. The control consoles were smooth, rounded and sleek in their presentation. Each one had a large keyboard in front covered with the strange runes of the Humans’ language. Various other instruments and implements were present at each station, but at hers she smiled gratefully to see that the keys had already changed and had more familiar and recognizable letters in place of the Humans odd script. The layout was definitely weird, and she knew it was going to take time and effort to grow accustomed but at the very least she would be able to understand what she was doing as she learned. Even better, the seat lacked the same high back that the other seats had, which would have been pressed tightly and uncomfortably against her wings.
She glanced back at Alex, who just nodded at her. Encouraged, she took a seat and glanced around. “This is mine.” She whispered it and then let her wings spread out with pleasure as she realized that from here, from this station, she would be the one personally controlling the entire massive vehicle behind her. It lacked the flight stick of the shuttle or the handle controls of her aircar, and in a way she felt disappointed she wouldn’t be able to manually control the ship the same way she could the smaller vehicles. But as she looked around her and rested her hands on the cool surface of the console, she felt something else. A thrill of anticipation at the thought of being the one in control of this massive ship and everyone inside of it.
Alex climbed several steps up to the captain’s chair on its elevated dais, and took a seat directly behind her. The sight of a winged alien in front of him at the nav console with the stars stretching out above and beyond her was a strange one, but a pleasant one. He tried to think of a witty quip to finish the tour with, but failing that he settled for a much simpler one instead.
“Welcome aboard, Pilot.”
—--
“Okay, before we get started, I believe that this is a special occasion warranting a toast.” Alex sat at the head of the large table at the mess, with the other six organic members of the crew assembled further down. “To our new pilot trainee!”
“Here Here!” “To Trix!” “To our Trainee!”
Alex took a sip of his whisky, and sighed in pleasure. “God that hits the spot. Okay everyone, dig in.”
The dinner was an odd affair, mostly because every single member was wearing their visor. Trix could not speak English, and the crew couldn’t speak her native tongue. Masks which would automatically translate couldn’t be worn during a meal so the solution was to have real-time speech to text appearing on everyone’s visor. Trix, who never had worn a visor before, had a difficult time getting the display to appear just right in front of her eyes but she and Par had gotten it dialed in.
Trix glanced at the array of food in front of her. Some items looked familiar, others completely foreign, and none of it smelled quite right. She gestured to the food. “None of this is from Kiveyt. Is it safe for me to eat it?”
“I went through our entire comestible database while we were on the planet. Surprisingly there’s almost no Terran food you can’t eat.” Josh had a massive burrito nearly as long as Ma’et’s arm on the plate in front of him, and he spoke while dabbing hot sauce over it. “All of our Macronutrients are completely interchangeable. Most Micronutrients are as well. There’s a few exotic vitamins and amino acids that you need that we can’t provide, but we have supplements from the planet that’ll handle those.”
“Oh.” Trix glanced around at the table, trying to decide what to eat. The spread was, per Alex’s suggestion, extremely large and quite diverse. “I’m not sure where to start then.”
Min picked up a large platter with a circular dish on it. “Far as I’m concerned the best place to start is with Pizza. It’s one of the most widely loved foods throughout Terran space.” She dumped a slice onto the plate in front of Trix, while Ji slid a very tall glass of water over to her, alongside an odd reddish looking beverage.
“Give the fruit punch a try too. It’s much more sweet than the juice you were serving down on the planet. A lot more mild too.” He suggested, and gestured to another plate. “Also? Tacos are never a bad choice.”
Trix reached out and picked up one of the odd, semi-circular items. Ji grabbed one as well, and bit into it with gusto. Trix mimicked the motion, crunching into the hard shell. It was quite interesting, tasteless at first as she bit into the shell and the lettuce, but then the spiced meat hit her tongue. It was quite mild but not unpleasant. She chewed on it and gulped down a mouthful. “Not bad.” She took another bite.
The taco vanished quickly, and she glanced down at the slice of Pizza next. “Like this, Trix.” Min gestured to pick it up by the crust, putting her fingers in front of it to prevent it from flopping down. Trix followed Min’s example, and took a huge bite. This one was even milder, almost disappointingly so. “Not much flavor to this one. Is all your food really light like this?”
The humans glanced around at that. “Y’know, Sophie mentioned our rations were tasteless. They have a pretty strong cinnamon taste to ‘em.” Alex sat back thoughtfully as he nursed the glass of whisky in his hand. “The food we had down on the planet was all pretty strong flavors…”
Josh handed the bottle of hot sauce in his hand over to Trix. “Try a dab of this. It adds a kick to some foods.”
Trix took the bottle, and put a few drops of it on the slice of pizza in front of her. She took another bite, and her eyes lit up. The next few bites all had more hot sauce each, and the crust itself ended up practically drenched in it. “Thanks, Josh. That was delicious.”
The rest of the crew was staring at her and she shrunk back slightly at their intense scrutiny. Had she done something wrong? She hadn’t ever offended them during any meals back on the planet, so the sudden shift in attention was jarring and quite uncomfortable.
Ji whistled at the sight of the alien hungrily wofling down the slice of pizza covered in bright spicy sauce. “Here, try some of that on a taco next!” He picked up another shell and offered it to her.
Trix reached out and took the taco, this time pouring a hefty amount of sauce on it. Eating this one was much messier, and she could feel the hot sauce dribbling down the side of her mouth as she took a huge bite. Min handed her a paper towel, and she embarrassedly wiped away the errant food. “Thanks, Min. That was great too, Ji.”
“Hold up.” Alex stood up and walked over to one of the cupboards, pulling out another bottle of sauce. “I’m curious now. This is a lot hotter than the sauce you’ve been trying thus far. See if it’s to your liking. Just, start with a very small amount. A little goes a LONG way.” He walked back to the table, placing the bottle next to Trix. She studied it briefly, mostly the logo - a caricature of a human whose head appeared to be on fire.
“Um, Okay. Should I try it with the Pizza or the Taco?” She glanced between the two dishes she’d already tried. “Either one. Whichever you prefer.” was Alex’s reply.
Trix reached out and grabbed a third Taco, opening up the bottle. Immediately she could smell the fragrant sauce within, and she carefully poured a small amount into the shell. She cautiously took a bite and chewed thoughtfully.
“Too hot?” Alex suggested, but she shook her head. “No. Just…” She poured more sauce on the taco, and ate the rest in only a few bites. “Whew. Sorry, Captain Alexander. That was incredible! I’ve never tasted anything like it before.”
“Captain Alexander just sounds weird. Call me Alex or Al. Or ‘Captain’ if you really, really need to use my rank for whatever reason.” Alex sat down, and chuckled. “But that’s interesting. Very, very interesting. That sauce there?” He gestured towards the bottle. “It’s made with a chemical called ‘Capsaicin’. To humans it’s a powerful spice. Too much of it causes a painful burning sensation that lingers. We normally dilute it to make it more palatable and less painful.”
Trix glanced at the bottle. “I guess that explains the fire on the little picture here.” She grabbed another slice of the pizza, and drizzled the sauce on top.
“Three tacos and two slices of pizza?” Ma’et was impressed as she saw how much food the Avian was packing away.
“The disadvantage of those muscular bodies.” Josh waved his hand towards Trix. “They require all the calories that a Human does and more. Back on the planet I learned their species used to be a lot smaller, but after developing animal husbandry and reliable sources of higher calorie foods they bulked up pretty quick.”
Trix, for her part, slicked off the second slice of pizza with gusto. She grabbed a fourth taco, and liberally poured the spicy sauce all over, before wolfing that down as well. She grabbed the fruit juice that Ji had offered her… the ‘punch’? And downed it almost as quickly.
“I hope after all this is over, we can buy some more of that sauce. I definitely want the others back at home to try it.” She licked her lips, and sighed with contentment. “This juice too. I like how sweet it is.”
“Birds are immune to Capsaicin.” Josh murmured softly, but it was picked up by the visor and translated perfectly. “I wonder what the chances are that space-birds would be too?”
—--
“Slide the jack under that joint there.” Trix did as instructed, wheeling the small hydraulic device under the ‘spider’s’ massive leg. “Great. Just gotta line up the leg with where the servos join in…” Ji and Min lifted the leg and immediately began connecting up cables and lines. After all the connections were made, Ji braced himself against the wall and shoved - hard - against the leg, firmly connecting the mechanical rotary joint into place.
“Okay, testing.” Min walked over to the console and began punching in codes. Like the other six limbs before it, this one shook slightly then began to flex, twist, and move around. “Range of motion is nominal. Motors are all showing peak. Locking joints and anchor bolt systems are green.”
Ji wiped off some sweat from his forehead, and leaned back against the wall. “I knew it was a mistake to work on it up here. At least if we put it in the hangar we could have lowered the gravity.”
“It would have been in the way during the rescue op, and we had enough shit going on then we didn’t need to add ‘reassemble a multi-ton walking modular platform’ to the list.” Min gestured with her head, not even glancing over at her brother. “Man up. Trix hasn’t even broken a sweat.”
“I don’t sweat.” Trix mumbled, as she stared at the massive machine. “This thing is crazy. Puts my car to shame.”
“Yeah, our pride and joy. Together we’ve spent decades refining it.” Min glanced over at Trix with a broad smile. “The modular bay on top has been my focus, while Ji’s been adjusting and perfecting the leg and motion systems.”
“What’s it for?”
“Well, right now it’s kind of in between intended uses.” Ji walked over to a large shelf and gestured to the assorted objects there. “With our original plans it was going to have a bunch of swappable options. Right now, it has short and long range assault armaments and a plasma cutter for breaching sealed doors. A basic military drone capable of adapting to all kinds of situations.”
Trix stared at the array of weapons in front of her. “So this is what the human military uses to fight with?”
“Nah.” Min set down the quickboard and walked over to the huge machine. “We envisioned it as a multi-purpose response unit. Capable of dropping in from outside the atmosphere an landing anywhere, going anywhere. Dealing with any situation that could possibly arise. It’s an all-terrain support mech and its modular nature would have made it able to respond to nearly any situation. And it was rejected by the military.”
“What? Why?”
Ji held up a hand and ticked off his fingers. “One, it’s more expensive to drop one of these than a squad of soldiers. Nevermind the fact that it can do 10 people’s worth of work without putting even a single person in danger. Two, it’s too big to be fired out of normal launchers. Adding new launchers to ships would have been a significant amount of work and cost that the navy wasn’t willing to foot the bill. Three, we didn’t have any money after developing it. Meaning we couldn’t bribe anyone in the government into pressuring the military to work with us.”
“Four, they already have hover tanks and artillery and we couldn’t convince them that our system was superior to those.” Min sighed, and threw herself into a chair.
“Hovering is cheating though.” Ji glared at his sister.
“Cheating? What?” Trix just looked bewildered at this.
“Hovering isn’t all-terrain. Hovering is NO terrain.”
“Oh.” Trix took a seat in a nearby chair herself. “So did the captain buy this then?”
“Nope. See, we were finishing up Uni and started developing the Spider, but we didn’t really have the money to actually MAKE one. We had all the plans and all the research on our side but not the raw materials or the money to get those raw materials.” Ji pulled out a stick of gum and popped it in his mouth. “At first we tried going straight to the military which was a huge mistake, they just made a million excuses and told us to get lost. Then we tried approaching some weapon dev companies for funding. They basically told us they’d fund it in exchange for all the rights to production and we’d get whatever they felt was fair. Which when we pressed on a figure, wasn’t much.”
Trix glanced over at the massive mech. “But it got made, obviously.”
“Yup. When we weren’t sure what to do, a buddy of ours mentioned that Al was looking for an engineering team. We can do starship engineering.” Min grabbed the quickboard and extended one of the spider’s legs towards her, so she could kick her feet up on it. “Matter of fact, this ship’s a thing of beauty. Al is a complete doofus but he takes fantastic care of the ship. When we came on we gave him a list of everything that should change. He sat down with us, went over it point by point, and even though it ended up costing over half a million credits he gave us full authorization to make every single change we suggested.”
“So after we did a stint working as engineers we joined up as crew.” Ji had an odd smile on his face. “Since then, we’ve put the money we made from working here towards building this thing. We actually had it completed but then I had this idea of using an array of microservo actuators instead of a larger servo to give us a lot more fine control over the joints. That didn’t work, like, at all but when we used a combination of them we managed to find just the right ratio that gives us twice the amount of precision in each joint, which lets us use the-”
“ANYWAY.” Min interrupted her Brother before he could get too deep into the weeds. “We had it built, with the original armaments we envisioned, but Al suggested making a module for mining and sampling. We brought it in here in order to disassemble it to make the servo adjustments and while we were at it we were going to be replacing the actual weapons with a mining beam, core sample collector, and an array of sensors. Now though we’re going to put it in storage for a while. We got much more important things to take care of now.”
“Oh.” Trix had begun to tune Ji out when he launched into his diatribe. “But what do you mean joined up as crew? You were already crew, weren’t you?”
Min swung her foot down, and gestured to the ship. “It’s different. There’s employees… and then there’s crew. Right now you’re an employee. You’re working with us, you’re out here, but your home’s back with your Teff. Right?”
Trix nodded.
“Well, when you’re crew… this is your home. We’re all family out here. I don’t know as much about the whole Teff thing but I think it’s sort of similar. This ship’s our home, the crew is our family. Alex may be a childish idiot but he’s loyal to his crew like nothing else.” Min stood up and walked over to put her hand on her brother’s shoulder. “When we worked here and started to see how well he treats his people, we felt like we could really belong here. He asked if we’d like to join up, so we did. Best decision we ever made.”
“Yup. He treats the crew as well as he treats the ship.” Ji gestured around him. “Working for him paid well. Working as crew, we don’t get paid regularly but we get a cut out of every mission and that cut is HUGE. That’s how we could afford to actually build the spider in the first place.”
“Ah. So if he invited me along, does that mean he wants me to join the crew too?” Trix wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Joining another family was commonplace for males who left their Teff to join others, but incredibly rare for females.
“Dunno. He’s hired on specialists in the past who’ve come and gone. And he’s invited people to join up who said no and that was that.” Ji shrugged and pressed the release on the hydraulic press, letting it collapse down. “C’mon, we should get the last leg attached. Then we can pack it up and use a grav collar to move it down to the hangar. Don’t want to make you stay in that cramped storage room again tonight.”
“Yeah, I tried to stretch my wings in the morning and I banged up against one of the shelves. Really not looking forward to that again.” Trix grumbled at the memory, and stood up. “Okay, what more do we need done to get this over with?”
—--

Everyday on this sub, there is a discussion about Royal Sushi. Which, don't get me wrong, is likely the best sushi omakase in Philadelphia from a taste and ingredient perspective. But, too often are we not discussing the idea of worth.
Is the Royal Sushi omakase worth $300?
Obviously, there's a level of subjectivity. A person who makes $300,000 a year isn't going to see a near $720 bill for two people to eat out as a major deterrent if they want good sushi, and is likely to not even consider the price when evaluating the meal. Comparative that to someone who earns $60,000, and the story changes dramatically. And yet, our recommendations rarely change to accommodate such discussions.
So, when I'm talking about the best places in the city, I'm often comparing dollars spent to dollars spent.
Is the Royal Sushi Omakase, on average, three times as good as Suraya's prix fixe? Is it ten times as good as Laser Wolf's salatim spread? Is one night of Royal Sushi's omakase twenty times better than Hershel's pastrami Rachel? (The list goes on... Imagine how many rugalach you could get from Essen bakery?)
Even comparing Sushi to Sushi. Royal versus Yuhiro, at a 4x value? Royal vs Hiroki at a 1.53x~? Or even Royal vs getting a bunch of silly rolls from a local shop, or a'la carte from Sagami. When do these prices become less about the prestige and more about pure value? That boils down to: would you prefer to have one night at Royal, or four nights at Yuhiro? Though, of course, Royal isn't the only restaurant charging these prices, and it's not my intention to single them out; however, it's clear they're the most popular discussion point for any restaurant on this sub at these ranges, and thus becomes the point of discussion.
Now, there's going to be a level of diminishing returns on food cost. The higher the price, the less likely it will be that the food is truly worth that amount. You're paying for service, atmosphere, prestige, etc. But to me, so much of that takes a backseat to the food itself. I'm a sucker for a dive with an amazing poutine, or a food cart with brilliant halal platters. I want to talk about, and dissect, and learn about-- and most importantly, EAT-- food! And in those discussions, I think value is not taking a large enough slice of the discussion. Which is strange, considering the constant moaning about a $3 charge on a bill because a restaurant can't make ends meet without it.
It's (again, to me) been a strange and irrational take that has been a mainstay since lockdown broke. It'll say there's a small upcharge on the menu, but people will still gripe and complain that they're adding three dollars to a meal that was $65. A less than 5% charge was added, even after it was expected, and people will swear to never go back. But, $300 for an Omakase? Or even more absurd, Royal charges $45 for an A3 Wagyu beef roll. A3 Wagyu is effectively choice in American grading standards. Two people would be able to eat at Laser Wolf, and have unlimited salatim, hummus, and pita, for $44. To compare that, in any form, to eight pieces of maki-- made of choice beef atop sushi rice with jalepeno sauce and some avocado-- seems like lunacy. At what point does the discussion veer to "this just isn't bloody well worth it?"
In fact, in my searches, no one has ever noticed or complained publicly that there's a $45 sushi roll using sub par beef. How? The internet complains about everything!
Which brings me to: maybe it's because it's considered an art? This discussion tends to allude the art world as a whole. I can judge a car for its worth. A video game's price is a constant point of discussion. Appliances, absolutely. But as soon as artistic merit is involved, it's suddenly a taboo, and it's clear that food is the most widely consumed high art in the country. So, it's gauche to look a price and say "who the fuck is paying $61 dollars for a quarter teaspoon of caviar on crème fraîche, of which you could buy the entire tub of both in a store for the same price?"
To which I ask, where does a meal end and an artistic experience begin? Is it solely based on price? The difficulty of the reservation? Is John's Roast Pork sandwich a work of art? Would it be if it cost $45 dollars? Is it scarcity? does the chef need to be a tortured soul who can only express themselves by feeding others?
And at what point is it just painted as irrational spending?
I believe, strongly, that value needs to play a much larger point of discussion. In very few mediums could a product exist that stands to be rated, and people wouldn't factor in price. Would Avengers Endgame-- the seventh most expensive movie ever made-- be rated as highly if they decided their tickets would be $50? Is Undertale, darling of the indie gaming world, reaching its critical and commercial success if it launched at $60, alongside its AAA contemporaries? Would a Hyundai Sonata see the such positive consumer reaction if it was suddenly $10,000 more expensive?
If we're willing to say "That's not worth the price" to other products, why are restaurants immune? Because, to me, it's really hard to justify seventeen pieces of sushi, when I could get nearly 70 fucking pounds of red Sour Patch Kids..
So, tell me about your stories of worth. Even if it's Royal and directly refutes what I'm putting down. What's the most worthwhile spot in Philly, to you? Where are your dollars being spent in a way where you feel you're getting more for what you're spending? Or, what isn't worth the cost? What restaurant or stand make you think "I just paid ____ for that shit?"
Or hell, refute the premise. Is this an art for which paying exorbitant prices is expected?

Note: I have eaten at every restaurant I mentioned, and a ton otherwise. This isn't a sour grapes situation, as much as it's meant to dissuade discussions of end-all-be-all without factoring in value to those who deeply care about the price of their food. (And, yes, Royal is definitely worth 1.53~ Hiroki dinners, and then some.)
Super side note: There's no discussion flair!

Saint Jonah Moiseyevich Atamansky was born in Odessa on September 14, 1852 (according to another source, 1855) into the family of Deacon Moses Florovich Atamansky, who served in the church of the Nativity of the Mother of God. His father died when he was three (according to another source, seven) years old. His mother, Glykeria, wanted him to follow in his father's footsteps and sent him to church as an altar boy. On her death bed, she blessed him to be a priest, saying: "I want you to be a good pastor."
So, while still very young, Jonah was left a complete orphan. He spent many days and nights at the cemetery at his parents' graves, picking flowers and weaving wreaths for them. He had no refuge except the cemetery, but the cruel watchman beat him and drove him out even from there.
The child began to wander on the streets and on the sea shore, feeding on the contents of dustbins and sleeping at night on garbage-dumps outside the city. He found a refuge for himself in one of the Odessa bell-towers, but was driven out of there by cruel people.
Finally his uncle had pity on him, and then his former nanny. They gave him shelter and sent him to school. But he never ceased to feel that he was an orphan. He studied in a church school, where his teachers noticed his good qualities. Having a good voice, he took part in a church choir. The boy grew up to be God-fearing and religious, praying without ceasing to God.
In 1884 he was ordained to the diaconate, and two years later - to the priesthood. On that occasion his Grace Bishop Nicanor said to those around him: "Take Father Jonah's blessing... I felt a special grace in him, his soul is burning with a sacred flame. He will be a distinguished priest."
In 1897 he began his service in the Odessa Dormition cathedral. He was greatly loved by his flock, all of whom tried to be present at the early Liturgy, which he usually celebrated. They hung on his every word. His house was open for all those in sorrow or homeless, and no one left him unconsoled. He knew people well, could read their thoughts and penetrate into their souls. He could find good in people which no one else saw. He was especially compassionate to orphans, sheltering, feeding and clothing many. He was kind and attentive to all. He constantly served in church, and preached sermons after every service. At home he prayed without ceasing, getting up at midnight to pray for everyone. During storms he would always be in church, praying for those at sea. At night he would serve the midnight service and read akathists, and noone who was present at those night services will ever forget them.
In 1901 Father Jonah became pastor of the maritime port church of Saint Nicholas. Thousands of people were cured of physical and spiritual infirmities through his prayers. He built a hostel at his church where many vagrants, travellers and demon-possessed people whom he had cured found refuge. Through confession, Communion, prayer and conversation he brought them to life again, and they became respectable and orderly people.
He was a second John of Kronstadt, a wonderworker of the south, and was glorified by the same good works for which his contemporary in the north was renowned. When people came to Father John of Kronstadt from the south, he would say: "Why have you travelled to see me? You have your own John of Kronstadt in Father Jonah!"
Very early in his life the grace of the Holy Spirit began to act and manifest Himself in Father Jonah. While yet a deacon he had begun to work miracles. Vera, his oldest daughter, died while still an infant. Father Jonah took the dead child in his arms, fell to his knees before the icon of the Mother of God and began to pray. Little by little the baby returned to life and recovered. She was his favourite daughter and outlived him.
In Odessa there lived a famous doctor, Professor V.P. Filatov. Once a peasant woman brought him her two-year-old son, who had been blind from birth. But the Professor after examining him said that he could do nothing for him; science was powerless in such cases. The sorrowful mother then took the child to Father Jonah. For nine nights Father Jonah stood praying for the child, ceaselessly serving molebens and akathists. On the tenth day he returned the child to his mother, completely cured.
People began to talk about the miracle, and the Soviet authorities decided to conduct an investigation. They called Professor Filatov and tried to get him to accuse Father Jonah of deceit and blackmail. But the professor insisted that this was the child he had examined, and that a miracle had taken place. "How can you admit a miracle here?" they asked him mockingly. But he stood his ground, and the trial ended inconclusively; noone was punished but religious faith was strengthened in the city.
A certain peasant had a twelve-year-old son who was born blind. Hearing that Father Jonah was healing the blind, he brought his son to him. Father Jonah sent the parents and their son to Dr. Filatov. "Only a miracle can help him," was the physician's diagnosis. They then returned to Father Jonah, who ordered that they leave the boy with him (this took place during the Great Fast), and began to pray for him and give him Communion. Within two weeks the child began to see.
After this incident Dr. Filatov began to visit Father Jonah and a friendship grew up between them. When they asked him how he had discovered his method for the transplantation of corneas he replied: "Through the help of Father Jonah's prayers."
Another time there was brought to Father Jonah a possessed man who began to scream. Batiushka said some prayers and told the evil spirit: "Depart from him!" "I am fearsome," replied the demon. "A righteous man is not afraid of you; and a sinner cannot see you. Leave, I tell you!" This happened three times. After the third time the demon departed.
Because of the expulsion of his demons, the enemy of mankind took cruel revenge upon the family of Father Jonah. He had but to begin to cast out a demon and a fire would break out in his house without any apparent cause, or the cats would go mad. Thus the beleaguered family was not at all pleased when the possessed were brought to Father Jonah for healing, for they knew that there would again be misfortunes.
One day Father Jonah stood at the altar table during the all-night vigil, but suddenly he fell silent, his body grew stiff, and a short while later he raised his hands and exclaimed: "Praise ye the name of the Lord! Praise ye the name of the Lord!... Alleluia! Alleluia!" So they led him from the church to his home, his hands raised on high, face streaming with tears, and uttering these words, though he had not finished the service. Those present understood that Batiushka had had a vision. His eldest daughter Vera had seen only part of the vision: the entire sanctuary had been filled with fire. Later, Father Jonah related what he had seen: Christ had come, and after Him priests who were rending the garments on Him. With the Lord came Saint Seraphim, who was weeping bitterly. But the Lord said to him: "Weep not. They will repent!"
Father Jonah endured much persecution and many misfortunes, not only at the hands of invisible foes, but of visible enemies as well. One day, a crowd of seamen, unbelievers, fell upon him; they threw him down and began to choke him, damaging his vocal chords to such an extent that for the last few years of his life he spoke so softly that the sexton had to stand at the doors of the altar during the Divine services amd repeat Batiushka's exclamations so that they would be audible to the faithful.
The enemy also wreaked vengeance upon Father Jonah through his own children: they were almost all sorry failures: they were expelled from school, misfortune haunted them; their marriages were unhappy. All of this was the devil's revenge.
The most extraordinary things happened to Father Jonah. Often, on leaving his bedroom in the presence of his family, he would vanish and at that very moment appear at a village outside the city where some possessed people whom he had cured lived. Or he would leave his home on foot but show up suddenly in his bedroom, even though the doors were shut.
One day, Father Jonah left with his sacristan for the Convent of Saint Michael, which he supported. Having served the all-night vigil there, he left to return home. When he had reached the escalier at the foot of which were located the chuch and the home in which he lived, he suddenly vanished. Only his boots remained near the escalier; these the sacristan took home. That night two peasants, a man and his wife, were travelling towards the city on a cart. By dawn they had reached the Convent of the Annunciation, which located near the church and the home in which he lived. Coming into the Convent, they saw a priest kneeling. Drawing nearer, they found the priest's riassa, but he himself had vanished. Picking up the riassa, the peasants proceeded to the city, went to the church of Father Jonah, related what they had seen and brought out the riassa to show around. Those who served in the sanctuary recognized it as Father Jonah's; Father Jonah, as it turned out, had found himself in his bedroom at dawn, clad only in his undergarments. Handing over the riassa and saying some prayers in the church, the peasants returned to their inn, but the horses they had left there in the morning had disappeared. In tears they hastened back to Batiushka to tell him of their misfortune. Father Jonah told them: "Go to such-and-such an inn; there you will find your horses; take them away with you." The animals were indeed found where Batiushka had said they would be.
An extraordinary thing happened to Batiushka one summer in Kishinev; it was even reported in the local newspaper. The article appeared under the title: "What is this - a dream or reality?" One day in the month of June, a certain woman went to the cemetery to visit the grave of her mother. There she suddenly became aware of a marvellous peaceful singing. Turning towards the voice, she saw a tall, pale priest who was chanting "Holy God...!" She drew closer, but the priest moved farther away. Try as she might, she could not get any closer to him. The priest was not walking, but rather floating above the graves, praying and conversing with the departed. She pursued the strange priest for quite some time, but finally gave up, exhausted. Suddenly the priest sat down on a grave, pulled a prosphora from his pocket and crumbled it up for the ants; he then raised his head and said to her: "Well, you're all worn out from chasing after me, poor Natasha. Here's a prosphora for you!" With these words he handed her a piece of prosphora and added: "Wretched woman, you haven't prepared to receive Communion for fifteen years!" And he vanished...
Astounded by his words and at a loss as to how he could have known about her, the woman began to run about the cemetery, searching for the priest; but she could find him nowhere. Tired, she returned home, but was unable to sleep, amazed was she by the pale priest with the gentle eyes and quiet voice.
Early the next morning, after a sleepless night, she left her home and went to the cathedral square. Near the cathedral she saw two night watchmen disputing amongst themselves. One said: "It was John of Kronstadt!" The other maintained: "No! Father John was of medium stature; this priest was tall!"
When she approached them, the watchmen related to her the following. At dawn of the morning of the previous day they had seen in the sky a dark spot moving towards the city. They thought it was an airplane, but when the spot drew closer, they saw that it was in fact a huge flock of crows, and in their midst was a man whom the crows were harrying; he in turn was fending them off with his cane. The crows settled on the cathedral square and again took to flight, soaring over the trees and the domes of the cathedral. The man, who had also descended to earth, shook with his cane at them, saying: "Cursed ones! Have you flown off?!"
The man, it seems, was a priest with a pale face, tall of stature. He then began to wipe the blood and sweat from his face, and afterwards went up to the doors of the cathedral, entered, and began to pray, making prostrations. Matins and the Liturgy came to an end, and the strange priest approached to kiss the cross. The local priest gave him a prosphora and asked him who he was and where he was from; but the stranger, making no reply, left the cathedral. On the porch he began to distribute money amongst the poor, but to some of them he said: "You are drunkards; you'll just waste it on drink!" And to such he gave nothing. To one old woman he gave some money, saying: "You are a struggler! Pray for the world!" And he vanished...
On hearing all this, the woman concluded that this was the same priest that she had seen in the cemetery. She had not been dreaming! Then she had but one desire: to find that priest. She began to travel from one city to another, going from one church to another in search of him. When she arrived in Odessa, she stopped at the church of St. Nicholas. On seeing Father Jonah, she cried out: "That's him!" - and fainted on the spot. Regaining consciousness, she related everything to Batiushka and presented him with a copy of the Kishinev newspaper.
One of Father Jonah's spiritual daughters related this incident to a certain elder when she was in Moscow. The elder explained: "Angels used to carry Father Jonah to various places. The demons saw this, waylaid him and carried him off to Kishinev. The angels then bore him home again."
During the first years of Soviet power, the authorities did not touch Father Jonah. Then they began to conduct searches in his house and summon him to interrogations. During the removal of church valuables they also took many things from him. Then they tried to arrest him, but the workers and peasants raised such a tumult that they had to let him go quickly.
Father Jonah died after a long and painful illness on May 17/30, 1924. His funeral was extraordinary. Not only the inhabitants of Odessa - all the poor, the tramps, the stevedores and waterfront workers who knew and loved him - but people from outlying villages, towns and neighbouring cities came together to bury their intercessor and benefactor. The authorities forbade them to bury him on Sunday, hoping to avoid a huge assemblage of people; but on Monday even more people came. All of the vast escalier of Odessa, at the base of which stood the church of Saint Nicholas and the house in which Batiushka lived, as well as the waterfront were packed so densely with people that the coffin of Father Jonah, borne aloft by those who honoured him, moved with extreme slowness. Workmen had requested that the burial itself be postponed until after four o'clock in the afternoon when they finished work for the day. They began to carry the coffin to the cemetery at four o'clock, reaching it only in the dead of night, the interment taking place at midnight, so slowly and solemnly did they carry the much-suffering body of Father Jonah, stopping frequently to serve litias.
Father Jonah did not allow his relatives to raise the question of burying him in the church. He prophesied: "They will raze the church; it will no longer exist." He ordered that he be buried in the midst of the nature he loved, "so that the birds may sing over me... Do not build a church; bury me near my relatives."
His grave became a place of prayerful assembly for the believers. A lampada always burned in front of the icon, and the venerators of Father Jonah came to his grave on his namesday and on feastdays, seeking his intercession and kissing his portrait.
Father Jonah died as a result of kidney failure. His bedroom was small and narrow, furnished only by a bed, an armchair and a plain wooden chest of drawers in which he kept a multitude of icons framed behind glass. On the twentieth day after his repose, those who revered him visited this bedroom. During his lifetime he used to sit in the armchair, for he was unable to lie down; and it was in this armchair that he surrendered his soul into the hands of the Lord. One of those who visited his bedroom was a woman with a little boy. On entering the room the child exclaimed, pointing to the chair: "Grandfather is sitting there!" Father Jonah used to receive visitors in his bedroom seated in that chair, and there it was that he had spent the last days of his earthly life.
(Sources: "Father Jonah Atamansky", Orthodox Life, no. 2, 1979)

Saint Jonah Moiseyevich Atamansky was born in Odessa on September 14, 1852 (according to another source, 1855) into the family of Deacon Moses Florovich Atamansky, who served in the church of the Nativity of the Mother of God. His father died when he was three (according to another source, seven) years old. His mother, Glykeria, wanted him to follow in his father's footsteps and sent him to church as an altar boy. On her death bed, she blessed him to be a priest, saying: "I want you to be a good pastor."
So, while still very young, Jonah was left a complete orphan. He spent many days and nights at the cemetery at his parents' graves, picking flowers and weaving wreaths for them. He had no refuge except the cemetery, but the cruel watchman beat him and drove him out even from there.
The child began to wander on the streets and on the sea shore, feeding on the contents of dustbins and sleeping at night on garbage-dumps outside the city. He found a refuge for himself in one of the Odessa bell-towers, but was driven out of there by cruel people.
Finally his uncle had pity on him, and then his former nanny. They gave him shelter and sent him to school. But he never ceased to feel that he was an orphan. He studied in a church school, where his teachers noticed his good qualities. Having a good voice, he took part in a church choir. The boy grew up to be God-fearing and religious, praying without ceasing to God.
In 1884 he was ordained to the diaconate, and two years later - to the priesthood. On that occasion his Grace Bishop Nicanor said to those around him: "Take Father Jonah's blessing... I felt a special grace in him, his soul is burning with a sacred flame. He will be a distinguished priest."
In 1897 he began his service in the Odessa Dormition cathedral. He was greatly loved by his flock, all of whom tried to be present at the early Liturgy, which he usually celebrated. They hung on his every word. His house was open for all those in sorrow or homeless, and no one left him unconsoled. He knew people well, could read their thoughts and penetrate into their souls. He could find good in people which no one else saw. He was especially compassionate to orphans, sheltering, feeding and clothing many. He was kind and attentive to all. He constantly served in church, and preached sermons after every service. At home he prayed without ceasing, getting up at midnight to pray for everyone. During storms he would always be in church, praying for those at sea. At night he would serve the midnight service and read akathists, and noone who was present at those night services will ever forget them.
In 1901 Father Jonah became pastor of the maritime port church of Saint Nicholas. Thousands of people were cured of physical and spiritual infirmities through his prayers. He built a hostel at his church where many vagrants, travellers and demon-possessed people whom he had cured found refuge. Through confession, Communion, prayer and conversation he brought them to life again, and they became respectable and orderly people.
He was a second John of Kronstadt, a wonderworker of the south, and was glorified by the same good works for which his contemporary in the north was renowned. When people came to Father John of Kronstadt from the south, he would say: "Why have you travelled to see me? You have your own John of Kronstadt in Father Jonah!"
Very early in his life the grace of the Holy Spirit began to act and manifest Himself in Father Jonah. While yet a deacon he had begun to work miracles. Vera, his oldest daughter, died while still an infant. Father Jonah took the dead child in his arms, fell to his knees before the icon of the Mother of God and began to pray. Little by little the baby returned to life and recovered. She was his favourite daughter and outlived him.
In Odessa there lived a famous doctor, Professor V.P. Filatov. Once a peasant woman brought him her two-year-old son, who had been blind from birth. But the Professor after examining him said that he could do nothing for him; science was powerless in such cases. The sorrowful mother then took the child to Father Jonah. For nine nights Father Jonah stood praying for the child, ceaselessly serving molebens and akathists. On the tenth day he returned the child to his mother, completely cured.
People began to talk about the miracle, and the Soviet authorities decided to conduct an investigation. They called Professor Filatov and tried to get him to accuse Father Jonah of deceit and blackmail. But the professor insisted that this was the child he had examined, and that a miracle had taken place. "How can you admit a miracle here?" they asked him mockingly. But he stood his ground, and the trial ended inconclusively; noone was punished but religious faith was strengthened in the city.
A certain peasant had a twelve-year-old son who was born blind. Hearing that Father Jonah was healing the blind, he brought his son to him. Father Jonah sent the parents and their son to Dr. Filatov. "Only a miracle can help him," was the physician's diagnosis. They then returned to Father Jonah, who ordered that they leave the boy with him (this took place during the Great Fast), and began to pray for him and give him Communion. Within two weeks the child began to see.
After this incident Dr. Filatov began to visit Father Jonah and a friendship grew up between them. When they asked him how he had discovered his method for the transplantation of corneas he replied: "Through the help of Father Jonah's prayers."
Another time there was brought to Father Jonah a possessed man who began to scream. Batiushka said some prayers and told the evil spirit: "Depart from him!" "I am fearsome," replied the demon. "A righteous man is not afraid of you; and a sinner cannot see you. Leave, I tell you!" This happened three times. After the third time the demon departed.
Because of the expulsion of his demons, the enemy of mankind took cruel revenge upon the family of Father Jonah. He had but to begin to cast out a demon and a fire would break out in his house without any apparent cause, or the cats would go mad. Thus the beleaguered family was not at all pleased when the possessed were brought to Father Jonah for healing, for they knew that there would again be misfortunes.
One day Father Jonah stood at the altar table during the all-night vigil, but suddenly he fell silent, his body grew stiff, and a short while later he raised his hands and exclaimed: "Praise ye the name of the Lord! Praise ye the name of the Lord!... Alleluia! Alleluia!" So they led him from the church to his home, his hands raised on high, face streaming with tears, and uttering these words, though he had not finished the service. Those present understood that Batiushka had had a vision. His eldest daughter Vera had seen only part of the vision: the entire sanctuary had been filled with fire. Later, Father Jonah related what he had seen: Christ had come, and after Him priests who were rending the garments on Him. With the Lord came Saint Seraphim, who was weeping bitterly. But the Lord said to him: "Weep not. They will repent!"
Father Jonah endured much persecution and many misfortunes, not only at the hands of invisible foes, but of visible enemies as well. One day, a crowd of seamen, unbelievers, fell upon him; they threw him down and began to choke him, damaging his vocal chords to such an extent that for the last few years of his life he spoke so softly that the sexton had to stand at the doors of the altar during the Divine services amd repeat Batiushka's exclamations so that they would be audible to the faithful.
The enemy also wreaked vengeance upon Father Jonah through his own children: they were almost all sorry failures: they were expelled from school, misfortune haunted them; their marriages were unhappy. All of this was the devil's revenge.
The most extraordinary things happened to Father Jonah. Often, on leaving his bedroom in the presence of his family, he would vanish and at that very moment appear at a village outside the city where some possessed people whom he had cured lived. Or he would leave his home on foot but show up suddenly in his bedroom, even though the doors were shut.
One day, Father Jonah left with his sacristan for the Convent of Saint Michael, which he supported. Having served the all-night vigil there, he left to return home. When he had reached the escalier at the foot of which were located the chuch and the home in which he lived, he suddenly vanished. Only his boots remained near the escalier; these the sacristan took home. That night two peasants, a man and his wife, were travelling towards the city on a cart. By dawn they had reached the Convent of the Annunciation, which located near the church and the home in which he lived. Coming into the Convent, they saw a priest kneeling. Drawing nearer, they found the priest's riassa, but he himself had vanished. Picking up the riassa, the peasants proceeded to the city, went to the church of Father Jonah, related what they had seen and brought out the riassa to show around. Those who served in the sanctuary recognized it as Father Jonah's; Father Jonah, as it turned out, had found himself in his bedroom at dawn, clad only in his undergarments. Handing over the riassa and saying some prayers in the church, the peasants returned to their inn, but the horses they had left there in the morning had disappeared. In tears they hastened back to Batiushka to tell him of their misfortune. Father Jonah told them: "Go to such-and-such an inn; there you will find your horses; take them away with you." The animals were indeed found where Batiushka had said they would be.
An extraordinary thing happened to Batiushka one summer in Kishinev; it was even reported in the local newspaper. The article appeared under the title: "What is this - a dream or reality?" One day in the month of June, a certain woman went to the cemetery to visit the grave of her mother. There she suddenly became aware of a marvellous peaceful singing. Turning towards the voice, she saw a tall, pale priest who was chanting "Holy God...!" She drew closer, but the priest moved farther away. Try as she might, she could not get any closer to him. The priest was not walking, but rather floating above the graves, praying and conversing with the departed. She pursued the strange priest for quite some time, but finally gave up, exhausted. Suddenly the priest sat down on a grave, pulled a prosphora from his pocket and crumbled it up for the ants; he then raised his head and said to her: "Well, you're all worn out from chasing after me, poor Natasha. Here's a prosphora for you!" With these words he handed her a piece of prosphora and added: "Wretched woman, you haven't prepared to receive Communion for fifteen years!" And he vanished...
Astounded by his words and at a loss as to how he could have known about her, the woman began to run about the cemetery, searching for the priest; but she could find him nowhere. Tired, she returned home, but was unable to sleep, amazed was she by the pale priest with the gentle eyes and quiet voice.
Early the next morning, after a sleepless night, she left her home and went to the cathedral square. Near the cathedral she saw two night watchmen disputing amongst themselves. One said: "It was John of Kronstadt!" The other maintained: "No! Father John was of medium stature; this priest was tall!"
When she approached them, the watchmen related to her the following. At dawn of the morning of the previous day they had seen in the sky a dark spot moving towards the city. They thought it was an airplane, but when the spot drew closer, they saw that it was in fact a huge flock of crows, and in their midst was a man whom the crows were harrying; he in turn was fending them off with his cane. The crows settled on the cathedral square and again took to flight, soaring over the trees and the domes of the cathedral. The man, who had also descended to earth, shook with his cane at them, saying: "Cursed ones! Have you flown off?!"
The man, it seems, was a priest with a pale face, tall of stature. He then began to wipe the blood and sweat from his face, and afterwards went up to the doors of the cathedral, entered, and began to pray, making prostrations. Matins and the Liturgy came to an end, and the strange priest approached to kiss the cross. The local priest gave him a prosphora and asked him who he was and where he was from; but the stranger, making no reply, left the cathedral. On the porch he began to distribute money amongst the poor, but to some of them he said: "You are drunkards; you'll just waste it on drink!" And to such he gave nothing. To one old woman he gave some money, saying: "You are a struggler! Pray for the world!" And he vanished...
On hearing all this, the woman concluded that this was the same priest that she had seen in the cemetery. She had not been dreaming! Then she had but one desire: to find that priest. She began to travel from one city to another, going from one church to another in search of him. When she arrived in Odessa, she stopped at the church of St. Nicholas. On seeing Father Jonah, she cried out: "That's him!" - and fainted on the spot. Regaining consciousness, she related everything to Batiushka and presented him with a copy of the Kishinev newspaper.
One of Father Jonah's spiritual daughters related this incident to a certain elder when she was in Moscow. The elder explained: "Angels used to carry Father Jonah to various places. The demons saw this, waylaid him and carried him off to Kishinev. The angels then bore him home again."
During the first years of Soviet power, the authorities did not touch Father Jonah. Then they began to conduct searches in his house and summon him to interrogations. During the removal of church valuables they also took many things from him. Then they tried to arrest him, but the workers and peasants raised such a tumult that they had to let him go quickly.
Father Jonah died after a long and painful illness on May 17/30, 1924. His funeral was extraordinary. Not only the inhabitants of Odessa - all the poor, the tramps, the stevedores and waterfront workers who knew and loved him - but people from outlying villages, towns and neighbouring cities came together to bury their intercessor and benefactor. The authorities forbade them to bury him on Sunday, hoping to avoid a huge assemblage of people; but on Monday even more people came. All of the vast escalier of Odessa, at the base of which stood the church of Saint Nicholas and the house in which Batiushka lived, as well as the waterfront were packed so densely with people that the coffin of Father Jonah, borne aloft by those who honoured him, moved with extreme slowness. Workmen had requested that the burial itself be postponed until after four o'clock in the afternoon when they finished work for the day. They began to carry the coffin to the cemetery at four o'clock, reaching it only in the dead of night, the interment taking place at midnight, so slowly and solemnly did they carry the much-suffering body of Father Jonah, stopping frequently to serve litias.
Father Jonah did not allow his relatives to raise the question of burying him in the church. He prophesied: "They will raze the church; it will no longer exist." He ordered that he be buried in the midst of the nature he loved, "so that the birds may sing over me... Do not build a church; bury me near my relatives."
His grave became a place of prayerful assembly for the believers. A lampada always burned in front of the icon, and the venerators of Father Jonah came to his grave on his namesday and on feastdays, seeking his intercession and kissing his portrait.
Father Jonah died as a result of kidney failure. His bedroom was small and narrow, furnished only by a bed, an armchair and a plain wooden chest of drawers in which he kept a multitude of icons framed behind glass. On the twentieth day after his repose, those who revered him visited this bedroom. During his lifetime he used to sit in the armchair, for he was unable to lie down; and it was in this armchair that he surrendered his soul into the hands of the Lord. One of those who visited his bedroom was a woman with a little boy. On entering the room the child exclaimed, pointing to the chair: "Grandfather is sitting there!" Father Jonah used to receive visitors in his bedroom seated in that chair, and there it was that he had spent the last days of his earthly life.
(Sources: "Father Jonah Atamansky", Orthodox Life, no. 2, 1979)

From the beginning...
Cast

Part 2, Chapter 8

Conferring briefly, Arthur strides across the bridge [1]. Before he gets halfway across, a voice rings out. “HALT. Come no further. We want nothing from you, and have nothing for you. Depart peaceably.” The voice is feminine, with a thick rural Damaran accent, not so dissimilar to Arthur’s.
Arthur comes to a stop. “We come in peace. We just want to know what is going on. We’re on a mission from the Council of Thanes in Ironspur. This is their forge.”
“No dwarves here. It’s ours now. You need know nothing more. Away!”
Arthur withdraws to the group, where suddenly Zander notices that Dillium has disappeared. One thing at a time. “Perhaps if we paid a toll.” Zander suggests.
“We’ll pay a toll to cross the bridge and converse.” Arthur booms.
“How much?”
“How much do you want?”
“Three figures. Leave it on the bridge.”
“We’ll give you a hundred pieces of silver.”
There is no reply. Through the haze of the heat and ash, the outlines of the people on the other side of the chasm appear to be lined up.
“Are you with the dragon?” Novos calls out.
“Of course not! He’s taken our people. Are you?”
“No. He stole our elf!” Zander calls out.
“We just want to look around,” Novos adds. He takes a few steps toward the bridge, but a dagger sails out of the darkness and misses Novos’ foot by … well, several feet.
“Go away!”
The argument goes back and forth. Daggers are thrown until the unknown assailant runs out or gets tired, then crossbow bolts are launched. Novos takes cover behind Zander, who good-naturedly holds his shield out in protection. After several shots, Novos makes out the shape of a shooter above and to his left. Aiming carefully, he fires back with his bow.
“Look, we’re coming across. I’ll give ten gold pieces to anyone who lays down arms and talks.” Novos announces.
“Don’t you dare!” the voice cuts through, though it looks like the shapes of people on the other side of the chasm are less decided. Several low conversations break out, and though nobody can make out the words, the tones range from willing to harsh.
Zander decides to take a position on the bridge. This of course means Novos is a clear target again, though it’s hard to make out anything through the haze and the crossbow bolts miss more frequently than they hit.
***
A pebble rolls across the floor and nudges Dillium’s foot. Looking around, she sees the redheaded young human put his finger to his lips in a universal "don't scream" gesture, then he beckons her over away from the party. Novos has disappeared again, and everyone else is intent on trying to see through the heat waves and ash rising from the river of red gelatinous goop. Zander or Felicity are busy arguing with the voice, so slipping away from the group, Dillium ducks around the corner with the man.
Up close, she sees he has a misshapen face and is slightly stooped. Looking at his eyes, she decides he sees poorly--if at all--from his left eye. His complexion is ruddy in a way that nearly obscures the freckles all over his face and neck, and his shocking red hair seems nearly too bright to be natural. Now that she gets a good look at him, Dillium thinks he might be near his thirtieth year. For all of being a bit hunch-backed, he doesn't seem to have any problem moving around. His low voice speaks to habitual whispering.
"You are of Ilmater? My gran said that a cleric in a horse-hair shirt saved his life after the battle at Goliad Ford [2]. He would give coppers to the monks that came through, and often gave them food. Can I trust you?"
The simple sincerity in his voice, and his look of concern and dread touch Dillium, and she nods. He beckons her further away from the group, but he doesn't seem to have any weapons on him so she follows. Slipping silently back through the rubble of the half-collapsed hall, the pair returns to the cell where the dead are still chained to the wall. He pays them no mind. He does leave the door open a sliver, though. Seating himself on the floor next to a burned-out fire, he speaks.
"My name is Febis. Look, I'm sorry for before. He doesn't like visitors, and I can't just go and tell the Hand that they can't use this place for their hide-out anymore. We only just got here when he showed up. He's not bad, once you get to know him. He sometimes brings me food if he killed too many sheep, and he doesn't come in this part of the cavern because he can't turn around right. Only you can't insult him or he gets very mad, and he sometimes can't control his temper. It really just would be better if you and your friends go."
Too many "he's" and "they's" for her to sort out. It's like Febis assumes she already knows who they all are. “Slow down, and start over,” Dillium says gently. “Who is ‘he’?”
Febis says that ‘he’ is a monstrous red dragon that calls himself The Mighty Flamestrike. He arrived in a blast of wind and a clatter of claws on the stone floor, and he made himself at home in the main hall. He likes the heat from the lava, and sometimes lays down on top of it, sinking slowly into it. During one of the recent earthshakes part of the roof caved in, and Flamestrike took up residence high up in some hollowed-out caves near the ceiling. Febis has never been up there, but Flamestrike sometimes leaves in the evening to go hunting, and returns before dawn.
Febis is a member of the Dread Order of the Ebon Hand, the most dangerous gang of bandits this side of the Assassin's Citadel. What do you mean you've never heard of them? They have been the most feared bandit gang in the country's history. Although, he hastens to add, he's only been with the gang since he left home in Helmsdale this spring. He hated being a farmer and he can't ride a horse [3] (and some of the soldiers made fun of him), so there really isn't anything else for him to do.
The Hand found the entrance to this cavern complex two or three months ago, and they moved in. It makes a great base to bandit from. Cletus says that it was carved out by dwarves. Fatima, the captain of the Hand, has been working on getting the place cleaned up, and is looking to be able to give everyone their own areas in which to live. That was easier before Flamestrike came along. Since his arrival, the Hand have been hiding in terror from the dragon, who sometimes plays with them "like a cat with a mouse", blowing fire down the corridor and making the whole complex shake. Fatima has been trying to get them to attack Flamestrike, but the last time they tried, Willie and Franso were badly burned and pelted with rocks dropping from the ceiling. Father Michael took days to heal them all the way back to health.
Febis himself was the second of the Hand caught by the dragon, but instead of eating him, the dragon talked to him, and made friends with Febis. Now Febis comes and goes as he pleases, but he knows that the dragon's temper is such that he could end up as a snack if he crosses The Mighty Flamestrike.
***
Novos does the thing where he disappears. Zipping across the chasm, he notes that there are nearly a dozen “thugs”, along with some armored war mastiffs. Bedrolls and a cot line one wall, and a makeshift cook stove is in the back corner. An archway leads off into the darkness. The thugs are not particularly ready for battle—they are indifferently armored and have a bevy of non-uniform weapons, but none of them have them raised as if they were ready to use them. There are several debates ongoing, and two of the thugs are wrestling.
Returning to the group, Novos quickly gives a report. Arthur asks Zander to move, and he leads the way across the bridge.
“CEASE!” A ripple flows through the Weave as a spell is cast, and the two wrestlers climb to their feed sheepishly. Before they know it, the entire party is on their side of the chasm, face to face.
“Go AWAY! WE DON’T WANT YOU HERE. You are invading our home!” A crossbow bolt accompanies the demand, but it misses everyone. Without the heat shimmer, Novos can finally make out his assailant through what appears to be an opening above and to the right of the large cave. She is peering out behind a large metal structure with carvings etched on it.
The thugs are still bickering amongst themselves to some extent, but only a few of them tentatively raise their weapons.
Another ripple in the Weave, and the thugs generally calm down, losing some of the edge in their bickering. Unfortunately, nothing calms the shooter, who manages to put a bolt into Novos. Novos shoots back, hitting the woman. In response, the several of the bandits reach out to stop Novos from attacking their captain.
***
“My friends and I are here at the request of the dwarves in Ironspur. They are worried that someone here was attempting to restart the forge, which is… haunted or something? They didn’t get into details. Have you seen it?”
"Forge? I don't know about that, but there is a big iron thingy up near where Fatima beds down. It kinda’ looks like something Jeran the Smith from my village might use. We don't do anything with it, but it's useful to put stuff on when we're eating. I mean, there's no chairs or nothin, but we can stand up and eat. Sometimes we just eat near the campfire, though."
"So, you aren't working the forge, or trying to craft things?" Dillium asks patiently.
"Gerk sometimes uses it to bang the dents of armor pieces, or to try to sharpen swords and stuff, but he doesn't have a hammer, so normally he just uses an iron bar to smack the back of armor piece. Sometimes it works."
Dillium explains that some of the people in Damara are worried about another war with Vaasa (“like the one with the Lich King”), and they are looking for allies who are willing to lend aid. Perhaps the Hand would like to assist?
Febis tells her in his own simple way that most of the men don’t want to be in a war. They’ve seen the soldiers in Helmsdale with their shiny armor and fancy horses, and they don’t have any of that stuff. “Being in a battle sounds dangerous. Besides, that sounds like we’d have to stop banditing, and that’s kinda’ fun sometimes. Maybe some of the guys might want to go legit, but Fatima just wants to keep us safe.”
“You know, the Hand could become an adventuring or mercenary group too. That way you all could be making money by completing different contracts. While it may not be as fun as being a bandit, it’s more sustainable for you all,” Dillium reasons.
"Don't you have to get a paper from the queen to be a mercenary group? And aren't those hard? I heard there was a group that had to fight like a whole lot of orcs once [4]. That's almost like being in a battle."
“Hmm. I guess I could see that, though there may come a time when you have to decide which side you’re on, just like your gran did.” After a pause to collect her thoughts, Dillium continues. She wonders aloud why the dragon likes Febis more than the others, and if there is a way to make everyone happy—to perhaps speak to Flamestike, to free the Hand from his torment, and for them to look over the forge for the dwarves.
"I don't know why he likes me more than the others. Maybe he's just lonely. Maybe it's on account of my hair being the same color as he is. Maybe it's because I don't call him names and stuff. Sometimes he comes out and talks to me about his brothers and how he's going to get his revenge on them all some day. Delfus used to talk to me that way when we lived in Helmsdale. His pa used to beat him when he didn't milk the cow in the morning, or dropped the egg basket. Delfus and I are good friends. He's the one who convinced me to join the Hand."
“What happened with his brothers that makes him want revenge on them? Who are his brothers?” Despite her need to keep on track, Dillium’s curiosity overcomes her.
"Oh, he doesn't like to talk about them. I guess brother stuff? I only have sisters, and they are annoying. Perhaps they called him names, or didn't want to use his whole name. Maybe they fart in the nest. Do dragons have nests? I heard that they lay eggs..."
***
Wordlessly, the party springs into action. There is a ripple in the Weave, and half of the bandits fall to the floor in a deep slumber, their war dogs with them. Arthur strides through the sleeping bodies to one who didn’t go down, and he slashes him from shoulder to hip. Momentarily surprised, the man falls to the floor, lifeless. His dog growls. Zander steps forward to face off against two other bandits. Two quick slashes and they fall to the floor. Novos disappears, then makes his way up to the opening where the crossbow shooter is taking aim at Felicity. She misses. The remaining bandit gestures, the Weave ripples from him, and a bolt of light streaks across the room to smash into Arthur’s back. The dog snaps at Arthur but misses. Novos reappears and stabs the crossbow-wielding woman in the back. Enraged, she pulls out a saber and slashes in vain at Novos. Before Novos can stab her again, Felicity pulls out a wand and fires an arc of electricity at the woman, killing her. The one-sided battle is over.
Quickly, Arthur and Zander bind up the four slumbering bandits and their war dogs. Felicity reaches into her purse and slides some gold into each of their coin pouches.
***
Novos peers around. He’s seen forges before, and this looks something like one, except instead of a standard coal-fired furnace, there is a trickle of red-hot lava, dribbling down a hole in the wall and forming a small rivulet through a makeshift furnace before falling off down the side of the cavern wall and into the lava river below. The forge area is cleaned out. There are pegs on the walls, presumably for tools, but they are bare, as are a pair of stout metal tables. Shrugging, Novos heads down a set of stairs and through a dark hallway. Some distance down, he spies a darker alcove, and in that alcove, a doorway. Pushing open the door, he sees bags, boxes, and barrels. One bag has conveniently fallen over, spilling its contents of coins onto the floor. “Hey! I found something!” He shouts.
***
"He doesn't much like visitors. I don't think he wants to talk to anyone. It's too bad they can't get along. Maybe The Mighty Flamestrike could go out with the Hand and help them find wagons to bandit, and then perhaps he could eat the horses after we bring the wagons back and get all the stuff? I don't think he wants to do that, though. It would be nice if all my friends could get along. Fatima would love to have a real dragon helping. I bet we could bandit like two wagons at a time!"
Dillium responds. "If we could help the Hand find a new place to live, how would they get out without ... Flamestrike—"
Febis interrupts. "The Mighty Flamestrike. He likes you to use his whole name."
"Fine, the mighty Flamestrike--"
"No, no. You're not doing it right. You have to use the whole thing. The Mighty Flamestrike. Here, you try it. The Mighty Flamestrike."
"The Mighty Flamestrike."
"Good! I knew you was smart!" Dillium sighs heavily.
"So, if my other friends and I could find a new place for the Hand to live, and perhaps a job so they could go legit, how would they get out of here without The Mighty Flamestrike eating them?"
"I suppose they could wait until he goes out to hunt, then leave real quick like in the middle of the night. He wouldn't be here to eat them, and if they went far away before dawn he wouldn't get them."
"You keep saying 'they'. Wouldn't you want to go with the Hand?"
"Yeah! I mean, I would be sad that The Mighty Flamestrike wouldn't have any friends left. Maybe he would let me come back and visit him?"
“I don’t really understand why he keeps the Hand here if he doesn’t like them.. but I am sure that he would be happy to have a friend like you visit him if the Hand does leave. It does seem like it would be lonely here in the mountains by himself…” Dillium trails off, waiting on a response.
“I think he lets the Hand stay here for something to do, but he really doesn't keep them here. They are just ascared of him on account of the breathing fire and all.
“I think I would like to come and visit him sometimes. Maybe I could bring him a sheep. He likes sheep."
***
Just as they are finishing tying up the bandits, they begin to wake. “Wha… what happened?” One of them sees Zander puling the dead and bleeding bodies off to the side. “Murderers! You murdered them!” “They killed Willie!” “You Bastards!” “Look, they murdered the Captain!”
“Arthur addresses them. “Hush. You are alive. That is enough. You attacked us, and we responded.”
“You murdered them in cold blood!” one of the braver bandits spits.
“If your captain is now dead, who’s the new captain of your company?” Zander asks.
“uh…..”
“Cletus!” “What? I don’t want—” “Cletus is!” “But I don’t—”
“Fine. Do you give your parole? If so we shall untie you.” Arther towers above the one that responded as Cletus.
“I don’t even have a payroll yet. How do I…” Felicity unties the group. Climbing to their feet, they leave the ropes on the ground. Blood coats the floor from the dead, and Zander’s dragging activity has spread around even more blood.
“Hey! I found something!” shouts Novos. His voice sounds like it comes from the archway to the left. Arthur tells Felicity and Zander to stay with the bandits while he goes to see what is the matter.
***
Dillium pauses for a second.
“Febus… are you by any chance the Mighty Flamestrike?”
"Me? No! He's my friend. He's big and beautiful and scary and eats people. I'm just... me. Besides, he's all big and scaly. I'm not scaly!" He pauses a moment.
"Sometimes I dream about flying, though."
“Ah, sorry. It’s just that the Mighty Flamestrike isn’t the only dragon we’ve encountered in our journey. I know you’ve said plenty of times before that the Mighty Flamestrike doesn’t like visitors and after what happened I understand. I’d like to apologize to him on behalf of my friends.” Dillium takes a deep breath. “They attacked him… do you think he’ll let me try to heal him? Being able to create some form of middle ground between us all would be beneficial, don’t you think? I may be able to convince my party to leave…”
"It's ~T~he Mighty Flamestrike. You have to say his name right if you ever want to talk to him." Febis mutters under his breath, "Man, I thought elfs were supposed to be smart."
"Anyway, they attacked The Mighty Flamestrike? And they're still alive? How many of them got burned up? How can you heal a big giant dragon like that? I thought they had to have an arrow in them or something for you to heal him? If he's hurt he's probably going to be very cross indeed. I don’t know if he will want to talk at all, but I guess we could try..."
“Well, there’s no harm in trying right? Do you think you can try to help me meet The Mighty Flamestrike?”
"There IS harm in trying. If he's mad, he'll just fire us, and fire us good. Or drop us in the hot rocks. He can do that. I could see if he wants to come down, but I don't know if he will."
“If you could please, that would mean a lot to me… I can meet him on my own unless you’d like to join me, but if you’re worried about getting flamed then I don’t blame you. I’d like a chance to right the wrongs that have happened today. Perhaps we should meet him in a room more accessible for him…”
***
Arthur appears in the doorway as Novos looks around the dimly lit room. “Loot! I’m sure this will pay some bills.”
“We’ll need to figure out how to get all this out of here—”
“Ahem.” A voice from behind Arthur. “I’ll have you know that this is the lawfully acquired possessions of the Hand, and are not for you to go carting it all off. I know exactly how much is in here, and I won’t see you take a copper, do you hear! We know our rights!”
Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. This has the makings of an even longer day.
A couple of the remaining members of the bandits pile into the room. “Hey! Keep your hands off our stuff. It’s ours!”
Arthur turns on his heel and heads back toward the main room, but … something isn’t right. The wall along the corridor is caved in, but there’s something… odd. Climbing up on top of the pile, he notices heat and light coming through a crack. He pulls some rubble away and can clearly see another room beyond.
“Hey, that stuff in there is ours, too!” Cletus says.
***
"Oh, he won't go any further than the main hall. He doesn't want to get stuck, and he can't turn around very well in the smaller rooms." Febis pauses for a moment. "How will you keep from getting fired? He might be very angry."
Dillium pats his arm. “I’ll figure something out.”
"I could go out and call him and see if he will come down, I guess."
“To be completely honest Febus the only thing I have to protect myself from the flames is hope and faith. Is the main hall where the rest of my friends are? I have instinctual knowledge that if they are there then this whole plan won’t work… I really do appreciate you doing this for me. It’s very kind of you.”
"Is instinctual knowledge some fancy elf thing, or a fancy priest thing?”
“Hmm I would say the instinctual knowledge has come from spending nearly every waking moment of my journey so far with roughly the same people… their habits are frighteningly predictable and in some cases, suicidal.”
Febus nods. “Do you need to rest, or uhm... eat a last meal or something?"
Dillium sighs. “While rest and a meal would be great, I fear that time is not our friend.”
***
Pulling enough of the rubble away to fit his bulk through, Arthur scrapes his armor on the rock as he slides down into the next room. This one is very hot, and is dimly lit by a seeping pool of lava in the corner. After a moment, Novos slides down next to him. “Whatcha find?” he asks unnecessarily.
A head pokes up from the lava. Then another. Sensing fresh food, a group of bulky snake-like creatures slither out of the lava pool and make their way over to Arthur and Novos. Soundlessly they attack. Arthur slashes, but is badly burned by the heat given off by the creatures. Novos too tries to slash with his dagger, but the heat is too much. He falls back behind Arthur. Arthur calls out for aid, and with a mighty hack and a movement of the Weave, a tremendous roar of thunder smashes through the snakes, temporarily deafening everyone, including the two bandits who have followed.
“All our stuff.” Cletus intones when he can hear again.
***
“What was that?” Felicity asks in alarm.
“Dunno. Let’s find out,” Zander replies. The two race toward the pile of rubble in the corridor.
***
Febis stands. "If you're sure I can't talk you out of it..." He opens the door and steps through it.
Suddenly a huge thunder blast echoes through the cavern. It is definitely not a cave-in, or the clash of rock on ... anything, but rather the sound of a huge lightning strike hitting nearby. The sound is briefly deafening. It sounds like it came from the cavern where the Hand was last seen, rather than the direction of the main hall. There's the sound of distant yelling from the same direction.
Febis is startled. He looks off in the direction of the party (and his friends). "Oh, that's not good." Moments later, there is a roar from the direction of the main hall. "Very not good."
“Febis I believe you and I share the very same sentiment there- Uhhh change of plans. Let’s make sure our friends here don’t kill each other. Stay close to me, sound good?”
***
The eight humans look around. Apart from the lava pool and the very hot corpses of the snake creatures (everyone moves away from them), the room contains what Arthur, Novos and Zander identify as grave goods. They are similar to the urns, carvings, and paintings in the tomb they invaded in Ironspur. In fact, there is a fancy dwarven sarcophagus and an ornate hammer atop. Across is the carved family tree that stretches for nearly a thousand years, ending nearly three centuries before (in the dwarven calendar). Taking it all in, Arthur’s eye catches on some oddity. A misalignment of patterns on one wall. “Secret door,” he says. Novos checks quickly for traps, then pushes open the door.
Inside, two carved stone dwarves shamble to life. Raising their bronze axes, they silently stalk toward Novos and Arthur as Zander and Felicity look on in horror.
***
Grabbing Febis by the hand, Dillium quickly but cautiously makes her way back down the corridor. She passes through the outer chamber with the well that leads down to lava, and sees the rickety wooden bridge over the chasm that is still producing heat haze and ash. Nobody is visible on the other side. Quickly she slips across the bridge and into chaos.
Blood covers the floor. The dead bodies of several of the Hand, along with their war mastiffs, are pushed over to one side. Several ropes cut into ten or twelve foot lengths lie on the floor. Looking around, she sees a large room. A campfire and makeshift cooking stove are in the far corner. Bedrolls and a cot line one wall. There's what appears to be some sort of shrine along the back wall. An archway on the opposite wall leads off into darkness.
"DELFUS! What happened?" Febis runs over to the corpse of his childhood friend, slashed from shoulder to hip by a single broad stroke. The last of his blood pools on the floor, but the blood strewn across the floor makes it very much appear that he and the others were dragged from another part of the room. "And Gerk! And Father Michael!" Tears pour down Febis' face as he comes to grips with the loss of his only (human) friends, apparently savagely butchered. Sitting down on the cold floor oblivious to the standing blood, Febis cradles the lifeless head of his friend.
Meanwhile, the muffled sounds of battle are heard through the open archway.
"I thought you were going to be my friend," Febis cries to Dillium bitterly.
Dillium quickly checks the bodies. All have been dead for ten or fifteen minutes, beyond a simple revival. Dillium leaves Febis to his grief and dashes toward the open archway. On the other side is a moderately-sized room with rubble strewn around. It appears that one wall has collapsed. There is a hole at the top where some of the rubble has been pushed away, leaving a man-sized space to squeeze under the lintel of a hidden doorway. There is a dim red light (so, more lava), and voices. Dillium hears the sound of metal on stone and the grunts of men in battle. Scampering lightly up the pile of loose stones and rubble, she scootches through the hole at the top, sliding down the other side. There she finds several unknown people who are watching Arthur, Zander, and Novos in battle. As she arrives, the last of some sort of animated stone statues crumble to pebbles. Arthur's armor is scorched down one side, and he limps slightly. Novos is barely on his feet, and as Dillium arrives, he sinks to his knees, panting. Zander sheathes his sword, and Felicity puts away a wand. Three grubby men and what might charitably be called a woman (under many layers of dirt and grime) stand around, unarmed.
"Now you remember, all this is the lawful property of our company. You don't go gettin light fingers now," says one of the Hand in the most "southern drawl" Damaran accent ever.

End of Chapter 8

[1] Based very loosely on Fire Forge Caves by Dungeon Baker in FiveE magazine https://www.drivethrurpg.com/en/product/367470/fivee-magazine-august-2021
[2] https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Ford_of_Goliad
[3] The duke has a company of cavalry barracked just outside Helmsdale.
[4] Probably too far away for it to have been the party, back when they were called Dragon Force in Chapter 32. On the other hand, maybe it was?

Chapter One
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Prev
-Rooftop of the White Flame Factory-
Grigory smiled nervously at his men as they lounged on the rooftop patio. As the sun sank lower, he was happy to see them relax after the day's tensions. He’d wanted to give them their imps when they first arrived, or after the demonstration, but they seemed a little too skittish. Their reactions were causing him to doubt his strategy. If his most loyal supporters were repelled by them, wider acceptance was going to be a non-trivial hurdle. He’d been working on an improved version of the imps for months, but making them less threatening, or light forbid, ‘cute’, seemed deeply at odds with his plans. He hoped time might be the missing ingredient. Once they get a bit more familiar with them, they’ll come around. The imps were really nothing for them to fear.
The demonologist sat alone, observing how his men were dealing with the news. He was deep in thought, adjusting his plans and ruminating on his concerns. Was he forcing them to do things they weren’t comfortable with? The basis of his entire plan was that the whole world was to benefit from the imps, so it had to start somewhere, or he might as well give up. They seemed to be taking it as well as he could have hoped.
Catching a wisp of savoury smells, he thought it was scarcely fair to relax while Stanisk was busy in the kitchen. He rose to see if he could lend a hand with dinner. During their overland trek to the capital months ago, it was clear that Stanisk was a superlative cook, but Grigory was a dexterous helper. Much of what he knew about surgical techniques had been picked up preparing meals.
Grigory arrived at the great hall that served as the eating area. In the centre of the chamber, two long tables stretched across the room, capable of seating fifty, though only four simple chairs he had crafted a few weeks ago were present. His men had yet to grasp the potential of the imps' labour; instead of proper seating, they had improvised with crates and timbers haphazardly arranged around the tables. Near one table, a jute sack of potatoes lay abandoned on the floor, possibly mistaken for a makeshift seat. Grigory hoped they'd be eating the potatoes, not sitting on them.
Separated from the hall by a low half-wall, the kitchen bustled with activity. Stanisk sat on the thick timber counter, a casual sentinel over dinner’s preparations, while Jourgun and Klive stood nearby, deep in conversation with their commander.
Stanisk’s five imps, in their fancy clothes, dashed around the kitchen. Under his expert guidance they were preparing a grand feast. One was peeling potatoes, another stirred a great bubbling pot, while two were doing dishes.
“Sir, did you know that Stanisk’s imps have names? And fancy clothes! Can I have one like his?” Klive blurted when he saw his employer. “Uh, as it pleases milord, of course.”
“Plus mine bow when they bring us beers! They don't do that fresh out of hell!” Stanisk's toothy smile implied he might have been bowed at by imps a half dozen times already.
Grigory tilted his head and blinked for a second.
Surely a bit of clothes can’t have that much of an impact on their acceptance?
“Oh, Of course! Certainly!” he paused again. “Feel free to ask Stanisk for tips on how he made his.” Observing the bustling activity, “It looks like dinner is well in hand?” The kitchen was huge, far larger than the one at Planed Pine Peak Inn. A half dozen dishes simmered or baked, their aromas — exotic spices, rich gravies, and roasted meats filled the expansive space.
Stanisk replied without glancing away from the imps handling the tasks. “Well in hand, boss. Take ‘er easy tonight!” The imps' movements were quick and fluid, their antics distractingly comical at times. Grigory watched, smiling, as one imp hugged a yam to its chest that likely weighed more than it did, and made its way along the countertop from the vegetable sack to the cutting board. Each step was an exaggerated sway, the creature was badly top-heavy and teetering.
With effort he pulled his focus back, “Capital! I’ve a matter to attend to! Smells great already!”
Grigory went into the factory proper to whip up enough chairs for everyone. Simple wooden ones for now, but with cushions. Cushions were quick enough to make and he had a few cart loads of wool and woollen fabrics. He watched his imps work, glad he could share them with his whole team now. Obviously it made everything a bit riskier, but it was worth it. One of his concerns was that he’d been overlooking opportunities and uses. He was bound by only being able to think his own thoughts, so he was excited to see what non-demonologists would think of.
They carved and joined the pine chairs with their normal speed and accuracy, but watching them sew was its own reward. The imps wielded needles like longswords in their tiny hands, the points moving too fast to see clearly. They stacked up the plain cushions in a neat pile at the end of their low workbench.
He also didn’t have any utensils, placemats, serving spoons nor trivets either, since this was their first proper meal here. He commanded the imps to make those as well, and carry them like a row of ants from the workshop to the dining hall. The demonologist walked around the table, surveying his work. With a minor gesture of flame he lit the lamps, and frowned at the beige-grey of undyed wool of the chair cushions.
He pulled the chairs out, and one at a time enchanted the cushions to bright, cheerful colours. He was going to make them all company purple, but thought better of it. Enchanting colours was a fun spell to cast, because the act of changing its colour also unravelled enchantment as it went. Much like building and knocking over houses of cards, the end effect was a mundane unenchanted object, but in whatever colour he’d chosen. Having done the spell countless times for entire days to prepare for the midsummer tourney, he didn’t even have to check his notes for any of the hues.
Satisfied with his work, though slightly frustrated that his first and last red cushions weren’t quite the same shade, he sat down. He pulled a notebook out of his satchel and started making notes on his ideas for some improvements, mostly for his own use, but some to the things he’d be soon selling. Lost in his own world, he had no idea how much time had passed when Ros and Taritha joined him at the table.
“Good evening, milord,” Ros said deferentially.
The young herbalist elbowed him, “Come on, he had one rule! He was writing!”
“Oh! Terribly sorry, sir!” Ros stammered.
“Not at all, I was basically doodling. How’s your evening going, is everything to your liking?” Grigory closed his notebook and put it away.
“Amazing milord, These rooms are huge! They're bigger than some of the houses I was looking at!” Taritha said.
“Of course! No one wants to live in dingy cells! Glad to hear! It’s easy to make a place bigger when you are building fresh. Let me know if you find anything that needs fixing, our builders are still in town working on the harbour fortress now, but I can have them send someone if there is anything amiss!”
“I don’t reckon neither of us knew palaces this nice existed anywhere, milord!” Ros said with a shrug. “We might not be the best eyes for finding faults!”
“Heh! This is just the rustic first stage! Don’t worry about its crudeness for now, we’ll get there over time!” the demonologist promised, patting his satchel where the notebook of ideas was. His confidence was both unshakeable and unnecessary.
“Not to question your plans, but there are a lot more rooms than people. Are we expecting company? Are we hiring?” Taritha asked. Her eyebrows twitched slightly, having just questioned his plan for the first time.
“Big plans indeed! So that empty stretch east of the main building? That’s also part of our land grant. In a while we’ll be building a barracks there for our troops, while senior officers will stay in the main factory. That’s also why Stanisk will be taking a much more active role with civil defence. It’s central to our plan to secure the town, and by extension our own safety.”
“Our troops? Like us?” Jourgun asked, having joined them at the long table.
“Maybe? Probably not? We’ll see. The plan is to extensively recruit as we can afford it, since the pirate raid was just the beginning. We have something of incredible value, in the form of me, the imps and the factory itself. Many violent people feel they should possess every valuable thing, so we must be vigilant. Not to worry though! That’s just us planning for the worst. In reality, nothing like that will likely happen. Just by being well defended we’ll scare off the greedy.”
“Ah, like why it's dangerous for a beggar to wear a silk robe!” Rikad added as he joined them, along with a few others. The smells from the kitchen were intoxicatingly rich now, as Stanisk and Klive used the imps to finish and plate the meal.
“Just so, a lord can only have what he can defend, and because the first phases of my plan require a certain level of material wealth, I’ll need extensive defences,” Grigory explained as diplomatically as he could.
“The Empire itself will fear our might, milord!” Ros said excitedly.
“Nah, it won’t. That’s a dangerous thought. The Imperial army’s smallest deployable force is a legion, near enough to five thousand men. Even if we hit every hiring and training target, we’se not going to be in the business of fightin’ wars. Just enough to make us a spiky nut. The sort not worth chompin’,’” Stanisk called over from the kitchen.
“Oh,” Ros said, shrinking back into his seat.
“That’s more than all the men in the whole town!” Taritha lamented.
“Yeah, that’s why lil fishing villages don’t win wars. A legion is five thousand infantry with warships, supplies, siege cohorts, and command companies. If’n it’s a real fight, then they might deploy all ten Imperial legions. Then start raising more if’n they’re losing. We ain’t never gonna try to fight that. No nation in the world has ever picked that fight and won.”
To counter the grim tone settling over his celebratory dinner, Grigory chimed in with a reassuring smile, “We’re loyal Hyruxian subjects, and the legions protect us. We pay taxes in full, we’re on the right side of all this. We just want a bit of security against more, uh, regional actors. Besides, a large well equipped force lends our diplomacy weight we wouldn’t otherwise have.”
Now that the table was filling up and his men looked satisfied with his answers, he raised his voice to the kitchen, “How’s it going in there?”
“Good! I bought a deer from one of the hunters this morning, and it turned out just right!” Stanisk replied, personally putting the finishing touches on his creation. Aethlina moved across the kitchen to watch Stanisk work, making Grigory do a double take. He hadn’t realised she was even in the building.
“Oh! Capital! Everyone in the entire company is here now! Even better!” Grigory said, motioning Aethlina to sit by him. He was glad he’d made the full number of chairs!
Stanisk and Klive brought out plates heaped with slices of braised venison, steamed tubers and sautéed onions. Tubs of butter, bowls of gravy, and finally a heaping basket of fresh buns followed. Stanisk took his seat and, smiling with pride, “What’re you helpless kittens lookin’ at? Never seen dinner ‘afore? Dig in!”
The feast was a perfect end to a troubling day, and even though the conversation died down as they ate, Grigory observed every single one of his hirelings intently, relieved to see not a single one seemed put off by a meal made by demons. Catching Stanisk’s eye, he made an empty cup gesture.
“Imps! Bring us all some drinks! Wine, beer and water!” Stanisk shouted to his imps. With speed and efficiency, the little demons filled clay cups and brought everyone three drinks, exactly as ordered.
“Ah, dammit, I meant—It’s fine. Drink what you want and I’ll just dump the rest!” The chief of security’s good humour faded for an instant before returning twice as bright.
“No, I love having three drinks! And the water and beer are cold! In the summer! The gods themselves envy me!” Rikad declared.
“Uh oh! It looks like Mage Thippily made imps, but the imps made the real monster!” Kedril retorted, gesturing at Rikad holding three cups between his hands, rotating them to drink out of each, while spilling beer all over his own arm.
Their high spirits encouraged Grigory. He’d worried they would be morose and frightened tonight, after making them to live in what could be described as a hive of demons. Joking about the imps was beyond his expectations, so he smiled without speaking, sipping his red wine. Not his cherished Malaentian Red, but a nice varietal from the mainland he’d recently imported a few cases of. Once the plates were empty, Stanisk had the imps clear the table and start washing up while everyone remained seated at the long pine table, bellies full to bursting.
“That was spectacular Stanisk! Thank you!” Grigory offered, and everyone else chimed in a breath later.
“Nothing like a lifetime of bland ration bars for months to really spark an interest in what good food ought to be! I’m glad ya’se liked it,” the big veteran said dismissively.
“How is everyone finding their new accommodations? I know I don’t have all the furniture done just yet, but is everyone good for tonight?” Grigory asked, ever the eager host.
The men nodded and looked at each other. Complaining was frowned upon and nothing here was remotely a hardship.
“Capital! Glad to hear it, and by all means bring it to my attention if your needs are unmet!” Grigory sat still and everyone kept looking at him.
Now’s as good a time as any. It’s not even a surprise, I think I mentioned it a few times already.
“Ahem! So! I’d like to present each of you with your own imps! Some ground rules though; there may be people that aren’t ready for this style of magic, so I ask that you don’t mention anything about them anywhere outside of the factory. Or even imply there are any magical creatures, just that things get made here?”
He waited until they all at least nodded.
“Alright! Here you go, I have one for everyone! The imps are identical, so don’t worry about which ones you get. Um. Good luck?” With a shrug he reached down beside his chair and from a leather case he pulled a series of carved wooden boxes, and passed them out to everyone sitting at the table.
***
With a muted clatter, Taritha watched as the small dark boxes were distributed. She wasn’t sure if there was one for her, being fairly new to the company. She wasn’t sure how she felt; owning demons seemed like a big step, but the ancient urge to possess something nice or powerful was one she wasn’t immune to. Her heart leapt as a heavy box slid in front of her.
With trepidation, she touched it with one finger; it appeared to be regular wood, perhaps stained oak. The box was small and rectangular, quite thin, and she held it easily in one hand. It was narrow enough to fit comfortably between her thumb and fingers, its weight noticeable but not oppressive. She had expected dread, palpable evil, or something, but it just felt a bit heavy. Turning it over, she saw no visible clasps or hinges. The outside was covered in the flawless ornate carvings she was starting to grow familiar with. This time, the carvings depicted joyful industrial scenes—strong men swinging square hammers, smoke stacks, and laden ships and carts. The central image on each side was gilded with gold leaf, making it strikingly dignified.
Ignoring the excitement and increasing movement around her, she felt as if she were in her own universe. She slowly pulled on the lid, finding it opened on tiny hidden hinges, revealing three ebony totems inside. They were the size and shape of a fairytale wand, resting on a bed of lush green velvet, held in place by a broad ribbon tied in a perfect bow.
Even without considering the priceless nature of the artefacts, she was impressed, almost distracted, by the quality of the presentation. He didn’t have to go to such lengths; she’d expected them to be simply handed to her.
She slid one of the totems out without undoing the bow. It was cool and heavy but otherwise seemed normal. She could see layers of impossibly fine carving, this time gilded with silver. She could sense the potent magic in the object, but it felt strange. She’d examined other enchanted items before, and their enchantments were all transcendently beautiful in a complex and technical way. This was so dense it felt like nothing. Or perhaps everything? She wasn’t sure, but it wasn’t at all like the other objects. Stilling herself and trying to puzzle out its secrets brought her no closer to any revelation. She shook her head and resolved to investigate further in private. She returned the totem to its place in the box and gently closed it.
Only now did she notice the table was thick with imps, more than twenty darting and leaping energetically. Her colleagues had summoned theirs and were already giving orders.
“You two, throw the third imp as high as you can!”
“Merp!”
“All of you, cross the table as fast as you can, but walk on your hands!”
“Merp!”
“Duel with these forks!”
“Merp! Merp!”
The men were laughing and pointing between shouting out fresh orders. All the commands were pointless and frivolous, making Taritha powerfully uncomfortable. These were forces of nature, extraplanar beings of unimaginable power, and they were being made to sprint into empty mugs to see how far the mug would fly!?
She shot a questioning look to the master demonologist to gauge his reaction. He was smiling and complimenting their creativity, so maybe she was overreacting? Still, she had no interest in wasting them on silly games. Emergencies only. Or at least serious concerns only. Not for dodging knotted linen napkins, that’s for sure!
With the burden of responsibility successfully dodged, she was free to watch everyone else’s fun. The cacophony of excitement was so infectious that she found herself giggling and pointing at them racing as makeshift horses, with an imp bent over holding the tiny waist of the imp in front of him, while a third one sat atop as a rider. They were so silly looking and energetic.
“You’re sure this doesn’t hurt or anger them?” Taritha asked.
“Oh my no, it’s not like that at all. They have minds, but lack awareness, or awareness of their own mind I guess? It’s fine! They are just made out of the same stuff as demons, but not actually demonic.” The mage stood up and stretched. “They are remarkably durable, it’s unlikely anything short of silvered steel will harm them. I, on the other hand, am at risk of being badly over-tired already! I trust you will be okay, left on your own! I’ll see you in the morning!”
“I’se properly tired too, but if you want, let's pop into the factory and I’ll show you how to get them to make their own clothes. It’s just tellin’ ‘em to do that, so you’se might not need too much hand holding!” Stanisk pushed himself away from the long table, and motioned for them to follow him.
They went into the cavernous factory, just across the hallway. What was an impressive and huge room in the daylight was now an infinite blackness, like a starless night. A few men had grabbed leviathan-oil lamps off the table, and they huddled in a small circle of warm, safe light. They gathered around a long low table, and Stanisk laid out a few bolts of fabric. The fine weaves were familiar to Taritha; they were the same as those used in the clothes she’d been getting from the company.
“It’s simple enough,” Stanisk said as he put a heavy leather bag of tools on the table. “Just say what you want, with as much or as little detail, and they’ll just make that.”
“Imps, make a suit of legion plate armour, imp-sized, out of shoe leather!” Rikad said with glee.
“Merp!” replied several at once, as they began cutting and forming the leather without hesitation. The imps even used grey wool for the under-mail parts, and tiny flares of hellfire to warp the leather into the right shapes. Soon, a tiny suit of black armour lay on the table, looking like what an imperial heavy infantryman would wear, but distorted to the proportions of the gawky imps.
“I dub thee, Imperial commander, Real Imp. Don thy armour!” Rikad ordered. “Do they remember their names?” he asked over his shoulder to Stanisk.
“Oh yeah, they’re proper sharp!” he confirmed.
“Create an imp-sized lord's robe with a sash of office! When it is done, you shall be known as D’Imp Lomat! I might need a minute to think of the last one though…” Rikad said to everyone watching his imps.
Reluctantly, Taritha opened the box and invoked her three imps. She looked at them closely; as far as she could tell, they were perfectly interchangeable with every other imp.
Looking over the fabrics, she chose a striking blue, a deep red, and a golden yellow. “Imps! Make imp-sized sundresses, mainly white with these colours as a main theme. and matching coloured sun hats,” she added hastily. Their heads were distractingly inhuman, so covering them might help. She watched them work, even interrupting a few times to ask for embroidered details and minor adjustments. Once they finished, she had them don their new outfits.
Oh! The hems seem scandalously short on their long lanky legs! Better than before, but not by a lot.
“Imps, please put on the hats that match the colour of your dress.”
“Merp.”
Much better! They look like ladies now!
“You are now Lady Bluebird, Lady Crossbill, and…” She paused at the last one, thinking of songbirds that were as bright yellow as the fabric. “Miss Goldfinch!”
She leaned back and admired her little ladies. They were far less threatening now, and their dull crimson skin really made the dresses look extra vibrant.
“Dang Taritha, how did you make yours so pretty? I want some pretty ones!” Jourgun commented as he looked over.
“Drool over your own demons! These are mine!” she said playfully. There was an undercurrent of possessiveness that she didn’t expect, but these ones were hers now. “Anyways, I’m going to bed too, you guys are too slow! Have fun, boys!” she said as she devoked her imps. The new clothes fell to the work surface.
“Oh yeah, they don’t take that with ‘em, wherever they go, so just keep it in a lil bag or whatever,” Stanisk said when he saw her distress. “They gotta get dressed every time you invoke it,” he shrugged.
So much to learn today!
With a brave smile, she replaced the totems in the box and gathered the dresses and hats. “Mind if I take…” she said as she slowly lifted a lamp from near Rikad.
“Oh yeah, all yours,” he said dismissively, fully engrossed in examining the tiny lordly robes of D’Imp Lomat.
She went back to the hall, up the wide even stairs to the third floor. She’d only spent a bit of time investigating it earlier, as she and Ros had been anxious about being late for dinner. She saw the heap of her worldly possessions against the wall where she’d left them. The only furniture here was the bed, but by the sounds of it, getting some tables, chairs, and wardrobes would be easy enough tomorrow. She placed the totem box and the tiny outfits on the floor beside the bed.
The bed itself was unlike any she’d ever heard of. Crafted with thick pine beams and topped with a mattress of imported cotton, it was probably wider than her entire hovel. A family of five could sleep on it and barely touch. She couldn’t imagine a more lordly bed. Its refined look and the luxurious softness were worlds apart from the coarse fabric and straw she was used to. Sometimes in the fall, she’d add freshly fallen leaves to her straw mattress for extra comfort, but that was a fleeting pleasure. This bed, however, promised constant comfort. She eyed the pile of heavy blankets at the foot of the bed. Recently, she had bought a single blanket from the market, thin and scratchy, but these were the mage’s blankets—thick, plush, and impossibly soft.
She shut the heavy door and took off her tall boots. The floor felt smooth under her bare feet. Even having a floor was a new luxury; she was accustomed to hard-packed dirt floors like most everyone else. This wasn’t just a floor; it was a delicate herringbone pattern of different kinds of wood, obviously done by the agile imps. It was cleaner, smoother, and more level than any table she’d eaten off before the mage came to town.
She stopped admiring the floor and stripped to her shift. She felt exposed being so undressed around so many men. She reasoned it out—the iron and oak door was stronger than a hide flap, and this would doubtlessly be the safest sleep of her life. Just a reaction, not a reality. She left the lamp on the floor and got in bed.
With a panic, she yelped as the whole bed flowed underneath her, as if she’d stepped on the tail of a sleeping cat. She tried to get up but her feet were already off the floor, and she couldn’t find a stable purchase with her hands. She froze up to think her way out of it, and the bed stopped moving almost as soon as she did.
Her heart pounded in her chest.
Was this an enchantment gone awry? Some bed demon?
Slowly, she log-rolled towards the edge of the bed, and the mattress under her also slowly moved, but not enough to stop her. Slow and steady, she might get free yet. Finally, she was close enough to put a foot down and stand. The bed flowed back to being perfectly flat.
She stood up, with a hand to her sternum, trying to catch her breath.
Think! What did the mage say about this today? It would magically adjust? Maybe that was all it was doing?
She leaned over and gently pushed down with a single fist. It was super pliable, then increasingly firm. But it felt unlike anything else—stacks of clothes or hides all felt different when they got pressed.
It must be magic. No time to be timid, and it would be humiliating to go to either the mage or the chief about this.
The only spell she could reliably cast was a gesture of Mana-Visualization. It caused the invisible lines of arcane energy to glow visibly, in bright colours that hinted at their use and purpose. She cast it to better examine her bed. It wasn’t enchanted as she expected; rather, hundreds and hundreds of things inside it were, and they linked and overlapped in ways she wouldn’t understand if she studied enchantments for a decade. She involuntarily took a step back from it, like finding a hundred warhorses inside a small cabinet.
She dismissed the gesture. With renewed determination, she slowly sat down on the bed. It shifted but only a bit. It was very soft and comfortable. Slowly, she turned and laid back, fighting her panic as the mattress kept shifting everywhere her body touched it, unnervingly lifelike. Fully laying down, she stopped and the mattress stopped. Even as her eyes were still wide with terror, she started to calm down. To test her theories, she rolled onto her side, and the mattress under her hip grew softer, and the part under her ribs grew firmer, until the pressure equalised. Rolling back, she felt it shift again, and once more the mattress's firmness changed all up and down her body, stopping once it was the same shape as her body’s pressure, resulting in sublime comfort.
Oh. This is incredible. I get it now!
She reached to the foot of the bed, pulled one of the soft blankets up to her chin, reached down to extinguish the lamp and drifted off into a better sleep than anyone in the history of her family ever had.
Prev

Hello, I'm new to Reddit and still figuring things out..
I'm going to dive into the situation and why I feel doubt in how I handled the situation. Thank you all!
I am a 29 female, mainly working for myself and with a family member from time to time. I have a couple of activities in the evenings that I do for myself after my work day. A friend from one of my activities passed away on May 8th, 2024. I take care of animals (horses, dogs and cats are my main clients), I watch after and take care of these animals while their owners are away, elderly or when a family emergency happens, I do my best to be there for them and their animals.
I'll try to pack as much detail as I can but keep it fairly short. I've been doing this kind of work for about 3 years all together. One of the people I have worked with is moving on in years has some mental handicapps and an aging dog. The owner, (I'll call her M) has a small breed dog 12yrs old. I have helped them since I started working in this field. I started out walking the dog a couple times a week every couple of months. And about 18months ago M had surgery on their eyes and I began feeding and walking the dog. Part of this dynamic is that every few months they have a bad go of things and I get the burnt of frustration, hurt (emotional and mental) along with the degree of their physical pain verbally thrown at me. I have my own mental challenges mainly anxiety, ADD/ADHD, and depression (treatment is a work in progress for myself). After each of these "episodes" I feel tremendous dread, anxiety, hesitation, and a great level of doubt mixed in with a fragile state of confidence. But each time about 5 to date I have attempted to work through them, things even out then another episode. Important additional information: been feeding the dog since the start of the year when M had a medical emergency. (2x daily, with short walks weekends included)
This last one, I had a flexible schedule for the day (Saturday) and M has always had a window of time for me to be there in. Was with another client dog on a longer walk and thought I had committed with M that my timing for the day may be a bit different than what we normally planned. I get done with the walk to see I didn't actually send the message. I communicated then that I was on my way. From one client to the other is about 40 minutes with good traffic. I got to M's house an hour after when I would normally be there. I enter and see M struggling to prepare dinner for the dog. I ask if M would like me to take over along with the first of 4 apologies. I did, then walked the dog as usual. Was asked by M to come talk, so I sat with them. Where I was burated/scolded for my conduct for 10 minutes, then went to bring up my over all character and ethics. Some things that M said are as follows " I don't pretend to know your ethics and how to tend to run your business, but I am disappointed and feel violated by your conduct" and " I don't care about my comfort but when my dog becomes uncomfortable and is verbally expressing their need to go out I can't condone it" and i quote "I am fragile and not mentally able and to feel taken advantage of, is unacceptable". M continues on in the same tone. Spaced in between these comments I apologize, owning the fact that "I should have called or confirmed that my message went through. That I can only aim to be better, learn from this situation and that sometimes us humans make mistakes but all we can do is learn and move forward". M then states " I am unsure if I feel comfortable with continuing with you or finding someone else would be better. I don't have many friends that are able to help me and I have come to depend on you. I am dying and need more consistency in my life." I responded "I am sorry to have you feeling this way, but you need to do what you need to for yourself and your companion. I feel that given your tone and phrasing that you have made your decision and I will respect it and no longer have you as a client. With this said I need to leave for my next meeting." I received a message from M the following day asking me "If I could come gather a sample for their upcoming vet appointment. That they are sorry for being harsh and disrespectful. That they have no one else to help and that they hope we can possibly talk about continuing on with me providing care for their dog." I responded "that I no longer feel comfortable with being a provider for their dog, that I don't feel safe in the environment. However if she needs the assistance that I will be there for the dog, they have done nothing wrong. But I will administer care and be promptly leaving." M respected my response, but the day of my being there asks about "the usual walk and feed on Saturday this week." I responded with " I will get back to you, I have another meeting in 40 minutes."
My family says that I made a situation worse, that I was unprofessional and that M's mental health was negatively impacted.. I'm not saying that they are wrong about the mental health part.. but where does my happiness, mental health, and overall well-being come into consideration?
Was I unprofessional and at my wits end or did I protect myself? Could I have handled this better?

Fletch gently pushed open the large and lavishly decorated bronze doors of the university administration building and ambled out into the portico. He set his cup of coffee down on the pedestal of a granite pillar and pulled his cigarette case from the breast pocket of his tan trench coat. The old chief inspector plucked a cigarette from the ornately engraved case with slender fingers and wondered why the Kael let him come at all.
Something felt very off with the whole thing. The more he thought about it, the more he questioned the story he got. Mike Anderson was certainly depressed, but as far as Fletch could tell, he had not displayed any suicidal behavior. And why now? Fletch thought. Things were on the upswing for the kid. His grades were excellent, his family situation was good, and he was out of the house more this term than the last. Fletch scratched his mustache. Why would the seals hide the autopsy and the gun? He brought the cigarette to his lips, snapped the filigreed case shut, and slipped it back into the breast pocket of his coat. Fletch flicked open his lighter and sighed as he lit his cigarette. Murder.
It was a hopeless case. These days, warrants were approved by the seals, and even if they weren't, he doubted that he could get one anyway. His suspicion of foul play was backed by nothing but his instinct.
Fletch watched students hustle and bustle through the plaza in front of him as he puffed away at his cigarette and pondered his theory.
But why kill him now? They could have done it in complete secrecy while he was a POW. And it couldn’t be to keep what happened in Philadelphia under wraps. His death brings more attention to it. And he wasn’t a rebel. So why? Fletch sipped at his coffee as he flicked ash from his cigarette. Vengeance? Did he kill some noble brat during the war?
Fletch scratched at his grey mustache and glanced at his watch. I’ll have to follow that thread. He tossed his half-smoked cigarette into a puddle as he briskly walked down the steps and through the university plaza.
The withered investigator was deep in thought when he entered the parking lot. What do I tell that Enrique chap? He unlocked his car and crawled in. I certainly can’t tell him that his mate’s been clipped with no evidence. Fletch turned the key, and the engine of his little Volvo sputtered to life. It’s no bleeding use. I’ll just tell the lad they weren’t interested in sharing and keep my suspicions to myself.
As he reached for the shifter, Fletch noticed a delightfully thick manilla envelope stuck in the gap between the center console and the passenger seat.
He pulled the envelope from the crack. Gingerly, he opened it and pulled out a small note. It read We’re even now, prick.
Fletch smiled and couldn’t help but mutter, “The game is afoot,” as he flicked through the stack of documents inside.
Isabella poked her head into the large office and saw Professor Dret’la with a ball of dark green yarn on her lap and bone darning needles beset with carvings in her hands.
Isabella was struck with confusion. What? She crochets!?
The professor looked up from her labor, spotted the confused girl outside her door, and called, “Come in.”
Isabella walked into the office and took a seat. She gestured to the yarn in the professor's hands. “What are you making?”
The professor smiled as motherly as one could with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. “It will be a hat for my son. He just received his commission as a junior biologist, so he has to rummage around in freezers to get samples for his whole research team.”
Isabella blinked. This was not characteristic at all for the quick-tempered professor with a penchant for launching chalk across lecture halls at the mildest provocation.
Isabella shook off her shocked expression and gave the tall professor a dimpled cheek smile. “That’s so sweet! I’m sure he’ll love it. One of the best gifts I’ve ever received was a thick wool sweater from my mamma during a training exercise off the coast of Norway.”
The professor, still smiling, sat up straight. “I hope that’s the kind of reception I get.”
The professor’s demeanor hardened as she stowed the yarn and needles in the desk drawer. “Now, let's get down to business.”
Isabella gulped.
“To start, congratulations. You’ve passed our testing and been selected for officer training.”
Isabella asked, “Who else was selected?”
“There are nine others: Robert Rhodes, Elena Pavel, Hal Jellico, Zheng Li, Brooke Halsey, Colow Aden, Magnus Tordenskjold, Bill Lee, and Kazuya Yamamoto.”
Isabella didn’t recognize all the names.
“Should you choose to accept, you will be taking a prep course taught by Colonel Ocidea and I starting next week and lasting all through the summer. If we deem you ready, you’ll ship out for basic training and then off to the Royal Military Academy, where you can earn your commission.” Dr. Dret’la leaned in close to Isabella. “Do you accept?”
Without hesitation, Isabella answered, “Yes.”
“Mike, come over here. You’re going to want to see this.” Calty voiced from her seat in the front of the cockpit.
Mike rolled off the couch and walked into the front of the cockpit as the captain shouted, “Decelerate!” Mike couldn’t help but grab onto the back of Calty’s seat as the FTL drive kicked into gear. The cockpit glass dimmed just before blindingly bright blue jets of fire from the front-facing engines came into view. A bright green circle flickered onto the glass surrounding a marble-sized dot darker than the rest of the now dim screen. The dots and circles expanded at an extreme pace until they took up most of the display. Another dot appeared—minuscule compared to the other—surrounded by a red circle. The growth of the shadowy dots and the circles around them slowed and then stopped entirely as the engines sputtered out.
The HUD faded out of view, and the tint of the glass slowly lightened, revealing a vast planet embraced by blue-green ice with a colossal foundry in its orbit. The planet, a gas giant called Drassus, was orbited by four rings. One was made of containers, and the other three were made up of loose ore gleaming in the nearby star's light. Exhaust chimneys spewing gas and fire sprouted from the otherwise spherical foundry, giving it a sea urchin-like profile, which, together with the weave of pipes bringing fuel from beneath the icy surface of the planet below, made the foundry resemble an old naval mine.
The captain strode up to the front of the cockpit. “One-third ahead and steer 14 degrees left. We’re unloading in bay three.”
Six mech suits and a tug exited a plasma-shielded hanger as the ship came to a halt. The mechs glided to the front of the ship and started dismounting the external cargo bay from the Broken Fin while the tug hitched onto the opposite end of the ten-kilometer-long rack of containers.
A little while later, the tug pulled away with the load of containers, and the comm system blared to life. “Broken Fin, you are cleared to leave. The UO corporation thanks you for your business.”
The captain replied, “Our pleasure. Broken fin out.” as the ship pulled out of the loading bay.
He turned to the navigation officer and said, “Lock in coordinates for jump to Kael Prime.”
The captain went to the central control board and pulled up traffic control. “Tower 1, this is the Broken Fin. We request a jump slot to Kael Prime from Drassus.”
“Broken Fin, request granted. Your departure slot is at 16:33.”
Mike glanced at the top right of the ship's HUD and looked at the time. 16:21.
Better get my stuff together…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The ship shuddered ever so slightly despite the inertial dampeners as it exited FTL. Mike was lounging on the couch with his bag at his feet. He was ready to get off this tub.
Mike idly watched flames lick at the cockpit window as the ship descended into the atmosphere of Kael Prime. He looked at Dreki, who was sitting on the other couch. His muscles bulged through his clothes despite wearing a white sweater so large it could be mistaken for the sail of an average-sized boat. Mike asked, “Do you know anything about what’ll happen to me now?”
The big Kael shifted in his seat. “Technically, I’m not supposed to tell you anything, but what the hell.” Dreki pulled the collar of his sweater down, revealing an angry white number burnt into his iron-gray skin just below the collarbone. “First, you’ll get branded.” He released his shirt and pointed to a small scar on the side of his head. “Then you’ll get an AR implant.”
“Where will I be getting that?” Mike asked.
“The Imperial Science Academy. We’re going to be staying there for a few days. They’ll run a bunch of tests and get you fitted for equipment there. After that, I’ll drop you off at the spaceport, and you’ll be off to Tlaxcalssus for basic training. After that, I don’t know.”
“Thanks.”
The ship shook as it touched down on the landing pad. “Time to go.” Dreki shouldered his pack and walked out the door. Mike fiddled with the straps of his bag as he followed Dreki down the ramp and to the far side of the ship, away from the rest of the passengers. Mike's nose was immediately assaulted with the acrid smell of sulfur from where the fiery exhausts of engines had melted asphalt. The spaceport was swarming with vehicles and filled with the constant roar of ship engines and a symphony of smaller equipment. Power loaders and mechs loaded and unloaded heavy cargo, shuttles bustled to and fro with passengers, baggage carriers snaked through the crowded landing pads, and vehicles that looked like floating garage doors zipped through the air at ankle height, bringing pilots and crew to their ships. Mike couldn’t help but chuckle a little at the absurdity of it all. Here he was, in the heartland of the enemy, walking through what was essentially a ten-acre parking lot.
Dreki plopped his bags on the ground and yawned as he stretched his arms over his head. “Our skiff will be here in a minute.”
Mike tuned out the beeps and whirrs of the tank-sized forklifts and mechs unloading the ship and gazed out beyond at the horizon. You’re not in Kansas anymore, bub. Mike thought as he studied the skyline of the imperial city basked in the glow of the early evening sun. Some of the buildings wouldn’t look all that out of place on Earth, but the skyline was assaulted with abominations that pissed on the laws of physics as Man understood them. Tusk-shaped skyscrapers defied gravity with their seemingly unsupported curves, and even more absurd were pyramids stacked atop another point-to-point like hourglasses. Any delusion of normalcy that Mike could come up with was shattered.
Dreki picked up his bag and pointed to a slab of black marble speeding towards them at ankle height. “Here’s our skiff.” A railing popped out of the center as the skiff came to a gliding halt. Dreki boarded the skiff and took hold of the rail, and Mike followed suit.
They sped through the spaceport and stopped outside what looked to Mike like a train station. Dreki shouldered his bag and stepped off the skiff. Mike stepped off and quickly fell in pace with Dreki. The big Kael led Mike into a grand station bustling with people. Most were Kael, but there was a smattering of other species. Some stared at Mike, others glanced, but most completely ignored him as he followed Dreki through the hall and onto a platform. Unfamiliar aliens clearly weren’t an uncommon sight here.
The walls of the station were covered with mosaics depicting Kael warriors from the distant past. Dreki noted the human's curiosity and said, “The founders of the clans.” He leveled a massive hand toward an opulent, towering mosaic of a Kael warrior wielding a bronze falx. The imposing figure's body was made of blue gemstones, the eyes rubies, one tusk silver, and the other gold. “That’s the founder of my clan, Drekalla Gold Tusk.”
Mike asked, “How’d he manage that?” As he followed Dreki into a mostly empty train car.
Dreki plopped down on a bench. “He was the war priest of Hroptaug the Conqueror during the unification wars. After the wars were won, Hroptaug granted us the Steam Hills.” Dreki pointed through the train window at the mosaic of another warrior whose body was made of milky white pearls. “That one,” He paused and spat on the floor, “Tiblan the Terror, challenged Drekalla to a duel for most of that land. Drekalla was cutting him to pieces, but the craven poisoned his blade. Just before Drekalla could deliver the final blow, the poison reached his heart, and Drekalla died. The only wound on his body was a cut across his forearm that barely drew blood.” Dreki rolled up his sleeve, showing a scar that reached from his elbow to the middle of his forearm. “Every K’alla is cut the same way to remind us of the blood feud.”
Mike inwardly sighed. Kael and their damned feuds… “How long ago was this.”
“Seven thousand four hundred and fifty-one years ago.”
Mike held back a snort. The absurdity of it all. The first human law codes came about to stop blood feuds, and out here, they have feuds that have lasted longer than Earth's recorded history.
“How’s that feud been going as of late?”
Dreki’s face sagged, “Not good.”
They both grew quiet. Mike shuffled uncomfortably.
Mike glanced at the route display and broke the silence, “What's with the middle city, inner city thing?”
Dreki relaxed slightly. “Oh, so the city used to be a fortification. The inner city is actually a volcanic island. The middle is built over the river, and the outer city was built on the banks.”
“I see.”
The doors closed, and the intercom sounded, “Next stop, the inner city.”
————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Dale Robert’s wrinkled face was unreadable, and his highly decorated black and blue dress uniform immaculate as he led a horse through the street. He felt the eyes of thousands of onlookers on him, and he hated it. The pure black horse had a black leather saddle on its back. Two tall, glossy black boots were placed backward in silver stirrups, and the elaborate hilt of Mike’s basket-hilted broadsword jutted from the top of a black leather scabbard buckled to the saddle. Roberts followed the horse-drawn caisson bearing the flag-draped coffin of his old commanding officer. Not much farther now, he thought. The sounds of the cartwheels rolling and the horse’s tack jangling were wholly drowned out by boots stamping the ground in unison. Almost all of the 1800 survivors of the 801st regiment were there, resplendent in their dress uniforms, marching behind Mike one more time. The local police and fire departments joined them.
Roberts was unsure about it all. He felt that the poor kid's family would have preferred a smaller service back home in Colorado instead of this damn near royal procession. And Roberts was damn sure that the seals did not give their permission for this, no matter what the police chief said.
A reporter ducked through the police barricade and tried to ask the marching soldiers questions, but they remained stone-faced as the procession marched nearer to the gates of Philadelphia National Cemetery. Roberts handed the reigns of the riderless horse to another man in uniform and joined seven other members of Charlie platoon in pulling the casket from the cassion. They silently began their march to the grave, closely followed by General McCarthy, the man who was Joint Chief of Staff, and the color guard. Bagpipers began to blare, “Going Home.” Roberts heard the sound of gravpulse engines and looked up in dismay as a Kael gunship broke through the low clouds and descended to just barely above the cemetery. A loudspeaker blared, “Disperse at once.”

The pain was the worst thing`Dominick Mason had ever known…and he knew what it felt like to die. It felt like his brain was in a blender, being chopped to liquid for a Jeffery Dahmer smoothie and though it seemed melodramatic, he imagined he could feel himself losing brain cells by the minute. The sun, Merrick told him, would not burn him, but it would decay him faster, so sleep or rest during the day. With the sick, throbbing agony in the center of his brain, however, that was impossible. He spent most of the day curled up on his side, hugging his knees, and moaning. He had flashbacks to dying in his apartment, and that made things even worse. The room became too small, too close, the air too stale. His heart, filled with the blood of last night’s meal, pounded in his chest, and he went from slightly chilly to hot and feverish as blood was forced through his circulatory system. It mixed with the embalming fluid and left him feeling full and constipated. He didn’t want to get up, but he also didn’t want to go on lying there. He was the definition of miserable.
Before long, the pain became too great and he got up to pace, pressing his hands to the sides of his head and gritting his teeth. Merrick, who slept very little if at all, sat in his chair and watched, trying his best to talk him through it. “It’ll be over soon,” Merrick said. “The pain receptors in your brain are the first to go. When they burn out, you won’t feel anything.”
“When?” Dom asked, his voice raising with the tide of pain.
“A couple days?”
“A couple days???”
“The pain will lessen gradually,” Merrick said, “this is the worst of it.”
Dom believed that this was, indeed, the worst of it, but he doubted it would lessen gradually. For the rest of the day, the pain got worse and worse until every light blinded him, every sound turned his stomach, and the smell of anything made his gorge rise. The cloying smell of the embalming fluid, the light but unmistakable odor of dead flesh, and the scent of stale blood sitting in decomposing stomachs made him want to vomit, but he was afraid to. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of blood rushing from his mouth and splattering the floor. He still possessed enough of his facilities, he believed, to go insane.
Pain has a way of darkening one’s mood, and by the time the sun began to set, Dom was in the most sour mood possible. Even Merrick’s calm, fatherly voice was beginning to get on his nerves. When he took the oath to him the day before (or was it the day before that?), he turned his faith and trust over to Merrick entirely. He was finally accepted, included, finally had the love and fellowship that, in the pit of his soul, he had always wanted. Merrick understood him, Merrick was kind to him.
But deep down, Dom realized that he didn’t fully trust him. He said that his brain didn’t rot because he was “lucky.” That sounded like some bullshit to Dom. Why wasn’t Joe a blithering idiot too? Was he lucky as well? Did lightning strike in the same place twice? In life, people had done nothing but hurt and lie to Dom. Why would death be any different? He thought back to the strange liquid that always seemed to leak from Merrick’s nose, and Joe’s. He thought it was embalming fluid, but it never leaked from his own nose, or from anyone else’s. He tried to tell himself that it was far too soon to judge, but once he began to doubt something, his mind raced away. He felt a twinge of guilt, as Merrick had done absolutely nothing to deserve his doubt, but goddamn it, his head was on fire and he wanted it to stop. Anything to make it stop.
Just after sundown, the music began as Club Vlad opened for the night. It throbbed in the center of Dom’s head and made him want to claw his eyes out. When it became too much for him, he slipped away and stumbled into the sultry summer night. He came out in the alley running behind the club, clutching his head and breathing through bared teeth. He staggered, bumped into a metal trash can, and roared at the top of his lungs, as if he could purge himself of the pain by screaming.. His voice echoed and came back to him, making the pain worse.
Merrick was lying. He knew it. People always lied to him. His brain was rotting and PEOPLE WERE LYING! Flashing with anger, he slammed his fist into the brick wall of a Chinese restaurant. He barely felt anything so he did it again and again until his hand was lumpy and shaking. He sat heavily on the ground and pressed his hands to his head. It felt like maggots were burrowing into his brain, and he was suddenly terrified that they really were. He needed to stop this awful pain, but how?
An idea came to him.
The funeral home.
Maybe there was something there.
He was on his feet and lumbering there before the thought had even finished reverberating through his mind. It was a long shot, but he was desperate. On the way there, he stuck to the shadows, staying out of the light cast by the streetlamps and avoiding people. When he passed them, he kept his head down. When he reached the funeral home, he went to the back door where he and Jessie had gone the other day. He tried it, and it opened.
Inside, he bounced off the walls like a pinball, knocking over an end table and tearing at the flesh of his head, pulling it away in long, gray strips. He panted like a wild animal, his body a raging tempest of emotions. It was reaching a crescendo, he thought, his brain was about to go supernova. The world dimmed, things got really echoy. The young man he’d picked the embalming fluid up from was there, looking scared.
Flashing, Dom grabbed him by his shirt and slammed him against the wall, knocking a painting of a flowery field to the carpet. Everything seemed to go in slow mo. “How does Merrick keep his brain from rotting?” Dom heard himself demanding from far away. “How does he keep the pain away?”
The man trembled. “I-I-”
Dom slammed him again. “Tell me or I’ll make you like me.”
“No!” the man wailed. He shook his head from side to side, his eyes wet with fear.
“How?”
“He-He uses a solution,” the man stammered. “Some kind of special thing. It preserves his brain. That’s all I know.”
An idea occurred to Dom.
Holding the man by the back of his neck, Dom dragged him into the embalming room and pushed him against the table. His head felt like it was swelling. Hot, screaming, getting ready to explode. He looked around, found the embalming machine, and grabbed the hose. There was a sharp tip on it so that you could jam it into a body. He held it in his hand, hesitating for just a moment before pressing it to his temple. The man watched in horror as Dom slowly shoved the tip into his head. It tore his flesh, broke through his skull, and sank into his brain. He felt no pain, only pressure, but cried out anyway. His eyes rolled up into his head and a shudder went through his body.
“Turn it on!” he yelled.
“That’s not what he -”
“TURN IT ON!”
Starting, the man turned the machine on. Cold embalming fluid squirted directly into Dom’s brain. Almost at once, the pain began to ebb away, replaced only by a fuzzy sense of numbness. His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, looking for all the world like an addict taking a hit of his favorite substance after a long and trying day. Fluid leaked from his nose, ears, and eyes and dripped down the back of his throat.
The man waited for a long time, then turned the machine off.
The pain was gone.
At least for now.
“Tell me again,” Dom said.
The man did. Merrick used a special preserving agent to keep his brain intact. Joe, the man suspected, got it as well. So Merrick had lied to him.
Dom felt betrayed.
And angry.
Leaving the man (Dom realized that he didn’t even know his name), he walked back to Club Vlad, his hands fisted in his pockets. All his life, he had been hurt, lied to, and ignored. All his life, people had done wrong to him. And all those years, he just took it.
He resolved not to be so accepting in death.
At last, he was going to stop being a sniveling little bitch and stand up for himself.
When he reached Club Vlad, he slammed through the back door and took the stairs two at a time. At the top, he called out Merrick’s name. The old man was sitting in his chair, being attended to by Jessie and Matt. He looked startled when Dom came in. “You lied to me,” Dom said, stalking over to his benefactor.
“What are you talking about?” Merrick asked, doing his best to sound innocent.
“You lied to me!” Dom screamed. He bent over and got so close to Merrick’s face that he could have kissed him. “You told me there was no way to save my brain, but that’s not true. You’re pumping your head full of shit and letting the rest of us rot.”
A dark shadow flickered across Merrick’s face. “Watch your tone when you talk to me,” he said. His voice was low, menacing.
“Fuck you,” Dom said. “I should k -”
Suddenly, Dom was being grabbed from behind and yanked back, an arm around his neck. He cried out in alarm as Joe swung him around and slammed him face first into the wall. He heard his nose crunch, felt his teeth shatter. Next, Joe wrestled him to the glitter-sprinkled floor and wedged his knee between his shoulder blades.
Merrick watched with a sneer of disgust, his hands gripping the arms of his chair. He wheeled himself over, Jessie holding his IV stand steady and following behind. “Listen, you son of a bitch,” Merrick said, “you’re lucky to be a part of this family.”
Cold fear filled the pit of Dom’s stomach, yet he wouldn’t back down, couldn’t back down. He had lived his entire life like a mouse in a burrow, he wasn’t about to live his entire death the same way.
“Fuck your family,” he said defiantly. “And fuck you.”
Merrick’s face darkened and he sat back in his chair. He looked at Jessie and nodded. She went away and came back a moment later holding something in her hand. Dom’s eyes widened when he saw what it was.
A wooden stake, one end honed to a razor point.
Why they had one of those lying around, Dom didn’t know; it’d be like Superman keeping a piece of kryptonite on the mantle over the fireplace. Merrick directed Max and Matt to hold Dom’s arms down/ Joe pivoted, kneeling on his head now so that Dom’s back was exposed. Dom’s heart slammed with terror and tremors raced through his body.
“Is this what you want, Dominick?” Merrick asked. “To die? To truly die?”
Dom swallowed hard. No, it wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted to live, to love, to have a family one day. He wanted a happy, normal life, the life TV and social media had been promising him since he was a little boy.
But all of that went out the window the night he died in his little apartment. There was no life anymore, just a grotesque parody of life. What was there for him other than death? Clinging desperately onto life for decades like Merrick? Stuffing himself full of embalming fluid and moth balls? Grinding for one more minute just so he could sit hooked up to a machine?
Dom spoke.
“What?” Merrick asked, not having heard.
Dom licked his lips. “Just fucking do it.”
For a moment, nothing happened. Expectation hung in the air. Finally, breaking the tension, Merrick nodded to Jessie. Kneeling down, she brought the stake up, and Dom closed his eyes.
This was it.
He braced himself for death.
Jessie brought the stake down just as a shot rang out, deafening in the small space. Her head whipped back, embalming fluid, skull fragments, and gray, sickly pieces of brain showering from the back of her head. She flopped back and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.
A woman cop, her black uniform in stark contrast to the burning white light, stood in the doorway to the hall, her gun drawn. Everyone did, indeed, freeze, more out of surprise than respect for authority. They all looked at her, their dead mouths agape, resembling children who’d been caught doing something wrong.
“Everyone on the ground!” she barked.
No one knew what to do. They hadn’t expected to be raided by the police so had not prepared. She jerked her gun and everyone instinctively flinched. “On the ground!” she repeated. To Max: “You too, bone boy.”
The first one to react was Joe. He sprang at her like a big, undead frog. She brought the gun around and fired, but he was already crashing into her. The shot went wild and struck the IV bag next to Merrick; he ducked and let out a sound of fear. The others rushed her, and Dom got quickly to his feet. Jessie lay on the floor, her mouth open in a silent scream and her bony fingers frantically examining the ragged hole in the center of her forehead. For a moment, he was frozen; everything was happening too fast. Then, when Merrick saw him and cried, “Stop him!, he came alive. Jessie tried to grab at his leg, but he kicked her hand away and stomped on it like it was a giant spider. On the other side of the room, Matt, Joe, and Max had forced the cop to the ground. Perhaps excited by all the action, perhaps just hungry, they began to tear her apart. She howled in pain, and the last thing Dom saw before he fled was her open, blood-filled mouth. Her eyes were filled with pain…with terror.
After that, Dom ran.
***
When the interloper was dead, Merrick directed Joe and Matt to dispose of the body. “Get rid of it,” he said wearily and rubbed his temples, “make sure it isn’t found.”
They rolled her into a carpet from the office, and the way her feet stuck out may have been comical under other circumstances.
Goddamn it, this was bad. Merrick’s entire philosophy rested on avoiding detection. He had done well in that regard. Whereas other vampires had attacked their villages and gotten themselves dug from the ground and staked, he had made it four decades. He never shat where he ate, and there is no bigger turd than killing a cop. They might dawdle on all the boys who’d gone missing - taken because their blood was stronger and more robust than the blood of girls - but they would not take a cop dying lightly at all.
Merrick owned various businesses around the country. He and the others would simply move on. Tomorrow night, they would disappear into the night. They had done it before and they would likely do it again. Once things were settled at their new base of operations, he would have Joe killed for all the trouble he’d caused.
And Dom?
Let him go.
The little rat wouldn’t last a month on his own.
“Jessie?”
Jessie sat against the wall, gazing into space.
“Jessi…start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow.”
She didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear. The shot had all but lobotomized her.
Damn it.
Joe backed the van up to the back door of Club Vlad, and then helped Matt carry the carpet-rolled body down the stairs. They loaded it in and closed the back doors. Together, they drove around looking for a place to dump it. Merrick wanted it to go unfound, but Joe doubted there was anywhere isolated enough in the city. On a whim, he drove to Washington Park, a vast expanse of green trees and shadows. There was a large pond there. It seemed the best option. They were leaving tomorrow anyway, so did it really matter?
Joe backed the van to a railing overlooking the dark water and put it in park. He and Matt got out, fetched the body, and carried it to the railing. They lifted and heaved it over. It splashed. Thus, they rid themselves of Vanessa Rodregiez.
***
Bruce sat anxiously up in his easy chair and waited for his cell to ring.
Parked in front of the TV by warm lamplight, a beer wedged between his legs, he’d been watching the 11’o’clock news when the phone rang. He picked it up and it was Vanessa. “Hey,” she said, “I think I found our body?”
“Which one?” Bruce asked and took a drink. “We have a lot of those these days.”
“Dominick Mason.”
Bruce sat forward in his chair. “Dead Dom? Where?”
“He just came out of a funeral home, ironically enough.”
“That sounds about right,” Bruce said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m following him east on Central.”
“Are you sure it’s him?” Bruce asked.
“I think so, but I’m not sure. I’ll call you back when I’m done.”
Bruce sat the phone aside and waited.
And waited.
And waited.
At some point, he fell asleep sitting up, his head lulled to one side and his mouth open. He snorted himself awake, rubbed his eyes, and sat up. He checked his phone and was perturbed to see that it was past 2am.
Vanessa hadn’t called.
He dialed her number and let the phone ring until it went to voicemail. Sighing, he ended the call, then waited a few minutes and called again.
Still no answer.
It was possible she had forgotten. Maybe the guy turned out to not be Dead Dom after all. She followed some random guy around, realized it, and that was that. Hell, she was probably too embarrassed to call and tell him about it.
Something told him that wasn’t right, however.
There was something else going on here.
Something…darker.
Just before 3am, his phone rang. He snatched it off the end table next to the chair and answered it. It was Burt, the night sargent. “Rodriguez is missing,” he said simply.
Bruce’s heart sank. “Missing?”
“Yeah, she hasn’t checked in for hours and she isn’t answering calls.”
“I’m on my way,”
Bruce tore through the house, pulling on his uniform, socks, and shoes in less time than it took a Daytona 500 pit crew to service a car. In ten minutes he was speeding down 787, the Albany skyline rising in the distance. As he hurried to the station, he thought back to his last conversation with Vanessa. She’d found Dom the Dead Man, the “corpse” who’d scared Ed Harris out of a 20 year career. Despite all their talk about vampires and the living dead, Bruce didn’t believe it, not really. Even so, he was sure that Dominick Mason had done something to Vanessa.
He checked in at the station before doing anything else. They had triangulated Vanessa’s last known location via cell towers. Cops were already out searching the streets for her. Bruce went out as well, intending to start from her last known position and work his way east on Central. The closest funeral home was Tebbutt and Frederick on Central. There was also Lasak & Gigliotti on North Allen Street. Bruce didn’t know which one Vanessa had seen Dom come out of, so he checked both.
Both were deserted at this hour.
Undeterred, Bruce drove up and down Central Ave. At one point, he noticed a shape in an alleyway that looked human. He hit the brakes, jumped out, and pointed his gun at it. “Freeze!”
An old wino stepped out of the darkness. “Alright, you got me,” he said, hands up. “I started COVID. It was an accident, I swear.”
Bruce sighed and put his gun away.
For two more hours, Bruce searched the streets of Albany for Vanessa. At 4am, he spotted a squad car abandoned in the rear parking lot of an abandoned gas station on lower Lark Street. He called it in and the desk sergeant confirmed that it was the one Vanessa had signed out that night.
Still there was no sign of Vanessa herself.
Just after dawn, as the city came alive and CDTA buses began lumbering up and down the streets, Bruce got a call on his cell. “A jogger found a body in Washington Park.”
Bruce was in his personal car. He had no bubble light, no siren. Even so, he sped through the streets like he did, blowing through red lights and stop signs with little care to himself or anyone else. When he got to Washington Park, he found an army cops by the pond, the scene cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape. He slammed on the brakes, threw open the door, and jumped out without even turning off the engine.
The body was rolled up in a carpet and lying on the bank. Two beat cops unrolled it at Bruce’s direction. “We should wait for -” one of them started, but Bruce cut him off.
“Do it.”
They compiled, and at the carpet’s center, like a rotten cream filling, was the body of Vanessa Rodregiuez. Her head was tilted to one side, her eyes wide and staring. Her throat had been mangled and ripped away, her head nearly severed. Even in the black and red mess, Bruce could make out the teeth marks and puncture wounds. They may have looked like something else to anyone else who saw them, but he knew, in that moment, what they were dealing with.
A sharp pang of horror sliced through him, and his knees went weak.
“Jesus Christ,” one of the beat cops drew.
Bruce fell to, rather than knelt on, one knee. He bent over the body, a mixture of horror and grief welling his throat. He wanted to reach out, to comfort her in death, but he stayed his hand. Instead, he visually examined the body. She had bruises on her face, defensive wounds on her hands, and her gun was gone. Whoever had attacked her, she put up a fight.
Something glinted on her pants.
“What’s that?” one of the cops asked.
“I dunno,” the other replied, “but it’s all over the carpet.”
Indeed, there were glinty little specks all over it, winking like mocking eyes. Nice work, eh? We really fucked her up, didn’t we? Wink wink.
“It looks like…”
The other cop cut him off. “Glitter.”
Bruce flashed back to his visit to Club Vlad the other day.
There had been glitter everywhere.
Bruce stood up.
He had work to do.
***
Instead of going back to the station to start his shift, Bruce went to Lowes. There, he bought a mallet, a gas can, and a dozen sticks of wood. An employee in a blue vest used a machine to sharpen them to a wicked point and he took his purchases to the car. Next, he drove over to the Mobil station and filled the gas can. He was so hellbent on revenge that he sprang for premium, the good stuff. No expense shall be spared.
His final stop was at a Catholic church. He filled a canteen with holy water from the marble font by the door, then swiped a crucifix from the wall. He stopped by the station, went inside, and grabbed a black duffle bag with POLICE written across the front in yellow. He opened the gun cabinet in his office, took out a shotgun, and loaded it with shells. He grabbed a handful from the box and stuffed them into his pocket.
He was just finishing up when Bertha came in. “There you are,” she spat, “I’ve waited long enough for you to do something. I demand -”
Bruce shoved the duffle bag into her arms. “Make yourself useful.”
“What?” she demanded.
“We’re going to get your granddaughter,” Bruice lied. Kind of.
Bertha’s demeanor changed. “Good. It’s about time. I was starting to think you were a complete incompetent.”
Bruce didn’t answer. Outside, he plucked the bag out of Bertha’s hands and tossed it into the backseat. He slipped behind the wheel and Bertha sat in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Club Vlad,” Bruce said and started the engine.
“I want all of them arrested.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bruce said.
She barked orders the entire way there. Bruce was so deep in his thoughts that he barely heard her. The image of Vanessa’s ruined throat and terror-twisted face haunted him, and he felt a lump forming in his throat. Hot tears filled his eyes but he blinked them back and forced himself to calm down.
I’ll cry when I’m done killing, he thought.
A few minutes later, he pulled to the curb in front of Club Vlad. It was a hot and sunny day and the place seemed even more ominous because of it. The windows were black, the front cast in perpetual shadows by the old marquee from when it used to be a theater. The place was surely closed, but Bruce could hear music still playing from inside, some techno dance bullshit. “Alright,” he said, “let’s go.”
Getting out, he slung the dufflebag over his shoulder and carried the shotgun, the canteen full of holy water clasped to his belt. Bertha carried the gas can, looking confused. “Why do we need this?” she asked.
“We’re burning the place down.”
Bertha blinked in surprise…then an evil grin carved across her face. “That’ll show the bastards.”
Unlike last time, the door was locked. Bruce used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the door, being careful not to cut himself. This was the point of no return. What he had in mind would probably get him kicked off the force or even thrown in jail - and we all know how tough jail can be for a former barnaclehead. The memory of Vanessa’s contorted face pushed him on, however.
He’d suffer any consequences he needed to just so long as he got the sons of bitches who did this to her.
Inside, the club was cool and cave-like. Strobe lights flashed, on and off, black and white, dazzling Bruce’s eyes. The bartender was at his station, cleaning up from the night before. When he saw Bruce and Bertha come in, he started. Bruce pointed the shotgun at him. “Don’t fucking move,” he commanded.
The bartender hesitated, then reached for something under the bar.
The shotgun kicked in Bruce’s hands, and the bartender flew back, turning as he crashed into the barback. Bottles, glasses, and mugs crashed to the floor along with the bartender. Bruce racked the gun, and the shell flew out. He moved low and fast now, expecting to be swarmed by vampires, living thugs who worked for vampires, or vampire thugs who worked for themselves.
Though the shot had been like thunder, no one came.
Bruce had no idea where to go, but he imagined that vampires were naturally gravitate to the lowest part of the building. Was there a basement? Shit, he should have looked up the building plans at city hall. Damn, this is what happens when you go off half-cocked. He searched around a bit, opening doors and sweeping the rooms beyond with the shotgun. He found no basement, only stairs leading up. “Stay close,” he said to Bertha.
In the lead, Bruce crept up the stairs, the flashlight on the shotgun providing a cone of clean, white light. At the top of the stairs, he went right, and came to an office and a store room. Backtracking, and bumping into a bungling Bertha, he went into the next room. It was large and open with a vaulted ceiling, almost like a ballroom. Here the same strobe lights throbbed on and off, making him dizzy. Was this to dazzle prospective vampire hunters?
Either way, this was the place. Bodies lay strewn across the floor, some curled up on their sides and others in the classic vampire pose: Flat on their backs with their hands laced over their chests. In the center, like the sun to the planets, Merrick Garvis lay slumped back in his wheelchair, his neck exposed for any potential assassin to come and cut. Not that it would kill him. At least Bruce didn’t think it would.
“They’re all dead,” Bertha whispered. She looked around and gasped. “There’s Jessie.”
Jessie lay on her back, her hands folded on her chest. She had a ragged bullet hole in the center of her forehead. “Oh, God,” Bertha wavered, “someone shot her.”
He hoped it was Vanessa. And he hoped it fucking hurt.
Looking around, Bruce couldn’t find Dominick Mason. Was he the one who killed Vanessa? Was it a group effort? He wanted the little son of a bitch bad, but it looked like he’d have to go on without him. They didn’t have much time.
Unshouldering the duffle bag, he knelt down and rummaged around. “Start splashing that gas on the bodies,” he said.
“But -”
“Just do it,” he snapped.
There must have been a harder edge in his voice than normal, because Bertha jumped and did as she was told. She upended the can and began to splash gasoline onto the sleeping forms, the smell of it acrid and strong.
Taking out a stake and the mallet, Bruce went over to Merrick and knelt down. He gripped the stake in one hand and placed it firmly against Merrick’s chest. He brought the mallet up and hesitated, the gravity of what he was doing finally reaching him. What if he was wrong? What if -
Merrick’s head whipped up and their eyes locked.
Too late.
Bruce brought the mallet down as hard as he could. The stake drove deep into Merrick’s heart, and the vampire let out a howling screech that rang through the chamber like the cry of a banshee. His bony fingers clawed at the stake and his head whipped from side to side, his back arching and his robe coming open. In the quick strobe pattern, Bruce was shocked to see that his body was little more than a wood frame, chicken wire, and cotton balls. His blacked heart was hidden behind a screen of mesh that the stake had easily torn through. It throbbed, seemingly in time with the strobe lights, and Merrick let out another wail.
Bertha screamed, and Bruce jumped to his feet.
The vampires, drawn by their master’s cries of distress, were rising to their feet. Two, four, six of them, pale and ethereal like ghosts in a gothic mansion. They came toward Merrick, and Bruice fell back a step. The old man had gone still and lay slumped to one side, his eyes open and his mouth slack, embalming fluid leaking from the corner of his lips. Jessie bent over him and touched his face. Though she moved like a zombie, with no human emotion, Bruce was crazily sure that it was a touch of tenderness and love. Merrick didn’t stir.
He was dead.
Jessie looked at him. Yellow liquid leaked from her eyes like tears. Instead of attacking him, she turned on her grandmother and slammed her against the wall. Bertha screamed and dropped the can. It landed on its side, its contents sloshing out onto the floor. A man that resembled the pictures Bruce had seen of Joe Rossi only deader rushed him, slamming into him and knocking the shotgun aside. It hit the floor and skidded away. Joe grabbed Bruce around the throat and squeezed. Still the lights flashed, off and on, off and on. The walls thrummed with the mechanized beat of dance music, pierced only by Bertha’s screams as Jessie ripped out her throat.
Joe leaned in, his fangs wicked and glowing in the light. Bruce clawed at the monster’s face, tearing away strips of dead flesh. Joe turned his head to the side, and Bruce kneed him in the groin. Even dead, getting kicked in the balls hurt like hell, apparently. Joe’s grip loosened and Bruce was able to shove him off. Bruce unclasped the canteen and frantically screwed the cap off as Joe recovered. Joe sprang at him again, and Bruce splashed him in the face.
A sound like sizzling meat filled the air, and Joe screamed at the top of his lungs. He pressed his hands to his face and danced around the room, his skin liquifying and oozing between his fingers. The others were coming now, led by a terrible skeletal thing. Bruce scooped the shotgun off the floor, brought it around, and fired. The blast hit the thing dead center, tearing it literally in half. The top half flew back, an all too human look of surprise on its face, and the bottom half fell over with a wet thud. Another vampire came at, and Bruce slammed it across the face with the butt of the gun. He heard its jaw crack, saw teeth flying.
Bertha lay dead on the floor, Jessie bent over her. The smell of Bertha’s blood attracted the others, who seemed to forget about Bruce, Merrick, and everything else. Joe was on his knees, wailing in pain, and the skeletal thing was pulling itself toward Bertha. A feeding frenzy broke out as vampires fought to get a piece of her the way piglets might fight over their mother’s teat. Bruce watched in a mixture of horror and fascination, but recovered himself. He grabbed the gas can from the floor and dumped the rest of its contents on Merrick’s body, the feeding vampires’ backs, and the floor, using the last of it to make a little trail to the door. He tossed the can aside, bent down, and stuck a match.
A huge, fiery whump filled the room, and fire streaked along the trail. The vampires all went up in a huge ball of flames, and fire shot up Merrick’s body, catching his robe, his hair, and the wooden frame that had kept him semi upright for God knows how long. Letting out inhuman screams, the vampires broke from Bertha’s corpse. One stumbled around, bounced off the wall, and fell; another toddled toward Bruce before falling to its knees. The half skeleton kept drinking from Bertha’s neck even as it burned.
The heat was enormous, baking. Bruce backed away, and the last thing he saw before smoke obscured his vision was Merrick Garvis.
He was literally melting.
***
Dominick Mason tried to go home, but he no longer had a home. All of his worldly possessions sat on the sidewalk in front of his building, discarded coldly as easily. His key didn’t work in his door and there was a FOR RENT sign on it. Why would it be any other way? He was dead. Sooner or later, everyone forgets you when you’re dead, and all the things you held so dear wind up in the trash. It was a hard pill to swallow, but most people aren’t around to see it after they die.
He was.
From his building, he walked east toward Washington Park. In the distance, thick, black smoke billowed into the air, and sirens rose. He barely noticed and wouldn’t have cared even if he did. No more rubbernecking for him. That was for the living.
The pain that had plagued him so the previous day came back, only less this time. Maybe he was imagining it, but it was getting harder to think. Not that he cared, really. What was there to think about anyway? How he had no one to mourn or miss him? How he died and not one single person, except for maybe his mother, cared, or even noticed? How he had done nothing with his life? Even to the women he’d slept with, what was he? Just another dating app hookup. They probably didn’t even remember his name.
Merrick had been right about one thing. Death was easy. It was life that was hard…life that hurt.
With that in mind, Dominick made his way to Washington Park. It was a vast and deep place with many small caves and thickets. Kids played on the playground, their cries of laughter scenting the still air. It had grown cloudy and began to rain. Still, smoke poured into the sky in the direction of Club Vlad. Dom didn’t wish ill on Merrick and the others, didn’t hope it was them burning. He didn’t care anymore. Not about them, not about anyone. For better or worse (and he would argue it was worse), his life was over. His time came days ago, he just missed the boat.
Picking out an isolated little area, Dom sat against a tree with his legs splayed out in front of him. He titled his head back and closed his eyes. Yes, thinking was hard now. His mind felt sluggish, cold. He was thirsty…so, so thirsty, but he ignored it.
Slowly, the bugs found him. Flies buzzed around him and laid their eggs in his skin. Beetles scuttled over him, followed by worms.
Next, it was the birds. They ate out his eyes and nibbled at his blue, bloated skin.
The animals came last.
Their appetites were bigger.
And they left little remaining of poor, outcast Dominick Mason.
***
That night, Bruce sat alone in his little trailer, a bottle of whiskey wedged between his legs and unshed tears in his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the darkened TV set and took long swallows from the bottle. He planned to drink until he forgot or passed out, whichever came first. He tried to not think about Vanessa, but in his addled state, he couldn’t control himself, and began to cry. When that storm passed, like the others before it, he chugged from the bottle.
As distant church bells clanged the hour - midnight - a feeble knock came at the door. Bruce took another drink and it came again. Getting up, he stumbled, nearly fell, and gripped the bottle tightly. He didn’t want to lose one precious drop.
Again, the knock.
“I’m coming,” Bruce slurred. He staggered to the door and fought with the lock. He was dizzy and seeing double.
When he got it, he opened the door.
The bottle dropped from his hand and clanked onto the floor.
Vanessa, clad in a puke green hospital gown, stood on the step, her hands pressed to her chest and a look of anguish on her milk white face. Her head tilted to one side, the wounds on her neck cleaned but open, gaping. Her dark eyes shone with tears. “I’m dead,” she said.
Breaking down in tears, she collapsed against him and they sank to the floor. She was cold and smelled. Bruce wrapped his arms around her and held her to his chest anyway. “Shhh, it’s alright,” he said drunkenly. “Hey, it’s alright.
“I’m dead,” she repeated, and her voice broke. “I don’t want to die.”
Bruce held her close, trying to warm her icy skin. He didn’t know what to say, so he cried with her.
“You’re safe now,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”
“I want blood,” she said and sobbed harder, “I want to hurt people.”
“Shhh,” Bruce said again. “It’s okay.”
Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a utility knife. He flicked the blade across his wrist and searing pain shot up his arm. “Here,” he said and offered her his blood, “drink this.”
He did this without care and without thought. She needed him, and one barnaclehead always backs up another.
Vanessa hesitated, looking from his face to the oozing blood, unsure.
“Go ahead,” he told her.
Vanessa brought his wrist to her mouth.
And began to drink.