Salutations everyone ! How are we all ? We better be good !!
I’m here today on the look for friends! (short term / long term) Here’s some interesting stuff about me !
Well I’m from Ireland and I’m in uni ! And I’m 23 I’m nerdy, heavily enjoy fantasy and grimdark settings, so massive LOTR, elder scrolls, GOT/HOTD and Warhammer fan. I play on PC (total war, arma 3, Hoi4, stellaris and many more ) and ps5 (Elden ring, battlefield) Im also big into history, specifically military history!! I’m a pagan
My fav food is a toastie and I love coffee n tea!
I hope to hear from someone soon and if you have read this far, no hey, hi or hellos, write a introduction!!

Nerdy analysis time. I was listening to the Nugs bootlegs of the new shows, and noticed with the help of the mix panning how much Stone is playing a lot of “lead” non solo parts again, or rather the main riff, ala Ten.
In Ten, we had a lot of examples of Stone playing the busier riffs while Mike would hang back and play a more atmospheric role or even just rhythm chords before it was solo time. (Alive, Once, Deep, chorus of Jeremy, etc) This is emblematic of Stone writing a lot of the first record (along with Jeff) and Mike probably holding back and not encroach on the already established songs until he was called to shred.
Now on Dark Matter, we have that more often again after Stone often taking a backseat in recent albums.
Scared of Fear is of course his riff, where Mike’s just droning in the verse.
Dark Matter has Stone doing the more lead/dynamic stuff for most of the song, while Mike simply follows Jeff’s bass riff until the bridge, which he wrote comes in.
Waiting for Stevie has Stone playing that Watt/Ed guitar hook throughout whereas live Mike never seems to play it, instead playing chords that mainly, once again, follow Jeff. It’s no wonder now how Mike though Stone and Jeff wrote the song.
Running’s pre-verse again has Stone playing that wild punk lead, while Mike handles the solo proper.
Setting Sun is Stone straight up doing the lead guitar part.
Got to Give gives both guitarists lead moments in an otherwise chords heavy song, but Stone’s got the main hook.
Wreckage is an inversion with Mike playing the hooky guitar motif, and Stone being more atmospheric but also executing the prominent “solos”.
I wonder if this was in part a result of Andrew Watt trying to recapture old band chemistry with Stone, Jeff, and Eddie being involved very early on in writing whereas Mike and Matt are tasked with focusing on their musicianship and technical prowess to elevate the songs. In interviews, it seems like the only song that is attributed to Mike and Matt is Dark Matter, with Matt’s drum beat sparking the others’ ideas and Mike writing the bridge.
Regardless, I love Stone’s guitar style so much and the return of his melodic leads is very welcome to my ears.

I I guess I'm looking for validation that this is textbook, and I am looking at this correctly. I guess that is the effect of being gaslit - you don’t know your reality is really your reality. But I am here, and asking for help, because I will need to see him for the next 12 years (our kids go to the same school). This will be in passing and at events, but I am traumatized, still recovering, and just scared. I am looking for some insights because I spent about 2 months trying to fit my story into a box of emotional and narcissistic abuse…. But it's not that....I see that now. If you are able to share tidbits of knowledge, or point me in the direction of more clarity, I would appreciate it so much. Thank you so so much.
I am going to write out the cliff notes. I imagine a lot of you can fill in the parts I leave out as from what I read on here, it’s typical.
I met him walking my kid to school. He walked the same way every day. Over time, we became friends, and I learned he was trying to leave his marriage. Once he did, the relationship happened fast – too fast. He seemed so 100 percent sure of me and it was odd. I often looked disheveled walking to school and tired….I am not sure what he saw in me. But, I felt sure of him too, but wanted to go slower. I tried to slow it down, but at the same time, didn't. I am responsible for that. I felt like a hamster on a wheel after a few weeks and was able to tell him that I need the weekdays for myself, for my work, and for my kid. He seemed to respect that.
But he often romanticized the first few weeks together....even in the last days.
Quickly, I started to notice the emotional dysregulation. There was a lot going on for him: moving out, going through the divorce, parenting, work….so I understood it. I was also still getting to know him. Then severe trauma responses and triggers started happening. They would lead to these large child-like reactions with a lot of tears and anger. I didn't understand it but knew enough to know he had trauma to work through, and perhaps was feeling it for the first time. Each time this happened, there was nothing I could say to help or get him out of it, he would blame me a lot and say I was the cause, and he expected me (without saying it) to be there for him 110% even though I couldn’t. And truthfully, I didn’t want to….I wanted him to be able to handle that for himself or realize it was an issue. I didn't have the tools to deal with it and suggested he try deeper therapy. He agreed.
When he first met with the therapist, she told him it is like a virus takes over his brain and he is convinced in those moments. That was music to my ears at the time. But that is the last time I felt that way.
After a few months of this cycle continuing, I started detoriating. First my mental health, and then my physical health. I couldn’t breathe. I felt like we couldn’t go a few days without him reacting to something small. I wrote in my journal many times “there's no amount of validation I can give this person.”
I didn't point it to excessive adoration and validation, I could not see that really, but if he texted me 5 things and I responded to all 4 logistical ones and ended with "love you too" I was chastised. If I was driving and did not respond to an “i love you,” I was called out for it. At the end of October, I told him I needed the weekend to clean my apartment. It happened to be 60 degrees that day and of course, I would have preferred to be outside, but I am an adult and could not blow off my commitment to myself to clean. That day he messaged me 18 times that me missed me. He kept inviting me out. I kept asking him to stop, because clearly I would prefer to do something else than clean, but needed to. The missing was excessive. I didn’t even know what he meant. We lived next door to eachother. That night, I had to work, and he was upset with me because to him, it was optional and I should have chose to see him.
There were so many moments when he wanted so much comfort I couldn't provide. We were both single parents. That kind of affection goes to my kid....and I couldn't give it to him in that way. He would even want the affection when he hurt me.
He would see my daughter freak out at me and then say that I don’t love her enough, and he would joke they are the same….
It wasn’t a joke?
As time went on, and his therapy went on, and he felt validated by the therapist, the blame came on more and never left. It started in August, and even when I'd get an apology, it would be for the impact (what I'm responsible for) and not his intent. He'd argue with me over seeing his intent clearly. I'd say I don't care about your intent, you're killing me. It didn’t matter, nothing did.
I never felt like we could repair any incidents. As the blame went on, I really questioned myself. I wondered if he was right. What if I don't love enough? What if I don't receive love well? I've been in therapy for 20 years and know I have limitations but I'm not an asshole…
I felt coerced a lot of the time.
I felt he wanted me to change a lot....he wanted me to be less blunt, more loving, more balanced, work less even though he was awful with money, have sex when sick, injured or mentally dead from the day, always be happy to see him, don't be affected by the trauma responses and don't try to talk to him about it, don't take space and if I do, prepare for some kind of punishment, love him and miss him endlessly, do everything together, if I am dysregulated, he wanted me to regulate with him….
I noticed I started taking precautions to keep myself dafe. I didn’t realize I was setting boundaries to prevent the abuse but I was. I’d say I was busy when I wasn’t. I wouldn’t accept or ask him to get me from the airport, knowing I would not be 100% happy after a flight and that would cause a fight (as it did). I didn’t ask for help, and when I did ask for help, I would expect the help to not happen. I did not communicate anything he did “wrong” (like, you said you would drop off quarters for laundry on monday….do you have them?)
There were a lot of moments we would have deep conversations and I felt like we were getting somewhere, that he heard me.
I'll fast forward to the end because this is already way longer than I wanted….and it’s sad that I know it could be so much longer.
In the last month, he reacted and blamed me for everything. There were at least 5 major incidents. After the last one, I told him I was done. It was really bad and left me spending $50 to uber home in the snow, when I could barley walk as is (I had a herniated disc in my back and could barley walk). That month, I lost health insurance, and after begging for time to just take care of the injury, he told me we need intensive couples counseling. I had asked to just continue our therapist until we could change. That wasn't enough. The next weekend he asked me to go to a Gottman weekend. I said I couldn't leave my kid to do that right now and needed to take care of my help.
After that snow episode, that was really bad, laced with blame in the unpacking, I said I'm done, I can't do it. I was crying uncontrollably. I was scared. I really did not know who I was speaking to. After an hour, right when I needed to leave, he snapped out of whatever mindset he was in and told me he'd do anything, that he would work on anything, to please stay. I had to go, I could not think anymore. So in desperation, the only thing I asked for was to go alone on a trip with my daughter. He was scheduled to come with us. I said I needed time just with her. He agreed.
And honestly, he held up his end of the bargain....until he didn't.
3 days before the trip everything fell apart. I worked 12 hours that day and at the end of the day, went to pour water in a cup at home. It was the only time we had together before I left for the week. He hugged me from behind while I was pouring the water (....remember herniated disc in my back). I asked him to please stop and just let me have a second to pour the water.
He said "there's no turning back from this" and got his stuff to leave. I was floored. I was so upset because I knew where this was going - the blame game. He left, wouldn't come back, and then continued to blame me for the next 2 days about how I was an asshole the days before, only spent time with him out of obligation (not true), and rewrote history. I had a stomach bug all weekend and could not eat, but still tried to hang out as much as I reasonably could, and that was not enough.
The water incident was Wednesday, Thursday he had therapy and reinforced the blame, and I ended up leaving without saying goodbye. It was a week. I wanted to believe this relationship could survive a week. But I was clear with him days before: I am working up until I need to leave Friday so I can have real time off with my kid. He was upset I did not find him to say goodbye, even though he made no attempt to make peace earlier. But of course, my fault.
That night, he claimed down. Was nice. But it was a trap. After 12 hours of him being nice in text he said he was only doing it hoping I felt remorse and realized how wrong I was. He told me over and over he wouldn't see it differently. He said he read the transcript of our texts to 2 therapists and his friends and it’s clear: I am wrong. May be important to name here that we are both in our late 30’s.
I said that I want to work this out and I'll talk when we can actually discuss it and I'm willing to hear his side but not willing to blindly take all responsibility. He nailed me on every response, telling me how wrong my response was and what I should have done differently.
I was with my kid and could not talk. When I said "why are you doing this now, you know I can’t really respond" he told me to stop avoiding.
That night, he ghosted me for the first time in the relationship and I panicked. I called him a few times. No answer.
The next day, despite him never doing that to me before, he called me controlling for calling.
At 7am the next morning he told me our relationship was over in a text. This man, who 7 days before was professing his love and understanding of me ended the engagement in a text. This of course continued with a back and forth. I asked him to please stop. To please pause and talk to me when i'm back in 5 days. He told me to fight for the relationship or it was over. I said “I am just waking up with my 7 year old, in a hotel, please stop.” I asked him to attend couples therapy in 3 days to talk this out. He said “you accept all responsibility and change your behavior or we are done.” I asked if he was willing to talk and he said the problem was my perception and that it's wrong, so unless I change we are done. I knew this wasn't ok but I was so blindsided I did not know what to do. He agreed to go to couples therapy Thursday. We barley talked. There were a few more messages of him telling me he needs to know I can live a drama free life and celebrate his love and see it all as beautiful (almost verbatim). At this point, all I wanted to do is keep the dial down. I pushed back saying, “I cannot teach my daughter that someone can just tell her that her emotions and feelings are wrong, I hope you will be willing to talk and we can get on the same page.”
He agreed to go to couples therapy, and then didn't show up. He texted me 10 minutes before saying he was not going. I begged and pleaded. But he had the couples therapist to tell me he wasn't going to go. He had her tell me. I lost it. I lost my mind. I had been reeling for days. Not sleeping. Putting on a fake smile all day with my kid while I was dying inside. Staying up late to cry, process, read, figure out wtf was going on…
I called him about 10 times and of course, he told me it was inappropriate. He then picked up and gave me 10 minutes. He again wanted me to take all responsibility for everything. I was so shaken, I just fawned. I said ok. When I'm back I hope we can talk but if you want me to accept blame for now, fine.
Everything was calmer for 2 days until we were heading back and he texted me something along the lines of "don't fool me" I was like wtf? He said "there's no turning back. There's no other chances." I was like wait what? And then it was "don't make me look like a fool" I had no idea what was going on. I was like "um what is this?" He essentially was reinforcing his stance: I am to blame for everything in the present and past. If I try to talk to him about his side I'm wrong. I need to repent and one wrong move (defined by him) is a misstep and there's no room for error (his words). I was like....I will be in a relationship based in reality, and I will own my part and parts, but i will not be in something that i'm to blame for everything. That is not healthy. I have also been in abusive relationships before.
He then stopped messaging me. Didn't care that we got into flight issues. Didn't care we made the flight back. That night he came over and was a victim. Claimed in the 5 days I was gone he found himself. That he wasn't focused at work because of me and now he is. He wanted to try to be together. I had no idea what reality I was in. We slept together. He left. And told me we'd talk the next day. All of this felt so weird but I was just hoping he would snap out of this and back to reality and we would be able to talk. But I also knew this had to end at this point.
The next day, he didn't answer me all day. This was the opposite of behavior I ever experienced from him. Did not respond to texts or pick up the phone. We had a training appointment and he had the trainer tell me he wasn't coming. I broke down in tears. I begged him to just answer a text. He didn't. He drove by me while walking the dog and did not stop. I emailed him, expressing my confusion, telling him this is not what we agreed to. He blocked me. That night I got an email from him letting me know he was moving 10 min away. He lived next door in another apt building. He actually assured me the day before he “was not going anywhere.” In that email, he listed out the calls and texts I sent and how inappropriate it was. He never said we were done. He said taking space, needing space…so in my head I was confused but see it now.
I was inconsolable. I didn’t respond.
But here is the issue I am still in: I needed to see him dropping his kid at school the next day. I will need to see him for the next 12 years unless I move.
The following Friday he stood next to me at a school event. I purposely stood in the back to have space and be able to leave if I needed to. He went next to me. When I told him he should sit, he said he didn't want to make it obvious to his ex wife. I asked him to speak that Friday. He said ok but he was moving. I cried instantly. Already? I said ok.
On Saturday am, I saw the truck pull up and left the house. I called him that Saturday. I was blocked.
The next wednesday he asked me for a series of logistics in a text. None of which I handled yet. Wanting me to cancel flights and settle up money spent together. No mention or responsibility for all the money wasted on tickets we will never use. But then…in the text, asked for my engagement ring back.
I responded to logistics. Not the ring
He then called me 3 hours later because something went really wrong in his legal case. He wanted me to understand and validate him. I did....I just turned off my feelings for a moment. At the end he said, so about the flights. Can you handle it? "If i cancel it for you and your son i also have to do it for me and my kid. It's all on the same reservation" "well if you can go and not make sexual advances on me then we can try to go together.” I was like wtf? I could not have sex for months due to my injury. But he wanted to. Was this way of setting up blame that if we DID sleep together I would be to blame? I was like “I will cancel it for all of us.”
He then ran down more logistics and I said honestly you didn't seem done. I don't understand what you're doing. He said "im done" i hung up the phone.
He asked me for the ring again that night in a text. I said no, I need time to process this.
Everything since then has been a transaction. If i have a genuine emotion, he gets upset that i have it at all. He continues to sit next to me at school events because he claims he does not want his ex-wife to think we are done (this is insane to me….). I realize now that if it is a “good” interaction he is happy. If I am sad, then it is a “bad” one.
He never told his son we broke up, and shamed me for telling my daughter.
Recently he asked me a question and I was annoyed, and he said "can you not be mad at me?" I said “no, I can't not be mad at you…”
In the last 3 months, he’s said "I don't want to confuse things" has come up a lot. I don’t know if he is saying that to me or himself.
I have been so stuck trying to understand how I could not take space at all from him, to being totally discarded. I know he went back to spending, and drinking, but I don’t think he is seeing anyone.
He only responds when he wants to. He ignores other things. I never was able to get an MRI for my back because the claim went through a DR he set up for me and he never sent me the info when I asked.
I got the money back he owed me, but still lost so much money.
He told me he missed me one time.
I don’t know who this person is.
I will have to see him for the next 12 years while the kids are in school unless I move. I am not going to move just to avoid him, but I need to heal so I can be strong enough. I don’t know if he is going to try to come back. I have been in therapy and am getting clearer about what brought me into this in the first place.
Any clarity you can help me with, on this, and what may come from here, would be really helpful. It will help me direct some of my searches and begin to piece things together to process in therapy. I have severe anxiety when I run into him at school.
I have never had to heal from something like this before. At first, I thought it was healing from a narcissistic discard….this feels like so much more.
Does it sound like he will want to come back?
Is there ever closure?

Salutations everyone ! How are we all ? We better be good !!
I’m here today on the look for friends! (short term / long term) Here’s some interesting stuff about me !
Well I’m from Ireland and I’m in uni ! And I’m 23 I’m nerdy, heavily enjoy fantasy and grimdark settings, so massive LOTR, elder scrolls, GOT/HOTD and Warhammer fan. I play on PC (total war, arma 3, Hoi4, stellaris and many more ) and ps5 (Elden ring, battlefield) Im also big into history, specifically military history!! I’m a pagan
My fav food is a toastie and I love coffee n tea!
I hope to hear from someone soon and if you have read this far, no hey, hi or hellos, write a introduction!!

Greetings!
I am Starr, 26F. I am a student by day and a writer by night, with so many stories to create and far too many ideas to ever have the time to jot down, but on most days, I try. Currently, I have been run down by certain situations and am looking for a partnership to create some really beautiful stories.
All about me and my writings - First and foremost, my stories feature romance. If there’s as much as an ember between the characters, I would want for it to flare and ignite.

• Worldbuilding. Another great love of mine. There’s little redeemable about our world anyway, so why wouldn’t I want to step into something far more beautiful and extravagent, or even daunting and forelorn, so long as its sprinkled with magic and creatures and galloping horses.
  
• Details. I am a descriptive writer, with a penchant for character emotions. (I put them through hell usually)
  
• I usually respond once a day. Or once every two days, but its one huge response which stays anywhere around 1000 to 1500 words. I am flexible with response length, because I understand the constraints that might occur with writing certain scenes, especially quick, dialogue heavy ones.
  
• I play both F and M characters, in an MxF setting. Doubling is open and encouraged. Ensemble casts are forever my love.
  

What I seek in a partner - Enthusiasm. I cannot for the life of me explain how terrible it is to keep rambling and have one or two words as a response. I like creativity, I like suggestions.

• Adv lit/novella with good sense of grammar, punctuation, and paragraphing.
  
• Organized Servers to keep everything in place.
  
• Characters must be 20+
  

What am I looking for?

• Regency Romances (Holy Bridgerton, I love You)
• High fantasy
• Political romance
• Original Worlds
• Toxic/Dark Romances

I am down for most genres except slice of life. I have some specific plots in mind but feel free to interact and tell me your ideas. I am very adaptable!

It has been 20 years since the first calamity struck Earth. A massive wave of solar radiation from a nearby star known as Prometheus 673B showered our solar system in 2025. Electronics have been rendered useless for months, giving humanity the glimpse of what life was like long before. But that was merely temporary. The true effect of the solar flare came in the form of an illness, that afflicted roughly 10% of the current population. Unlike anything we've ever seen, the illness did not kill, rather enhanced the afflicted. For the first time in human history, the term Esper was used seriously. Dubbed the Awoken, those afflicted with illness that stemmed from the solar flare of Prometheus, gained the ability to manifest their own thoughts into reality, with varying degrees of success. At first, nations and laws, society as whole, was not prepared to deal with these new humans and their abilities. Crime ran rampant for a while.
Five years after the incident, the world banded together in a unified front, known as the AMA, The Awoken Management Agency, a world wide agency tasked with handling and controlling the Awoken, allowing humanity to once more function as a whole. Satellites have been sent out as far Earth's gaze into space could reach, to watch our for any other potential cosmic events that may occur, like the one that happened with Prometheus back in '25.
Now, 20 years since the first incident, the satellites have picked up another major cosmic event on the horizon, this time coming from the Aquila constellation. Is humanity ready to withstand whatever cosmos has prepared for it?
[]
"Kenji. Wake up! You'll be later for your lectures, again."
The young man groaned, slowly turning to his side in bed, looking at his mother that stood at the doorway. "I'm up, I'm up."
Yawning and stretching, he sat up in bed, running his fingers through his hair, before turning to check the small clock on his nightstand.
"Wha? Late? Mom, it's only 8. Lectures don't start until 10." He sighed.
"Oh well. No need to cut it short, right? Plus, I've made breakfast." His mother replied and went back downstairs.
[]
AMA Information Database:
Kenji Aoto. Age: 21 Category: Type 1 Awoken Ability: Embodiment. The unique ability of Kenji Aoto, unlike other Awoken of the same type, allows him to alter his own body based on how he feels. Most Type 1s change their environment around them, rather than themselves. Type 1s are classified as such for having abilities that considered non dangerous to the general non awoken population.
[]
"We've got a lot of promising talent this year huh?" Nathaniel said to his daughter, as the two looked down at the auditorium full of students. The dean of the university was preparing his usual welcoming speech, as the assistants tried to quiet down the murmurs of the students.
"Yeah, we sure do." Clara smiled, not taking her eyes off the scene. "Quite a good number of Awoken too."
"Anyone interesting in particular?" Nathaniel asked.
"No, not really. They all have the standard abilities you would expect out of a type 1. Same level of control to boot." She responded.
"Well, I look forward to being their professor." Her father smiled, inhaling deeply. "The smell of youthful energy, so amazing. I can still remember your first day as a freshman."
Clara blushed a bit, nudging him in the ribs with her elbow. "Shouldn't you be down there giving your speech, Dr. Offset?"
Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck with a slightly embarrasses laugh to boot. "Oh don't call me that. Ahem, yeah. I'll be going now. See you later for lunch?"
"Of course dad." Clara smiled, giving her father a little wave as he left the teacher conference room.
[]
AMA Information database:
Clara Harris. Age: 32 Category: Non-Awoken (regular human) The lead ambassador for Awoken rights and unification in the AMA. Daughter of the lead researcher in Awoken development and the head teacher of the Awoken department in Nagoya University, Japan, Nathaniel Harris.
Nathaniel Harris. Age: 55 Category: Type 2 Awoken Ability: Offset. Acquired during the first Prometheus flare, the ability of Dr. Offset (he thought the name was cool when he was in his 20s), allows him to offset numerical values. Though touching an object is not required to use the ability on it, the potency of the ability greatly improved when he has direct contact with it. This also extends to, in theory, numerical values pertaining to objects and their position in space, relative to Nathaniel. Meaning he can move objects or parts of them relative to where he's standing, by changing their coordinates, however there were no recorded instances of him doing so. Examples include: Increasing or reducing the temperature of a beverage by direct contact. Increasing or decreasing friction on a surface of an object temporarily by touching it.
In his youth, Nathaniel attempted to become a sort of hero, once his powers kicked in, but due to the very low potency of his abilities, he never really managed to make the cut as one, despite being a type 2. Type 2s are classified as such due to having abilities that could be considered dangerous, powerful or harmful for the general non awoken population.
[]
Location: Russia, Siberia. Time: 22:37 Facility: Maximum security prison for Awoken criminals in Russia, cell block 5.
Theodore laid in his bunk, staring at the ceiling. Each of his breaths released a soft cloud of vapor, that commonly occurs when someone is in a cold environment. In his case, the vapor was a byproduct of his ability, rather than the cold cell we was in. A thug with a love for violence, turned bank robber when his abilities fully developed, Theodore terrorized Russia and the neighboring countries. It wasn't until the AMA was finally assembled and operational, that he was arrested and sentenced to multiple life sentences in this highest security prison that Russia had at a time.
Even after being sent behind bars, he kept up his antics, becoming a nightmare for the guards and inmates alike. No man that was placed in a cell with him would last more than a few days before demanding transfer. Some even lost their lives to the former thugs whims, before their transfer requests could be approved. Hence Theodore has been placed in solitary, a cell designed with all the tech necessary to nullify his ability. There he spent the last 10 years of his life.
Despite being a type 1, an awoken with abilities that were not classified as dangerous to the general population, Theodore managed to use them to their fullest extent. His blessing of temperature manipulation, was a curse to everyone around him.
He looked outside, at the night sky, through his small cell window. Apparently, there was a big stellar event, similar to the one 20 years ago, that gave him the powers he now has. He heard guards and other inmates talk about it, how AMA is now prepared for such an event.
Theodore closed his eyes, imagining what this aurora would look like. The memory of that night, when Prometheus 673B's flare struck earth still fresh in his mind like it was yesterday. The otherworldly mixture of reds and yellows and greens. Like a primordial fire that was lit across the night sky.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps outside his cell snapped him out of his memory.
"Huh?" He adjusted in bed, to see who was outside his cell.
A man, in a white cloak with golden details, stood outside his cell. Theodore was confused. The man was not one of the guards, he was bare footed and did not wear any uniform. And no way he was one of the other inmates, no one had the capabilities to leave their cells without being let out.
"Hey, who the hell are you? How did you get here? The guards letting us out or something?" The criminal walked over to his cell door. The bars were made of material that could withstand sudden changes in temperature without bending or breaking, preventing him from getting out.
The man said nothing, he didn't even turn towards the convict, he merely stood there, hood covering his as he looked up at the night sky through the decorative windows on the buildings roof.
"Hey asshat! I asked you a question. How the fuck did you get out of your cell? C'mon man, don't be a dick, let me out too." Theodore grabbed the bars and rattled them.
The cloaked man finally turned towards him. The convict was stunned, only for a second. The man has a beard and long hair, both as white as his cloak. But his eyes, they were as blue as the midday sky. He could have sworn energy seemed to pour out of them. Before he could say another word, the figure before him extended his hand at him, and with a snap of his fingers, a bold of lightning struck Theodore square in the chest. The convict was send flying, back hitting the wall opposite the cell doors.
[]
Location: Brazil, San Paolo. Time: 16:37 Facility: Remodeled Taubaté Prison, cell block 3.
Vitor sat on the bench press, just finishing a set, looking over the prison yard. Even behind bars, his connections did not dwindle. A former petty drug dealer, Vitor Alves quickly rose to power and influence once his powers awoke. He employed other Awoken with criminal tendencies as his own personal task force to drive all other competition into the ground. Once he held the entirety of San Paolo's drug empire in his hand, he set his sights farther. We wanted the entire city for himself, believing that no one could challenge his claim to that right.
With the help of the AMA, the Brazilian government swiftly put his plan to rest, and Vitor behind bars. The fight between the Awoken under Alves and the AMA/Brazilian forces was indeed a bloody one and resulted in a good number of civilian casualties. The drug lord was sent to Taubate, where he would spend the rest of his life. The prison was remodeled, per AMA standards, to be fully equipped and capable of holding Awoken criminals.
Despite having powers of temperature manipulation, capable of increasing temperature to lethal amounts, Vitor did not believe that to be his strongest ability. Money, influence, connections, those were real power, what truly carried him to the top of the criminal world.
Even now, as he sat on the bench press, doing a few reps before looking over the yard, Vitor was not powerless in the outside world. He waited on his informant, his connection to the outside, to appear so he could delegate orders to what was left of his followers and empire on the outside.
He wasn't sure if it was something he ate, or the heat from the pounding sun. Maybe it was even that sky flare that he heard AMA guards mention. Something indeed felt off, his vision seemed a bit blurry. As if the entire prison courtyard was moving slowly right before him. But the informant should be there soon, so Vitor decided not to go back to his cell just yet.
The other inmates, guards, even the basketball that the inmates played hoops with, suddenly slowed down to a halt. Through the statue like crowd, a single figure moved over to Vitor. His feet were bare, his body and face hidden behind a hooded cloak. The drug lord could only see his white beard and his eyes, as they seemed to be glowing a faint blue glow. Before he even got a chance to speak, the man extended his hand towards him and with a smirk, snapped his fingers, sending a bolt of lightning straight into the mans body, causing Vitor to fly several feet and collapse on the ground.
[]
"Ugh... What the fuck man?" Theodore cursed, as he regained his consciousness. Slowly, he got up to his knees, his head pounding like he was struck by a hammer. The cell felt colder than before. Looking around, he saw the entire cell frozen, every surface covered by a thick layer of ice. Bed, toilet, the cell doors, frozen solid. And the ice shifted. With every movement of his hands, the ice followed.
"Could it be?" The inmate whispered, focusing his mind, channeling his ability. Ice began to form in the palm of his hand, morphing freely. With a single wave of his hand, the frozen bed shattered into bits and pieces. Theodore inhaled, getting up to his feet, head still in pain. But the realization was crystal clear. He could now freeze things without having to touch them, manipulate what he froze, as well create ice out by freezing the water in the air. With a grin plastered across his face, Theodore thanked the mysterious man, of who there was not a single trace left, and decided that he's busting himself out of prison.
[]
"WARNING! WARNING! WARNING. PRISON BREAKS DETECTED ACROSS MULTIPLE AMA FACILITIES!" Blared the system on screen at the Awoken Management Agency in Nagoya. Other HQs across the globe received the same warning.
"What the hell is going on?" Clara said, running into the monitoring hall.
"I don't know. Prison breaks, across multiple locations world wide." Kaito replied, his eyes not leaving the monitors as he fired up the surveillance drones on the impacted locations.
"The main facilities that were absolutely totaled are Siberia and San Paolo." He continued.
"Think it could be?" Clara asked.
"Not possible. The protection against solar flares was at full power. Not a single particle should have hit the ground. I mean, we didn't lose any tech, unlike last time." Kaito shot her question down, pulling up the drone feed of the two prisons.
Taubate was in flames. The entire facility seemed to be entirely engulfed in a raging fire. The Russian counterpart held no better either. The entire prison was torn apart by massive glacier like formations, that seemed to jut out of the ground.
Clara, Kaito and other technicians presents stared, slackjawed, at the live drone feed. Something like that was not possible, no Awoken held that level of power. Not even if multiple Awoken united, could they produce that level of destruction across such a large area.
"Wait wait! What's that? Zoom in on one of the glaciers!" One of the technicians said, pointing at the big monitors.
Kaito's fingers flew across the keyboard, as the drone moved closer and the video on screen zoomed to its maximum. On one of the glacier formations, sat a man, clearly an inmate based on the jumpsuit he was wearing.
"Running identification." Chimed the computer.
"Inmate 4012: Theodore Ivarovski. Age: 36. Category: Type 1 Awoken. Ability: Low drop. His ability allows him to significantly drop the temperature of anything he touches, almost instantly."
"He's a type 1. No way in hell that he could pull of something like this." Clara said, eyes glued to the screed. "He must have re-awoken, there is no other explanation."
"Clara, in the last 20 years since the Prometheus, there was never a single instance of that happening. Some Awoken do push their abilities past the initial capabilities, but that's usually the end of it. It's a conspiracy theory." Kaito mumbled.
"Then how do you explain THAT?" She said, pointing at a massive piece of ice that was quickly forming above Ivarovski, before being sent flying towards the drone and cutting off the live feed.
[]
(Howdy y'all. This is a bit different from my usual write style, with a more manga like story/narration instead of the standard story/novel format I do. I hope you like it, I came up with it months ago, but due to time constrains with work I haven't gotten around to writing it. Based on how it's received, I may continue this along side Sand & Steel. You can read S&S on here:
Royal Road
Wattpad
Scribble Hub
Hope y'all have a nice day.
-M.W.A.)

If i didnt reside there i wouldnt have believed that such a place exists. For an outsider it looks heavenly.
Self-contained, beautiful, secure, and gives a sense of strong community to people who live there.
But since no one stays there forever it is a place of transience, occupies the memories of so many people but belongs to no one but the government.
its a lush and mysterious place - The lake, the mountain and the looming reacter behind the mountain. the refineries which give out glowing light at night
I am searching for mysteries of the Anushaktinagar from people who lived there and grew up there in the past 50 years.
I am writing a novel which will have a fictional atomic city in india and taking this as my setting

While Frieren is good to the extent that it focuses on the quiet slice-of-life-ish character moments that are its strength, when the story deviates from such scenes the flaws in its writing become apparent. In particular, there is a certain reliance on contrivances to present an idea to the readers or to make the plot go a certain way. Here's a few I noticed in the Aura arc—two minor and one major examples.
The flashback.
In the flashback, Frieren and her party encounter a young demon girl and are prepared to kill her when she starts calling out for “mother”. Some people decide to spare her life and give her a chance in the village. Frieren objects, but can't convince them so she relents. Later, the demon girl kills her adoptive family and tries to offer up their human child to the parents of the child she killed. At that point, Frieren exposits how demons only use language to trick other races and catch their prey, and how demons don't raise their offspring. She challenges the demon girl's use of “mother”, and the demon admits that she doesn't understand its meaning and only used it so they would have pity on her and spare her life.
So, why didn't Frieren, who hates demons more than anything in the world, explain all this sooner? She could have saved those peoples' lives if she'd spoken up at the start, and afterwards she doesn't show remorse for not saying anything at the time. There are potential explanations for why she didn't say anything at the specific moment when the others suggested they spare the girl, but not for why she wouldn't say anything in all the time between then and when the demon killed her human foster parents. At the very least her party members should have known or been made aware of the nature of demons, since their whole purpose was fighting and killing demons. The impression I get is that it all happened this way just so that the reveal could be more shocking.
It also seems contrived to me for the demon girl to kill her foster parents and offer up their daughter just to make peace with the woman whose child she'd killed, and for her to freely admit that she was only crying for “mother” to trick them, though there's little enough substance there that I wouldn't press the point. Call it a feeling, if you like.
Inviting the demons.
This is a big one, since Graf Granat inviting the demons into the city is what instigates this entire arc; if his doing so makes no sense then that weakens the arc as a whole.
Even if he doesn't know all there is to know about demons, Granat surely knows that they're dangerous. They must be, to have been causing trouble for his city for so long, and to have killed his son. If he's serious about negotiating, then, he has no reason to let more than one demon into his city. Arguably, he doesn't need to let any of them in, and could negotiate through envoys he sends to them.
Letting in all three demons could make sense if he means to kill them instead, since such a trick definitely wouldn't work more than once, but if that was the plan then he's gone about it in a horribly stupid manner.
If he intends to kill something as dangerous as a trio of demons, ideally he would set up an ambush with archers or crossbowmen in the palace courtyard or some such place, the lead them into it and let the soldiers do their job. Instead he leads them into the castle, take up a sword himself, and threatens them with death as revenge for killing his son.
Putting himself in danger like this is stupid, but it could make sense since it's so personal for him that emotion is overriding reason. The problem with that is he relents as soon as the demon Lugner claims that his own father was killed by humans too and that he still wants to end the war. If he's persuaded so easily not to kill them, then clearly he wasn't all that emotional.
Granat then leaves the demons unwatched and unguarded. Why? Even if he's “a man who bears a deep empathy”, he's still stupid for leaving them with essentially free rein in his palace.
Almost right after deciding not to kill the demons, he comes back and wants to kill them again because one of their demons is missing and a guard was found dead in the dungeons. Yes, a guard was found dead after he let the demons into the city and let them wander around freely. He's fully responsible for the man's death because of his blatantly stupid decisions, and yet he seems to show no remorse, and he definitely shows no surprise. So did he really believe the demons might be telling the truth about wanting to make peace, or didn't he?
From a story perspective, what is the point of all this? Why have Granat threaten to kill the demons, spare them, then threaten to kill the demons again, all in the span of two chapters? All it accomplishes is giving another example of a demon lying to save their skin. As for the in-world explanation, even if this can all somehow be explained by Granat's character, at its best it's still one big case of plot-induced stupidity.
Not knowing what a father is.
As I mentioned before, when Graf Granat threatens the demons as revenge for his son's death, Lugner wins him over by speaking fondly of his father. However, as explained before, demons don't raise their offspring or have close relations with their parents.
This is all fine, but then once they're alone, another demon asks Lugner, “What is a father?” and he answers, “Who knows.”
Lugner not knowing what a father is makes no sense. Demons aren't just using language like the man in the Chinese room thought experiment, saying all the “right” things without any understanding of their actual meaning. They're clearly capable of understanding the meaning of words since they use language to communicate with each other and express their own thoughts, and “father” can't possibly be that foreign a concept to them. Demons reproduce. They have offspring, and they have progenitors. Even if they aren't raised by their parents, that doesn't mean they can't at least have a bare-bones understanding of “father” as “male progenitor”. They won't have the same emotional reaction to the concept as humans do, and would struggle to understand why that reaction exists, but that's a separate issue entirely.
I can accept the demon girl in the flashback not knowing what a mother is since she appears to be young enough that she might not have had the chance to get familiar with the concept, but Lugner is clearly educated and intelligent enough that he should know what a father is, especially if he's using the word so flawlessly. He could have commiserated with Granat about a fictitious son instead, and then it could have been argued that he was just repeating Granat's story back to him without understanding it, but going to “father” instead shows more understanding than that.

This is not a question. I’m just sharing something I thought really interesting. I saw an interview with Neil Gaiman recently talking about his process. He said he has a certain amount of time set aside everyday for writing. In that time, he says, he gives himself permission not to write. But he doesn’t give himself permission to do anything else. So if he’s not writing, he’s sitting and staring at the wall. He says the it far more entertaining to write than to do nothing. Happy writing, all.

(Having Discord gets you first in line)
In the distant past, where gods and goddesses ruled over the land of man, there was one being that no one knew anything about. The being was able to strike fear in the hearts of mortals, reminding them of their inevitable fate. His appearance gloomed the very skies, making even the animals and flowers weep for what was to come. The being was cloaked in black and swifter than Zeus's lighting, able to travel between the realms at a moment's notice without anyone knowing he was there. This being was called Death, an ancient primordial that came into existence after Ymir was slain by the sons of Bor, and his body became the very ground mortals walk on. The emergence of Death was a fickle thing for the gods, since each pantheon had a different view of the being. Most of the Greek Pantheon held little regard for Death, simply seeing the being as something that controlled and feared mortals in the most primal way. The Norse pantheon was different, holding a slight fear of the primordial being, with Odin trying to find ways to hopefully avoid the prophesied fate he saw for himself. And as for the Egyptian pantheon, they didn't fear or hold Death in little regard, seeing the being as a fact of life that would come for everyone eventually and wasn't something to be avoided.
While the relationship between Death and most of the pantheons was slightly rocky, it would all escalate with three simple events. For the Egyptians, it was the death of the mighty Osiris, but his fate didn't change their view of death in the slightest. The Norse grew more fearful of the primordial being after the tragic death of Baldr, something orchestrated by the trickster god Loki. And as for the Greeks, they would finally see Death as a true threat after they received word that the great god of the wilderness, Pan, was dead. Now having confirmation that even the great gods of Olympus could be felled by the primordial being, the Greek pantheon called for a summit, demanding that all the gods meet in order to discuss the arising issue with Death. At the summit, only the Norse and Greek pantheons arrived, with the Egyptians wanting nothing to do with the possible scheme that was possibly going to be planned. Alongside their absence were the absences of Hades, Persephone, and Hermes, gods who had no slight with Death and weren't about to betray him. Nonetheless, the summit would commence, with the remaining gods concocting a plan in secret.
After a mere fortnight, the scheme concocted by the gods would commence—a scheme to hopefully deal with Death and prevent the deaths of any more immortal beings. While the actual plan was lost upon the deed being completed, the folly of the gods would be successful, and Death would be captured. The being would be chained behind several layers of stone in a hidden grotto, his limbs held in place by vines and a mystical rope, preventing any movement. Despite his capture, the work of Death wouldn't be slowed, as new gods such as Thanatos would come into existence the very same day, continuing the work of the primordial. But Death himself would remain chained in the hidden grotto, placed in a mystical slumber, and simply lie dormant until someone freed him.

Hello there, everyone! I'm here today with a small prompt that I hope you'll all heavily enjoy! With the early access release of Hades 2 and the release of Epic: The Underworld Saga, I've been getting back into mythology, which inspired me to write this post! As you can tell, this world is set in a place where Greek, Norse, and Egyptian myths collide, forming a world ripe with gods, heroes, and monsters that can be explored! Also inside this world is a being simply known as Death, a primordial being that has been around longer than any major pantheon and plays a role in every mortal's life! At least, that was until he was captured by the gods and left to rot in a hidden grotto! But that's where your character comes in, my friends!
Since this roleplay is taking place in a large mythological world, feel free to get creative with your characters! You could play as one of the existing gods, a hero of legend, a villain of infamy, a magical creature, or even just a regular person! The choice is fully up to you, my friends! But don't be afraid to get creative when it comes to your character! Perhaps you decide to play Demeter, one of the key orchestrators of the plot against Death, who's plagued with guilt and decided to release the being? Maybe you decide to take the shoes of a mighty Jotun who stumbles upon the cave and decides to release Death in exchange for a favor? Or possibly you just play a mortal who becomes stuck in the grotto and finds this primordial being? The choice is up to you!
PSA- A ref of your character or a description would be appreciated. If you have any questions, feel free and ask.

It is always good to exercise your mental health because just like physical health mental health matters
These are ways you could exercise mentally
1*Meditate: there are different ways of meditation like mindfulness, spiritual,focused and movement meditation you should just find the one that suits you
2*Goal setting: this helps a lot if you are a procrastinator set goals for the week or day it could be small things and at the end of the day check to see if you have completed all of it it will help you achieve and finish task and you'll have less stress
3*Gratitude: this is a must you should keep a book were you write down what you are grateful for at the end of the day or week it could be even the smallest of things like your crush said hi to you by doing this you will see how much you have that you will forget about what you lack slowly
4*Diet :there are so many diets you could go on that help prevent depression go on a 21 day diet like medi mod diet and the paleto diet
5*Journalling :this is good for you write down every thing that goes on in your days and also write down were you want to see yourself in life
(Hope you keep these tips in mind I'll do a video on the different types of meditation and Gratitude)

I am a 30 years old woman and I am currently reading the book Mind over mood, mainly to mitigate a fear of being alone/loneliness.
I have filled various worksheets and the one about the thoughts records have been particularly helpful.
I have found many facts that do not support the hot thought, and I have observed some positives changes in my mindset since I started CBT.
The thing is, sometimes there are some triggers that set me back.
Yesterday, I was at a birthday party and everyone was raving about their relationship/upcoming weddings, and the dreaded negative thoughts/feelings came up again : "is there something wrong with me ?" "how come finding a relationship is so easy for everybody else" "I am going to end up alone and miserable while everyone pairs up" "I will never know what it's like to be in a happy relationship" etc ...
Does that mean that I haven't done the exercices properly ? Should I dive again in my thoughts records ? Is it normal to experience some setbacks ? And what can I do, while I am doing good, to maintain the benefits of CBT for longer ?
Thank you so much !

Figure she deserves her own thread. I know many of us unfollowed after her clout chasing impromptu visit at Vanessa's house so not sure if anyone caught it. She immediately went radio silence for more than 24hrs, typical of her. She's so sensitive, yet she sets herself up for these comments. I checked in bc I knew she would dissappear- that's her MO, then the next day as she's getting ready to head on the road to visit her dad- the first thing that came out of her mouth - "i haven't been out at all, t's been really hard for me to go anywhere because I've been suffering from really bad morning/all day sickness" But yet you didn't hesitate to take an hour drive to some bakery (sponsored ad) with a side of Vanessa?? Make it make sense 😂😂 maybe she baptized her new washroom with some fresh 🤮 🙄
The material writes itself at this point

I got a raw 20 for my WA1 and then a raw 27 for my WA2 because I low-key failed my social studies.I am currently studying HCL and got an A1 for my R5 already and all I have to do is pass my chinese now which I cannot in paper 2 for the life of me.Humanities has me in a chokehold(SS & GEO) even my teacher says I have no interest in them.My sciences have been improving although it isn't like those improvements where I become more confident.Im afraid that it is just my school setting the papers way too easy hence the worry.Literature and English is not the best either , I don't know what it is but I guess it is the way I write I guess..Math is the only thing I have confidence in and the only subject I actually like.It is still May but I don't want myself to be laid back and do nothing just because there Is plenty of time.Oral is it July and my planned response for both chinese and English are the weakest part of my oral , chinese especially since I just freeze and can't rlly think of words to say what I really want to.
Any recommendations on how I can improve or just construct me a simple time table during the June to follow or even some notes to help would be so appreciated
Love you guys stay safe XX

Why YSK: Chances are most SaaS platforms you use for business (or personal) are likely using our data to train their AI? And they're not making it easy to opt out
Take Slack, for instance. If you don’t want your data helping to train their AI, you need to email them directly with a specific request. It’s not something you’d stumble upon easily since it’s tucked away in their terms of service. You can't click a button. You literally need to email their customer support team.
This isn’t just a small-time practice; all the big names like Adobe, and Amazon are in on it too, and figuring out how to opt out from their services can be quite the headache.
If you're writing on Substack, you’d need to set up a robots.txt file to keep your data private. And Grammarly is also currently using your data to train their models.
Why does this matter? Well, if your data ends up training AI without your clear consent, you could face privacy breaches, unintended biases in AI decisions, or even intellectual property issues. Plus, once your data is out there, getting control back over how it's used can be really tough. And legally, the waters are only getting murkier as data use regulations continue to evolve. So suggest taking time to check your SaaS agreements and opt out where you can to protect your data and keep a tight grip on its use.

Demographics

• Gender: Male
• Race/Ethnicity: Indian
• Residence: Massachusetts
• Income Bracket: Upper Middle Class
• Type of School: Mediocre Public school
• Hooks: Immigrant but US Citizen
• Intended Majors & Minors: Applied Math, AI, Entrepreneurship, Engineering & Computer Science

Academics

• GPA (UW/W): 4.0/4.6
• Rank (or percentile): 8/300
• Classes: 12 APs, 3 Dual-Enrolments
• Senior Year Course Load: 3 APs (Computer Science, Chemistry, Psychology) 3 Dual-Enrolments (MIT OCW Linear Algebra, MIT OCW Multivariable Calc, English), Teacher Assistant for Calculus and Teacher Assistant for AP Physics C

Standardized Testing

• SAT: 1570 (770RW, 800M)
• AP Exams: Calculus AB (5), Physics 1 (5), Statistics (5), World History (5), Physics C: Mechanics (5), Calculus BC (5), AP CSP (4), US History (4), Lang (3)
• AMC 12: 136.5 (Top 200)

Awards/Honors

• Coca-Cola Scholar (150 Selected from 100K+)
• Harvard Guest Speaker on AI & ChatGPT in Education (6K+ Listeners). The Harvard Gazette wrote an article on me.
• MIT Hackathon 3rd place winner 2x (AI Recipe Generator & AI Therapist)
• Presented at International Education & Social Justice Conference (Peer-reviewed) at University of Hawaii
• MIT LLCipher Summer Program (3% Acceptance Rate). Invited back as Guest Speaker the following year.
• Wrote Boston Globe Article on AI & ChatGPT in Education
• AMC 12 Distinction (2x) and AIME Qual (2x)
• President's Volunteer Service Gold Award
• AP Scholar with Distinction & AP Scholar with Honor
• Multiple other Math Competition, Model UN, and Marching Band Awards

Extracurriculars/Activities

• MIT Lincoln Laboratory Summer Intern: Advanced Research in AI & Networking (1% Acceptance Rate). Internship primarily for Grad and Undergrad students. Received a return offer for summer before college.
• Writer: 110+ articles on Medium with 200K+ reads. Published by the Boston Globe and other publications.
• Antarctic Research: Climate Research and Data Analysis at UW-Madison.
• MA State House Internship: Worked for State Rep. Wrote a policy brief on AI. Promoted to Campaign Manager in 2024.
• Math Team Coach & Captain: Coach students and top scorer. 4x Regional Champions (First time in history). 2x AIME qual and 2x AMC Distinction (AMC Score: 136.5).
• Students of Color Affinity Group President: Mentor students and lead professional development workshops; presented at International Education & Social Justice Conference at University of Hawaii.
• AP Physics C & Calculus Teacher Assistant: Help teach 70+ seniors at my school (ran out of classes hence TA lol).
• Model UN President: Perfect record and multiple awards at regional conferences.
• Karate Black Belt: 10+ years and help teach classes.
• Marching Band: 2nd in USBands Nationals (3x).
• Coding Instructor: Taught kids how to code in Python and JavaScript.
• Sales Head & Data Analyst at National STEM Honor Society: Promoted STEM education to underrepresented populations.
• JV Tennis: Doubles Player

Letters of Recommendation

• AP Calculus Teacher
• Math Department Head and Physics TeacheMath Team Coach
• MIT Lincoln Lab Research Mentor (MIT Alum)
• Diversity, Inclusion, and Equity Director of my school (Harvard Alum)
• Massachusetts State Representative

Essay Summaries

• Common App: During the pandemic, I found personal growth and a deeper understanding of myself and society through writing, which led me to explore artificial intelligence and its applications, culminating in an internship at MIT and advocacy work, and inspiring my entrepreneurial ambitions.
• Community Disruption: When the pandemic disrupted my activities, I leveraged online platforms to continue learning and leading, discovering new interests in AI and entrepreneurship, and demonstrating resilience by revitalizing my school’s clubs and engaging in new ventures, setting the stage for my future in innovation.
• Additional Information: Links to various articles and videos, and other activities and awards.
• Supplementals: Some were very reflective about my identity, activities, and goals in life. Others were light-hearted and quirky. They were very personalized to the school and emphasized how I fit in, what I would bring to the school, and how I would use the school as a catalyst for my entrepreneurial ventures.
• Additional Uploads: Uploaded my Resume, portfolio of Articles, and a summary of my Research at MIT Lincoln Lab.

Interviews

• Harvard (REA): Great Conversation and said Harvard would have to fight MIT for me. 9/10
• MIT: My Interviewer was very disinterested and didn't care. It was 15 minutes and he said if I don't get in then who would. 6/10
• Princeton: It was a great conversation and said he would fight for me. 8/10
• Yale: It was also a good conversation and she said she would fight for me. 8/10
• UPenn M&T: Guy kept asking technical questions and I was lost. But in the end, he said I did good and he would fight for me, even though interviews don’t matter too much. 7/10
• Dartmouth: Lady was super impressed and said if I don’t get in then she is quitting doing interviews for Dartmouth. 9/10

College Results
Accepted

• WPI (with Max Scholarship, Half off)
• UW-Madison
• Northeastern (with Max Scholarship, Half off)
• Georgia Tech for CS (Early Action)
• Cornell (Meinig Family Cornell National Scholar)
• Dartmouth
• Duke
• UPenn (Waitlisted M&T)
• Harvard (Waitlisted → Accepted)
• Princeton (Committed)

Waitlisted

• UMich (Early Action)
• Vanderbilt

Rejected

• USC (lol)
• Yale
• Stanford
• MIT (This one hurt)

Reflections:
I'm super grateful and happy with my decisions. I have committed to Princeton, and it definitely is the best fit for me. College results this year were very random, but I couldn’t be more thankful to get into the #1 undergraduate university. I was worried that since most of my application was MIT-related (Research, classes, Letters of Rec, Awards, Activities), other universities would think I was going there and reject me. College results were super random and stressful, but it worked out better than I could have ever imagined. It's funny how I got waitlisted and rejected from all my target schools (Vandy, UMich, USC) but then got into most of my reach schools.
Advice for Future Applicants:
Be authentic. There is no formula that gets you in. Sure, you have to do a couple of things like getting good grades and SAT scores and having some unique activities and awards, but especially for Top 10 schools, you just have to be unique and authentic. I didn't have any connections or background (like private school and college counselor) that provided me with opportunities. I was literally the first kid ever from my school to get into Princeton. I was authentic and hardworking, did stuff I enjoyed, and one thing led to another. I also spent a lot of time on essays and my application. 50% of the work is actually doing stuff, and the other 50% is showcasing it in your college application. Also, have balance in life. I had a lot of fun in high school and enjoyed the stuff I did. Live life with no regrets. Feel free to DM me.

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

[First] [Previous] [Next]
Edited by WaveOfWire
- - - - -
Two days… It had been two days that Tracy had gone to sleep while Harrison was working, only to come back in the morning to see him still in the workshop. She knew he was damn productive, sure, but that really couldn’t be healthy. Apparently, it had something to do with the weird bowl of orange… soup… that Cera gave him. No way was it just caffeine; any amount of the stuff would have been filtered out of his system by now. He mentioned a tingling feeling too…
Damn, she did not know enough about drugs to even start assuming what that massive alien had Harrison fucked up on. At least the scanner said he was ‘fine’—if you ignore the other glaring issues the machine brought up. Plus, he said he didn’t mind it. Either way, he managed to complete the weaving component and a few other electrical backbones of the fabricator last night, so the project was practically done, and after seeing the engineer work himself half to death, she was dead-set on finishing it.
She was currently tits-deep into the upper manufacturing portion of the towering machine. It took a tall step-stool—on top of the nearby desk—for her to push her small shoulders through the even smaller access panels high on the everything-printer. It was difficult to fit her torso in, but she managed, holding a flashlight between her teeth as she fiddled with a stubborn series of mechanical ‘hands.’ Nothing new. The situation reminded her of the ‘shop back on Mars; it had the same ever-present scent of copper and industrial sealant. All that was missing was her dad’s ancient tunes blasting through some shitty speakers… Hold on…
The modular component in her grip was successfully attached with a resonating thock. Tracy squirmed out of the dim wire-filled crevice, trying her best to not rip her only tank-top on any bolts or corners, and getting a face-full of the bright flood-lights illuminating the workshop. She scowled and blocked out the searing light with a hand, but she was a bit too late to avoid going half-blind.
“Are the mechanical manipulators in?” Harrison grunted, poking his head out underneath the printer’s floor-adjacent maintenance hatch. She looked down at him as she tried to blink off the spots in her vision. His hair was messy, barely kept in line by his habit of combing through it with his fingers. The areas around his eyes were dark and sunken… Guess that’s what two all-nighters did to a man. He’d be seeing the hat man or start hallucinating if he didn’t get any sleep soon… but then again, the two of them were so close to finishing the fabricator…
“You bet.” She gave him a thumbs up, slamming the panel cover closed. “Feel free to test it.”
He nodded and slid back underneath the machine. “Gotcha”
She gently stepped off the stool and slid off the side of the desk, stretching herself out. If her piss-poor sitting posture or her tank-top puppies hadn’t already fucked her spine up, bending over backward to build this fabricator sure as hell would. She sat down next to the panel where Harrison resided, resting her back against the fabrication tower. Her excited voice broke the muffled noises of the engineer’s work. “So… Harrison?”
“Hmm—”
“—Mind if I play some music?”
The sounds from the hatch stopped, followed by his muffled, shocked tone echoing from beneath the fabricator. “You have music!?”
She smirked at seeing the expression on his face when his head popped out again. “I sure do… Did you seriously not download any to your data pad?”
He slipped out from beneath the fabricator fully, huffing as he took a knee beside her. The scent of melded rubber, wire, and his liquid labor reached her nose not-so-unpleasantly. “You would not believe how much of a pain it is to repair an entire barracks without it… So, yeah, I didn’t.”
“Sooooooooo, whatcha wanna listen to? I’ve got almost everything on here—besides the super niche, of course.” She pulled her data pad out, swiping to the massive music folder
“You wouldn’t like the kinda music I listen to; It’s ancient.”
She gave him a lighthearted, annoyed glare. “Welcome to the club… Now what’ll it be?”
“It’s Old Earth kind of ancient… but alright” He looked up at the ceiling in thought, lips pursed. “Do you have anything from Styx or Sweet?”
She stared at him incredulously, her smirk turning into a fully-fledged smile. “Oh my God. You are an absolute dork! You actually listen to Golden Age music?”
His brows raised, accusatory. “And you somehow know exactly who those bands were and what age of Old Earth music they came from?”
She smugly leaned in closer. “That’s because I’m just as much of a nerd with that kinda music as you apparently are.” She quickly looked upward, addressing the workshop AI. “Sebas, connect nearby speakers to my data pad’s audio.” Tracy elbowed the engineer lightly as the PA system chirped its affirmation. “Now, Mr. Golden Age music, which albums do ya want me to queue up?”
- - - - -
The two of them listened to music for hours, tossing on songs they liked as they came to mind while they worked. Harrison had a ton of recommendations that spanned all over the Golden Ages and some twenty-first century classics. She didn’t even know half of them, but she was vibing either way, adding on her own taste by intermingling some older rock tracks and newer electronic beats. The playlist was steadily built up as the day went on. Thank God her dad showed her a vast array of tunes; she might not have been able to keep up with the engineer if her old man hadn't.
It made the work go by so fast, their conversations blurring as they jumped from topic to topic. They discussed whatever came to mind—old hobbies, old jobs, and old interests. A lot was left behind in Sol… At least she knew that the only other human on the planet was more interesting than a soulless workaholic. It turned out that he was a pretty big history buff, and he apparently read a lot about the colonization of the Sol system and the various wars of independence thereafter. Curious, she asked where the interest stemmed from, and he explained that his grandfather was an admiral in the Slavic-Europan deep-ice submarine fleet, which explained how Harrison’s mother was able to afford to immigrate to Mars from Europa.
He could also play an acoustic guitar, and, unfortunately for Tracy, he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in printing one out, citing that it was a waste of time and material that would be better used elsewhere. That didn’t stop her from writing a note on her data pad to do so later, though. She hadn’t seen someone play one of those in years—the last time was probably in some old music video from the early twenty-second century. What a shame. She would have liked to hear some of the Europan songs his grandmother taught him.
On the bright side, the man seemed to take an interest in her odd hobbies. He brought up the folder of 3D models that she accidentally uploaded to the inter-module system and asked where she got the inspiration for what was in it. Boy, was he not ready for her ‘WarHalberd40k’ lore dump. Props to the guy for not standing up and leaving the workshop throughout her rambling. He even asked questions about the different factions and their weapons, which she was more than happy to talk about.
She also ended up going over the other franchises and hobbies she was interested in, such as robotics and the like. The only interruptions to their chat were the occasional Akula or Craftsman asking for insight regarding the various tasks he had allotted to them, or Shar coming in to check up on Harrison between guard shifts.
The new dynamic of the group was pretty interesting, to say the least. Tracy hadn’t been out to interact with the whole lot of Malkrin, but she definitely noticed how they treated the engineer. They’d started to look up to him in a way ever since he started showing off technology. In a little over two days, the man had shown them that he could provide the materials for a brick house, fine clothing—especially by the alien’s standards—armor, and delicious food. That wasn’t even mentioning the other benefits the technician heard a few of the ‘banished’ talking about over their meals: heating, electric lights, and other assorted machines.
She’d be feeling pretty happy about herself if she was in his position, having so many look up to him and be grateful at the same time. He seemed to view it a lot more robotically, however, only striving to get the basics done. Luckily for him, his basics were their luxury.
That wasn’t all there was to the topic; the engineer lamented about how the colony was going through food just as quickly as materials. The meals weren’t the direct issue he had, more that he had to start focusing on long-term resource harvesting rather than directly preparing for a literal horde of monsters—which wasn’t exactly ideal. It was a good thing that they just so happened to take on an influx of Malkrin then…
Either way, they finally finished the ‘totally legal modification’ for the fabricator, meaning they could at least partially address the latter half of his worries. The whole process of ripping out an old printer and replacing the parts for a new one felt a lot easier than she imagined… even if it took her at least forty-eight hours to complete it… with help from Harrison. Maybe that was why it felt so easy… She supposed the colony overseers didn’t choose the man for no reason, so his skills made sense.
“So… what do we want to print out first?” Tracy questioned, having finished testing the last major component.
The engineer stretched his arms up into the air and rotated his shoulders, then pulled back the desk’s chair and took a seat. “I’ve had just one thing in mind since the start of this whole project.”
Her brows raised in a mix of excitement and curiosity. She leaned forward, looking at the computer monitor from over his shoulder. “Oh? What’s that, then?”
A smirk formed along his cheek, the computer mouse rapidly clicking through the blueprint folder. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what kind of firearm we need since I started dabbling in belt-fed weapon systems.” He opened one final file, a short loading bar preceding the exploded assembly view of… “An M2 Browning machine gun. It’s more than powerful enough to kill in one shot, while also being capable of fully-automatic fire, with a capacity of however many rounds we want in a belt-box.”
“Uh…huh…” She gave a skeptical nod and took a step back, not exactly sold on the idea. “It looks ancient. It’s kinetic, right? Why aren’t we using energy-based weapons? Don’t we have a gunpowder shortage coming up?”
He moved his chair off to the side to look back at her. “We just can’t; Simple as. We’ll need who knows how many more AI cores before we can get started on that level of equipment, Trace,” he huffed, returning his gaze to the specifications of the firearm. “This isn’t the most ‘modern’ weapon we can make, but its twenty-first century counterpart helps with an improved design… somewhat. And, as I said before, it should be more than capable of killing a bug in one shot, so Shar can just tap-fire it to save ammunition.”
Her head tilted quizzically. “Shar?”
“Yup,” he returned confidently. “It’s the perfect weapon for her.”
She raised a brow. “How so?”
He held his hand up, counting his reasons on his fingers. “She’s always on the front line with a shield, she can absolutely handle the weight and recoil, her four arms make reloading it simple, plus she’ll need something with range and power that isn’t a spear. So, why not? And, if for some reason, she doesn’t want to use it, we can just convert it into a turret—which is something I was planning on doing anyways with however more M2s we print out later.”
“I doubt she’ll say no to any gun you give her,” Tracy chuckled while shaking her head, inadvertently causing her bangs to cover her eyes.
“Fair enough,” he conceded with a bob of his head. “What do you think, then? What kinda weapons do you have in mind?”
She reapplied her goggles into an impromptu hairband, feeling a smirk cross her face. “Thought you’d never ask. What purpose do we need these guns to fulfill? Hordes I’m guessing?”
“That’s the idea, yeah. That doesn’t mean they all need to be machine guns, though.” He tapped the belt-fed shotgun beside him.
“Well, lemme see what we’re working with first.” She suddenly stepped forward, leaning over Harrison’s seat to access the keyboard and mouse. Her arms briefly rubbed against him, forcing him to roll his chair backward. She suppressed a giggle at seeing his incredulous frown.
Her eyes quickly traced the hundreds of individual files, clicking through all sorts of folders, each arranged from pre-twenty-first century ‘antiques,’ to more modern iterations of kinetics and particle weaponry. There was… a lot on there—almost too much to reasonably comb through. Why? Did the colony overseers just say ‘fuck it’ and put whatever they could find on here? Were they expecting the pioneers to make a museum of everything?
She sighed, standing up straight and facing Harrison. “Y’know, I’m actually impressed you managed to find that M2-whatever in there…”
He shifted in his seat, resting an elbow on the desk. “Yup, there’s a lot. I’m almost tempted to just make several of those machine guns and just call it a day, but I feel like that’d be too much of a strain on resources, no?”
“I don’t really know enough about how you fight those spider-crab things, or how to get more gunpowder, so… maybe?” She shrugged, biting her cheek in contemplation. “You might just wanna make a few smaller caliber weapons… like, uh… those old kinetic service rifles. If your pump-action shotgun works fine, I’m sure some normal guns would work just fine for now, right?”
He hardily gripped his firearm, hauling it up to his lap. “Depends on what you mean by ‘smaller caliber.’ The whole reason why the KS-23 here works—” he pulled out a massive shell from the ammo belt, displaying it on his palm. “—is because the twenty-three-millimeter round has enough energy transfer to mess up any bug's shell and insides. I’d say the smallest rounds we could use would be point-two-forty-three caliber to get any similar results.”
Brief flickers of grungy orange shells and gnashing teeth marred Tracy’s sight. She forcibly suppressed them, distracting herself with dry humor and a strained laugh. “Guess those fuckers can really take a punch, huh?”
He shook his head somberly. “I couldn’t imagine going up against them without a gun… Anyway, I like your idea of a standard rifle for now. Then, when we have some product lines up, we can go a little more in depth into personal weapons.”
“So are you gonna take one?” She hopped up on the desk, letting her legs swing off the side.
“Don’t think so, no. I’ll stick with my shotty.” The internals of the heavily modified weapon rattled as he held it up and inspected it. “Doesn’t mean I’ll keep it as is. I’m thinking of printing a laser aiming module so I can point-fire it accurately, and maybe a melee-oriented muzzle brake or a lighter chassis to reduce weight… Not sure though.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her cheeks in her palms. “Melee-oriented? Oooooh, like a chain-sword or something?”
His short chuckle coerced a smirk to her face. “No, not like that. More something to use as a bludgeoning tool. Right before the blood-moon, I ended up getting just as much use out of this shotgun as a hammer than as a… well, a shotgun.”
“That’s pretty fuckin’ metal. So are you just gonna make the barrel into a giant bayonet?”
He nodded. “Not exactly a bayonet, but something more like a door-breaching break.”
A short silence settled on their conversation, the faint sounds of the fabricator’s hum and distant woodwork coming to light. Right, there was an outside world… She’d been too caught up talking to Harrison for however many hours it had been. She wondered how successful the fisherwomen were in collecting, and how things had been for the others working on the wood storage shack. Maybe it was already completed? The sun peered through the cargo bay door, proving that it was only about midday. What else would they work on today?
“Hey,” she ventured.
“Hm?” the engineer hummed, his eyes focused on the monitor beside the technician.
She scooted closer to his keyboard. “What’re we doing after this?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned backward, propping herself up on two hands. “Project wise; what’s the next big thing?”
“Uhmmm…” he muttered, interacting with the computer for a few more seconds before finally meeting her gaze. “Well, I’ve just allocated the fabricator to print out the M2, three FALs—wood furniture, of course—then there’s the magazines and ammunition, so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. The next big thing is definitely going to be metal procurement, and— Oh, right!” Harrison stopped mid-sentence, reaching into his backpack and pulling out several finger-sized metallic cubes, a sudden fire in his eyes. “Okay, so a while ago, during an encounter with three colossi, Shar and Akula found a cave with some ‘surface’ metal deposits. I took a piece off to analyze, but never got the chance to until last night. Anyway, we don’t have any machines to examine the ore, so I made use of the recycler and broke it down to its baser components.”
She nodded along, seeing where he was going with his explanation. “I’m guessing those shiny cubes are the metals from the ore?”
“Sure is. So, as it turns out, we have a pretty damn close supply of not only iron, but also, zinc, sulfur, and a small amount of cadmium. I talked with Sebas about it and did a little research. We believe it’s something akin to sphalerite, given its composition and looks, which implies it’s a sedimentary exhalative deposit. That means there must have been some volcanic…”
Harrison continued talking about underwater deposits and ancient rock formations, bringing up some theories brought forward by the now 4-AI-core-powered Sebas, delving into the current land mass’ history and possible ore output. A lot of it went over the tradewoman’s head, but she still listened intently… Honestly, she could have listened to the man talk about finding metals for hours. It was sort of like the podcasts she used to listen to while completing colonist training, but even more personal and somehow easier to get lost in…
“…find some other minerals further down like silver, but it also might be an active lava zone. Again, these are all theories and this world could just throw the fundamentals of geology away as it does for physics. Anyway, sorry for going on for so long about that, just thought it’d be important for getting some metals in the future.”
“No, no,” Tracy assured, alleviating him of concern with a wave of her hand. “If there’s anything the colony overseers emphasized, it was farming and mineral acquisition. Don’t worry.” She smiled, pointing a thumb to herself. “I just wanna know how I can help.”
“Actually, I’ve a few things only you can do. I’d like to make use of your impressive drone-making expertise for a few applications, if you don’t mind.”
The task of keeping eye contact slipped into an impossible feat in the span of a singular second, planting a pang of embarrassment on her reddened face, forcing her to inspect her fidgeting hands. “I-I wouldn’t say ‘impressive’… b-but what do you have in mind?”
She could see him raise a brow out of the corner of her vision. “Well, after what you’ve shown me with the reconnaissance flyers, I’d like your help in setting up a more permanent ‘net’ of them to scour the meadow and parts of the nearby forest to look out for any approaching hordes. I don’t want to be snuck up on… again…”
‘Again.’
She noted his small frown and sunken eyes, both a little more exaggerated than they already were. It wasn’t like she’d deny his request, but the pangs of empathy over their shared situation all but solidified her resolve. It was the least she could do. She could help him. She would help him.
The technician exhaled slowly, taking on a more serious and understanding tone than before. “I… can do that. For sure. What else?”
“I appreciate it.” He gave a wane smile. “I’ll help you with whatever you need for the project. For the other drones, I’m thinking about a small exploration vehicle to map out caves around us and mark any minerals, as well as a submersible to look for potassium deposits in the ocean.”
“So… search bots?” She crossed her arms, confidence growing; those were her specialty. “Depending on how long the fabricators take and what kind of base drones are in the blueprint folders, I should be able to get those done in no time. All I need to know are the search cues for potassium and how many drones you want.”
He quickly shuffled a few folders on the computer, turning the monitor for her to see some scientific documents with various images and walls upon walls of text. “There’re plenty of resources for that on here for what to look for, and there’s always Sebas, so feel free to ask him since he can just sort through the data for you anyway. If you can, I’d like it if you could focus on the submersible after the reconnaissance drones.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll be right on it, then.” She gave him a thumbs up, slipping off his desk and toward her own.
“I’ll bring you lunch in a bit. Imma go check on the others,” he called.
Her stomach grumbled at the mention, her head turning to give him an appreciative smile. “Oh! Thanks!”
\= = = = =
Avian creatures chirped from their perches in the trees nearby. The wind softly rustled red leaves as grass gently gave way to calculated footfalls. A warm sun laid its light on Shar’khee’s neck. It was surprisingly pleasant, were one to take the time to notice. The mainland was a confusing place for the paladin, with its disparate representations of nature contrasting so heavily. Some days were filled with blood and ravenous beasts, while others were left within the domain of simplicity and beauty. She was content to have the latter, yet it felt like a facade veiling the former—a soft exterior covering the maliciously spiked interior. Never could she leave herself to carelessness, no matter how welcoming it might be.
Hence why she worked to ensure the safety of the star-sent’s castles and their inhabitants, her days largely spent patrolling for any roaming swarms that may wish to cause them harm. She typically used the routine to think, but today offered little in the way of solitude. This time, she was accompanied by the previously banished guardswoman, and was tasked with instructing the new one, though the specifics of what such lessons should entail were vague. Still, Shar’khee did all that she could so as not to disappoint Harrison, so she could only attempt to meet his expectations of her.
She told the yellow-skinned female of the threats that the settlement faced, how one was to defeat them, and what to expect from the beasts. The guardswoman was directed to practice her form with the spear in both thrusts and throwing for some time afterward, proving herself to be well-built. Such was expected of her profession after all.
It was pleasing to have another capable of patrolling the settlement’s outskirts for swarms, as it would greatly impact how effectively the colony could react to such a threat. If her routine was to suffer for the colony’s well-being, she was happy to show the new one her patrol route and note what to look out for.
The guardswoman was not a perfect student, however. Shar’khee never addressed it directly, but the yellow-skinned female obviously discredited the danger posed by the abhorrent, not-so-subtly shrugging off any warnings.
…That was until they stumbled upon the ‘hyena-boars,’ as Harrison called them.
The beasts resided in a clearing not too far from the castles, carelessly meandering across the sea of tall grass. Shar’khee quickly crouched, dragging the guardswoman down with her. Once she assessed that the creatures were not an imminent danger, she decided it would be an excellent opportunity to show the new one how to properly engage a threat. She was about to propose the idea, yet her speech was silenced just as swiftly.
Orange flashes darted through the trees around the glade. Taloned feet and gnashing teeth tore across the ground toward the unsuspecting beasts at the center. It was much too late for them. They were slow. Surrounded. Unaware. It was as quick as it was vicious, the forest’s reds turning a deeper crimson hue in a moment's notice underneath the abhorrent’s brutality.
Gangly monstrosities gnawed and ripped at the dead creatures, brief glimpses of raw flesh and white bone protruding from the small spaces between the clumped-up beasts. Repulsive wet splatters of blood and gore overlapped the calm noises of the forest, the grisly scene serenaded by the softest of nature’s symphonies. It was a sickening juxtaposition.
Shar’khee bit back the unease and steeled herself. They were within twenty paces—close enough to smell the abhorrent’s vile stench of rot and bile, yet far enough so as not to be noticed. She briefly considered backing away and retreating, her focus bouncing between the different avenues of escape, or how to cover her footst—
Crack.
Several sets of feral, eyeless maws snapped in their direction, the blood dripping off freshly dampened teeth. The guardswoman gasped, Shar’khee’s gaze following to see the mistake: a singular broken branch crinkled as a yellow-colored foot raised off the splintering twig.
The paladin exhaled sharply and smoothly stood up, brandishing two spears and her shield. Her glare settled on the still crouching guardswoman. “You are to stay behind my shield and let them appr—ch. Rem—ber what I have told you. Aim for their maws when you thrust y—r lance.”
The other female nodded, shakily pulling out her own weapons with unsteady placement hampering her grip. There was an obvious nervousness to her gaze. Hesitance. That would not do.
Shar’khee faced the prowling abhorrent her knuckles shifting hue as she prepared for their advance, for there was no chance that they wouldn’t. True to her experience, the stalking turned to a gallop with several clicks of grotesque tongues, the swarm bolting toward her as one. She snarled and slammed her bulwark into the ground, letting the approaching beasts skewer themselves amongst its spikes.
There were only ten—a paltry amount. She had defended against magnitudes more, and yet she still stood. What is more, they were mindless. Uncoordinated. They would be but stains in the cloth she used to clean her armor. Perhaps, if they were fortunate, they might leave a furrow in her shield to remember them by. Her arms tensed as the first leapt.
One by one, the abhorrent fell, their repulsive green blood splattering under her thrusts. Each awaiting corpse tore across the grove’s grass, lunging to their deaths with gaping maws and unfeeling hunger, yet she did not yield. Their shells were crushed by her shield and impaled by her Goddess-blessed spears, becoming but one more smear across their surface. Ten motionless lumps lay before her, seeping their ichor into the soil, none having passed the barrier she became. Dead, just as the Creator intended. She remained vigilant for a few moments longer, watching for any more of the disgusting creatures.
None showed themselves, finally allowing blood to flow to her fingers once again. The shield’s heavy presence weighed down her back, the blood flicked off of her spears before she returned them to their place.
“Are y–u well?” Shar’khee addressed the frozen Malkrin, wiping away the splatter on her bracers. The guardswoman stared at the small pile of deceased creatures, her heavy breaths and widened eyes moving from the spear from her singular kill. The paladin huffed. “We are fort—ate that there were so few.”
“F-Few? God help us…” Her horrified, stunned gaze slowly met the paladin’s. “Y-You said there were hundreds on the crimson nights? H-How do you… They were s-so fast.”*
”As I h–ve warned,” Shar’khee affirmed.
“You are a paladin! You all exaggerate your feats… I thought it was just a facade!”
“I have no r—son to lie,” she returned tersely, shrugging off the insult to her station and shaking her head. “The mainl—d is far more dangerous than ten gnash—g beasts; more so than that of your island hamlet. Pick yourself up. We m—t inform the others of this incursion.”
The yellow-skinned female snarled, furrowing her brows at the ground in frustration. At whom…? Shar’khee? Herself? Regardless, the female promptly gathered her composure, pushing air through clenched jaws. A step forward had her feet splash in the small pool of blood, the Malkrin nodding toward the paladin to continue back to the castles.
“…for the village.”
Shar’khee paused in her stride and faced her, frowning at the determination and anger leaking through the intent. “W—t was that?”
Her question was returned with honesty, a huffed voice marred by vexation. “Paladin, how am I to defend my village-mates as I am now?”
“‘As you are now?’ What do you m—n?”
The guardswoman stared down at her spear, wood creaking under her grip. “I have faltered before what you deem a paltry threat, and the thought of an even greater one sows dread deep within my bones. I wish… I wish to be better prepared to defend those of my village. I cannot help but see their faces on those of the furred creature in the clearing, and yet, even if I am so close, I am just as unable to protect them.”
Shar’khee stared down the yellow female, a long gaze taking in a rare showing of sincerity. “Y—r fears are one we all share, new one. Do not be ashamed of them. All t—t matters is that you do not let them rem—n mere fear, but make them your strength. So tell me, do you wish to impr—e? To ensure they do not fall while you are support—g them?”
The yellow-skinned female released a shuddering breath that bled off the worst of her indecision, a newly invoked flame flaring within her visage. “I do, paladin. I seek to protect and to be of use.”
“Then, if you wish to make y—rself resilient in the face of all that opposes us, it would be my undertak—g to forge you anew. Fortunately, Harrison has ordered such already, and his guidance shall prove ever useful, should you pursue it.”
The guardswoman shuffled in place at the star-sent’s mention, her eyes slipping downwards. “He is of a great many resources, but I would rather receive your teachings than those of a craftsman… or that of a male, deity-sent he might be.”
She placed a palm on the female’s shoulder. “He is far more than you might ever k—w. Regardless of if you ac—pt his guidance, I commend your conviction. However—” Her hand gripped tighter, though not enough to instill hostility. “—understand that you are protecting more than just your vi—age-mates.”
The new one nodded, staring up at the paladin with stallwart resolve. “Of course. I shall be in your tutelage, then.”
Shar’khee smiled. “T—n let us begin.”
\= = = = =
Akula was becoming increasingly certain that she knew how her parents once felt. The green-skinned fisherwoman was currently rotating between the many tasks placed upon her, guiding the newcomers through the minutia of their tasks so they might live up to the potential Harrison saw within them. She was gratified to have her own talents recognized by the Creator, but it also placed a great many responsibilities in her talons. Of course, she handled each new addition with finesse befitting her heritage, never once balking from the increasing demands. If anything, she felt validated; it was required of her as a female anyway, was it not? The more feminine-appropriate labor and management one undertakes, the higher authority they were granted.
It began with a simple assignment to oversee the chef’s introduction to the star-sent’s provided cooking appliances. As fascinating and convenient as utilities were, she held no interest in preparing any more food than she already had, but teaching another to operate the machines would alleviate such requirements of her. She reluctantly accepted the task when it was proposed, especially considering the fact that Harrison was much too busy with his other projects to bother with something as benign as cooking. His work was more valuable elsewhere.
The task itself went well, and the pink-skinned chef was quick to pick up on the use of the various kitchen devices, as well as the smoker. A grin had grown when she considered the possibility of all males understanding such domestic things readily, yet her mirth at removing the masculine job required of her was short-lived. Despite the newly initiated Malkrin’s success, Harrison had Akula frequently return to oversee the numerous cooking operations being conducted. That was in tandem with the back-to-back fishing trips made by both herself and the newly acquired females.
…Which was something else the green-skinned cycle-worshipper was ordered to oversee.
She had left the chef to his devices after producing another batch of partially seasoned meals, returning to the Creator with hopes of a break. He applauded her efforts with a nod and tersely spoken appreciation, then quickly pushed two spearguns into her hand and directed her to the ocean, where the twins were ‘working with jack shit,’ as the busy male said. She was to give the fisherwomen the tools and make sure they were used properly, and offer additional assistance in acquiring ‘enough fish to have us fed for a little bit.’
So, she left to complete the given task, feeling somewhat appreciative that her speargun was of superior quality to those she would be delivering—the newcomers were only afforded the lesser, roped-bolt version. It was only natural that she was in possession of their greatest assets, of course; the star-sent saw her as the only one capable of wielding such fantastic ammunition, showing trust that was rightfully placed in her. That did not mean the gray-skinned females were unsatisfied with their own gifts, however. The twins were swiftly caught up on the ‘manual of arms’ and sent to work, somehow managing to keep up with Akula in spite of their land-based origins. The two were fast enough to outpace the cycle-worshipper in sheer speed, but their lack of numerous winters spent traversing deeper waters meant they required frequent rests, breaking the ocean’s surface after every third captured fish or so.
Still, she had to appreciate their dedication to their task. They never complained about Akula pushing them further to reach the star-sent’s vague objective. Such a task was entrusted to her—and by proxy, the other two—and thus it would be completed, no matter how much her comfortable bed… couch called her tiring muscles.
The group of three hauled net after full net of fresh meat to the chef—and sewist, who later joined him—forcing him to relegate much of the catch to long-term storage as the kitchen simply could not deal with the surplus. At least three-quarters of the fish were put to slow cook in the now Malkrin-sized smoker. The craftsman had upgraded it with a kit provided by Harrison, who had recycled much of the dining room and workshop furniture to accommodate it. The Creator’s showcased urgency to gather materials was clearly not unfounded… It was admirable how he used what little he had left to ensure food would not be scarce. Additionally, the apparatus exuded an excellent scent for all the survivors to enjoy, the earthy aroma drawing in some of the other Malkrin for their breaks or meals.
Those were not the end of the cycle-worshiper’s tasks, however. She was also required to report on Shar’khee’s progress in training the guardswoman—helping to recycle the small swarm of abhorrent they cleared earlier—as well as the wood storage building’s progress. Indeed, she was advising and assisting however and wherever applicable. To say she was seen all around the settlement would be an understatement.
Nevertheless, she was appreciative to see her efforts bearing fruit by sundown. The processing of their meals from sea to plate was quite efficient, and those that Akula taught were now well-practiced in their duties. The twin fisherwomen dove from wave to wave, bringing fish back to the barracks, where the cook and sewist swiftly worked to transfer the meat to pans and smoker hooks alike. Then, the remnants of the Sea Goddess’ aquatic gifts would be subsequently recycled and given purpose anew as biofuel or perhaps future fertilizer.
The endless onslaught of duties and responsibilities had enlightened her, in a way. She could see where Harrison came from now; having a working project go from one point to another without input nor difficulty was a sight to behold, and it made her swell with pride. It was a surmountable feat to teach the barbaric ground-worshippers to do something properly.
…Well, they were not horrible Malkrin, so perhaps simply calling them ‘uninitiated’ was a more apt descriptor…
No matter the tribulations faced, and no matter how draining her new authority might be, her rest at the end of the day would be one that was well-earned, and it would be had with a sense of satisfaction. She deserved it, and perhaps that extended to the rest of the settlement as well.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Mine! Mine! Mine!

Hi Everyone and welcome to the BuildMyAccessibleHome Reddit!
The reason I've setup this Reddit is to raise awareness on inaccessible housing. As you may not know, I've got Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy so it's increasingly difficult to come across an accessible home. I hope that by writing about the issues I've faced and the experiences I've had when looking for an accessible home, I can bring some focus on to how inaccessible housing currently is.
Please do note that I'm from the United Kingdom, where only 9% of housing is appropriately accessible. I don't know how this may be reflected to the rest of the globe.
I've also set this post up as a live discussion if you have any questions. I'm currently working on the rules and that but please be nice to each other and no abelism/hate otherwise you will get banned.
Thanks, Dynamic.
[BuildMyAccessibleHome Website] http://buildmyaccessiblehome.com

Just another fun little story idea I had. I am still working on Humans are the violent ones but I like to bounce around and experiment with ideas to see what I really like. I also suck at writing more casual stories, as they give me severe writer's block as I try to map out how to make a scene feel genuine in my head, but I promise I'll update that soon. If you like this story and want to see more, then like and comment. I'll gladly continue this series as well.
Start of Personal Log
Humans don't like being told what to do. They don't like being commanded, put in their place, or snubbed. It was an inexorable, inalienable trait of humans, at least any noteable humans, to go against any authority that they believed was against their interests.
Humanity would not fit amongst the stars. Few ever did. It was a trait of most successful species to be willful, ambitious, and to desire more. But once they reached the stars the new (and simultaneously very old) pecking order either quashed any spirit such species had or simply eradicated them. Countless tomb worlds and diaspora served as painful reminders of what became of the nails that chose to stick out. The hammer of order would always strike. There could be no compromise, the very soul of the authority that held the Jurisdiction together relied on a show of unmatched power, or at least the illusion of item.
In reality, the Jurisdiction was an old, fat, and lazy beast. It filled its belly on the corpses of empires far and wide, and sated its bloodlust on the shattered dreams of hopeful cubs. It had every right to, for none could challenge it: there were no new frontiers to explore, nor were there any other enemies to conquer. The Milky Way, as humans had so strangely dubbed our cradle galaxy, as well as Andromeda, had long since been warred over and settled for millennia before humanity had arrived, bright-eyed and with familiar yet otherwise foolish dreams of cooperation and prosperity. The Jurisdiction did not cooperate, nor did it ensure prosperity. Oh, it claimed it did, but in reality it simply took. The rest was just the peace that came with not being the direct target of the biggest fish in the pond. The humans didn't like that, but they had no choice.
Slavery was a common tribute. The Jurisdiction had no use for other resources: it simply took. No, it wanted those who could facilitate that unequal exchange, those raised in a world where the only morality was the one set by your lord. The Jurisdiction was held together by expectations, obligations, and dury more than any kind of shared dream, so when you were ordered to take you did so without question. Humanity was new: they had no niche or value that set them apart, but they had a penchant for killing and taking, so the Jurisdiction gave them a taste of how the galaxy worked. They killed and they took. The humans didn't like that, but what choice did they have?
Humans were strange. They learned, but not in the way most species learned. Most species learned to adapt in a passive way, to adhere to the world around them. They flowed like water, moving past and around obstacles and confirming to the boxes they were assigned too. Humans didn't confirm, nor did they adapt: they made their circumstances fit their desires. They would not move around obstacles, but rather smash through them, and they refused to stay in one box for too long. The Jurisdiction merely saw them as a particularly loud nuisance, but those who faced their wrath knew better.
It is said that when a beast seeks to make an example, it shall humble its rival by killing it's cubs. Children were one of those universal constants that brought entire communities together: the Sok’klar saw their hatchlings as gifts, shaped by the fruitful currents of the universe in perfect harmony. The Yarrack saw each and every newborn whelp as an uncut gemstone, ready to be shaped into something magical. Humanity oftentimes referred to their offspring as angels, or spirits of unbridled good sent by the gods themselves. Children were seen by most of the galaxy as gifts.
The Jurisdiction saw them as a lever to inflict suffering. It had become quite effective at enacting psychological punishments on those that stood up and spoke out. You dare to disobey? You believe you can speak out? Your gifts shall be taken from you, and you shall be without joy.
Humans didn't like this, but the Jurisdiction would have their pound of flesh, and humankind would kneel. And they did. But humans were patient creatures: most species who retained that trait of willful spit also lacked patience.
I had long since become desensitized to the Jurisdiction’s actions: it was simply how the universe worked now, as if it were a constant akin to gravity. Cruelty was the unspoken rule of this seemingly unending age, where our lives never appeared to move forward or backwards, only lay dormant. The Jurisdiction had been the unyielding authority that ruled the galaxy for thousands of years, venerable yet feared all the same.
And for the longest time I was just another cog in its wheel. My name is Kalnuracht Sedjuur-Noumar VII, and was the scion of the noble house Sedjuur-Noumar. I was born into what most would describe as veiled apathy, living a life that could be attributed to the privileged class of feared scribes that enacted the will of those above. I was an administrator and nothing more. And now I am doomed to be far less than that in the eyes of my former constituents within the endless administration. I am the only scion, as is tradition, and without an heir I am the last of my house, our name to be scrubbed from the records, worthless, meaningless, and forgotten.
I am merely Kalnuracht, nothing else and nothing more. I have seen from their eyes, the eyes of the downtrodden, and it makes my crimes of association with the Jurisdiction feel all the more damning on my worthless soul. I am worthless to the world, and this is my story.
End Personal Log #1
Start of Neural Lace Narrative Log #1
They came from the black like carrion birds in the night, encircling our convoy as if it were a dying animal ready to be picked clean without remorse. There was no warning, no list of demands sent out as civilized peoples did, nor was there either any requirement for unconditional surrender nor chance to parlay, as was done so under letter of marque: this was an unmistakable call for violence and nothing else. They sought to reduce us to slag and scavenge the rest.
So, as one would expect, the entire bridge of the ship was nearing a panicked state. This was not the actions of those practicing civility, but rather the common behaviors of despoiling barbarians, the kind that tore their way through the dark reaches of the galaxy as if they owned it.
“Wayfinder, what do your probes see?” Shouted the ship’s sovereign. He was an older Kar’Rowmach, an amphibious cephalopod species with a venerable history within the Jurisdiction going back thousands of years. Normally one such as him would be above me if it weren't for the fact that I was under the authority of the Jurisdiction’s seal of office. He didn't like me very much, but most of his kind shared the same sentiment.
“All dark, honorable Sovereign: the sensor arrays are wailing but the feedback we're reviewing is beyond incomprehensible,” the wayfinder replied with a certain restrained temper in his voice. The Sok'klar wayfinder swayed gently, his tentacled limbs grasping different metallo-liquid braille output arrays, the liquid gallium flexing and reshaping unnaturally to allow him to to take in multiple different sources of sensory output at once, with the primary navigation computer plugged into the cybernetics surrounding his opaque, gelatinous head and plugging directly into his tube-shaped brain.
The Sovereign cursed in Loskat and pointed to his bridge crew while I simply sat in the back, near the Sovereign’s symbolic throne. “Prepare countermeasures and spool up the warp drive, we cannot allow the amanuensis to be taken! He carries sensitive information that only he can translate and transcribe!”
As the bridge crew nodded and began fiddling with their own systems, I preened my feathered hide anxiously. I wasn't a fighter: us nobles of the cloth were the educated minority above all else, not those who waged war or partook in hard labor. Special cybernetics in my brain allowed me to translate triple-encoded messages that usually took a ducal signet codekey or above to parse, but even without that I was a skilled mathematician and logician. I had terabytes worth of knowledge stored within the hardware installed in my head, all well protected of course, but if I were to die it would still be a waste. I could only imagine the damage any malcontenders could do with it if they were able to get their filthy hands on me.
Suddenly, the ship rocked, and the gallium overhead display began to form crescendos like I'd never seen before. “Sovereign, decks A-3 through C-12 are venting atmosphere and our coolant systems have been obliterated,” the Wayfinder spoke in an almost serene voice, as if he was completely unconcerned by current events. I knew they were simply incapable of tonal displays, but it was unnerving nonetheless. “Once we jump, we will not be able to risk another until the vacuum of the void can reduce temperatures to acceptable levels within the plasma capacitors.”
“Damn them,” the armored nautiloid hissed, his barbed feelers coiling in frustration, “May the currents take them. What are our options? what can we see? This fleet cannot fall to the void today, not with such vital cargo.” My hackles rose lightly at the Kar’Rowmach referred to me as some object rather than an esteemed amanuensis of the Jurisdiction, but I bit my forked tongue. Now was not the time to squabble with the sovereign over who was what and what titles I deserved, not while he was so desperately attempting to keep what semblance of order within his fleet that he had left.
I could not blame the crew for being panicked either: wars were practically mythologized now, having been long since rendered obsolete with the rise of the Jurisdiction, and that felt like an eternity ago. Now, either being levied into or joining a ducal naval force was simply another career, more akin to serving as an officer of the law rather than a fully fledged soldier. Minimal training was required, most of it being the technicals of one's duty rather than any kind of combat conditioning, so expecting a fleet to actually be prepared for a combat scenario in a universe where peace was the norm was laughable.
“We are practically blind, Sovereign,” stated the Sok'klar Wayfinder, “our probes are offline, and shipboard graviton displacement sensory arrays have been rendered unreliable at best.”
“What about the particle emission array? Has there been a spike in radioactivity where we were hit?”
The Wayfinder seemed to think for a second, his gelatinous form flexing and morphing a bit before answering. “Affirmative, a jump from negligible to forty billion becquerels along decks A through E-5 on our starboard side.”
“Torpedoes…” the Sovereign hissed, stroking his barbed feelers, “Human Torpedoes. Only those primitives would rely on crude nuclear warheads.” He then turned to his militant leaders on the ship. “Noddos, Rel’ads: organize your phalanxes and prepare to repel boarders. We are bound to be assailed by those rancorous primates, and I want their skulls piled at my feet if they dare set foot on our ship.”
“Your wish is our command, Sovereign,” the two militant commanders spoke as one. Noddos, a large bipedal with multiple sets of curved spines running down his back, a pair of graceful horns sprouting from his head, and multiple rows of sharp teeth in his snout, bowed first, followed by Rel’ads, a marsupial with long saberteeth and thick fur. They both must have been fierce warriors in their own right to each lead a phalanx. They wore thick, semi-powered armor and held dueling polearms alongside their usual plasma casters, and seemed completely unfazed by the situation we were in. As they stomped out of the brightly lit bridge, I let out a quiet squawk of discontentment. “Sovereign, why haven't we jumped again? We are wasting precious time.”
“I am working on it, you spineless beaurocrat!” He warbled back, his feelers tensing in anger, “besides, it's not as if you're the one who will be spilling blood today, amanuensis, so flatten your wretched beak or I shall weld it shut with a plasma torch.
I was about to reply with something indignant, but the ship rocked again, this time causing the lights to flicker and the air to become… thick. The skin under my feathers began to blister, and I became lightheaded and confused. “Seal the damnable vents, initiate radiation scrubbers, and activate secondary life support!” Shouted the Sovereign, “Their nuclear weapons are rendering the ship inhospitable!”
I coughed up magenta blood accidentally, and I could feel more seeping from under my eyes. Some of the crew was in a similar position, but others were more resistant to radiation than I. The Sok'klar seemed completely at ease as he ran his tentacles across his morphic braille arrays before calmly announcing the ship’s status. “I've regained some control over our probes: ten, twelve, and seventeen are active and fully functional, the rest are either still malfunctioning or permanently inoperable. A rapid rise in localized radiation is also interfering with the detection of graviton displacement; we can't sense photon redirection, thus readings will remain inconclusive.
“Wayfinder, damn you, get me some kind of out here! We're easy prey until we can respond in kind!”
“Negative, something has gone awry with our processing hub, I am attempting to troubleshoot-”
And with that, the Wayfinder’s bulbous head exploded in a cascade of opaque lavender blood, covering the front half of the deck crew like a morbid art piece. Some of the crew screamed and shouted in terror before removing their cranial adaptors and choosing to interact with their displays manually. Others died just as quickly, unable to unplug in time as their brain stems fried or their blood boiled. It was a horrible way to go, having your insides neutralized by your own cybernetics, so I was glad I wasn't connected to the system.
“Cybernetic warfare! All systems are to be considered compromised, switch to manual settings or you'll be killed!”
The lights in the bridge flickered again, and the displays went haywire. The bridge crew, which obviously weren't acquainted with working without being hard-linked into the mainframe, moved at a much slower pace.
“Launch missile pods A through F and set to self-target after five hundred kilometers, then rely on their ballistic coordinates to begin firing broadsides! If we can't see the humans due to their meddling, we'll just have to feel them.” Shouted the Sovereign, “and got me a detailed report on the ship’s diagnostics readings. I need to know if this flagship is still capable of escaping or if we'll have to scuttle it and retreat on another.”
“Acknowledged, Sovereign, launching now,” affirmed another deck officer as he swiped across his own gallium output array. I could hear the dull thunk, thunk, thunk of missiles pushing out of their pods before racing off to their intended targets, then the mechanical whirring as the pods rotated to be reloaded by slaves in the lower decks. I was regaining my bearings as the many horrible sensations of being overwhelmed by radiation poisoning were beginning to subside, but I still felt as if I had been microwaved. The air was stale, the crew was horribly sick as well, and even the sovereign himself seemed to be on his last leg. I was beginning to believe that I might die here.
“Sovereign, a message from the lower decks,” shouted a communications officer, his chitin scraping against itself as he turned quickly, “they're requesting reinforcements, something about being overrun.”
“Impossible,” the Sovereign hissed out in a vain attempt to exude confidence, “We must outnumber the humans, they always go for bigger targets out of arrogance.”
“I've received reports that it's not just humans: the primates seem to make up only a third or so of the assailing force, along with some Phaeldaer and Vrex.”
The commander slammed his clawed hands down on his own output array in a fit of rage, obviously overwhelmed by the circumstances, “Then this wasn't just a typical assault, but something more sinister!” The nautiloid warbled, blood seeping from his shell as the full effects of the radiation took hold, “Get Rel’ads on the line, have him divert all spare lances to the lower decks or else we'll lose the only offensive capabilities we can use.”
“Rel'ads has gone dark, Sovereign, his vitals are critical.”
“Then either get me Rel'ads tail-leader or get me Noddos!” He screamed in rage, “don't give me this nonsense! If we don't pick it up we're all going to die, is that what you want?”
“No, Sovereign, I'm simply overwhelmed-”
“We're all overwhelmed! By the tides, I'm dying of radiation poisoning you nincompoop! Get me something I can work with!”
The officer didn't even acknowledge the Sovereign after that, simply turning back to his display. Eventually, the Sovereign was able to get Noddos on the line.
“Sovereign, two thirds of my phalanxes have been decimated by combat with the primitives and the radiation, the rest are in shambles. We must retreat and fortify elsewhere!”
“Then the ship is compromised! Rel'ads is unresponsive and the lower decks are swarming with intruders. We must evacuate the amanuensis to another ship.”
Just as the Sovereign spoke, I heard several gentle thumps rattle against the bridge’s door, and it made me uneasy. Some of the bridge crew seemed to feel the same, as they looked incredibly nervous and some even drew their sidearms. Just as the sovereign turned to give further orders, the door blew inward with a deafening explosion, followed by shouting and gunfire. Several of the bridge officers were dispatched quickly, brain matter and blood splattering against the delicate electronics. Others were shot in the legs, the torso, or in any other exotic yet non-vital body parts. The humans poured in, brandishing primitive ballistic firearms and jury-rigged energy weapons while wearing scavenged, legion-grade powered armor.
The Sovereign was the next to go, but he wasn't afforded an honorable death. He was shot along the arm with a particularly potent plasma caster, burning off his clawed hand and cauterizing the wound, the acrid smell of roasting chitin filling the already hot and cramped bridge. He fell back against his output array, the gallium reaching new highs and lows as more diagnostics and casualty reports were delivered, and he clutched his stump angrily. “I'll burn every last one of you in the foundries! I'll tie you to stakes, cover you in wax and set you alight! Your screams will be broadcasted all over the galaxy!”
One human warrior stomped up and slammed the butt of his rifle into the sovereign’s face, shattering his facial plates and causing blue blood to splatter across his section of the bridge. “Shut the fuck up, you mutant lobster,” the human said before dragging him by both antennae towards the center of the bridge and receiving a stained breeching axe from one of his comrades. “Emmanuel, start recording. We need proof.”
The other human nodded and pressed a button on his armor before lifting up his gun again. The rest of the humans fanned out, holding everyone else at gunpoint. I tried to get up and sneak out, but a human grabbed me by my neck and nearly wrung it out as he forced me to my knees and pointed a sidearm to my skull. “Get down, you piece of shit, before I blow your brains out too.”
“Damnable primate,” I hissed, but he bashed me in my skull with the base of his sidearm’s grip and sent me sprawling, making my already pounding headache worse. Another human shouted at him in a language I didn't recognize, but he sounded furious. The first brought me back up to my knees again, and I complies with a hiss and a groan, blood still leaking from my eyes and mouth and my world was spinning.
The Sovereign struggled, but he was weak from the radiation poisoning and he couldn't exactly resist on account of his lost arm. The human with the breaching ax kicked the Sovereign down and forced him to kneel before lifting up the breeching ax and splitting his chitinous head down the middle with one powerful swing, sending more blood and brains across the floor. “Execution confirmed, take his antennae just in case and we've got ourselves a bounty. Now all we need is that ugly cat’s teeth and the fat hedgehog-thing’s grimy spines and we'll be in business. Although, they do have skulls… we might as well just take their heads.”
The real horror of the situation dawned on me at that moment: they were going to kill us all, or maybe worse. They mentioned a bounty for the commanders, and multiple of the higher ranking ship officers were already dead, their brains splattered against the walls or their bodies torn apart by gunfire. I wasn't dead yet, but that didn't mean much since I wasn't an immediate threat.
“Alright, round them up and bring all the grunts to the hanger bay, then kill the rest,” the leader of the humans said in such a lackadaisical manner that his complete disregard for life almost made me sick… almost. I had seen worse from the Jurisdiction before, but usually that was from me delivering some kind of ordered judgment on a world that had sinned against order. I might have simply been the messenger, but I had seen many of the outcomes. “And make sure to collect whatever proof of bounties you can, we'll need to deliver them to the office to get cashed out. Don't let this be a repeat of last time where Juarez fucking forgot to take a few heads and it ended up cutting our profits in half, the fucking retard.”
Some of the humans chuckled at that as they dragged more of the senior officers away, out of the room and into the hall,where I heard gunshots. The rest of the bridge crew froze in place, different fear instincts kicking in. The remaining Sok'klar corralled together into what seemed to be a singular, semi-congealed mass as if to try and trick the humans into believing that they were much bigger and much more threatening than they actually were. The one Thei’chi on the bridge, an ensign who had clearly thought this would be a simple mission, bore her curved fangs at the humans and growled as they approached, her hackles completely vertical and her eyes dilated. They quickly muzzled and bound her before beating her over the head with a gun stock, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Many others simply cooperated, eyes wide and yet simultaneously empty, as if they couldn't quite process that the ship had been taken and the commanding officers were being executed as the rest were escorted to the hangar.
“Get the damn messenger down to the hanger as well, we need whatever data's in his ugly lizard head, then we can decide on what to do with him.”
I spat at him in spite, as if to try and seem brave, but it was clearly an empty gesture. “You won't get anything, primate! You couldn't possibly crack the encryption!”
The human holding me seemed to wind up for another swing, but the commanding officer simply held up his hand to stop my tormentor before strolling over to me. He knelt down and removed his helmet, revealing a beige-colored face covered in scars, wiry black hair cut down to the scalp, and multiple tattoos. “You're really fucking mouthy for a hostage,” he said before punching me across my beak faster than I could register. I heard a sharp crack as his fist connected, and my head spun again as the metallic taste of blood pooled into my mouth. “I'd advise you to shut up, but I'm sure you won't listen: you aristocratic types are so full of yourselves. Maybe I should have you flogged in the public square until your vocal chords give out once we rip those cybernetics from your head, huh? How's that sound?”
“It won't matter… it won't change anything… the Jurisdiction will hunt you down.”
“Maybe, but I doubt it will happen for some time: they really suck at doing anything that requires effort, even when they're mad enough. They just keep sending their rabid lapdogs to try and smoke us out, and they always end up full of holes,” the human officer said with a smirk, his yellowish-white teeth and green eyes sending shivers down my spine as he drew his knife. “They're just horrible at their job, you know? You've all gotten so lazy and incompetent after being able to just take what you want without resistance, and now that you've met people who are angry and crazy enough to fight back you act as if we're committing some grave injustice,” he placed the knife against my throat, the flat just underneath my now bent beak, “No, we just took a few pages out of your book, ‘cept we've got standards. No kids, for one…” he seemed to look off into the distance as his sneer deepened, “but it's more than that, we don't attack the defenseless in general and we still win against you all in fair fights.”
I went to say something else snarky, but he quickly grabbed my thin tongue with his fingers and yanked it out, blood from my mouth pulling to the floor as he held the blade of his knife against it. “No no, none of that. Say one more thing and I'll cut that rancid little tongue of yours out of your mouth and feed it to you,” he hissed at me, pressing the blade down just hard enough to draw blood. “Do you know what it's like to see a planet turn into a tomb?" he asked me, gritting his teeth, “Do you know what it's like to see everything you've ever known crumble to ash and glass, all the life and the green stripped away leaving nothing but bones? I do. I've seen it happen to countless worlds, and my grandfather always told me stories of how you bastards did it to Earth. He still prays in its direction five times a day, to Mecca, but he knows the Kaaba is gone now, or maybe it's still there, buried in the bones of those who sought refuge there.”
I didn't care for the human’s nonsensical beliefs, but I did care to correct him. “I've seen it before, and I'll see it again. And so will you, it's inevitable. The Jurisdiction will always have its judgment fulfilled, there is no alternative.”
“One day, I hope we can rectify that,” he said, then he sheathed his knife and slammed my head against the metal floor with enough force to nearly knock me out. As I lost consciousness, I could hear him speak. “Take him to the Chop Doc, and make sure the cybernetics don't get damaged: they're supposedly more valuable than any bounty on this ship.”
Warning: Severe radiation poisoning detected. Flush system immediately.
Warning: Neural Lace removal detected, chance of neurological damage high. Proceeded with caution.

please share your thoughts!!!!!!!
alright, ive finished the game around a month ago but have spent the past month LIVING off of hl memes and ominis content, so i still remember most of the game vividly.
i think theres foreshadowing to a sequel, here's why:

• if you dont turn in sebastian and talk to him, he'll understand your pov on the goblins and listen. if you do hand him in, ominis will talk to him and report that this has only made him angrier (..for whatever reason). this made me curious, because, well, by the time you do this quest it should be almost endgame, hell for some people they do the 'in the shadow of the...' quests AFTER endgame. it just seems an odd detail to add rather than 'oh yeah i talked to sebastian and he understands and hes sorry, the end'. maybe the devs set this up for a conflict point in the future, if you hand him in, for a sequel (or more likely a dlc).

-anne sees what sebastian has done to solomon, and this deathly sick (!!!) girl runs away to... where, exactly? again we get conflict that hasnt been resolved.
-less glaringly important but we get almost nothing about ominis. in the house cup bit hes just sitting down despondently because hes just lost his only friend and has to go back to his abusive family, who used crucio on him. also, ominis is quite vague about said family. leaves an open space that can be filled in with a sequel, because i would actually give my right eye to learn more about the gaunts ;)
-the MOST obvious plot hole - sebastian, in his usual delusions, seems to convieniently forget our emotional undercroft heart-to-heart about 'ill use ancient magic to save anne', before he goes and harnesses the power of a dark relic that causes only desctruction. (i ADORE seb but ominis is just so much better im sorry ;-; )YES i know theres the whole 'theyll become husks with no emotion if you take away pain', but sebastian hasnt been TOLD that. for all he knows, WE are the answer!! but nooo he must control the inferi because he is a teenage edgelord and nobody understands him. so yet again, unresolved conflict that could be saved for another time!!
-another huge plot thing - i personally went mostly goodie-goodie (except the unforgivables because come on!) in my first playthrough as a slytherin (going as an evil gryffindor next, lol). so this means i left the power of the resevoir alone. BUT! i have seen playthroughs where the resevoir is taken for the players own personal gain. is there any difference?... ...literally no. which is just ??? so maybe in additional gameplay, we could learn to 'hone' whatever new skills this grants us (more sequel-worthy than dlc-worthy, imo.)
-more a dlc thing, but quidditch. need i say more?
my thoughts:
there is enough material here to make a worthy sequel.
not only did hl DESTROY its sales expectations (even with the boycott), its been so popular that it has a subreddit with over 300k people (thats where we are now weee), which is kinda insane for a 'spin-off' game.
they would be stupid NOT to make a sequel or dlc, considering the absolute bank they made from this one + they now know what people want, meaning the next game would be even better.
the plot could be-

• you start 6th year as normal. you'd probably be on the train because no special entrance for you! you're slumming it with the normies now. if youve handed sebastian in last game then hes not here and you can skip anything to do with him until i say so.

-if you didnt, seb is still here. he thanks you for all you've done, blah blah blah, and acknowledges the goblins innocence. hes worried sick for his sister who has ran away and wants to find her. you are dumb and havent learned your lesson (duh), so no matter what you say he'll convince you to help once you've found your feet in sixth year.
-ominis walks into your compartment. he looks terrible. you ask him if he's alright and he slips some gaunt lore about his family and on their.. ideas of fun, because come on i have a mad obsession with this dude, and if im the one writing this plot, we're getting ominis angst, suck it up. if youve handed in sebastian, itll just be you two. there'll be a train cutscene and boom, you're at school.
-this is where it gets tricky.
IF youve handed in sebastian. he'll be in prison. youll probably get some angsty moments and npc quotes along the lines of 'he seemed like such a good kid'.
if you HAVENT handed him in, the story gets weird, because a) more awkward time with seb because hes free and 2) he knows the goblins are mostly good. the actual hl doesn't have this big of a rift, so its hard to say what happens. however, its good because it gives us loads of choice, the lack of which in hl caused a lot of complaints.
-if he's in prison, sebastian escapes,(not azkaban, gotta keep with the canon. maybe because he is a minor he is sent to a lesser facility.) still blaming the goblins and holding such a hatred for them now that in his eyes, they escaped punishment and that it's his job to kill them all while extorting the cure for anne OR finding us to cure her.
-if he's free, we can either have a storyline of him NOT learning his lesson and maybe going to prison then instead of after he commits uncle-cide (dark magic go brr, because sister is gone) or some other storyline that would be more about our magic (!) and ominis' story.
-for the latter to happen, we'd have to have taken the resevoir's power. OR we can make up a rowling-worthy excuse of 'well MC was exposed to the resevoir power for too long so even though they left it alone it still diffused into them or something! [happy]'. i honestly dont know, this is why i want YOUR THOUGHTS!!!
-to make the selection pool shallower, lets go with the excuse. this will allow us to have seb's story, our magic story and also some ominis story (i am obsessed.)
-whether seb escapes or is already free matters, but in the end its the same result - hes not in prison. the only difference is that free seb doesnt hate goblins, and isnt on the run, and vice versa for escapee seb. both want to find anne and cure her. both now remember you have the capacity to do so (but they dont know about the taking-away-pain-turns-them-into-living-husks thing).

• we could go with the 'find escapee seb and convince him we're right and he believes us and everything goes back to normal' route, but boring.

-maybe escapee seb finds us, and ropes us into the same 'help-me-find-anne' crap free seb does to us on the train. yes, that means we dont have a choice, but there has to be SOME adventure. the goblin-hatred would def play in somehow - its too specific of a thing to include in the endgame to just leave it be like that! maybe his hatred causes him to do unforgivable things to some innocent goblins and he has a 'mAyBe Im ThE mOnStEr' epiphany moment, who knows. maybe it ties in to something bigger.
-the main story would then be along those lines. im still brainstorming the climax and ending but nobodys gonna read this anyway lmfao
-main quests would consist of lessons, sebastian-is-a-little-too-obsessed-with-anne-quests, and honing our magic.
-side quests would be mainly ominis-centric regarding his family/the gaunts, with a decent lot of poppy and garreth. we've already resolved natty's entire life at this point tbh💀💀💀.
-id like to think there's a happy ending. idk what will happen to escapee sebastian, will he go to prison or not?? this is literally the equivalent of a crackfic in my head, i WAS NOT expecting to write this much when i started writing this.
SO AGAIN GIVE ME YOUR THOUGHTS. PLEASE. ON EVERYTHING FROM THE PLOT TO MY SEQUEL THEORIES TO FEATURES AND INCONSISTENCIES. THANK YOU!!
nowww some features!:

• quidditch, because yes
• morality systems would be a bit null here considering we're literally helping an escaped convict. but uh, we can try! just, like, dont cast the unforgivables everywhere you go ;)
• friendship systems with all side quest characters. like going from ehhh... to hellooo! with a side character would be awesome. the one thing hogwarts MYSTERY of all things got right was this.
• friendship and enmity systems BETWEEN characters, like, every sebastian needs their ominis ok. plus i want to help ominis bully puffskien dunkein I BEG, you cant tell me they dont have some rivalry going on ;-;

-romance? idk, not a romance person, this is for you sebastian fangirls to figure out for yourselves
-prejudice. literally what made harry potter, harry potter. there is like ONE audio with a negative view towards muggle-borns, and ONE that uses the word mudblood to my knowledge. everyone's just ok with everyone now? do malfoys and other death-eater's grandaddies not go to school here??? hello??????? this could and SHOULD be a topic for discussion in game or maybe even a side quest or side quest chain.
-extra but when/if seb escapes it should be on the daily prophet that ominis will show us in the undercroft or smth, i dunno
inconsistencies with my plot:

• loads of things havent been planned out. this is like a professional crackfic. (still has better plot than the cursed child though lets be honest :3 )
• everyone is easily convinced 'oh ok lets find your sister even though youre a dangerous escaped convict!'. sorry.

-itll be hard to mash everything in. but a half-assed plot is still a plot <:
-since its a continuation of 5th year, we already know many spells. there arent many useful ones left. HOWEVER!!! we can consult the fandom spell page, take offensive spells and stat boost them more than the 5th year ones >:) ALSO YOU LEARN ABOUT DARK ARTS IN 6TH YEAR, SO. ominis is not gonna have a fun time with those ones 💀
-because we'll be searching for anne, like the actual hl game, less school time, :( sorry
-everyones just ok with us disappearing (if seb is an escapee). someone should pull a hermione and go 'hmm, MC starts disappearing shortly after sebastian escapes, and they never say what they're doing.'
probably ominis or poppy because a) favouritsm on my part and b) ominis knows us best and i headcanon poppy as knowing us well and knowing the dark arts and how theyre used a tad bit more than she gets credit for.

• since this wouldve been 5th and 6th year covered, it would be expected for a 7th year to happen. naturally, i have exhausted all my 3 brain cells writing this, so screw it, 7th year doesnt need to exist right now. i havent even figured out all of 6th.

-loads of other things i havent seen, SO

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE SHARE THOUGHTS, THIS TOOK ME AN HOUR TO WRITE AND I ONLY WROTE IT TO SEE WHAT PEOPLE THINK! TYSM. (I SHOULDNT HAVE WRITTEN THIS, I HAVE FINAL EXAMS TOMORROW 💀)

youre all amazing yayayayayaya