Record temperatures, record migration, record emissions, record displacement, record PFAS……start building an ark.
Last Week in Collapse: May 12-18, 2024
This is Last Week in Collapse, a weekly newsletter compiling some of the most important, timely, useful, soul-crushing, ironic, stunning, exhausting, or otherwise must-see/can’t-look-away moments in Collapse.
This is the 125th newsletter! You can find the May 5-11 edition here if you missed it last week. You can also receive these posts (with images) every Sunday in your email inbox with Substack.
——————————
Flash flooding in northern Afghanistan killed 300+ people and destroyed 1,000+ homes. Hundreds of thousands of others have been affected. Last month, similar floods in the region killed 70+. Four died in Texas storms last week as well.
Venezuela is suffering from record wildfires, which so far this year have burned about 5M acres—almost the size of Sardinia. Some experts think indigenous people started the blaze as an attempt at forest clearance, which quickly got out of hand. “Institutional failures” compounded the disaster when the ailing government responded with an inadequate number of poorly equipped firefighters. Another study from last week examined the impact of wildfires on soil health.
Flooding and “cold lava” killed 50+ in Indonesia, injuring dozens and displacing several thousand. Cold lava is a mixture of water and rocks tumbling down the side of a volcano. Meanwhile, an actual volcano erupted in Indonesia, sending smoke & ash 5000m high; further eruptions are possible soon.
The Swiss Re Institute published a 37-page report last week about natural disasters in 2023—and how much damage, in USD, they caused. The largest catastrophe was the February 7.8 earthquake in Türkiye & Syria, which killed 59,000+ people and caused $163B+ in damage. The report is full of interesting graphics & data about natural disasters.

“Last year, economic losses from natural catastrophes reached USD 280 billion, meaning that 62% of the global losses were uninsured….the insured losses surpassed USD 100 billion for the fourth consecutive year….annual insured losses will grow by 5–7% over the long term…today’s insured losses could double in 10 years….There were 142 insured-loss inducing catastrophes in 2023, a new record. Most were of medium severity, which we define as events resulting in losses of USD 1–5 billion….Over the last 30 years, we estimate that natural catastrophe insured losses have grown by 3 percentage points more annually than the global economy (in inflation adjusted terms)...”

Flooding and heat waves are impacting Brazil’s oranges, responsible for about 70% of the world’s supply. One food analysts declared that the “era of cheap food is over”—in the UK, at least. That may be one reason why UK residents took record food bank packages last year. Madagascar is struggling to adapt to a future with far less rainfall.
France is growing more concerned about a dam on Lake Geneva, controlled exclusively by Switzerland. The Rhône River, which begins in Switzerland and flows south through France, is shrinking in summers as climate change melts Switzerland’s remaining glaciers.
The Tonlé San River has been dammed in Vietnam, lowering the level in Cambodia and sometimes drying the river downstream entirely. Meanwhile, China’s lychee harvest is getting blasted by rain, impacting the world’s largest source of lychee. And, once again, Saudi Arabia is suffering flooding in its inland regions. 7 dead in historic flooding in Iran.
The eminent climate scientist James Hansen posted that, since “human-made aerosols and their cooling effect are in decline,” the cooling effect of La Niña will be counterbalanced by these rising temperatures. He also identifies a “large anomaly of increased absorbed solar radiation at midlatitudes in the Northern Hemisphere” responsible for rising temperatures there. CO2 levels are rising faster today than they have at any point in the previous 50,000 years…and a study of millennia-old trees determined last summer was the hottest worldwide in 2,000+ years…
Record nighttime May temperatures were tied in the Philippines and Vietnam. A couple Indonesian cities broke records for May temperatures. And a number of southern African states saw more records drop. And Toronto saw a record tied for the number of days reaching 14 °C (57 °F). A heat wave has returned to Bangladesh. Flooding in Cali (pop: 2.9M), Colombia.
The University of Washington was ordered to stop a geoengineering project that scientists sere conducting from the deck of a decommissioned aircraft carrier. The experiment ejected aerosolized saltwater in an attempt to reflect solar radiation. A comparative study in Nature Communications of a number of carbon pricing found that, yes, carbon pricing does work to reduce the total CO2 emitted.
It’s that time of the year again. Wildfires in Canada grow, some of which are moving towards the tar sands—forcing thousands to evacuate. 39 of the total nation’s blazes are “out of control,” resulting in air quality alerts in the United States. Meanwhile, across the Caribbean, water shortages have become the new normal, and residents (and tourists) are finding their old consumption habits hard to change. St. Lucia has declared a water emergency. In Myanmar, water shortages worsen, particularly as related to the spiraling conflict.
At least ⅛ of Europeans live in a place at risk of extreme flooding—so says a 175-page report from the European Environment Agency posted on Wednesday. The number of people living in flood-risk coastal areas in the EU & UK is expected to jump 24% by 2050. The graphics-packed report also considers how flooding will impact healthcare facilities, mental health, wastewater treatment plants, the spread of disease, cyanobacteria, permafrost thaw, and much else.

“Europe has seen devastating floods following record rainfall, droughts of magnitudes not experienced in hundreds of years, continuing sea level rise, and increasing lake and sea temperatures….permanent water stress already affects 30% of people in southern Europe….since 2018, more than half of Europe has been impacted by extreme drought conditions….Climate change is expected to increase mercury bioaccumulation in the marine food chain due to rising ocean temperatures, ocean acidification and permafrost thawing….Depression, anxiety and PTSD may persist for years after a flooding event….Under the changing climate, northern Europe is becoming wetter in general, but drier in summer. Southern Europe is becoming drier, especially in winter. For central-eastern and western Europe, the trend is less clear…” -selections from the report

Milan suffered flooding last week, the worst May flooding in 170 years. Early spring in the UK has disrupted migratory bird species and their usual patterns.
A 74-page working paper which is not yet peer-reviewed claims that earlier estimates for how much GDP would be impacted by another 1 °C temperature rise is way less than it would be in actuality. The paper claims the real cost (in USD) is about 6x greater. They claim “global temperature has much more pronounced impacts on economic activity than local temperature” and that extreme weather is mostly behind the projected decline in productivity.
——————————
Epidemiologists are worried about how climate change in Africa may extend the life of disease-bearers like ticks and mosquitoes. Other epidemiologists are worried about how cattle may become a permanent reservoir for H5N1. Growing traced of bird flu have been found in wastewater testing in the U.S., but investigators think it may be runoff from infected dairy farms.
Obesity, high blood sugar, and high blood pressure rates today globally are 50% higher than in 2000—though researchers claim that air pollution still poses a larger threat. Of a study participants in Hawai’i, 75% had respiratory issues, probably from the Maui wildfires last year.
The 2024 World Migration Report is out, and its 384 pages are not as apocalyptic as one might think. However, internally displaced people are at their all-time highest. India, Mexico, Russia, China, and Syria lead the world in emigrants; another document contains the definitions for who exactly constitutes a migrant. Unfortunately much of the data relied upon ends in 2022. Data from this year, not included in the above report, indicates a 40% jump in traffic through the Darien Gap compared to the same time period in 2023.

“The last two years saw major migration and displacement events that have caused great hardship and trauma, as well as loss of life….There have also been large-scale displacements triggered by climate- and weather-related disasters in many parts of the world in 2022 and 2023, including in Pakistan, the Philippines, China, India, Bangladesh, Brazil and Colombia….disinformation tactics are increasingly being used by nefarious actors with negative impacts on public, political and social media discourse on migration….Forced displacement is the highest on record in the modern era…overconsumption and overproduction linked to unsustainable economic growth, resource depletion and biodiversity collapse, as well as ongoing climate change (including global heating) are continuing to grip the world….the risk of further conflict has not been higher in decades, as military spending reached a new record high of USD 2,240 billion in 2022…” -excerpts from the introduction

Another report, focusing on internal displacement, came out last week; its 69 pages show a cross-section of about 47M people displaced by natural disasters (56%) or armed conflict (44%). Most of the disasters were storms & flooding, and most of the conflicts were civil wars of some form. This report also provides detailed region-by-region analyses—with sub-Saharan Africa accounting for 46% of global IDPs.

“Conflict and violence triggered 13.5 million movements, the highest figure for the past 15 years….Disasters and conflict are presented as different triggers, but their impacts can overlap, often leading to repeated and/ or protracted displacement….Drought triggered 331,000 displacements in Somalia….Floods triggered 550,000 displacements in Ethiopia….Conflict and violence triggered 3.8 million displacements in DRC in 2023, a slight fall from the record four million in 2022, but still the second-highest figure globally after Sudan….nearly two-thirds of the internal displacements recorded in 2023 originated from Khartoum state. More than 39 per cent of the state's inhabitants were forced to flee, leaving entire neighbourhoods empty….Criminal and communal violence triggered nearly three-quarters of Nigeria's 291,000 conflict displacements….” -selections from the spotlight on sub-Saharan Africa

Experts are concerned about the mental health impacts that climate change has on our minds. Hotter temperatures reportedly increase depression & aggression. Wildfires and storms can cause PTSD. Workers feel stress and desperation as their usual industries are impacted. And air pollution influences ordinary brain processes in many ways.
Some analysts believe “Peak China” may be over, signaling a period of economic tapering-off, as well as a growing militancy. Increasing U.S. tariffs on Chinese goods are continuing to separate the two economies. The Netherlands finally formed a provisional government, though its proposed immigration & farming policies have set it at odds with the EU.
The Federal Reserve, the U.S. central bank, released a 46-page report on potential climate risks to the banking system’s resilience. As far as I understood, most of the risk lies in extreme weather events and the risk to insurance agencies.
Part of southeast England experienced an outbreak of Cryptosporidium, a diarrhea & vomiting illness, highly contagious, which can last weeks. At least 22 cases have been reported. Meanwhile, the CDC is issuing warnings about the more dangerous strain of monkeypox circulating in the DRC, although cases are currently limited to Africa.
North Carolina’s Senate voted to ban mask-wearing last week, under the reasoning that it would make police identification of protestors difficult. An fMRI study found lasting neurological changes in COVID survivors; they “had significantly higher cognitive complaints of mental fatigue and cognitive failure….even two years after recovering.” Experts say a summer rise in COVID cases is coming to the United States.
A study on The Canadian/American Great Lakes found that PFAS levels are increasing in the 3 largest lakes (Superior, Huron, and Michigan), while decreasing in the other two (Erie, Ontario). The study also found that precipitation is the primary means by which the Lakes are accumulating PFAS, since the chemicals are small & stable enough to move through the water cycle. Meanwhile, in England’s Lake District, a telecom failure resulted in raw sewage being pumped into England’s largest and most famous lake, Windermere, on-and-off for 10 hours; and a major British water CEO took a $4M USD pay package last year. And a look into the Chicago River’s health found that microplastics & trash are endangering health & biodiversity.
——————————
An assassination attempt by a lone wolf on Slovakia’s PM left him in critical condition, but likely to survive. 11 civilians were slain by cartel fighters in a few battles in Mexico. Violence continues to spiral out of control in Goma, DRC.
In Haiti, everything worsens indefinitely. Guns have reportedly entered from Florida, a phenomenon which officials call an “iron river.” Police have been put on the defensive against the growing might of the gang warlords.
A brawl broke out in Taiwan’s parliament. An Iranian plot was allegedly foiled to smuggle weapons into Jordan to destabilize the pro-U.S. regime.
Dozens more died in Sudan from escalating violence around Darfur. People are warning about “a disaster on top of a disaster” and the possibility of Sudan splitting apart. Others have called it “hell on earth” as 1,000+ refugees cross the Chad border every day. Disease and malnutrition are growing, while famine encroaches upon 9M helpless victims of the conflict—but the world’s attention is elsewhere.
The U.S. Army Engineers completed constructing the pier in Gaza to deliver humanitarian aid. Some 600,000 Gazans have been displaced from Rafah already, and fighting has escalated against Hamas militants in northern Gaza.
Taliban forces skirmished with Pakistani soldiers for about 90 minutes last week. Taliban attacks in Pakistan, and counterattacks have resulted in a kind of ambient disruption for the rocky border zone.
Violent protests—and counteroperations—are continuing in New Caledonia (pop: 270,000), a Pacific island part of overseas France. The riots, which have killed 6 people so far, began after metropolitan France proposed a plan to expand voting rights beyond indigenous residents. A state of emergency has been declared amid worries about a spiral of violence taking hold.
As the Sahel dries out, experts are concerned about the links to rising terrorism in the region. The Sahel accounts for over 40% of global terrorism deaths—according to the analysts’ understanding of “terrorism.” Mali in particular has reportedly become home to 41 new, different non-state armed groups (NSAGs) since 2007. A contested election in Chad resulted in the consolidation of the interim leader’s power.

“If governments are continually unable to solve regional issues, the people will be at the whim of any terror group that has a basic organization. It serves these groups’ interests to promote insecurity where they can and create security where they want. A “hearts and minds” campaign in the Sahel could lead to long-term and locally supported insurgencies in a land that is currently rife with civil strife.” -from the article

Some wargamers concluded that a Trump victory in 2020 would spell the end of NATO, or at least the end of its utility. Vladimir Putin replaced his minister of defense with a top economic advisor, just before going to Beijing to reaffirm their friendship with “no limits.” Some say Putin is planning on a forever war. Some say NATO is gearing up for one, too.
Russia made several gains in the suburbs of Kharkiv, seizing several settlements which some analysts doubt they will hold. Putin claims they aren’t really trying to take Kharkiv anyway… Russia also made small progress in the Donbas—although they suffered their largest one-day casualties since the start of the war. The U.S. allocated another $2B to hasten the delivery of weapons to the front lines. The next weeks will be crucial on the front. Switzerland has invited 160+ nations to send delegates to a peace summit intended to design a path to making peace in this War.
——————————
Select comments/threads from the subreddit last week suggest:
-Brazil’s flooding was really, really bad, judging from this post and its accompanying images. Across just one of Brazil’s 26 states, 600,000+ people have been made homeless, 100+ have died, and the storm season isn’t over yet. Some of the flooding isn’t expected to subside for another month.
-How specifically might climate change make humanity extinct? This thread crowdsources a number of plausible ways, from ordinary famines to nuclear war and even a massive deoxygenation process. I tend to think it will be a consequence of an eventual nuclear exchange, followed by extended famine and disease.
Got any feedback, questions, comments, complaints, upvotes, doom prophets to follow, hugelkultur guides, directions to off-grid bunkers, ark schematics, etc.? Check out the Last Week in Collapse SubStack if you don’t want to check collapse every Sunday, you can receive this newsletter sent to your (or someone else’s) email inbox every weekend. What did I forget this week?

CSS stands for Cascading Style Sheets, is a fundamental technology used in web development to control the presentation and layout of HTML documents. While HTML provides the structure of a webpage, CSS enhances its appearance by defining how HTML elements should be displayed on the screen, in print, or even as speech.
In order to understand the basic of CSS, we need to understand how it works. CSS works by selecting HTML elements using id, classess attributes or tags itself and applying styling rules to them. These rules dictate attributes such as color, size, font, spacing, and positioning. By separating content from presentation, CSS allows developers to create visually appealing and consistent designs across multiple web pages with ease.
CSS operates on a cascade principle, where multiple style rules can be applied to the same element, with specificity and order determining which rule takes precedence. This enables developers to efficiently manage styles across complex projects. CSS is one of the foundation in order to enhance the web development skills.
Over the years, CSS has evolved significantly, with new features and capabilities continually being added. CSS preprocessors like Sass and LESS have extended CSS’s functionality by introducing variables, mixins, and other programming constructs, making stylesheets more maintainable and scalable.
Furthermore, with the rise of responsive web design, CSS plays a crucial role in creating layouts that adapt to different screen sizes and devices, providing users with an optimal viewing experience across desktops, tablets, and smartphones.
Understanding of Cascading Style Sheet (CSS)

1. Selection of HTML Elements: CSS employs various selectors to target specific HTML elements or groups of elements. Selectors can be based on element type (e.g., for paragraphs), class (e.g., .header), ID (e.g., #main-content), or other attributes like data attributes or pseudo-classes (e.g., :hover for styling when the mouse is over an element). This flexibility allows developers to precisely target elements for styling.
2. Application of Styling Rules: Once an element is selected, CSS applies styling rules to it. These rules define how the element should appear and behave. CSS properties cover a wide range of design aspects, including:Color: Specifies the foreground and background colors.Size: Controls the dimensions of the element, such as width, height, padding, and margins.Font: Determines the typeface, size, style (e.g., bold, italic), and other text properties.Spacing: Manages the spacing between elements, including margins, padding, and borders.Positioning: Controls the placement of elements on the webpage, including static, relative, absolute, and fixed positioning.
3. Separation of Content and Presentation: One of the core principles of CSS is separating content from presentation. HTML defines the structure and content of a webpage, while CSS handles the presentation and layout. This separation allows developers to make changes to the design without altering the underlying content, making it easier to maintain and update websites.
4. Creating Visually Appealing Designs: CSS enables developers to unleash their creativity and design visually stunning websites. With CSS, developers can customize every aspect of the webpage’s appearance, from colors and typography to layout and animations. This flexibility empowers developers to create unique and engaging user experiences tailored to their audience.
5. Consistency Across Multiple Pages: By applying CSS rules consistently across multiple web pages, developers can ensure a cohesive and unified design language throughout the website. CSS allows developers to define styles once and apply them universally, saving time and effort while maintaining consistency across the site.

Properties of CSS
CSS properties are the building blocks that developers use to style HTML elements. These properties allow developers to control various aspects of an element’s appearance, layout, and behavior. Here are some commonly used CSS properties grouped by their functionalities:

1. Typography: This properties is used to control the various aspects of the text elements of HTML.font-family: Sets the font of the text.font-size: Sets the size of the text.font-weight: Specifies the thickness of the font.font-style: Defines the style of the font (e.g., italic).text-align: Aligns the text horizontally within its container.line-height: Sets the height of each line of text.
2. Color and Background: This properties is used to control the color of any HTML elements like < div >, < span >, < header > etc.color: Defines the color of the text.background-color: Sets the background color of an element.opacity: Specifies the transparency of an element.background-image: Sets an image as the background of an element.background-size: Defines the size of the background image.background-position: Specifies the starting position of the background image.
3. Layout: This properties is used to control the how the HTML elements will functions. For example, its display properties or height, or position etc.display: Defines how an element is displayed (e.g., block, inline, flex).width and height: Sets the width and height of an element.margin, padding, and border: Controls the spacing around and within an element.float: Positions an element to the left or right within its container.position: Specifies the positioning method of an element (e.g., static, relative, absolute, fixed).top, bottom, left, right: Sets the position of an element relative to its containing element.
4. Box Model: The box model is used to set the HTML elements in box like element by defining its height and width.box-sizing: Defines how the total width and height of an element are calculated.border-radius: Rounds the corners of an element’s border.box-shadow: Adds a shadow effect to an element.overflow: Specifies how content that overflows the element’s box is handled.
5. animation: Defines keyframe animations.transition: Specifies the transition effect for a CSS property.transform: Applies transformations (e.g., rotate, scale) to elements.

In summary, CSS is an indispensable tool for web developers, empowering them to transform HTML documents into visually appealing and functional web experiences. Understanding its principles and techniques is essential for anyone looking to create modern, professional-looking websites.
Read the Guide Here: https://leafyweb.com/home/project/brief-introduction-to-css/

I’ve always hated the smell of gun oil. It clings to everything it touches, soaking deep into the fibers of my clothes, the lining of my backpack, the coarse hair on the back of my hands. Yet here I am, kneeling on the cracked linoleum of our mudroom, a Remington .308 laid across my thighs, and the stench of gun oil sharp in my nostrils. The early morning light barely scratches at the edges of the blinds, dim and gray like the belly of a dead fish.
My dad Frank is in the kitchen, clattering around with the coffeepot and mumbling under his breath. Today we’re heading up to the woods of Northern Michigan, same as we did every year before Leah… before we lost her.
I can’t help but feel the old scars throbbing as I load bullets into the magazine. It’s been ten years since that hunting trip, the one that tore my family into before and after. Before, when Leah's laughter was a constant soundtrack to our lives; after, when every silence was filled with her absence.
We were just kids back then. I was ten, Leah was eight. It was supposed to be a typical hunting trip, one of those bonding experiences Dad was always talking about. But things went wrong. We got separated from Dad somehow. One minute we were following him, the next we were lost, the dense woods closing in around us.
Dad says when he found me, I was huddled under a fallen tree, my eyes wide, my body frozen. All I could mutter through chattering teeth was "Dogman."
It was only later, after the search parties had combed through every thicket and hollow, that they found her. What remained of Leah was barely recognizable, the evidence of a brutal mauling undeniable. The authorities concluded it was likely a bear attack, but Dad... he never accepted that explanation. He had seen the tracks, too large and oddly shaped for any bear.
As I load another round, the memory flashes, unbidden and unwelcome. Large, hairy clawed hands reaching out towards us, impossibly big, grotesque in their form. Yet, the rest of the creature eludes me, a shadow just beyond the edge of my recall, leaving me with nothing but fragmented terrors and Leah’s haunting, echoing screams. My mind blocked most of it out, a self-defense mechanism, I guess.
For years after that day, sleep was a battleground. I'd wake up in strange places—kitchen floor, backyard, even at the edge of the nearby creek. My therapist said it was my mind's way of trying to resolve the unresolved, to wander back through the woods searching for Leah. But all I found in those sleepless nights was a deeper sense of loss.
It took time, a lot of therapy, and patience I didn't know I had, but the sleepwalking did eventually stop. I guess I started to find some semblance of peace.
I have mostly moved on with my life. The fragmentary memories of that day are still there, lurking in the corners of my mind, but they don’t dominate my thoughts like they used to. I just finished my sophomore year at Michigan State, majoring in Environmental Science.
As for Dad, the loss of Leah broke him. He became a shell of himself. It destroyed his marriage with Mom. He blamed himself for letting us out of his sight, for not protecting Leah. His life took on a single, consuming focus: finding the creature that killed her. He read every book, every article on cryptids and unexplained phenomena. He mapped sightings, connected dots across blurry photos and shaky testimonies of the Dogman.
But as the tenth anniversary of Leah’s death approaches, Dad's obsession has grown more intense. He’s started staying up late, poring over his maps and notes, muttering to himself about patterns and cycles. He’s convinced that the dogman reappears every ten years, and this is our window of opportunity to finally hunt it down.
I’m not nearly as convinced. The whole dogman thing seems like a coping mechanism, a way for Dad to channel his guilt and grief into something tangible, something he can fight against. But I decided to tag along on this trip, partly to keep an eye on him, partly because a small part of me hopes that maybe, just maybe, we’ll find some kind of closure out there in the woods.
I finish loading the rifle and set it aside, standing up to stretch my legs. I wipe my greasy hands on an old rag, trying to get rid of the smell. The early morning light is starting to seep into the room, casting long shadows across the floor.
Dad comes out of the kitchen with two thermoses of coffee in hand. His eyes are bleary and tired.
“You ready, Ryan?” he asks, handing me a thermos, his voice rough from too many sleepless nights.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
We load our gear into the truck, the weight of our supplies and weapons a physical reminder of the burden we carry. The drive from Lansing across the Lower Peninsula is long and quiet, the silence between us filled with unspoken memories and unresolved grief.
—
The drive north is a blur of highway lines and the dull hum of the engine. I drift off, the landscape outside blending into a haze. In my sleep, fragments of that day with Leah replay like scattered pieces of a puzzle. I see her smile, the way she tugged at my sleeve, eager to explore. The sunlight filters through the trees in sharp, jagged streaks.
Then, the memory shifts—darker, disjointed. Leah's voice echoes, a playful laugh turning into a scream that pierces the air. The crunch of leaves underfoot as something heavy moves through the underbrush. I see a shadow, large and looming, not quite fitting the shapes of any creature I know.
Then, something darker creeps into the dream, something I’ve never allowed myself to remember clearly.
Before I can see what it is I wake up with a start as the truck jerks slightly on a rough patch of road. Dad glances over. "Bad dream?" he asks. I nod, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, the remnants of the dream clinging to me like the cold.
"Yeah, just... thinking about Leah," I manage to say.
As we drive, Dad attempts to bridge the silence with small talk. He asks about my finals, my plans for the summer, anything to keep the conversation going. His voice carries a forced cheerfulness, but it’s clear his heart isn’t in it. I respond when necessary, my answers brief, my gaze fixed on the passing scenery.
The landscape changes as we head further north, from flat expanses to rolling hills dotted with dense patches of forest. It's beautiful country, the kind that reminds you how vast and wild Michigan can be, but today it just feels oppressive, like it’s closing in on us.
—
We finally arrive at the cabin, nestled deep in the woods, its weathered wood blending seamlessly with the surrounding trees. The place hasn't changed much since the last time I was here—a relic from another time, filled with the echoes of our past. I can still see Leah running around the porch, her laughter ringing out into the forest.
Dad parks the truck, and we step out into the crisp air. The smell of pine and damp earth fills my nostrils. We start unloading our gear, the tension between us palpable.
“Let’s get this inside,” Dad says, his voice gruff as he hefts a duffel bag onto his shoulder.
I nod, grabbing my own bag and following him to the cabin. Inside, it’s a mix of old and new—the same rustic furniture, but with new hunting gear and maps strewn across the table. Dad’s obsession is evident in every corner of the room, a constant reminder of why we’re here.
As we unpack, we exchange strained attempts at normalcy. He talks about the latest cryptid sightings he’s read about, his eyes lighting up with a fervor that both worries and saddens me.
“Did you hear about the sighting up near Alpena?” he asks, laying out his maps on the table.
“Yeah, you mentioned it,” I reply, trying to muster some enthusiasm. “Do you really think there’s something to it?”
Dad’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, I see a flicker of doubt. But it’s quickly replaced by grim determination. “I have to believe it, Ryan. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We finish unpacking, the silence between us growing heavier with each passing minute. I step outside to clear my head, the cool air a welcome relief. The sun is starting to set, casting long shadows across the clearing. I can’t shake the feeling of unease.
"You can take the upstairs room," Dad mutters. His voice is strained, trying to sound normal, but it's clear the weight of the past is heavy on him. I nod, hauling my backpack up the creaking stairs to the small bedroom that I used to share with Leah. The room feels smaller now, or maybe I've just grown too much since those innocent days.
I unpack silently, setting my things aside. The bed is stiff and cold under my touch. As I settle in, I can't help but glance at the corner where Leah and I would huddle together, whispering secrets and making plans for adventures that would never happen. I push the thoughts away, focusing on the practicalities of unpacking.
After settling in, I go back downstairs to find Dad loading up a backpack with supplies for our hunt. The intensity in his eyes is palpable, his hands moving with practiced precision. I know this routine; it's one he's perfected over countless solo trips since that fateful day.
"We'll head out early," he says, not looking up from his task. "Gotta make the most of the daylight."
I nod, though unease curls in my stomach. I'm not just worried about what we might find—or not find—out there. I'm worried about him. Each year, the obsession seems to carve him out a bit more, leaving less of the Dad I knew.
—
The morning air is sharp with the scent of pine and wet earth as Dad and I head into the deeper parts of the forest. The terrain is rugged, familiar in its untamed beauty, but there’s a tension between us that makes the landscape feel alien. Dad moves with a purposeful stride, his eyes scanning the woods around us. Every snap of a twig, every rustle in the underbrush seems to draw his attention. He’s on edge, and it puts me on edge too.
As we walk, my mind drifts back to that day ten years ago. I can almost hear Leah’s voice echoing through the trees, her high-pitched call as she darted ahead, "Catch me, Ryan!" I remember how the sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Those memories are so vivid, so tangible, it feels like I could just turn a corner and see her there, waiting for us.
Dad suddenly stops and kneels, examining the ground. He points out a set of tracks that are too large for a deer, with an unusual gait pattern. "It’s been here, Ry. I’m telling you, it’s close," he whispers, a mixture of excitement and something darker in his voice. I nod, though I’m not sure what to believe. Part of me wants to dismiss it all as grief-fueled obsession, but another part, the part that heard Leah's scream and saw something monstrous in the woods that day, isn’t so sure.
As we continue, Dad's comments become increasingly cryptic. "You know, they say the dogman moves in cycles, drawn to certain places, certain times. Like it’s tied to the land itself," he muses, more to himself than to me. His fixation on the creature has always been intense, but now it borders on mania.
We set up a makeshift blind near a clearing where Dad insists the creature will pass. Hours drag by with little to see but the occasional bird or distant deer.
The sun rises higher in the sky, casting long, slender shadows through the dense canopy. I shift uncomfortably in my spot, the forest floor hard and unyielding beneath me. My eyes dart between the trees, hoping to catch a glimpse of something, anything, to break the monotony. Dad, on the other hand, remains steadfast, his gaze fixed on the treeline as if he can will the dogman into existence by sheer force of will.
A bird chirps nearby, startling me. I sigh and adjust my grip on the rifle. I glance over at Dad.
“Anything?” I ask, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.
“Not yet,” he replies, his voice tight. “But it’s out there. I know it.”
I nod, even though I’m not sure I believe him. The forest seems too quiet, too still. Maybe we’re chasing ghosts.
As the sun begins its descent, the forest is bathed in a warm, golden light. The air cools, and a breeze rustles the leaves. I shiver, more from anticipation than the cold. The long hours of sitting and waiting are starting to wear on me.
“Let’s call it a day for now,” Dad says finally, his voice heavy with disappointment. “We’ll head back to the cabin, get some rest, and try again tomorrow.”
I stand and stretch, feeling the stiffness in my muscles. We pack up our gear in silence and start the trek back to the cabin. The walk is long and quiet, the only sounds are the crunch of leaves underfoot and the distant calls of birds settling in for the night.
—
Dinner is a quiet affair, both of us lost in our thoughts. I try to make small talk, asking Dad about his plans for tomorrow, but it feels forced. We clean up in silence.
After dinner, I retreat to the small bedroom. The fatigue from the day's hike has settled into my bones, but sleep still feels like a distant hope. I lie down, staring at the ceiling, the room cloaked in darkness save for the sliver of moonlight creeping through the window. Downstairs, I hear the faint sound of Dad moving around, likely unable to sleep himself.
I drift into sleep, but it's not restful. My dreams pull me back to that fateful day in the woods. Leah's voice is clear and vibrant, her laughter echoing through the trees. She looks just as she did then—bright-eyed and full of life, her blonde hair catching the sunlight as she runs ahead of me.
"Come on, Ry! You can't catch me!" she taunts, her voice playful and teasing.
I chase after her, but the scene shifts abruptly. The sky darkens, the woods around us growing dense and foreboding. Leah's laughter fades, replaced by a chilling silence. I see her ahead, standing still, her back to me.
"Leah?" I call out, my voice trembling. She turns slowly, her eyes wide and filled with fear. "Ryan, you have to remember," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "It wasn't what you think. You need to know the truth."
Leah’s words hang in the air, cryptic and unsettling. Before I can respond, she turns and starts running again, her figure becoming a blur among the trees. Panic rises in my chest as I sprint after her, my feet pounding against the forest floor.
“Leah, wait!” I shout, desperation lacing my voice. The forest around me seems to close in, the trees towering and twisted, shadows dancing menacingly in the dim light. I push forward, trying to keep her in sight, but she’s too fast, slipping away like a wisp of smoke.
Suddenly, there’s a rustle, a flash of movement in the corner of my vision. Leah screams, a sound that pierces through the heavy silence. It happens too quickly—I can’t see what it is, only a dark blur that snatches her up.
“Leah!” I scream, my voice breaking. I stumble, falling to my knees as the forest spins around me. My heart races, and the terror is so real, so visceral, that it pulls me back to that awful day, the one that changed everything.
I jolt awake, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I sit up, wiping the cold sweat from my forehead as I try to steady my breathing. The room is still dark, the shadows cast by the moonlight seem to flicker and dance on the walls. My heart is still racing from the nightmare, the echo of Leah's scream lingering in my ears.
As I struggle to calm down, the floorboards outside my room creak. The door opens slowly, and I see the silhouette of my dad in the doorway, a Bowie knife in his hand, his posture tense.
“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” I whisper, my voice shaking.
“Shh,” he hisses, holding up a hand to silence me. “I heard something. Something moving around in the cabin. Stay quiet.”
I swallow hard, my mouth dry. I glance at the clock on the nightstand—it’s just past three in the morning. The cabin is silent, the kind of deep, oppressive silence that makes every small sound seem louder. I can’t hear anything out of the ordinary, but Dad’s expression is deadly serious.
He motions for me to get up, and I do, moving as quietly as I can. My heart is racing, a mix of lingering fear from the dream and the sudden, sharp anxiety of the present moment. Dad leads the way, stepping cautiously out of the bedroom and into the hallway, the knife held ready in front of him.
We move through the cabin, checking each room in turn. The living room is empty, the furniture casting long shadows in the dim moonlight. The kitchen is just as we left it, the plates from dinner still drying on the counter. Everything seems normal, untouched.
We finish our sweep of the cabin without finding anything amiss. The silence is heavy, punctuated only by our soft footfalls. I can see the tension in Dad’s frame, his grip on the knife unwavering. After checking the last room, we pause in the dimly lit hallway, the air thick with unspoken questions.
“There’s nothing here,” I say, my voice low. “Are you sure you heard something?”
He looks at me, his eyes searching for something in my face. “I heard growling. Deep and close. It was right outside the window.”
“Maybe it was just an animal outside, a raccoon or something?” I suggest, although the certainty in his voice makes me doubt my own reassurance.
“No, it wasn’t like that. It was different,” he insists, his voice tense.
I nod, not wanting to argue, but the seeds of worry are planted deep.
The look in his eyes sends a chill down my spine. It’s not just fear—it’s desperation. The kind of desperation that comes from years of chasing shadows and finding nothing. I can see the toll this hunt has taken on him, the way it’s worn him down, turned him into a man I barely recognize.
We head back to our rooms. As I lie down, my mind races with thoughts of my dad. I can’t help but wonder if he’s losing it, if the years of grief and guilt have finally pushed him over the edge.
Dad wasn’t always like this. Before Leah’s death, he was the kind of father who took us fishing, helped with homework, and told terrible jokes that made us groan and laugh at the same time. He was solid, dependable. But losing Leah changed him. The guilt twisted him into someone I barely recognize, someone driven by a need for answers, for closure, that may never come.
I try to sleep, but my thoughts keep me awake. I can hear Dad moving around downstairs, probably pacing or double-checking the locks. His paranoia has become a constant presence, and I don’t know how to help him. I don’t even know if I can help him.
—
The next morning, the sunlight filters weakly through the cabin windows, casting a pale light that does little to lift the heavy mood. I drag myself out of bed, feeling the exhaustion of another restless night. Dad is already up, hunched over his maps at the kitchen table, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep.
“Morning,” I mumble, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “Did you sleep at all?”
He shakes his head, not looking up from his notes. “Not much. I couldn’t stop thinking about what I heard last night.”
I sip my coffee, trying to shake off the remnants of my nightmare. “Maybe it was just an animal, Dad. We’re deep in the woods, after all.”
He finally looks up, his eyes intense. “Ryan, I know what I heard. It wasn’t just an animal. It was something else.”
I sigh, not wanting to argue. “Okay, fine, Dad. What’s the plan for today?”
“We’re going back out. I found some tracks yesterday, and I want to follow them. See where they lead.”
I nod, feeling a mix of apprehension and resignation. I can see how much this means to him, how desperate he is for any kind of lead. “Alright. Let’s get packed and head out.”
We spend the morning preparing, loading up our gear and double-checking our supplies. Dad is meticulous, going over everything with a fine-toothed comb. I try to match his focus, but my mind keeps drifting back to Leah and the dream I had. Her words echo in my head, cryptic and unsettling: “You need to know the truth.”
We set off into the woods, the air crisp and cool. The forest is alive with the sounds of birds and rustling leaves, but it all feels distant, like background noise to the tension between us. Dad leads the way, his eyes scanning the ground for any sign of the tracks he found yesterday.
As we walk, I can’t help but notice how erratically he’s acting. He mutters to himself, his eyes darting around as if expecting something to jump out at us. His grip on his rifle is tight, his knuckles white.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
He glances at me, his expression unreadable. “I’m fine. Just focused.”
He stops frequently to examine the ground or the bark of trees, pointing out marks and signs that seem meaningless to me.
“Look at this,” he says, crouching down to examine a broken branch. “See how it’s snapped? That’s not a deer or a bear. That’s something bigger. Stronger.”
I crouch next to Dad, squinting at the broken branch. To me, it just looks like a regular broken branch, the kind you see all over the forest. "I don't know, Dad. It just looks like a branch to me," I say, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Dad's eyes flicker with frustration. "You're not looking close enough. It's the way it's snapped—too clean, too deliberate. Something did this."
I nod, not wanting to argue. "Okay, sure. But even if you're right, it could be anything. A storm, another hunter..."
His expression hardens. "I know what I'm looking for. This is different."
I sigh, feeling the weight of the past and the tension between us pressing down on me. "Dad, I had a dream last night. About Leah." The words hang in the air between us, heavy and fraught with unspoken emotions.
Dad's eyes widen, and he straightens up, his entire demeanor shifting. "What kind of dream? What did you see?" His voice is urgent, almost desperate.
"It was... strange. We were in the woods, like we are now, but everything felt different. Leah was there, running ahead of me, laughing. Then she stopped and told me I needed to know the truth, that it wasn't what I thought."
Dad grabs my shoulders, his grip tight. "What else did she say? Did she tell you anything specific? Anything about the creature?"
I shake my head, feeling a chill run down my spine. "No, that was it. She just said I needed to know the truth, and then she was gone."
Dad’s grip on my shoulders tightens, and his eyes bore into mine with a mixture of desperation and hope. “Ryan, you have to try to remember. Think hard. What did the creature look like? Did you see anything else?”
I pull back slightly, uneasy with his intensity. “Dad, I told you. I don’t remember. It was just a dream. A nightmare, really. My mind’s probably just mixing things up.”
He lets go of me and runs a hand through his hair, looking frustrated and lost. “Dreams can be important. They can hold memories we’ve buried deep. Please, try to remember. This could be a sign, a clue.”
I rub my temples, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “I’ve tried, okay? I’ve tried for years to piece together what happened that day. But it’s all just fragments, like pieces of a puzzle that don’t fit. The dream… it felt real, but I don’t think it’s telling me anything new.”
Dad’s face falls, and he looks older than I’ve ever seen him. He turns away, staring into the forest as if it holds all the answers.
—
As we make our way back to the cabin, the sun begins to set, casting long shadows through the trees. The air grows colder, and I shiver, pulling my jacket tighter around me. Dad is silent, lost in his thoughts, his face drawn and haggard.
Back at the cabin, we unload our gear once again in silence. Dad disappears into his room, muttering something about going over his notes. I decide to explore the cabin, hoping to find something that might help me understand what’s going on with him.
In the attic, I find a box of old family photos and documents. As I sift through the contents, I come across a worn journal with Dad’s handwriting on the cover. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I open it, flipping through the pages.
The journal is filled with notes and sketches, detailing his obsession with the dogman. But there’s something else—entries that talk about Leah, about that day in the woods. His handwriting becomes more erratic, the words harder to read. One entry stands out, dated just a few days after Leah’s death:
“June 15, 2013 – It was supposed to be a normal trip. Keep them close, Frank, I kept telling myself. But I failed. Leah is gone, and it’s my fault. I heard her scream, saw the shadows. I tried to get to her, but… the thing, it was there. Too fast. Too strong. My hands… blood everywhere. No one will believe me. I can’t even believe myself. I have to find it. I have to protect Ryan. I have to make it right. God, what have I done?”
Before I can read further, the attic door creaks open, and Dad’s voice slices through the stillness.
“What are you doing up here?” His tone is sharp, almost panicked.
I turn to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale and his eyes wide with something between anger and fear. I clutch the journal to my chest, my mind racing. “I found this… I was just trying to understand…”
In an instant, he crosses the room and snatches the journal from my hands. His grip is tight, his knuckles white. “You had no right,” he growls, his voice trembling.
“Dad, I just wanted to know the truth!” I shout, frustration boiling over. “What really happened to Leah.”
His eyes flash with a mix of rage and anguish, and before I can react, he slaps me across the face. The force of it knocks me off balance, and I stumble backward, my cheek stinging.
For a moment, there’s a stunned silence. We both stand there, breathing hard, the air thick with tension.
“I’m sorry,” Dad says finally, his voice barely a whisper. “I didn’t mean to… I just…” He trails off, clutching the journal to his chest like a lifeline.
I touch my cheek, feeling the heat from the slap, and take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Dad, what aren’t you telling me? What really happened that day?”
“Stay out of it, Ryan,” Dad growls, his eyes dark with anger. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”
He turns and storms out of the attic. I’m left standing there, my cheek throbbing, my mind racing. What the fuck is going on? What really happened to Leah? And what is Dad so afraid of?
—
That night, I sleep with my rifle within arm's reach, more afraid of my dad than any dogman. The slap still burns on my cheek, and the look in his eyes—rage, fear, something darker—haunts me. I lie awake, listening to the creaks and groans of the old cabin, every sound amplified in the stillness. Eventually, exhaustion pulls me under, and I fall into a restless sleep.
The dream returns, vivid and unsettling. I'm back in the woods, chasing after Leah. Her laughter echoes through the trees, a haunting reminder of happier times. This time, though, I push myself harder, refusing to let her slip away.
"Ryan, catch me!" she calls, her voice playful.
"I'm coming, Leah!" I shout, my legs pumping, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
The forest around us is a twisted, shadowy maze, the trees seeming to close in on us. Leah's figure becomes clearer, her blonde hair catching the dim light filtering through the canopy. She stops suddenly, turning to face me, her eyes wide with fear.
"Leah, what is it?" I ask, my voice trembling.
"Look behind you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
I turn slowly, dread creeping up my spine. In the shadows, I see a figure, its form indistinct and shifting. It’s not quite animal, not quite human—something in between. The sight of it sends a jolt of terror through me, and I wake up with a start, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
I’m not in my bed. The ground beneath me is cold and hard, the smell of damp earth filling my nostrils. Panic rises as I realize I’ve sleepwalked into the woods. I scramble to my feet, my eyes adjusting to the dim light. The moon casts a pale glow over the surroundings, revealing what looks like a long-abandoned animal lair.
The walls are covered in giant claw marks, deep gouges in the wood and earth. The air is heavy with the scent of decay, and a chill runs through me. I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
Carefully, I start to move, my eyes scanning the ground, desperate for a familiar landmark. That's when I see them—faded scraps of fabric caught on the jagged edges of the underbrush. My steps falter, a sense of dread washing over me as I bend down to examine them. The fabric is torn, weathered by time and the elements, but unmistakably familiar. It's part of Leah's jacket—the bright pink one she wore on the day she disappeared.
As I strain to make sense of it all, a rustling sound behind me snaps my focus. My heart leaps into my throat. I spin around, my hand instinctively reaching for the rifle I don't have—because, of course, I didn't bring it in my unconscious state.
The shadowy figure that emerges from the trees is unsettlingly familiar, mirroring the menacing forms of my nightmares. But as it steps into the moonlight, I recognize the worn jacket, the weary posture. It's Dad.
"Ryan!" he calls out, his voice a mix of relief and stern concern. "I've been looking everywhere for you. What the hell are you doing out here?"
I exhale slowly, the terror ebbing away as reality sets back in. "I—I don't know, Dad. I must've sleepwalked again." My voice is shaky, my earlier dream still clinging to the edges of my consciousness.
Dad stares at me in disbelief. "You haven't sleepwalked since you were a kid, Ry. This... this isn't just a coincidence." His eyes dart around, taking in the surroundings—the eerie, claw-marked den, the unsettling quiet of the woods. "How did you even find this place?"
I shake my head, struggling to find an answer. "I don't know, Dad. I just... I woke up here." The uncertainty in my voice does nothing to ease the tension.
His eyes lock onto the tattered remains of Leah's jacket in my hands, and something inside him snaps. The color drains from his face as he stumbles a few steps backward. "This... this is where it happened," he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper. “This is where we found Leah."
“I thought you said you don’t remember anything from that night,” he says accusingly.
"I swear, Dad, I don't know anything about this place," I insist, my own heart pounding.
“It was you, wasn’t it? You’ve been hiding this from me.” His voice is frantic. “You... last night, the growling, it was you.” His voice rises, tinged with hysteria.
I step back, my pulse racing, feeling the chill of the night and the weight of his accusation. "Dad, I don't know what you're talking ab—”
"No!" he interrupts, his voice breaking as he points a trembling finger at me. "You knew, you always knew. It was you, Ryan. All these years, the evidence was right there, but I refused to see it. You were the dogman. You killed Leah!"
His words hit me like a physical blow, absurd and horrifying in their implications. "Dad, you're not making any sense. You're talking crazy! I was just a little kid! How could I–" I protest, my voice shaky.
He steps closer, his presence looming over me, the outline of his figure distorted by the shadows of the trees. "Think about it! It all makes sense now. You led us here, to this place, because you remember. Because you did it."
"Dad, stop it!" I shout, my heart pounding in my chest. "You're scaring me. You need help, professional help. This isn't you."
But he's beyond reason, his eyes wild with a haunted grief. "I have to end this," he mutters, more to himself than to me, his hand tightening around his rifle.
His finger hovers dangerously over the trigger of his rifle. My instincts kick in, and I know I have to act fast.
I lunge toward him, trying to knock the weapon away, but he's quicker than I expected. We struggle, our breaths heavy in the cold night air, the sounds of our scuffle the only noise in the otherwise silent woods. His strength surprises me, fueled by his frantic emotions. He shoves me back, and I stumble over a root, my balance lost for a crucial second. That's all he needs. He raises his rifle, his intentions clear in his wild, pained eyes.
I dive to the ground just as the shot rings out, a deafening blast that echoes ominously through the trees. The bullet whizzes past, narrowly missing me, embedding itself in the bark of an old pine. I scramble to my feet, my heart pounding in my ears, and I start running. The underbrush claws at my clothes and skin, but I push through, driven by a primal urge to survive.
"Dad, stop! It's me, Ryan!" I shout back as I dodge between the trees. Another shot breaks the silence, closer this time, sending splinters of wood flying from a nearby tree trunk. It's surreal, being hunted by my own father, a man tormented by grief and lost in his delusions.
I don't stop to look back. I can hear him crashing through the forest behind me, his heavy breaths and muttered curses carried on the wind. The terrain is rough, and I'm fueled by adrenaline, but exhaustion is setting in. I need a plan.
Ahead, I see a rocky outcrop and make a split-second decision to head for it. It offers a chance to hide, to catch my breath and maybe reason with him if he catches up. As I reach the rocks, I slip behind the largest one, my body pressed tight against the cold, damp surface. I hear his footsteps approaching, slow and cautious now.
As I press against the rock, trying to calm my racing heart, I can hear Dad's footsteps drawing closer, each step crunching ominously on the forest floor. He's methodical, deliberate, like a hunter stalking his prey.
“Come out, Ryan!” Dad’s voice is ragged, filled with a blend of fury and pain.
My heart pounds against my chest, the cold sweat on my back making me shiver against the rough surface of the rock. I know I can't just sit here; it's only a matter of time before he finds me.
Taking a deep breath, I peek around the edge of the rock, trying to gauge his position. I see him, rifle raised, scanning the area slowly. This might be my only chance to end this madness without further violence. I need to disarm him, to talk some sense into him if I can.
As quietly as I can, I move out from behind the rock, my steps careful to avoid any twigs or leaves that might betray my position. I'm almost upon him when a branch snaps under my foot—a sound so trivial yet so alarmingly loud in the quiet of the woods.
Dad whirls around, looking completely unhinged. "Ryan!" he exclaims, his rifle swinging in my direction. Panic overtakes me, and I lunge forward, my hands reaching for the gun.
We struggle, the rifle between us, our breaths heavy and erratic. "Dad, please, stop!" I plead, trying to wrestle the gun away. But he's strong, stronger than I expected.
In the chaos, the rifle goes off. The sound is deafening, a sharp echo that seems to reverberate off every tree around us. Pain explodes in my abdomen, sharp and burning, like nothing I've ever felt before. I stagger back, my hands instinctively going to the wound. The warmth of my own blood coats my fingers, stark and terrifying.
Dad drops the rifle, his eyes wide with horror. "Oh my God! What have I done?" he gasps, rushing to my side as I collapse onto the forest floor.
As the pain sears through me, a strange, overpowering energy surges within. It's wild, primal, unlike anything I've ever experienced. Looking down in horror, my hands are no longer hands but large, hairy, clawed appendages. The transformation is rapid, consuming—my vision blurs, senses heighten, and a raw, guttural growl builds in my throat.
In that moment, a flood of understanding washes over me, mingling with the horror of realization. These are the hands of the creature from my nightmares, the creature whose face I can never fully recall because, as I now understand, it is me.
What happens next feels detached, as if I'm no longer in control of my own actions, watching from a distance as my body moves on its own. I turn towards my dad, his face a mask of terror. He stumbles back, his eyes wide with the dawning realization of what his son has become.
The forest around us seems to fall silent, holding its breath as the nightmarish scene unfolds. I can hear my own growls, guttural and deep, filling the air with a sound that's both foreign and intimately familiar. The pain in my abdomen fuels a dark, violent urge, an urge that's too strong to resist.
With a ferocity that feels both alien and intrinsic, I move towards him. My dad, paralyzed by fear and shock, doesn't run. Maybe he can't. Maybe he doesn't want to.
The encounter was brutal and swift, a blur of motion and violence. My dad barely puts up a struggle, as though resigned to his fate.
Not that there is anything he can do. The creature that I’ve become is too powerful, too consumed by the wild instincts surging through me. I tear him apart, limb from bloody limb, my hands—no, my claws—rending through fabric and flesh with disgusting ease.
The sound of my dad’s screams, of tearing fabric and flesh is drowned out by the animalistic growls that echo through the trees.
When it’s all over, the red mist that had clouded my vision begins to fade, and the fierce, uncontrollable rage that drove my actions subsides. I'm left standing, my breaths heavy and erratic, in the eerie stillness of the forest. The transformation reverses as quickly as it came on, and I find myself back in my human form. My clothes are ripped to shreds, hanging off my frame in tattered remnants. At my feet lies what’s left of my dad, his body torn and unrecognizable.
I glance down at my abdomen, expecting agony, but instead find my wound miraculously healed. No sign of the gunshot remains, just a faint scar where I expected a bloody mess.
Shock sets in, a numbing disbelief mixed with a gut-wrenching realization of what I've become and what I've done. My hands, now human again, tremble as I look at them, half-expecting to see the claws that had so effortlessly ripped through flesh and bone. But there's only blood, my father's blood against my skin.
I stand there for what feels like an eternity, trapped in a nightmare of my own making.
Eventually, the shock wears thin, and a cold practicality takes hold. I need to get out of here. I need to cover my tracks, to disappear. Because who would believe this? Who would understand that I didn't choose this, that I'm not a monster by choice?
With trembling hands, I do what’s necessary. I bury my dad in a shallow grave, the physical act of digging strangely grounding. I cover him with leaves and branches, a pitiful attempt to hide the brutality of his end. I take a moment, whispering apologies into the wind, knowing full well that nothing I say can change what happened.
I leave the forest behind, my mind a whirl of dark thoughts. As I walk, the first hints of dawn brush against the horizon, the sky bleeding a soft pink. It’s hauntingly beautiful.

This is an update to Ximenes088's fillable character sheet. I added a few things my DM and I thought would be useful:

• Added a small section for "Alienation".
• Discrete input boxes for some additional values like Encumbrance, cyberdeck stats, system strain from cyberware, cyber maintenance, weapon shock values, etc.
• Attribute modifiers can go to +3.
• The second boxes for Background and Money will now scroll instead of shrink the font.
• All the sections in the second page also scroll instead of shrink the font when reaching the text limit.
• A few tooltips added to some values when you hover over them, but only a few, I don't know how many others would be needed.
• And more importantly, all the input boxes were stretched so they sit flush with the borders drawn, so you get way more space to write all your values and text.

If you want to be able to add an image to the character portrait, you're gonna have to use Adobe Acrobat, that feature doesn't work on Chrome or Firefox. Firefox also doesn't handle the placeholder text well. Anyway, here it is, enjoy it:
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1BYw-pd1toAWkcaAzRN9wbc9rMYiMn9j_/view?usp=sharing
Edit: There was one small mistake where I left some text behind the background in one section on the 2nd page, it's fixed now in the link, so just re-download the pdf.

This post will repeat weekly through the month of December. Please repost or cross post as a way to promote this subreddit. Or ignore this one and check out our others! I apologize if it's cramping your style, but when I work hard on certain posts I want to be sure they are useful! I also am working on making these shorter so they don't get lost in the madness....
Scroll down for the Character Questions and create a thoughtful and empathetic profile of your main characters for your projects!
As always please use these as sparks to create and feel free to post your responses and ideas in comments or separate post! This is YOUR subreddit so go ahead and post away!
Prompt: Imagine a dystopian world where an oppressive government has successfully erased all forms of personal identity and history. In this society, individuals are assigned generic roles and are forbidden from expressing their unique thoughts, emotions, or experiences. Write a short story or reflective essay exploring the life of a character who discovers a hidden underground community that encourages self-expression and reignites the importance of personal narratives.
In your response, consider the following:

1. Character and World Building:
   • Describe the protagonist's background, their assigned role, and their initial perception of the oppressive world they inhabit.
   • Develop the hidden underground community, including its purpose, structure, and the means through which it safeguards personal stories.
   • Create a contrast between the protagonist's initial world and the underground community, highlighting the impact of personal narratives on shaping identity and resisting oppression.
2. Plot Analysis:
   • Outline the protagonist's journey of discovery, including their initial skepticism, the influential encounters they have within the underground community, and the personal sacrifices they make to preserve their identity.
   • Explore the challenges and conflicts faced by the protagonist, both externally (e.g., encounters with government authorities) and internally (e.g., the struggle to confront their identity).
3. Deep Introspection:
   • Prompt the protagonist to reflect deeply on the uncomfortable subjects that the government's erasure of personal narratives seeks to suppress. These could include topics such as individuality, memory, trauma, and the power of storytelling as a tool for empathy and resistance.
   • Encourage the protagonist to evolve their thoughts and perceptions throughout the narrative, considering the consequences of silence and the potential for personal growth through self-expression and sharing.
4. Requirements for Responses:
   • Conduct research to explore real-world examples of societies that suppress personal narratives or attempt to erase collective memory.
5. Prompt: In a post-apocalyptic world, a devastating pandemic has wiped out most of humanity. The survivors are forced to live in isolated communities, each with its own set of strict rules and customs. Write a short story or reflective essay exploring the life of a character who questions the existing order and embarks on a journey to unite these fragmented communities. Consider the role of unity, diversity, and collaboration in rebuilding a shattered world.
6. Prompt: Set in a future where advanced AI technology has permeated every aspect of society, write a story or reflective essay following a protagonist who begins to question the boundaries between human and machine. Delve into the ethical implications of human-AI relationships, the erosion of human emotions, and the potential consequences of blurring the line between artificial and genuine experiences.
7. Prompt: Imagine a world where climate change and environmental degradation have irreversibly altered the planet. Write a story or reflective essay from the perspective of a character who is part of a group striving to restore balance and heal the damaged Earth. Explore the connections between personal responsibility, collective action, and the intersections of social and environmental justice.
8. Prompt: Transport yourself to a society where strict social hierarchies are based on a person's genetic makeup. Write a short story or reflective essay following a character who challenges this system and advocates for equality and inclusivity. Examine the role of genetic determinism, discrimination, and the power of individual agency in reshaping social structures.
9. Prompt: Imagine a world where art and creativity are considered illegal, seen as tools of subversion and chaos. Write a story or reflective essay from the perspective of an artist who risks everything to defy this oppressive regime and reclaim the power of artistic expression. Analyze the significance of art as a form of resistance, its ability to inspire change, and its impact on personal and societal transformation.

Remember to consider the following for each of the prompts to insure a well rounded and thought out premise that will engage the audience and allow room for growth in the plot.
Prompt 1 - Post-Apocalyptic Community Building:

• Consider the unique customs, rules, and societal structures of each isolated community.
• Explore the protagonist's motivation for questioning the existing order and their vision for uniting the communities.
• Analyze the challenges and conflicts faced in the journey of uniting fragmented communities and the potential benefits and drawbacks of unity.

Prompt 2 - Ethical Implications of AI Technology:

• Reflect on the protagonist's personal experiences and interactions with AI, including the blurring of boundaries between human and machine.
• Explore the ethical dilemmas and consequences of advancing AI technology.
• Analyze the impact of human emotions, genuine experiences, and the potential loss or transformation of human qualities in a society heavily influenced by AI.

Prompt 3 - Environmental Restoration and Social Justice:

• Consider the protagonist's role in the restoration of the damaged Earth and their motivations for taking action.
• Explore the intersections of social justice and the environment, including the disproportionate impacts of climate change on marginalized communities.
• Analyze the challenges of collective action, personal responsibility, and the potential for transformative change in healing the planet and addressing social inequalities.

Prompt 4 - Genetic Hierarchy and Social Change:

• Reflect on the protagonist's experience within the rigid social hierarchy based on genetics.
• Analyze the implications of genetic determinism and discrimination in shaping social structures.
• Explore the role of individual agency, activism, and the potential strategies for challenging and reshaping the genetic-based hierarchy.

Prompt 5 - Artistic Expression as Resistance:

• Consider the protagonist's personal experiences as an artist within an oppressive regime.
• Reflect on the significance of artistic expression as a form of resistance and its power to inspire change and challenge societal norms.
• Analyze the risks, sacrifices, and potential outcomes associated with defying an oppressive regime through art.

1. Chick Lit: Write a chick lit novel or short story following a relatable protagonist navigating the challenges of love, career, and self-discovery. Explore themes of friendship, personal growth, and finding balance in a fast-paced, modern world.
2. Young Readers' Adventure: Imagine a group of young friends who stumble upon a hidden portal to another realm. Write an adventure novel or short story as they embark on a quest to save a magical world from darkness. Delve into themes of friendship, bravery, and the power of imagination.
3. Historical Fiction: Set in a time of significant historical events, write a novel or short story highlighting a lesser-known figure or group of people. Research the historical context meticulously and emphasize the character's resilience, struggles, and contributions during that tumultuous period.
4. Fantasy: Create a fantastical world filled with mythical creatures, magic, and ancient prophecies. Write a novel or short story following a young protagonist who discovers their extraordinary abilities and must navigate a treacherous journey to fulfill their destiny. Explore themes of self-discovery, heroism, and the blurred lines between good and evil.
5. Mystery/Thriller: Write a gripping mystery or thriller novel following a seasoned detective or amateur sleuth investigating a perplexing crime. Develop complex characters, suspenseful plot twists, and an intricate web of clues and red herrings that keep readers guessing until the very end.
6. Science Fiction: Set in a future where technological advancements have transformed society, write a novel or short story exploring the ethical and societal implications of groundbreaking inventions. Examine themes such as artificial intelligence, genetic engineering, or virtual reality and their impact on humanity's future.
7. Romance: Craft a heartwarming romance novel or short story centered around two individuals from different backgrounds or opposing sides. Explore themes of love, forgiveness, and the triumph of the human spirit in the face of adversity.
8. Coming-of-Age: Write a coming-of-age novel or short story following a young protagonist's journey of self-discovery, identity formation, and navigating the complexities of adolescence. Explore themes of friendship, personal growth, and the challenges of transitioning into adulthood.
9. Psychological Thriller: Create a psychological thriller novel or short story that delves into the intricacies of the human mind. Focus on a protagonist who becomes entangled in a web of deception, manipulation, and paranoia. Explore themes of trust, perception, and the blurred lines between reality and illusion.
10. Family Drama: Write a novel or short story exploring the dynamics and complexities within a multi-generational family. Include themes of love, secrets, and conflicts that arise as family members navigate their relationships, face past traumas, and strive for reconciliation.

Considerations for each prompt:

• Genre-specific elements: Ensure your story incorporates the defining characteristics and tropes of the chosen genre, such as the tone, pacing, and narrative conventions.
• Character development: Develop dynamic and relatable characters who undergo significant growth or transformation throughout the story.
• Plot structure: Create a compelling plot that introduces conflict, builds tension, and resolves in a satisfying manner, adhering to the common structure of the chosen genre.
• Themes and messages: Select themes that resonate with the genre and explore them through the characters' experiences and narrative development.
• Reader engagement: Craft a story that captivates the intended audience, keeping them invested in the characters and eager to uncover what happens next.

1. Historical Romance: Write a one-page historical romance set in a lavish ballroom during the Victorian era. Focus on the forbidden love between a spirited debutante and a mysterious gentleman from a different social class.
2. Science Fiction Comedy: Craft a one-page comedic story set in a futuristic space station. Follow the misadventures of a clumsy maintenance technician who unwittingly saves the day against all odds.
3. Paranormal Mystery: Pen a one-page mystery story set in a haunted mansion. Introduce a skeptical paranormal investigator who must solve the mystery of a ghostly apparition that has been terrorizing the inhabitants.
4. Literary Fiction: Write a one-page literary fiction piece centered around a character's contemplation of the fleeting nature of life and the importance of cherishing the present moment.
5. Action Adventure: Craft a one-page action-packed adventure story set in the jungles of an unexplored island. Follow a daring archaeologist's quest for a hidden treasure while battling against treacherous obstacles and rival adventurers.
6. Psychological Drama: Create a one-page psychological drama following the internal struggles of a troubled artist as they grapple with their inner demons and seek redemption.
7. Magical Realism: Write a one-page magical realism story set in a sleepy coastal town. Explore the extraordinary occurrences that happen when an enigmatic mermaid washes ashore and disrupts the mundane lives of the townsfolk.
8. Thriller: Craft a one-page thriller story involving a race against time. Follow a determined protagonist as they try to decipher cryptic clues and prevent a citywide disaster.
9. Fantasy Adventure: Pen a one-page fantasy adventure story set in a whimsical realm. Follow a young hero's quest to retrieve a stolen artifact and restore balance to the land, encountering fantastical creatures and overcoming obstacles along the way.
10. Historical Fiction Mystery: Write a one-page historical fiction mystery set during the Roaring Twenties. Follow a quick-witted detective as they unravel a web of deceit and intrigue surrounding a glamorous underground speakeasy in the heart of the city.

Considerations for each prompt:

• Engaging Beginning: Choose a compelling starting point that grabs the reader's attention and hooks them into the story from the very first sentence.
• Concise Plot: Craft a tightly woven plot that can be fully developed within one page, with an introduction, rising action, climax, and resolution.
• Strong Characterization: Develop distinct and memorable characters, even within the limited space, by providing key details that bring them to life and make them relatable to the reader.
• Descriptive Language: Use vivid and sensory language to paint a clear picture of the setting, engage the reader's imagination, and create an immersive reading experience.
• Resolution or Twist: Provide a satisfying resolution to the story or introduce an unexpected twist that leaves the reader intrigued and wanting more.

Protagonist Character Profile:

1. Name:
2. Age:
3. Gender:
4. Physical appearance:
5. Background:
6. Personality traits (list at least five):
7. Core values and beliefs:
8. Motivations and goals:
9. Biggest fear:
10. Internal conflicts:
11. External conflicts:
12. Strengths:
13. Weaknesses:
14. Childhood experiences and their impact:
15. Education and professional background:
16. Relationship status and dynamics:
17. Quirks or peculiar habits:
18. Psychological disorders, if any:
19. Familial relationships and dynamics:
20. Support system (friends, mentors, etc.):
21. Traumatic experiences and their effects:
22. Coping mechanisms:
23. Emotional vulnerabilities:
24. Resilience and determination:
25. Personal growth throughout the story:

Protagonist Character Questions:

1. What drives the protagonist to take action and pursue their goals?
2. How does the protagonist's childhood shape their behaviors and choices?
3. What values does the protagonist hold dear, and how do they influence their decision-making process?
4. What inner conflicts does the protagonist face, and how do they attempt to reconcile them?
5. How does the protagonist's education and professional background contribute to their strengths and weaknesses?
6. What traumatic experiences has the protagonist overcome, and how have these experiences shaped their worldview?
7. How does the protagonist cope with stress or adversity?
8. What relationships and dynamics are most significant to the protagonist, and how do these relationships evolve throughout the story?
9. In what ways does the protagonist exhibit resilience and determination in the face of challenges?
10. How does the protagonist approach personal growth and self-improvement?
11. What psychological disorders, if any, does the protagonist struggle with, and how do these disorders impact their thoughts and actions?
12. How does the protagonist's physical appearance contribute to their self-perception and interactions with others?
13. What unique quirks or habits does the protagonist possess that make them stand out?
14. What are the protagonist's primary desires and aspirations?
15. How does the protagonist's internalized fear drive or hinder their actions?
16. How does the protagonist navigate and resolve external conflicts?
17. What coping mechanisms does the protagonist rely on during times of stress or emotional turmoil?
18. How do familial relationships and dynamics influence the protagonist's actions and decisions?
19. What significant life choices or dilemmas does the protagonist face throughout the story, and how do they respond?
20. In what ways does the protagonist's support system impact their growth and resilience?
21. How does the protagonist's personal development and self-discovery contribute to the overall narrative arc?
22. How does the protagonist's background and experiences shape their perception of the world?
23. What are the protagonist's core beliefs and values, and how do these impact their interactions with others?
24. How does the protagonist handle setbacks or failures, and what lessons do they learn from these experiences?
25. What external influences or societal pressures affect the protagonist's decision-making process?

Antagonist Character Profile:

1. Name:
2. Age:
3. Gender:
4. Physical appearance:
5. Background:
6. Personality traits (list at least five):
7. Core values and beliefs:
8. Motivations and goals:
9. Biggest fear:
10. Internal conflicts:
11. External conflicts:
12. Strengths:
13. Weaknesses:
14. Childhood experiences and their impact $ Go on

1. Education and professional background: 16. Relationship status and dynamics: 17. Quirks or peculiar habits: 18. Psychological disorders, if any: 19. Familial relationships and dynamics: 20. Support system (friends, mentors, etc.): 21. Traumatic experiences and their effects: 22. Coping mechanisms: 23. Emotional vulnerabilities: 24. Strategies for achieving their goals: 25. Methods they employ to antagonize the protagonist:

Antagonist Character Questions:

1. What drives the antagonist to oppose the protagonist and act as an obstacle in their journey?
2. How does the antagonist's background and upbringing contribute to their negative behaviors and motivations?
3. What core values and beliefs does the antagonist hold that align with their antagonistic actions?
4. What personal goals or desires does the antagonist seek to fulfill?
5. What is the biggest fear or insecurity that drives the antagonist's actions?
6. How does the antagonist's internal conflicts manifest and impact their decisions?
7. What external conflicts arise as a result of the antagonist's actions, and how do they handle these conflicts?
8. In what ways does the antagonist exhibit strength and power, and how do these traits affect their interactions with others?
9. What are the antagonist's weaknesses or vulnerabilities that can be exploited by the protagonist?
10. How have childhood experiences shaped the antagonist's worldview and motivations?
11. How does the antagonist's education and professional background contribute to their methods and strategies?
12. What familial relationships or dynamics influence the antagonist's actions and choices?
13. What unique quirks or habits does the antagonist possess that make them distinct or memorable?
14. Are there any psychological disorders or conditions that contribute to the antagonist's behavior?
15. How does the antagonist cope with stress or emotional turmoil?
16. What strategies or tactics does the antagonist employ to achieve their goals and antagonize the protagonist?
17. How do the antagonist's actions impact their relationships and interactions with other characters in the story?

18.How does the antagonist perceive and justify their actions, even if they are considered morally or ethically wrong?

1. What external influences or societal pressures contribute to the antagonist's motivations or actions?
   
2. How does the antagonist's physical appearance contribute to their demeanor and portrayal in the story?
   
3. What significant life choices or dilemmas has the antagonist faced, and how have these shaped their character?
   
4. What is the antagonist's reaction to setbacks or failures, and how do they adapt their strategies?
   
5. How does the antagonist's support system or lack thereof impact their actions and decisions?
   
6. What past traumatic experiences or events have influenced the antagonist's worldview and behaviors?
   
7. How does the antagonist's emotional state or emotional vulnerabilities influence their actions and interactions with others?
   

Royal Road here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/80877/nop-atalors-fate
Discord Tag: notafurrylad
It's been a while, huh?

First Last Next
Memory transcription subject: Yivreen, Cyonian Survivor
Date [standardized human time]: February 22nd, 2134
The flash daymares hadn’t stopped. Four nights since they’d set in, and now those two fire and brimstone eyes were lingering, waiting to come out when I was asleep. I’d thought that first daymare had been a fluke. It’d felt real, getting chomped up like that, crushed. But... ah.
I’d had more. Once I was in the mouth of that Arxur who’d kicked down the tree. Then I was in the cages with Hens Jr and Sr, and Alma... And each time if there was time for it that swampheaded, red eyed, smokey Arxur would come on in. Try and guilt me like I’d done something wrong.
It was working.
“Yiv. Yiv! I think I got it!” I blinked, my stupor broken by Junior. The kid had been a good help with the computer system since we’d let him fiddle with it instead of me. Much to my... begrudging admission: he was better at it. So, I stood from the chair and headed over to him. The monitor and console were lit up good as new, but they’d been like that for a couple nights now. We’d finally got access to a local map when that’d happened. Or rather a map of the surrounding area, outdated as it was it still had the location of the city on it. It wasn’t like anything had significantly changed in the past hundreds of years since this place had been abandoned. It had been the whole ‘trying to page it into the rest of the old systems at the outpost’ part that’d eluded Juniors little pet project.
“What did you get?” I replied, leaning over his shoulder with a paw on the console while he typed at it.
He cleared his throat. “W-well. I was able to find the wire that’d been causing the problem with the connection to the outpost’s server.” A server? What?
“What do you mean a server? I thought the only computer systems in here were in this room?” He turned his head, a brown eye winking at me. “Nuh-uh! Were you even listening when I explained it earlier? It’s more than just a weather monitoring station. It had a server, otherwise why would it need so many type-v connectors. See?” He pointed a claw to the bundle of wiring running up the wall and into a concrete hole that looked to lead to the next floor above us. Probably. I hadn’t really cared about how many wires there were.
“So... there’s more than just the databanks here in this room?” I asked. My eyes were tasked with looking over the monitor with pursed lips. I’d dug through some ye olde outpost files in the past nights for my journalist program but evidently I’d been missing things if all it took was one kid who had a knack for tech to ascertain there was more to these places.
Before my question could be answered though the command lines and startup protocols on the operating system for the thing had popped by and opened up onto a familiar desktop of our more modern tech. Junior went about clicking immediately to some command line and writing in some jibberish... And- my eyes widened. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing my claw to all the commands on his little black background’d screen.

1: Status
2: Logs
3: Garage Door
4: Barrack Override
5: Communications

Were among the top five, with a half dozen more I didn’t quite have time to think on. “Quick- quick! The uh- There’s a garage?” Don’t get distracted Yivreen. Ahhh moss-heaps.. “The Barrack Override. See what that does.”
The boy swatted away my paw trying to push at it. “Calm down! Calm down jeez, fine!” He jammed his digit into the corresponding number and pressed enter. A few moments passed as it simply displayed three dots. I waited... I waited.. Cmoooo-
Clank. VV-vv-vvv-veeeeeee....
It sounded like something behind the wall to our left was trying to unrust itself and move. A couple hundred years of not moving or being maintained had probably ensured it’d never get moving smooth again. Then of course the universe proved me wrong, and the wall actually shifted. The rounded metal slab I’d taken for a part of the tower’s superstructure began to lower, and behind it... “Holy shit.”
I don’t know where the extreme language had come from but... Wow. My eyes lit. Bunks. Bedding. Lockers.. It looked like the room beyond had been some sort of lodging area for soldiery when this place was built. But there’d been a grow-in on the back wall from a massive root. Snaring part of the room in its gripping-vinelike vice grip. The root was long dead, and the hole it’d bored through the concrete had left the inside exposed to the elements a touch more than if it’d just been left... At least there wasn’t much evidence of water damage.
“Yiv? Are you-” But I was already headed through the way, a paw on my pistol as I glanced around the abandoned room. My mind went right to checking out the lockers, which turned out to be a good idea. My little training sessions into understanding the named bits for guns with Alma were about to start paying off.
“We’ve got guns. Or... Something like guns.” I announced, pulling out the carrying case and flipping it open. Inside I found what looked to be a.. Hrm- no magazine, no bullets... I lifted it up, the rifle-like hardened carbon material was in remarkably good shape. Probably due to the case and materials, but something was different about it. I glanced my eyes over it, noting the electronic aiming system on top which... when I clicked at it offered a red circle for looking through the little scope with. Huh. Not a common thing to find on a Cyonian designed weapon, at least not these nights. This place was old, but this weapon looked like it’d been built by something more ambitious than Federation paws. Federation handhelds were all modified from the same combustion based lead belchers. A fact that rarely ever went unspoken on our own networks when we needed a reason to criticize Aafa.
It took a while longer, but eventually I did find a snap-button on the back of the trigger grip that made something inside it hum to life. My eyes widened. “It’s... An energy weapon.” I murmured. My tail flicking in apprehension. Would it even still fire? The red blinking just below the button told me it must have no power perhaps but... “Hey. Junior. You think you could figure out how to charge one of these guys-?”
I turned my head to see the kid standing at the threshold with his tail in his paws, gripping them anxiously. “Yiv. The uh. The communications aren’t working, but I think the garage door might open if we try it. It could be that cropping of wall and sealed door we figured the old power system must have been housed in right?” He glanced to the rifle in my paws. “I mean, if it uses the same standards as the computer out here it should still be compatible with our stuff. But- we don’t have anything to charge power packs of that size.” He pointed to the fixture sticking out the bottom of the stock. Hrm, he was right.
“See if you can’t get the garage open. I’ll keep looking in here and see if there’s something to help with that.” Came my own voice, I felt... Giddy. Alive. The potential to fight back was intoxicating. Before all I’d had was this dinky pistol I’d used to... kill a couple of the greys. But if we could bring the fight to their patrols, save more people-
I shook my head. Why was I thinking like this? I couldn’t stand up to an invasion fleet. I’d been a frightened Sivkit on the first night of the attack. I- I’d stampeded. I couldn’t remember any of it, but the chance I’d trampled someone in my panic was not zero. I might have contributed to someone being crushed... I’d failed Els, that soldier I’d dragged into the house. Obelisk I couldn’t even keep my mind straight in a fight with those howling, laughing Arxur in my head. The campfire fight had been a fluke!
I didn’t quite know how long I just sat there, staring at the rifle beating myself up, but eventually I was shaken from it by Keick when she sat beside me, an arm on my shoulder. “Hey. I heard you and Junior had a bit breakthrough eh?” She said non-chalantly. I could tell though, even with the chipper tone she’d read me. The accountant knew I’d been in one of my little moods. She’d known me the longest of anyone here, everyone else was like... a pack of convenience? Maybe not Junior. Keick and I had survived the woods together. I’d pulled her from her own hells next to that burning car.
“Hey.” I returned back. “Yeah. Junior got the servers working. Or something like that.” I pointed a claw over at the computer, only to notice he was gone now. I blinked. Had I been out of it that long?
Keick filled in the hole in my head. “He went with his old man to go check out the garage.” Oh. Yeah.
I looked around, “Ah. The guns. We have guns now. Real guns.” I explained, holding the one I had in my paws up for her to inspect.
“Doesn’t look like any gun I’ve seen.” She mused back, taking it from my grip. My body was moving on its own now, rummaging deeper into the lockers. Some of these cases had been broken by the snaring, smaller branches of the grow-in. The firearms within cracked open and busted. Probably no good at all, exposed to the ambient humidity as they had been for so long. Still, couple of the other rifle cases were good. We had weapons, plural. Binoculars? Got em. Spare power packs that needed charging? Got em. There was a lot of survival gear here. Like a militarized ranger outpost had been stationed here. The synthetic material of the camouflaged cloak I found proudly proclaimed it’d reflect thermal scanning on its faded label even! “Either the old rangers from before the treaties were really into operator stuff or the Obelisk put all this here just for us.” I murmured.
Keick, for her part seemed to be looking it all over with a little inventory in her head. Already tapping in the number of each item into her dataslate. “Well. I’d go with the former. The Obelisk hasn’t been around for us lately.” Came the reply as she poked a claw at one of the now entirely spoiled ration packs. “Still, there’s enough stuff here you could arm a squad of soldiers probably. If you know where we can find some spare soldiers that is.”
I flicked my ear at the poor humoured joke. “Ahuh.” Came my reply. “Maybe you should go try the radio again, they’d love to get their paws on stuff like this I think. Pre-war tech actually made to fight predators like this is rare.” Which begged the question... Why did the cloak boast about defeating thermals? These outposts were dated after our discovery and incorporation into the Federation as an early member, and WELL before the Arxur war. So why had we built cloaks like these? Was this equipment used during the years when we’d resisted the burning of our forests and jungles? If so, it meant it might have been auhh... much more violent then the archives made it out to be. Maybe there was a story here? My inner journalist was theorizing.
___________________________
I’d had to pick my jaw up off the ground after headed over to the garage. Hens Senior and Alma were leaned over the the opened hood of what looked like a remarkably still intact forest rover. The design was actually recognizable, having not changed much from what we had tonight. Six thick grooved tires, a buggy-like cockpit four seater set in the middle, and a back and top rack for storing anything you could want. “Is it working?” I asked the obvious as I stepped inside, noting Junior sat off to the side, fiddling with some wall mounted box or other. He didn’t look to actually know what he was doing beyond dusting it off and giving it a deep stare.
“I wouldn’t think so.” Came the chime of Keick, who’d followed me inside. It was around now my monocular visioned eyes were noting the various tools and spare parts laying around in the garage. Whoever had last been here had left in a hurry seemingly, because it was mostly stocked. No mess on all the immensely dusty parts. I could see a couple smaller fauna in the corners. A lizard here, a rodent there. Obviously there had been some way they’d chewed their way in at some point... Or they’d come in when the door was opened to the bustle and noise of the forest to my back.
It was Senior who looked back at my question, standing to his full height before leaning his back against the old vehicle. “No. It isn’t working. Or at least it won’t be until I figure a way to give the battery juice.” I tilted my head.
“Is it one of those older ones that zap out after a hundred years or so?” Came my obvious question.
He flicked his tail no. “It’s got one of the standard ones, it’s just that it stopped auto-cycling a couple hundred years ago. The electric motor looks like it should work if we pop it on. But we’ll have to see.” He glanced around the workshop. “I want to say we could probably get it working with the tools we have, but if the battery can’t be jumped, or it’s spent, or the motor needs a complete replacement we’re up a creek on getting it working.” It sounded like he knew a bit about it.
The feeling of my face scrunching ever so much came. “You didn’t tell me you were a handyman.” I said, crossing my arms.
“Well it never came up.” He said back with an affable smile. “Listen, it’s been a long couple weeks. Don’t get all spotty with me. We didn’t have anything a hobbying mechanic could fix anyhow.” Just a roll of the eyes from myself is all that met him as Keick spoke up, stepping over to the other three.
“So what’re you gonna jump it with?” She asked incredulously, leaning over the open cabin. From there I sort of... zoned out. All the older Cyonians present were bickering and blathering about the buggy which was quickly losing interest for me. I didn’t understand anything about mechanics like that beyond the bare minimum, so it was out of my purview. If they got it working that’d be another thing but I wouldn’t have been any help right now, so instead I placed a couple careful paws down until I was beside Junior, sitting next to him as he seemed to be eyeballing some far too faded label.
He had a paw lightly rubbing out the dust that’d caked an outlet, still one brown eye fixed on the label. All I could make out myself was the little yellow square symbol warning of an electric charge hazard. Weird to think even now those hadn’t changed. Had Federation technology really not changed all that much? Was it just us? A sigh. “So. What’s got your your nose twitching little dude?”
The past couple nights he’d gotten better with his anger, and... hadn’t destroyed any important tech in a fit of rage. All he’d needed was something to set himself to in a difficult situation like this. Keich had been right to set him on that computer. And.. I’d felt myself trying to encourage him along the way. Partly because I had an investment in getting those maps, and then partly because he’d ended up filling in a spot in my head like a younger cousin. Him and his old man had only been around for a little bit, but I guess maybe I didn’t want to think too hard about what had probably happened to my real family. For now, maybe I felt the most ‘at home’ around Keich and this little tinkerer. Was that weird? It felt like it should be weird.
He answered, looking up with a small upturn in his lips. “I think I found your energy cell charger for those guns you had.” He said simply. “One of the manuals over there wasn’t totally ruined, I saw something about a ‘optical projector weapon’ and ‘charger’ so I was trying to figure out if this was it. I... Think it might be, but I’d need one of those batteries to make sure.”
Now I felt like smirking. “Oh yeah? Well go get one swamp brain. Let’s see if these things still work huh?” Dutifully, he was up and off, tail shaking behind him in what I recognized as excitement. We weren’t totally defenceless anymore, and if the buggy could be salvaged there would be a means at least to relocate if we had to. Or... Maybe I could take a trip down to the city and paint a couple more of those scumbags red-
I shook my head. Where had that thought come from? If I was going back to Ataln it was to try and save more people... Yeah. I still needed to see if Gael was alive, maybe check that old house I’d left Els in. I don’t even know if I could find it now, knowing how scatterbrained I’d been at the time but- making a return to at least try seemed worth it.
Regardless, the box on the wall did turn out to be the correct port to charge energy cells for the guns. We’d just need to rig it up to the solar power system and juice them up to test them. Things were looking up! Our mobility had the potential to go from nights in every direction for shelter to mere hours, I’d just have to hope Senior knew what he was doing.
“Hey. Buddy.” I’d wrapped my arm around Junior’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go take a break for now huh? You were working on the computer all night. Maybe it’d be a good idea to just go relax. Enjoy how much you got done eh?” Besides. Gave me a good way to check out the logs page on the computer system myself before he stumbled on anything. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him with it but- well there was no way to know what was in those logs.
He nodded, and with that I stood up, streeeetched out, and headed toward the tower. “Good, it’s your shift on the guard tower anyway.” I intoned politely. It was going to be a long day, assuming there was anything of substance in those logs... Scrounging through those would be preferable to sleeping right now anyway.

<>
/uw hi! this is my first (and probably not only?) lorepost as Monarch! this is mainly gonna be written in the third person, so out of character, and with bits of dialogue. enjoy! /rw
Monarch was born into royalty. The royal family of Cascadia, to be exact. His mother and father were kind people, and harsh but fair rulers. Together, they ruled over all of Cascadia, commanding armies, ruling their people, and taking care of Monarch, their only son. For 17 years, all was peaceful.
Until the Federation, a global superpower, began using Cascadian resources to wage war on their enemies. The rulers didn't like this, so they attempted to withdraw from the Federation, rescinding their membership. And when the people heard of this....
Suddenly, Monarch, a young adult, still technically a child, was escorted from the castle, the place he had been all his life, to go to an unknown, secure place. As he was rushed from the castle, an explosion went off behind as planes had begun to fly overhead. One message was clear; The monarchy was dead. A civil war had begun.
Monarch was thrust into a world he knew nothing about: a war he knew nothing about. So he ran. Ran like hell, until the world stopped spinning and he was away from the chaos. He ran from the people meant to protect him, trusting nobody. All he knew was that he was in danger, his parents were dead; and he. wanted. vengance.
The war waged on for several years, but only quietly. The anti-Federation forces struggled against the global superpower, and their pro-Federation forces: people who used to be part of Cascadia. The traitors. Monarch, in the meantime, was training. He was going to be a pilot. A fighter. However, he failed out of flight school, for "taking too many unnecessary risks". He, personally, disagreed. He thought it was funny.
However, in his time at the flight school, he was noticed by someone. A man named Arnold Frenken, going by the callsign Kaiser. He was the leader of a mercenary group, and he liked how Monarch flew. Monarch agreed to join this merc group, one named Sicario. In the beginning of his time at Sicario, he proved himself to everyone by out-killing them on his FIRST CONTRACT.
After this contract, he was put in a group with three others: A girl with the callsign Prez; real name Robin; who was assigned as Monarch's co-pilot. She was the only co-pilot able to keep up with the insane g-forces Monarch consistently put himself through. A boy, callsign Diplomat, more often called Dip; real name Peter. He was assigned as one of Monarch's wingmen, Hitman 2. He was the son of a political ally of the king and queen; one who died in the same castle bombing as Monarch's parents. He was a good pilot, and was in the Cascadian Air Force before deserting at the same time as the next member of Hitman Squad. Another girl, callsign Comic; real name Evelyn. Another former Air Force member, having been discharged, then picked up by Kaiser at the same time as Monarch and Dip. All together, they were known as Hitman Squadron. They were the best that the Sicario group had, and sent on high-value missions.
During all this, Monarch slowly began being referred to by others as "the King of the Sky." This all culminated in his callsign being given to him, not created by him: "Monarch." It helped that he had.... somewhat of a collection of butterflies. He had always liked them... so had his mother.
One day, after a contract, Sicario was contacted by the anti-Federation forces. They needed help, and they were willing to pay. The war had settled for around 2 years, each side seemingly building up resources for a large clash that hadn't come. But the message was clear. It was time.
The war began. Sicario was sent first to reclaim parts of the country, then destroy certain parts of Federation infrastructure. Until their sixth mission. It seemed like a normal mission, and the objectives were completed by Hitman Squadron. Until the Peacekeepers arrived. The Peacekeepers were the Federation's best air fighters, only deployed to contain major threats. The squadron was the infamous Crimson squad: the best pilots that the Federation had. As all the other Cascadian forces retreated in a panic, Monarch realized something. This was the squadron that bombed the castle. This was the squadron that killed his parents.
Monarch, despite the warnings from his squad members, Sicario's leader, and even his co-pilot Prez, charged them. Despite taking some hits, and flying slightly sloppily due to the pure rage he was in, managed to shoot down one of the Crimson members, leading to their hasty retreat. As Monarch and Prez landed at the base and stepped out of the plane, they were met with nothing but silent, incredulous looks.
The war waged on. Monarch knew his target. He just waited. Kept carrying out missions. Until they got their biggest one yet. Over the Bering Strait, the biggest air battle in history was about to take place. A purely air-to-air combat scenario. This was to decide who had the best air force, and who won the war by extension. Hitman flew into the area, seeing nothing but planes, missiles, and smoke. They flew into combat, and the communications array lit up as both enemy and friendly comms could be heard.
Allied Pilot: We got new mercenary IFFs in the area, who do we got? Allied Pilot: Positive contact, looks like Sicario's here! Allied Pilot: Yeah, well, the only team worth a damn is Hitman! Federation Pilot: Watch it, those pilots that the Peacekeepers keep talking about are here. Federation Pilot: That asshole with the Crown with them? Allied Pilot: Their flight lead is worth every cent we’re paying him, look at him. Allied Pilot: I didn’t think mercenaries like that were around anymore, not after Oceania. Federation Pilot: Taking on a king in a battle royale, just our luck.
They knew who he was. They ALL knew who he was. Or at least... they knew his callsign. They didn't know that behind that visor, that pilot's helmet, was the rightful prince of Cascadia. More chatter was heard.
Allied Pilot: “Monarch?” Hell of a TAC name. Allied Pilot: Self-proclaimed? Sicario Pilot: Entire kingdoms are founded by people like him. Allied Pilot: He’s still a merc. Mercenary Pilot: Not every king is just.
They couldn't know. He could trust nobody but those who already knew.
Federation Pilot: Put a crosshair on that Crown, we take out the king and the rest will fall!
Federation Pilot: That flight being led by the Crown, those are the ones who got away from Crimson. Federation Pilot: We’ll show those blowhards what a salt-of-the-earth pilot can do.
They... They thought he was the leader of the rebellion. The figurehead. The king. As he shot more and more down, he smiled. In the midst of the pure chaos that was this air combat, he felt calm.
AWACS Galaxy: We’ve got inbound, pop-up bandit group at bearing 230, looks like they pulled back for one last push, there's a lot of them. AWACS Galaxy: IFF confirmed, Federation Peacekeeping Squadron Crimson identified with more reinforcements, this is it! Hitman 2 Diplomat: Ah shit...
Crimson 1: Crimson Squadron, ready the MLAAs, we’re putting an end to this party. Crimson Pilot: Looks like it’s those mercenaries, think they might turn tail and run again? Crimson 1: Not this time, open fire.
And as he heard Crimson Team arrive, he was enraged as before. And he did something he never had before, at least while flying; he spoke. Just one word.
Monarch: <>
And combat began. Monarch ended up shooting down half of Crimson team before they retreated, and he was still tempted to follow them. He was only calmed down when he noticed something: All of the friendly pilots had formed up on him. They were all following him. It was a sign of... respect.
Perhaps he was more of a leader than he thought.
The war waged on.
And then the capitol of Cascadia, it's pride and joy, Presidia, was hit with a nuclear bomb that set off cordium in the ground, causing a cataclysmic event and turning the land into a fiery hellscape. Despite this, Monarch and the rest of Sicario survived, shooting down many along the way. Encountering Crimson Team one final time. Shooting them all down. Until it was time for one final battle. And in the middle of this final battle, this climax to the war...
A ceasefire. The war was over. Cascadia and the Federation were.... stopping? Just like that? Monarch was... angry. His parents died for THIS? Despite this boiling rage.... Monarch accepted it. But someone else... someone else had not.
A sudden explosion. Presidia was turned into a fiery crater in an instant. A bomb, a nuclear bomb, had gone off. No. It had been set off. By HIM. Crimson 1. Monarch's rival, his Federation counterpart. One final duel. No wingmen, no reinforcements, nothing. Just Monarch, his trusted co-pilot Prez, and Crimson.
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: I don't know if I can do this, Monarch...I'm braced...
Prez was scared. Monarch knew that. But this was no time to run. He needed this fight.
<>
Crimson 1: You're a slave to history, Crimson 1: even after Calamity, you fight against the only order that can guarantee the safety of your people, Crimson 1: you solely are responsible for this.
Monarch absorbed every word Crimson said. But he didn't care. It was time to gun down the man who caused this. Who destroyed his country. Who killed his parents.
Crimson 1: What do you have to show for yourself, merc, blood? Gold? A broken throne?^\note 1]) Crimson 1: I will bury you so completely, the earth will turn over a thousand times before your body is dug up.
Shut up.
Crimson 1: You can't run, you can't hide, you made this decision long ago, you can't back out of this deal!
Shut up.
Crimson 1: I'm Cascadian, you think I take joy fighting over my homeland, killing my own countrymen?![^\note 2])](https://projectwingman.fandom.com/wiki/Transcript:Kings#cite_note-note2-2) Crimson 1: If you never showed up, I never would have lost all that I have!

SHUT UP.

They flew, firing at each other, Monarch putting himself and Prez through extreme g-forces to keep up with the former Peacekeeper, who was in some sort of experimental aircraft. But eventually, he landed enough hits to make Crimson speak again.
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: [grunts] God-[grunts] Monarch...I can't keep up...I can't...I can't...
Hitman 1 WSO Prez: I'm...sorry... [thud]
Prez was down. Monarch knew that. Whether she was passed out from the g-forces, or.....
Best not to think the worst. He would win this. For her.
Crimson 1: Me and you now. No distractions, no wingmen, no war, just me and you, whoever wins is the best pilot. Crimson 1: Every safety's coming off, no second chances.
No second chances. Kill him.
Crimson 1: "Monarch," you use the name of a king, but what do you rule over, the dead?! The Federation fought for peace in this war and you denied them that! Crimson 1: The people of Cascadia, do you know what you've taken from them?! Their homes! And for what, to secede from the world?! What, you think you can fight this war again in 50 years' time, do you really think history will see it your way?! Crimson 1: You don't even care why you're here!
To avenge him. Her. His people.
Crimson 1: How does it feel to not have a country, to not have borders to define yourself against the world?
This WAS his country. His borders. His people.
Crimson 1: The Calamity erased mankind once, our chance to start again, this is how you've dealt with it?!
Silence. Monarch still offered no response. Crimson was getting angrier and angrier. Let him slip up. Then strike.
Crimson 1: You drove me to this...this death and destruction over the Federation, millions of lives lost... [sighs] So many ghosts... Kill me...or be killed!

Kill. Kill. KILL. KILL. KILL. KILL. Kill.

Monarch kept flying. He needed to do this. End this. Reclaim his country.
Crimson 1: This is my home!
His as well.
Crimson 1: Here we are, fighting for Cascadia's soul. Crimson 1: That's the deal you made, right?
Cascadia's soul was rightfully his. He was the pri- no. Monarch was the king. It's just that nobody knew it yet.
Crimson 1: What happens when you shoot me down?! Can you even think?! What will you return to?! Where will you go?! We both know how this ends!
What... would happen? Would he rule? Reclaim? or simply... fade away?
Crimson 1: Kill me, kill me and see what happens to this world! Crimson 1: Either way, your life ends today! Crimson 1: And my squadron, do you think they deserved it?!
And Monarch spoke his first, and only words of the fight. Not to Crimson, but to himself: <>
Crimson 1: The Federation might try to forget about you, but I won't, this is for the good of the world, Crimson 1: die, mercenary!
But it wouldn't be Monarch dying that day.
Crimson 1: No...no, not yet!
It was time.
Crimson 1: God damn it, Crimson 1: come on, I've almost got him!
The truth was there.
Crimson 1: [panting and angry screaming]
They were both incredible pilots, fighting until the bitter end.
Crimson 1: Come on, come in for that kill, you dog!
But Monarch was simply....
Crimson 1: God damn! [coughs]
Better.
System: Hostile Eliminated.

Crimson 1 was shot down.

Crimson 1: Monarch, when you hear the thunder...
<<...?>> Crimson 1: ...when the storm...comes for you...
<<...>> Crimson 1: ...remember me.
<<....I will.>>
And as Crimson went down, Monarch flew away, towards the others. And as he landed, he got Prez out of her seat, praying she woke up. And as she did, they hugged tight.
Both of them sat for a moment, before the plane's communication systems crackled back to life.
Hitman 3 Comic: Transmitting a beacon. Dust Mother, he better pick this up...
Assassin 1 Kaiser: They had to take this from us! We'll burn them all, we’ll burn down the Federation!
Hitman 2 Diplomat: Eve? Eve!
Hitman 3 Comic: [gasps] Hey, I’m over here! Hell's bells, I was about three seconds away from putting a bullet in you!
Hitman 2 Diplomat: It's alright, I probably deserved it at some point, are you good to move?
Hitman 3 Comic: Yeah, yeah. It's all gone to hell, the world is about to be remade.
Hitman 2 Diplomat: We're finished here, we gotta disappear for a bit, I don't want to get caught up in what's coming.
Hitman 3 Comic: What about what we're owed?
Hitman 2 Diplomat: Monarch will collect.
Monarch: <>
They traced Monarch and Prez to the plane, and all of Hitman squad simply.... sat.
Monarch: <>

Later....

Cascadia was whole again. As the world worked together to rebuild the destroyed lands, they all promised that never again would another war of this scale be allowed to happen. Of course, there were still rebellious groups. Groups that needed mercenaries to clear those rebellious groups out. And Monarch was thrust into the world's light, as not only the son of the former King and Queen of Cascadia, but the killer of Crimson 1.
However, instead of becoming a king, he created a council. A council of those he trusted, his "family". The ones who would hold power over certain parts of the country. But he never truly lost his lust for the air, for adrenaline. So he gave power of the country to them, and.... simply went back to being the best mercenary the world had ever seen.
Until the Pilot rolled around. Or, more aptly: flew around. He was from another universe, one that supposedly had... wizards? Magic? Of course, Monarch was intrigued. This "Pilot" man also seemed to... know who Monarch and Prez were, and specifically asked for them. So he followed.
<>
*Monarch stands, and walks away.*
/uw HOLY SHIT! This might be the longest thing i've ever written, at more than 8 PAGES. This took me like 2 and a half hours. hope you enjoyed!