Yoville how to put on hair

So last night I had this extremely vivid dream. It started with me being back at my jobs old location, (in real life I still work for the same company but at a different location) and I was in a bathroom with the door open and in the lobby it was full of people coming in and out of the building, in the bathroom I was adjusting my tie or almost like I was getting ready for some kind of fancy event when all of a sudden this girl comes in and asks me if she can use my phone to take pictures of her tattoos because she wanted to show me, I thought that was odd because she could have just showed me, well I have tattoos of my own and it was just in the bathroom but with the door still open and we are showing each other our tattoos, I had pulled my pants down to show her tattoos on my legs (very weird for a stranger interaction) and all of a sudden there were a few girls from my high school there in the bathroom with us and they just kept saying “ew ew” when I was showing my tattoos, but this stranger girl that was there with me was like in awe and loved my tattoos. This stranger girl had brown hair, slightly longer than her shoulders, she had on dark blue pants and I can’t remember her tops because they kept changing throughout the dream but I know she had sleeve tattoos. I know she didn’t have glasses but I can’t describe the features of her face. I do remember her telling me she was from Ovid, NY. But, after that bathroom interaction the dream suddenly changed and I was jumping into a pond back first but when I did I got sucked down into a different futuristic world where everything was very high tech, it was almost like I was in a subway system but it was so silver everywhere with like touch screen panels on the walls all around me and everybody was in some VR head sets and some were sharing experiences and some weren’t. And others were just walking around and talking. There’s a haze of things that were happening around me that I can’t quite remember but then all of a sudden the stranger girl was there and she remembered me almost as if we had met a few days prior or something. She was soooo excitable and happy to see me. I asked her if she was single and she was. We chatted but I can’t remember what about. She was gone again, I found myself in this room that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Very silvery and blue and I had a bar code on my wrist, I saw that I could scan it on the wall so I did and I didn’t know what it did. But then as I walked out of the room I walk by very fancy people that were all sitting in 4s facing each other (like you would on a train) and they all had something on their heads like maybe a VR set or something to connect them to this world I was in, but I remember I could still see everyone’s eyes so I want sure if it was VR, but as I walked by there was this black girl in a yellow dress and short curly hair sitting in this group, and she made a comment when I walked by saying something like “oh, well fuck” and I turned and jokingly said “whoa that’s a swear word” and everyone just started laughing, including me. But I left up some stairs and suddenly again I was in a room with two older men, one I recognized and one I didn’t, and when I looked around I realized I was in a rather small viewing room in a hospital. I looked through the window on the wall and saw a women in a hospital bed hooked to tubes and wires. And just then the stranger girl burst into the room and hugged me and said “I can’t believe you paid for my mom’s treatment “ and she was crying. I didn’t know what she meant and she pointed at that barcode on my wrist and she asked me how I could have possibly been able to afford it and I didn’t know the answer. She kept thanking me profusely and then introduced me to those two men and said one was her dad and one was her step dad and they both just shook my hand and gave me a nod. Still crying the stranger girl hugged me and said “you’re gonna make a great boyfriend some day”. Then I walk out of this door almost like the “train” or subway stopped and the doors opened and I walked out into a bright blinding light and then I woke up from my dream. For some reason I remember feeling extreme happiness and comfort anytime the stranger girl was around me. And for context. I’m a 29 year old single white dude and the only major life change recently was having to put down one of my dogs earlier this week. I would really love some insight into this.

So last night I had this extremely vivid dream. It started with me being back at my jobs old location, (in real life I still work for the same company but at a different location) and I was in a bathroom with the door open and in the lobby it was full of people coming in and out of the building, in the bathroom I was adjusting my tie or almost like I was getting ready for some kind of fancy event when all of a sudden this girl comes in and asks me if she can use my phone to take pictures of her tattoos because she wanted to show me, I thought that was odd because she could have just showed me, well I have tattoos of my own and it was just in the bathroom but with the door still open and we are showing each other our tattoos, I had pulled my pants down to show her tattoos on my legs (very weird for a stranger interaction) and all of a sudden there were a few girls from my high school there in the bathroom with us and they just kept saying “ew ew” when I was showing my tattoos, but this stranger girl that was there with me was like in awe and loved my tattoos. This stranger girl had brown hair, slightly longer than her shoulders, she had on dark blue pants and I can’t remember her tops because they kept changing throughout the dream but I know she had sleeve tattoos. I know she didn’t have glasses but I can’t describe the features of her face. I do remember her telling me she was from Ovid, NY. But, after that bathroom interaction the dream suddenly changed and I was jumping into a pond back first but when I did I got sucked down into a different futuristic world where everything was very high tech, it was almost like I was in a subway system but it was so silver everywhere with like touch screen panels on the walls all around me and everybody was in some VR head sets and some were sharing experiences and some weren’t. And others were just walking around and talking. There’s a haze of things that were happening around me that I can’t quite remember but then all of a sudden the stranger girl was there and she remembered me almost as if we had met a few days prior or something. She was soooo excitable and happy to see me. I asked her if she was single and she was. We chatted but I can’t remember what about. She was gone again, I found myself in this room that looked like something out of a sci-fi movie. Very silvery and blue and I had a bar code on my wrist, I saw that I could scan it on the wall so I did and I didn’t know what it did. But then as I walked out of the room I walk by very fancy people that were all sitting in 4s facing each other (like you would on a train) and they all had something on their heads like maybe a VR set or something to connect them to this world I was in, but I remember I could still see everyone’s eyes so I want sure if it was VR, but as I walked by there was this black girl in a yellow dress and short curly hair sitting in this group, and she made a comment when I walked by saying something like “oh, well fuck” and I turned and jokingly said “whoa that’s a swear word” and everyone just started laughing, including me. But I left up some stairs and suddenly again I was in a room with two older men, one I recognized and one I didn’t, and when I looked around I realized I was in a rather small viewing room in a hospital. I looked through the window on the wall and saw a women in a hospital bed hooked to tubes and wires. And just then the stranger girl burst into the room and hugged me and said “I can’t believe you paid for my mom’s treatment “ and she was crying. I didn’t know what she meant and she pointed at that barcode on my wrist and she asked me how I could have possibly been able to afford it and I didn’t know the answer. She kept thanking me profusely and then introduced me to those two men and said one was her dad and one was her step dad and they both just shook my hand and gave me a nod. Still crying the stranger girl hugged me and said “you’re gonna make a great boyfriend some day”. Then I walk out of this door almost like the “train” or subway stopped and the doors opened and I walked out into a bright blinding light and then I woke up from my dream. For some reason I remember feeling extreme happiness and comfort anytime the stranger girl was around me. And for context. I’m a 29 year old single white dude and the only major life change recently was having to put down one of my dogs earlier this week. I would really love some insight into this.

Who is Francis Sinclair? (quick recap):
Francis Sinclair was born in 1898/1906 to parents Tom and Mrs. Sinclair. His father died before he was born, so his mother had to take care of him. When he was younger, he lived in Hawks Eye Cabin outside of Strawberry with his mother. He moved to New York City and lived an affluent life before traveling to the Old West period in the 1920s/1930s.
Francis Sinclair is first met in a cabin outside of Strawberry and tells his story about hunting for rock carvings around the world. He says he will pay a good price for all ten of them, but doesn't say why.
After the player sends him letters pointing out the rock carving locations, Francis invites them back to his cabin, but will be mysteriously absent. In the end of the quest-line, a woman appears in the cabin with a ginger-haired baby named Francis. After the protagonist expresses their confusion about the situation, Francis' mother asks the player for their name, but after finding out that the baby is actually Francis, the astounded protagonist tells her that it's not important and leaves.
Francis Sinclair seems mysterious and talks quickly. He speaks in a strange dialect and uses slang the protagonist doesn't understand.
After finishing the Stranger quest "Geology for Beginners," his notes and drawings are revealed to the player. They suggest that he may be a time traveler. His documents show a figure who jumps between the past, present, and future. Francis was interested in rock carvings that depicted skyscrapers, a big city, an atom, and a nuclear explosion.
How Francis Sinclair is (and isn't) connected to Grand Theft Auto:
Francis Sinclair has a strong accent that was popular in American culture in the 1920s and 1930s. The fact that he was an infant in 1899–1907 suggests this. Sinclair's Business Card has a picture of an hourglass with wings on it that represents time and travel. He wears a belt and trousers with belt loops, supporting the idea that he traveled through time. Before the 1900s, people only used belts to carry things instead of keeping their pants on. Also, pants with belt loops didn't exist until 1922.
Francis is similar to another time traveler, Ernest Keigel, a character who stars in the Grand Theft Auto: Vice City Stories radio program called The Time Ranger. - Both of them speak with a Transatlantic accent. - Both have a decent understanding of science. - Both are fast talkers. - Both use 1920s and 1930s slang and are thought to have lived within the time period.
This is where Rockstar Games mostlikefully got the inspiration for Francis Sinclair, a person from the 1930s time traveling through various time periods.
Francis Sinclair resembles Kraff, one of three false deities worshiped by the Epsilon Program in Grand Theft Auto V. However, the character's portrayal and background contradict every aspect of Epsilonism (red birthmark, prohibited red hair, time travel science (general relativity), contradictory years with Epsilonism's creation and their Young Earth beliefs, setting in an unrelated universe, etc.), making the possibility of being a reference unlikely and simply a coincidence. Nevertheless, his unique birthmark is never employed for any religious reason; rather, it is designed to serve as a plot device for a more significant revelation during his last on-screen encounter, allowing the player to easily identify him in his "second form."
The mural doesn't solve a bigger mystery. It shows different time periods, and there's no hidden message to find. Some things are not puzzles. Francis Sinclair is a geologist who is looking for rock carvings that have already been found. The history book he always has with him demonstrates that he only wants to put them together so he can find the answer faster. Geology is the study of pressure and time, but he clearly is obsessed with this puzzle he doesn't have an answer for because it has to be put together first. Francis is not doing this to help a religious group. He is doing it for himself because that's how science works in the Red Dead Redemption Universe.

Hey all,
I have pretty wavy hair that seems to be both kinky coarse and fair at the same time, if that makes any sense. I would guess that I have type 2b/2c hair at any one spot on my head. It’s pretty long, past my shoulders and maybe to the bottom hem of my bra.
I have always disliked how free-spirited my hair tends to be, and I always feel more myself with a softer, sleeker style. Usually I end up with a straightener to “get a handle on it” in some capacity, whether that’s fixing up the pieces around my face and neatening the ends, or straightening the whole thing out. I hate using heat on my hair, I hate that I’m damaging it. But I hate feeling a mess and unpolished due to my hair type more. It can really take a hit on self confidence and self love. I’ve tried the whole “no heat hair” and so many different products, but I give up. I hate crunchy hair and I hate how I feel about myself with it in messy waves.
Does anyone have any experience with Brazilian blowouts? Has it helped tame your mane? Does it do more damage than good? Do you still find yourself reaching for heat tools, or do you find it is enough to finally put the tools down and go “natural”?
Anyone who wants to share, thank you!!

The post just before this one gave me the idea, but the way L and Light look so different from one another is one of the most important details to the plot of Death Note.
First, we have L. He’s got this messy black hair, awful bags under his eyes like he hasn’t taken a nap in 4 years, baggy white tee and jeans, pale skin, eyes like a black hole, and he never wears shoes unless he’s outside. Plus, his personality is weird as a fart, but we’re just looking at physical features right now. L is incredibly different from the average person you’d see on the street. He’s different from most detectives you’d see in media, actually, because he is MEANT to be off-putting. L is supposed to be odd. He is supposed to make you look at him and think “What’s up with this guy? What is he thinking?” Oh, and that’s another thing. He’s supposed to have this mysterious aura. L’s design is supposed to make you on edge.
Now, for Light, I think we all know what’s going to be said. The creators purposefully (just like they had with L — everything is intentional) made him the polar opposite of L. Light is supposed to be incredibly physically attractive. If you look at Light and think he’s ugly, there’s something up with you. He was quite literally supposed to be considered to be pretty. Warm brown hair, chestnut eyes, relatively good sense in style, and a body type perfect for a young male in Japan. They want you to find him cute. Light wants people to find him cute. You know why? Because THAT is how he manipulates. Using his charm and his good looks. He’s smart, he’s gorgeous, and he’s kind. How could that perfect schoolboy possibly be Kira?
Anyway, that’s my rant. If anyone says “I ain’t reading allat,” I’ll cry. But thank you — if you did read allat, that is.

Just wanted to put myself out there and see if my writing is worth anything. My plan is to do a MFA in Creative Writing and get into publishing/writing. And I'm not sure if I am worth it, or that I can pursue it as a career.
^{TW: Unfinished Draft}
A Desert Adventure
The scorching heat of the sun was working it's way in slowly. Shirt stuck to my back like a koala clinging onto a tree. My shoes were filled with grainy soil and not a drop left in my water can. My body desperately wished to let go from the misery, wished to just lay down and drink up the ocean. But, I had to move my feet if I wanted my head above my neck.
It's these such moments that make me wonder why I put myself through these tortures. Was it for the thrill of adventure, the survival feel, to take the 'one' photograph? I wish I knew my own mind.
"Ryan! Hurry up, you'll get lost at this rate!" Syria's shrill voice rang in my ear, more so than usual, perhaps due to my senses running on adrenaline.
I look up at her, blonde hair dirty with the sand, lips dry, cheeks slightly sunken, a white dress covering her body. The desert definitely wasn't as welcoming towards guests like it's inhabitants. It's whip lashes graced us with sand in our eyes and mouth. And the beautiful vultures, ever so often circling us, waiting for a second of weakness.
"Don't speak, save" My tongue was dry as the sand I stood on. Not even the substance to wet my lips in fact.
"I told you we should have just stayed put! We could have escaped this situation if only you would listen to me!"
Ah, there she goes. Off rambling when water at this time is necessary to save. My sister people, my sister.
"I know, but let's just walk to the city for now, alright? I'm about to drop dead."
Narrowed brown eyes glared at me, I could feel the seething fury all way. She turned sharply, stomping her way towards the city that is visible to the far eye now. How she gets this surge of energy is a mystery. We walk towards the Waldi El Natrun for what seems for an eternity. I see our guide hired from back in Canada waiting for us at the gate, seemingly worried out of his mind. Well, not the best situation when a pair of clients go missing, is it?
"Rahman, water" I choke out as I collapse on the concrete floor. The pain of my head thumping on the ground was a mere mosquito bite comparing to this fire of thirst in me.
"Sir! Sir! Where have you been?!"
I could see flashes of Rahman screaming his head as I strained to keep my eyelids from shutting close. I could feel that I was being lifted, quite awkwardly so and being rushed. I hear clacking of water cans and instinctively my hands try to grab at the air.
....................................

During the height of my high regard for the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), among the movies of which I had been a major fan were the Captain America releases. At least two of them. The third film in this mini franchise - 2016's "CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR" proved to be a major disappointment for me. However, when I heard that Disney and Marvel Films had plans to air a miniseries about the characters Sam Wilson aka the Falcon and James "Bucky" Barnes aka the Winter Soldier, I must admit that I felt a renewed interest in the franchise again.
When I said a renewal of the MCU franchise, I meant it. Aside from a few movies like "ANT-MAN", "BLACK PANTHER", "CAPTAIN MARVEL" and "ETERNALS"; the MCU had become a major disappointment for me ever since the release of 2015's "THE AVENGERS: AGE OF ULTRON". One might ask . . . what about the MCU television productions that aired on the Disney Plus streaming channel? Aside from one production that I somewhat liked and one that I loved, most of them have been disappointing to me. Unfortunately, I have to include this follow-up to the Captain America movies, "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER".
Set six months after 2019's "THE AVENGERS: ENDGAME", "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER" followed former war veteran/Avenger Sam Wilson, who has resumed working the for the U.S. government, while using his role as the Falcon. When the government recruits Sam to track down and deal with a group of enhanced anarchists known as "the Flag Smashers", former World War II veteran/HYDRA tool/Avenger James "Bucky" Buchannan aka the Winter Soldier decides to join Sam in his mission, due to his lingering guilt as a former HYDRA assassin and their shared experiences as Steve Rogers' close friends and battling Thanos and his army.
Since "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER" had aired on the DisneyPlus channel in six episodes, I had seriously considered ranking the episodes. But like Season three of the Marvel Netflix series, "DAREDEVIL", the more I watched "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLIDER", the more it disappointed me. Aside from complaints about its pacing, the limited series had received a great deal of praise from critics and fans alike. Because of this, I believe it was one of the most overrated productions in the MCU history. People had seemed so focused on little moments and scenes that very few had noticed how the series' narrative seemed to be all over the map. For example:
~\Sam Wilson~* - This limited series is supposed to be a follow up to the events of "ENDGAME" in which Sam had received the Captain America shield from an aging Steve Rogers, a sign for him to take up the latter's costumed role. Was this an attempt by Marvel Films/Disney to make Sam a more relevant character? If so, why? Why did a MCU character have to replace Steve as the new Captain America to be more relevant? Why not allow Sam to continue as the Falcon, only push his role to the forefront as one of the franchise's new leading characters? Some might accuse me of not wanting a black man as Captain America, a topic that was brought up in the series. Frankly, I never wanted another character - regardless of race, gender or ethnicity - to become the new Captain America. That includes Bucky Barnes. Allow Steve Rogers to fade into the background and let Sam (as the Falcon) shine as one of the franchise's new leads. However, the die has been cast. One can only sit back and see if moviegoers are willing to accept Sam as the new Captain America.
Perhaps the MCU had to make Sam the new Captain America in order to make him more relevant. Why would I say that? The showrunner for "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER", Malcolm Spellman, came dangerously close to shoving Sam into the role of the second lead or worst, a role he has been since his debut in 2014's "CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER" - a supporting character. During the series' first three or four episodes, someone other than Sam (either Bucky Barnes or Helmut Zemo - two white men) made decisions that allowed the plot to move forward, not Sam. He was simply regulated to being an observer or reactor. The series even managed to undermine Sam's decision not to support the Sokovia Accords in "CIVIL WAR". In thee 2016, Sam became the first Avenger to speak out against the Accords and declare his intentions not to sign it. Yet, according to Bucky in this series, Sam had merely followed Steve's example in rejecting the Accords. And Spellman did nothing to allow Sam to correct this misconception.
~\James "Bucky" Barnes~* - One of the few aspects of "CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR" I found enjoyable proved to be the interactions between Sam Wilson and Bucky Buchannan. Despite their lingering jealousy and competition over the role as "Steve Rogers' best friend", the pair's interactions proved to be very entertaining, thanks to the screen chemistry between Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan. Unfortunately, Mackie and Stan could not save "CIVIL WAR" for me. Nor could they save "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER", due to its problematic writing. A good deal of that writing surrounded Bucky's character. I have so many questions about his role in this series. For example:
-Why would any official of the Joint Counter Terrorist Center allow Bucky to visit and question Helmut Zemo, the man responsible for the U.N. conference bombing in Vienna, in "CIVIL WAR"? That made very little sense to me. Surely the JCTC authorities remembered how Zemo managed to brainwash Bucky into making his own prison break in "CIVIL WAR"? Also, Bucky was on parole for his activities as a brainwashed HYDRA assassin. Yet, the JCTC had allowed him to visit Zemo? Surely, the showrunner could have allowed Sam, who was serving the U.S. government again, to be the one to visit and question Zemo?
-How on earth did Bucky managed to evade being arrested and charged for helping Zemo escape from the JCTC? The U.S. and other governments should have been suspicious of Bucky after learning about his visit to Zemo.
-Bucky came off as an arrogant school jock, who thought he was entitled to get his way - especially in his interactions with Sam. I found it hilarious that many fans had criticized John Walker aka Captain America aka U.S. Agent for such toxic behavior. Yet, they had turned a blind eye to Bucky's own behavior. And so did the series - up until the last two episodes. Why did the showrunner allow Bucky to get away with this behavior toward Sam for so long without any complaints from the latter?
-I did not care how Bucky had bullied his way into Sam's mission without the latter's consent. What I found even more annoying was the U.S. government's decision to allow Bucky to join Sam's mission after that ludicrous "therapy session" they were forced to attend together.
~\Racism -~* A good number of MCU fans had complained about the inclusion of racism in "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER". I had no problems with this direction, considering the story was about Sam, an African-American man, becoming the new Captain America. However, I had a good deal of problems with how the production explored the topic of racism.
The story of Isaiah Bradley, Marvel's second Captain America, had originated in the comics. In the MCU, he was a Korea War veteran whom the United States Army used as one of several unwilling African-American test subjects for their version of the Super Soldier serum. I realize that both Marvel Comics and the MCU had attempted to use Bradley's experience as a metaphor for the Tuskegee Syphilis Study. The problem is that I cannot see the U.S. government and the Army - both racist organizations in the early 1950s - be willing to risk the possibility of creating a non-white super soldier. Despite the recent desegregation of the Armed Forces in the late 1940s. And both the government and the Army had been more than willing to use white soldiers in other experiments.
After saving a group of black American super soldiers from a prison camp, Bradly was imprisoned by the U.S. government for thirty years. I saw nothing wrong with this twist in the character's narrative, until I remembered two things - Bradley had been able to free his fellow soldiers without anyone's help; and nearly sixty years later, Steve Rogers managed to break into the Raft and free those Avengers who had refused to sign the Sokovia Accord. Why was Bradley unable to free himself from prison? This is the man who had defeated the Winter Soldier by breaking the latter's metal arm. And he was not powerful enough to make a prison break, let alone evade capture?
I had assumed Sam's difficulty in becoming the new Captain America would stem from the government's reluctance to recruit a black man for the position. That would explain their decision to recruit the blond-haired John Walker instead. But the series never really made it clear whether political racism had played a role in Walker's recruitment. The series also had James "Rhodey" Rhodes had paid Sam a visit, emphasizing the importance of the new Captain America being black. As it turned out, Sam's own insecurities about becoming Captain America had more to do with him not initially assuming the role. There was also that interesting scene outside Bradley's Baltimore home where the police arrested Sam during verbal argument with Bucky. Although the cops backed away when they recognized Sam as an Avenger, they ended up arresting the parolee Bucky for missing his required therapy appointment. This scene was supposed to be a case of racial profiling. But . . . we might as well be honest. In the real world, the police would not have backed down from hassling Sam. What I found more disturbing was the production's handling of Bucky's arrest. Once the police discovers that Sam was an Avenger; they turned to arrest Bucky for failing to show up for his missing his therapy session. Not only did the police arrest Bucky with a more gentle behavior, they did so, accompanied by Henry Jackman's mournful score, something that did not accompany the moment of Sam being arrested. Were the audiences expected to notice the hypocrisy and racism in the police's handling of the two men? Expected to feel sympathy for Bucky? Or both?
The last episode featured a scene of two black kids playing with toy Captain America shields. Someone had commented that the shields (especially in the hands of non-white children) represented hope to the future of race relations in the United States. Why? How? This country had a biracial president for EIGHT YEARS. Yet, U.S. racial policies have remained problematic even to this day. I can say the same for other countries. The so-called symbolism of this scene only reminded me of how human beings put so much faith in imagery and symbolism. And this strikes me as a FALSE FAITH. Why was taking up the mantle of a costumed hero that had been previously occupied by a white man, the only way for Sam Wilson to become relevant within the MCU franchise? What was wrong with him being "the Falcon"? Sam becoming the next Captain America was not going to save the U.S. in regard to race relations - not in real life and not in the fictional world of the MCU. Looking back on the series, the series' only scenario that seemed to expose racism in a realistic manner, proved to be Sam's failure to acquire a bank loan for his family's fishing boat in Louisiana.
~\Sharon Carter~* - I am certain many MCU fans are aware of this. One of Marvel Comics' most iconic couples happened to be Steve Rogers aka Captain America and Sharon Carter aka Agent 13. She also happened to be the great-niece of Peggy Carter, Steve's love interest during World War II. Portrayed by Emily VanCamp, Sharon was first introduced as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent in "CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE WINTER SOLDIER" as a potential love interest for Steve. Despite Sharon's appearance in the following Captain America movie, "CIVIL WAR", their romance never really developed. Many blamed the lack of chemistry between VanCamp and Chris Evans. I never had a problem with their screen chemistry. I had a problem with the lack of relationship development between Sharon and Steve. And I blame Kevin Feige's decision to transform the third Captain America film into a third (and badly written) pseudo Avengers movie. The change in the film's narrative, along with Sharon's failure to appear in "THE AVENGERS: INFINITY WAR" and "ENDGAME", left no opportunity for Sharon and Steve to become the romantic pair they had been in the comics. Instead, Sharon became a fugitive from the U.S. government after helping Steve and Sam hunt down Bucky, moved to Madripoor, a city-state with no U.S. extradition and became an embittered criminal known as "the Power Broker".
After "CIVIL WAR", nearly five years had passed before Sharon appeared in another MCU production - namely this series. And what happened? The franchise, with Spellman, ended up completely destroying her character by transforming her into the villain known as Power Broker, the criminal leader of an Indonesian city-state called Madripoor. After helping Steve and Sam acquire their suits and equipment in order to go after Bucky in "CIVIL WAR", Sharon lost her job with the C.I.A. and became a fugitive. She eventually moved to Madripoor, a city-state with no U.S. extradition, to evade capture, survived Thanos' Snap and became an embittered criminal nicknamed "the Power Broker" in order to survive the new world.
What really pissed me off about Sharon's arc between "CIVIL WAR" and "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER" is that her development into a major villain all happened OFF SCREEN. Off screen. Apparently, screenwriters for "INFINITY WAR" had written a draft that included Sharon in the movie. But according to Christopher Markus, he and Stephen McFeeley could not imagine scenes featuring Steve and Sharon trying to make it work in an apartment, because the 2018 movie did not have time to focus on their personal life. Why did Marvel simply fail to allow Sharon to be part of Steve's vigilante team - like Sam and Natasha Romanoff? I mean . . . good fucking grief! And why did Malcolm Spellman believe the only way Sharon could be interesting was to become a villain in "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER"? This was his idea of improving Sharon's character?
~\Helmut Zemo aka Baron Zemo~* - Why did Malcolm Spellman, Kevin Feige and the MCU thought it necessary to bring back Helmut Zemo, the Sokovian-born villain from "CIVIL WAR"? What role did he play in "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER"? I realize that Bucky, of all people, visited the incarcerated Zemo to acquire information on who had created the super-soldier serum that empowered the Flag Smashers. But why did he believe Zemo could provide the answer? Because he thought HYDRA was involved? Bucky or Sam could have searched for information from sources other than Zemo, who had been incarcerated for . . . what? Eight years? Eight years. Zemo managed to become something of a crowd-pleaser, thanks to Daniel Brühl's performance. Otherwise, I found his presence in this series unnecessary.
~\The Big Bad~* - Why on earth did it take this series so long to finally reveal the main villain's identity? At first, the series hinted the Flag Smashers, led by Karli Morgenthau. However, the series tossed other potential candidates for the Big Bad before viewers - John Walker, Helmut Zemo and yes, Sharon Carter. But in the end, Morgenthau and her group proved to be the main villains.
The Flag Smashers were a group of empowered people who believed the world was a better place between Thanos' Snap and the Blip (resurrection of those who had died during the Snap), when Humans around the world managed to unite and form a borderless society, one in which people helped others without any thought to nationalism and bias. Thanks to the Avengers, the world resumed its conflicts between nationalities and other groups. In other words, the borders returned.
Frankly, I have nothing against this ideal. Only Ms. Morgenthau and her followers resorted to violence and terrorism to achieve their goals. Does this sound familiar? It should. The Flag Smashers proved to be another example of characters with a progressive goal, resorting to extremism and becoming villains. This seemed to be a growing trend within the franchise, which I believe began with Erik "Killmonger" Stevens aka Prince N'Jadaka in 2018's "BLACK PANTHER". Since then, the MCU has not looked back at its growing roster of progressive villains. Perhaps I should not have been surprised. The franchise's ambiguous portrayal of an unconstitutional document like the Sokovia Accords, should have been the wake-up call. It seemed as if Kevin Feige, Marvel Films and Disney Studios had finally exposed themselves for the faux progressives they pretend to be. Frankly, this form of villainy has become tiresome to me.
After writing this article, I had considered ranking the six episodes featured in "THE FALCON AND THE WINTER SOLDIER" anyway. But I decided against it. My dislike of the series made it impossible for me to even bother. Being a fan of the first two Captain America movies, I had truly hoped this series would redeem the franchise. Unfortunately, it proved to be just as disappointing as "CAPTAIN AMERICA: CIVIL WAR". Pity. Perhaps the fourth film, "CAPTAIN AMERICA: BRAVE NEW WORLD" will do the trick. I hope so.

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

Hi, recently cracked transfem here. Ive been thinking about how much id like laser hair removal at the very least on my face so i can actually feel less like a man, but its expensive. Shaving is ok but theres always a shadow, its gotta be done basically every day, and my skin is super sensitive so i get gnarly razor burn every time.
But im in luck! Or so i thought. My state has put forth a law as of last year requiring individual and small group (employers with 2-100 employees) plans to include gender affirming care (laser included) so long as certain criteria are met. And i meet the criteria! But theres one small issue.
The company i work for has a total of over 300 million employees. Last i checked, thats a little more than 100. So unfortunately the insurance plan i have does not cover the vast majority of gender affirming care and the stuff that is covered, im nowhere near ready for, if i EVER even actually end up wanting it. It would be a non-issue if i wasnt struggling financially and cant afford several hundred dollars per session and likely need at least 10 of em from what ive read.
Ok sorry rant over T~T

Hi! I’m a stay at home mom so my only trips out are usually the grocery store or the park. I hate how frumpy I feel. I recently cut my hair to chin length after having it almost waist length and while I like it, I feel like I look too much like ‘a mom’.
My daily outfit is usually leggings and a tshirt or pullover. Leggings work good because they’re stretchy and I’m always sitting down or putting things away. I hate feeling constricted in jeans and how I can’t stretch.
I like dresses and skirts but I feel like they make me look too fancy. I also hate anything short and usually prefer midi length or a tunic length dress that I can wear leggings under. What’s the middle ground? The tops also have to be nursing friendly. I’m also on a budget too.
I take care of myself and exercise and recently loss the baby weight. I love skincare and makeup but the fashion department is the issue.

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

I think a lot about signals. Signals that show people what groups they belong to. Signals that hide the truth. Everybody uses signals to blend, entice, or trap.
Grandma Pearl died not long after her stroke, and I've been making bad decisions ever since. Maybe my expectations are too high, or I'm just an idiot. Either way, I ran away from the group home to be with people who called themselves my "family." They were the wrong people. They used the words family, brother, sister, and love like lock picks, stealing trust, and taking self-respect.
The only person I remember using the word family correctly was Grandma Pearl. She was a small woman who toured the US as an actress before settling with Granddad above their theatrical rentals shop. I was three when the car accident took Granddad and Mom, so I don't know if they used the word "family" correctly, but I hope they did.
I was never as outgoing as Grandma, but that didn't bother her; she taught me how to watch people. How to see their signals, and how to listen. When she died. I forgot a lot of those lessons for a while.
They called it a "family". The "family" moved product. That product could be goods, drugs, or people.
The uninitiated, like me, were distracted with food and a dry place to sleep, but it didn't take long to see behind the curtain. Things got too intense with the new "family" and I ran.
I ran back to my old neighborhood. The buildings were familiar even if my home was gone. The old theatrical shop had been turned into a microbrewery.
After an appropriate amount of self-pity, thirty minutes, I wandered the alleys, picking up cans or scavenging for bits and pieces that could be recycled, used, or bartered.
I recognized old faces, but I tried to stay out of sight. It was safer that way.
The only place I allowed myself to be seen was the old Lutheran church on the park's far side. Most people who might have known me had aged out of the congregation or died. It was worth the risk because St. Lazarus had a food pantry in the basement and gave out lunches most days, so I wasn't always hungry, which was nice.
I found a dry spot near the library to sleep, which seemed like a stroke of luck until it wasn't.
I had the contentment that came with being in a familiar place. Little bits of comfort let me believe, for a moment, that I wasn't a screw-up and hadn't trusted the wrong people. That moment scurried away when Stick found me.
Stick was a scary asshole. He technically wasn't in charge of the " family," but he made it work. He got things done. I have no idea how old he was. He was all corded muscle and could clock in between twenty and fifty. He looked half-starved and moved like a stalking predator, even with his limp.
His left leg was stiff. The knee didn't bend, and anytime he sat, his left leg would be splayed to the side like a kickstand on a bike. The leg was why he walked with a cane. The cane and how he used it was why we called him Stick.
I don't know why he took the time to track me down. It's not like I was wanted. Maybe it was that I had become property. Property shouldn't just wander off.
Sometimes, you feel a person before you see them. The air is different. When Stick was around, the air felt dead and motionless. I knew I was being watched before I opened my eyes.
Stick was sitting on a milk crate, his bad leg cocked to the side and his forehead resting on his cane. I pushed myself out from beneath the ductwork of the HVAC unit I had been sleeping under and slapped the dirt off my jeans.
"I thought that was you," Stick said as his sharp grin curved up to his unblinking dark eyes.
Stick wanted my discomfort. I'd seen him play the intimidation game too many times. He'd act too friendly, and then when you were good and worried, quick movements, a hand around the back of your neck, and violence would be next. Then he'd act like the whole mind fuck was a big joke, like you were friends, and isn't it great that you can joke around with someone who "really" cared.
It worked, too. If you were the unfortunate focus of Stick's attention, you would be grateful when he smiled and said, "Just a joke, kid. Don't be so sensitive." I'd seen the pattern enough times to know Stick trained people like dogs with his hot and cold game. I didn't like the game, or the fear, so I changed the pattern.
"Hey, Stick, did you come to help pick up cans?" I asked, making sure my smile reached my eyes. I was trying to be pleasant while ignoring the burning nervousness in my gut.
It was still dark out, but I could see Stick's expressions well enough.
Stick tapped his cane on the sidewalk and squinted at me skeptically before answering. "Just checking on my little brother."
We were not related.
Stick liked to call the uninitiated his little brothers or little sisters. He forced intimacy into his language. I didn't argue the point. Interactions went best with Stick when you agreed with everything he said.
"Thanks, man," I complimented, trying to sound genuine and ignorant as I stepped forward and offered him my hand.
Stick didn't move, but I could see that this conversation wasn't going as planned for him, and I forced myself not to react to his confusion. I couldn't break character, or he would know I was playing him.
Stick tapped his cane on the ground twice, grasped my hand, and stood. He watched me. I held his stare, but in an open, naive, guileless way that I had perfected in front of the mirror as grandma gave acting advice while she put her face on.
I once asked Grandma Perl why anyone would practice acting stupid. She pointed her mascara brush at me and, in her ditsiest Minnesota Nice character, said, "It's easier to be forgiven when people think you're a little dumb, don't ya know?" Like with most things, Grandma was right.
Before I understood what had happened, Stick pulled me into his side and slung an arm around my shoulder.
"You don't have a name yet. Everyone gets a name, but they don't get to pick it." He paused and gave me a Cheshire cat grin. "I have a name for you, little brother. You are going to be called Slide." Then he held my chin and forced eye contact." Your name will be Slide because I have never seen anyone slide out of shit faster than you. I can't tell if you do it on purpose or not, and I've been watching. I watch everybody. You do, too. Hell, this might be the first time I've ever heard you talk. So let's celebrate your name, Slide." Stick's smile slipped as he pulled me out of the alley. "We'll go do something special."
I stayed silent, knowing full well what was coming. Being named meant doing something you could never take back. It was public and would put you in prison if the police ever took the time to look for you. It meant severing yourself from your life before and relying entirely on the "family." I had been absent each time naming seemed to be in the cards, but I couldn't duck out this time.
There was only one place to go at this time of night that would have an impact, the Bodega.
The Bodega was a red hole in the wall with a glass door papered over with grocery ads years outdated. Canned salmon two for one seemed to be the dominant theme. Although there were two large windows, one on either side of the door, you could barely see in. The right window was a tapestry of cigarette promotions. The left window displayed the only swath of uncovered glass with a view of the interior. From the outside, the view was of tobacco, lottery scratchers, and Old Lady Imitari.
Old Lady Imitari owned the store. She was a short, dark-haired woman who always wore a long floral tank top. Grandma Pearl loved the old woman but said Imitari looked like an old man's thumb all the years she had known her, and Grandma moved to the neighborhood with Grandad thirty years ago. Imitari was a local legend even then because the Bodega was open twenty hours a day, three hundred sixty-five days a year, and no one else worked in the store. Grandma used to make an extra strong coffee called Barako and chat with Imitari sometimes when work in the shop was slow.
I would sneak out at night and try to catch Imitari sleeping. No matter the time, I never caught her snoozing, and she always saw me peeking at her through the window. I know she saw me because she would uncross her arms and wave her flyswatter at me.
All these memories flicked through my mind as Stick smiled his too-wide smile and pushed me into the Bodega.
Imitari flicked her fly swatter at me in acknowledgment, and her attention returned to the small TV she had nestled beside the cash register, which seemed to be the old woman's only real tether to the world outside her shop.
The inside of the Bodega was just a long hallway with shelves of convenience foods, drinks, home supplies, candy, and cold meds covering every available surface from floor to ceiling. The only break in the tunnel of products was the glass counter at the back corner of the store; Imitari presided over her mini domain by casually ignoring her shoppers. I tried to make eye contact with the old woman again as Stick pushed me to the back of the shop, but after her initial acknowledgment of our entrance, Imitari's eyes stayed focused on her TV.
As casually confident as possible, I walked to the cooler and grabbed an iced tea. "Want a drink," I asked over my shoulder, my voice unusually steady, given the electric current of anxiety flowing through me.
Stick sneered and tapped his cane twice on the ground. His eyes found all the security cameras in the tiny store, a frown creasing his angular features.
I followed his line of sight and finally realized what had bothered him. The cameras were fake. They looked like security cameras, but they weren't. There were no wires or lenses, just rectangles and circles in a security camera shape.
Stick took a deep breath and tapped his cane on the ground again. " There… is … so… much… here… to… see… but… no… one… is… watching," he said with a singsong. Then his sneer turned into a cruel smile.
I knew Stick wanted an audience for what he would force me to do. The fact that the security cameras were fakes meant that whatever was going to happen would now have to be significant. An event that the neighborhood wouldn't be able to ignore. My stomach twisted with the thought.
Stick waggled his eyebrows at me. He had been watching. He had seen my thoughts, and we both knew he had something terrible in mind.
The cane twirled in Stick's hand and then tapped twice on the shop tile.
"I think I want a little bit of this," Stick said, gesturing wildly with his cane, sending a row of soup cans tumbling to the floor. "And a little bit of that," Stick added as another wild gesture sent cups of ramen spinning and knocking glass bottles of hot sauce to the floor.
I stood paralyzed, unable to run. I was trapped with nowhere to duck away to. I didn't want Stick to hurt Old Lady Imitari, and I didn't want Stick to hurt me, either. The truth was, he would hurt both of us no matter what I did. That was just the way Stick was. I'd seen him. I'd seen him show us who he was every day.
Then I realized Imitari hadn't moved. She was watching her TV and chuckling at the sitcom as if nothing had happened.
Stick glanced at me, confused. I almost felt sorry for the sociopath. His night was not going to plan.
Imitari chuckled at her TV again, and a crease formed in the middle of Stick's forehead, letting me know that he was beyond angry. He was calm, dangerous, and vicious. People had been left for dead when Stick got this way.
Stick raised his cane and flipped it so the handle jutted like a pickax. He was going to attack Imitari.
Somehow, I moved. I didn't do much, but when I slid forward and grabbed the back of Stick's shirt, the cane missed Imitari, and the sharp handle punctured the thick glass top of the counter just above a roll of Lotto scratchers.
Old lady Imitari slowly looked up into Stick's eyes and smiled. Her wide, gentle frown was replaced with a look of joy and something else, something primal, something hungry. Her pupils were blown, and I had the uneasy feeling that I was watching someone be served their absolute favorite meal.
Before Stick could pull his cane from the punctured glass, Imitari casually reached forward, grabbed the cane, and pulled the wirey man forward. Small, old, and wrinkled, Imitari stared into Stick's eyes and overpowered him.
Stick fell forward across the counter. He tried to push himself back, but Imitari's hand clamped down on his wrist like a vice.
Bones ground together as Imitari pulled Stick's hand to her mouth, and with a swift, subtle movement, she bit off the tips of Stick's pinky and ring finger like she was sampling a cookie.
I jumped back next to the cooler as a thin spray of blood arched toward me.
Stick screamed and thrashed, but Imitari's small form was static and immovable. Stick was a fly in a trap. No matter how much he struggled, punched, poked, or kicked, he could not break the old woman's hold. Then, slowly, she took another bite.
It was strangely fascinating watching the frail form of this old woman I had known for years take bite after bite out of Stick. This man, whom I thought of as a predator, a hunter, an enforcer, was crying and begging while an old woman, who looked like a wrinkled thumb in a floral top, quietly devoured him.
I was surprised by the lack of blood after the first spray. I'm sure it was Imitari's crushing grip that stanched the flow of blood. The flesh of Stick's arm looked white from the pressure.
Hand over hand, Imitari pulled Stick forward. Bones cracked as she gripped higher on Stick's arm, clamped down with her long leathery fingers, and fed the flesh and bone, one concise bite at a time, into her open smiling maw. It was rhythmical in its simplicity: chomp, crunch, chew, chew, swallow. Over and over, the pattern continued until the begging stopped.
Stick wasn't dead. He gave up. Not struggling, he laid over the glass counter like a rag doll. He watched me glassily as Imitari took bite after bite, and I knew he wasn't there anymore. Whatever made Stick Stick had either curled up and hidden in a dark corner of his mind or had been devoured with his arm.
The old woman seemed displeased that her meal had stopped struggling. She shook him, but he flopped, and his head lulled from side to side. Imitari frowned, let go of Stick's arm, and pushed down on the limp man's back. Blood gushed from the ragged stump, and Imitari lowered her mouth and drank from the wound like she was sipping from a garden hose.
Stick didn't move. He just grew pail, and eventually, his panicked, shallow breaths ended, and the blood stopped flowing.
Then Imitari stood. With a quick tug, she pulled Stick's body over the counter and let it flop to the floor at her feet. Her eyes closed. A contented smile bloomed on her face as the explosive sound of crunching and cracking bones echoed through the small shop.
The deafening sound of crunching stopped, and only the buzzing of the drinks cooler reverberated through the small space. Imitari opened her eyes and watched me, a broad smile still on her lips. At that moment, I realized I could hear the drinks cooler so well because I had crawled into it, wedged between the glass door and the shelves.
Imitari held me with her gaze as cords of pink flesh lowered from the ceiling and efficiently tidied up Stick's mess, lapping up blood and hot sauce, placing cans on shelves, and scooping up cups of ramen with whip-like tendrils. Then, the cords of flesh nudged me forward, and I stood before Old Lady Imitari.
The thing that I had always thought of as a stern old woman handed me Stick's cane. With the same benign smile I remembered from buying red hots from it as a ten-year-old, it waved me away with its flyswatter, and the cords of flesh pushed me out the door onto the sidewalk.

THE 2000 YEAR OLD MAN (1975) - FULL TRANSCRIPT 2000 Year Old Man is an old Brooks-Reiner comedy routine turned into a half-hour animated TV special. Reiner, a TV reporter, interviews Brooks, a man claiming to be 2000 years old. The interview consists of a serious of questions regarding the history of the world. Brooks' answers to Reiner's questions are priceless.
About four days ago a plane landed at Idlewild Airport.
The plane came from the Middle East bearing a man who claims to be
2000 years old.
He spent the last six days at the Mayo Clinic.
Ei, sir.
Sir, is it true that you are 2000 years old?
Oh boy.
-Yes. -You are?
It's hard to believe sir because
in the history of man nobody has ever lived more than 167 years
wich a man from Peru claimed to be.
But you claim to be 2000?
I'll be, not yet. I'll be 2000, October 16th.
You will be 2000. When were you born?
We didn't have formal years and names and writing.
We didn't know. I see.
Nobody kept time.
See, we didn't know.
We didn't write. We just sat around, pointed in the sky
and said wow hot there wow.
-That's all they said? -We didn't even know it was the sun.
You really didn't know anything.
Anything, we were so dumb.
We didn't know who was a lady.
-But they were... -They were with us.
But we didn't know who they was
we didn't know who was the ladies and who was fellows.
You thought they were just different type of fellows.
Yes, stronger or smaller or softer.
The softer ones I think was the ladies all the time.
What about that? How did you find out?
Well, they are cute, a fat guy,
could you could have mistaken him,
soft and cute.
Who is the person who discovered the female?
Bernie.
Who was Bernie?
Bernie, one of the first leaders of our group.

• And he discovered the female?
• Yeah.
  
• How did that happen?
  
• Ladies, ladies here.
  

I'm very interested to find out how Bernie discovered the woman.
-Well, he... -How did he come to find?
One morning
he got up smiling. So he said:
I think there is ladys here.
I said, well, what do you mean, you know?
He said: 'cause in the night.
I was swelled and delighted, see?
So he went into such a story that
it's hundreds of years later, I still blush.
Could you give us the secret of your longevity?
Well, the major thing.
The major thing.
Is that I never, ever touch ripe food.
I don't eat it.
I wouldn't look at it and I don't touch it.
And and I never run for a bus.
There's always another.
Even if even if you're late for work.
You know, I never run for a bus.
I never ran.
I just stroll, jump it, slowly walk to the next bus...
Yeah, well but there were no buses at the time.

• No, in my... -Right.

In my time ahnn...
What was the means of transportation then?
-Mostly fear.
-Fear transported you? -Fear yes.
You could see.
A lion, he would would growl, you would go two miles a minute.
I'd like to find out about some social customs
the origination of social customs.
For instance, singing how that started?
Oh it stems from fear.
-Could you explain? -Because in the old days,
I said old days.
I don't mean the georgian cars.
-Did you.. -I mean rocks and caves...
I'm asking you, sir, how song...
Some song came about when you really had to communicate.
-But in trouble you couldn't say help. -Yes.
But have to use your mouth.
Yes, I know.
Hello.
-I mean, I wouldn't say help, I say good morning.
Yes. You're really...
you know you in trouble.

• But somebody said eeeh eeeeh. -That was the first song.
  
• I don't know.
  
• In other words, fear, right?
  

I was singing.
We thought happiness did.
Oh, and the song came out of it.
A lion is eating my foot off.
Somebody call a cop.
A lion is eating my foot off.
Somebody call a cop.
A lion is eating my foot off.
Somebody call a cop.
A lion is eating my foot of
Somebody call a cop.
Very interesting to hear the derivation of songs
The first songs,
the first songs were all the anthem songs.
We always thought...
We always thought...
Wanna hear an anthem song?
You had an anthem song?
We had a national anthem.
-What was the anthem? -Well, ah...
you see, was only fragment...
-Fragment? -It wasn't a nation.
-Yes. -It was cave, each cave. Yes.
Each cave had a national anthem.
You remember the national anthem of your cave?
Ok. I say I'll never forget it.
You don't forget a national anthem in a minute.
Let them go to the hell
except cave 76.
For instance, how did the custom of two people shaking hands
how the handshake come to be?
The handshake? As you know...
I don't, that's why I'm asking!
The handshake has also stemmed from fear.

• Everything seems to stem from fear.
• Of course.

Everything we do is based on fear.
-Even love? -Mainly love.
How can love stem from fear?
How can love stem from fear?
What do you need a woman for?
You know what you need for?
-In my time? -Yes.
To see if an animal is behind yourself,
you had to get eyes in the back of your head.
you take two eyes that is to be a lady.
I see.
You say, lady, you look behind me for a while.
And that was the first... the first marriages.
What if you take a look behind me ok?
How long you want?Forever, we are married.
You walked back to back to the rest of your life?
Yes. You only look at her once in a while,
when you knew you it was safe?
When I knew I was in a highground.
-The handshakes they started how?
-They started to see if the fellow had a rock
or a dagger in his hand.
Where is you hand? Hi, Charlie.
How you're doing Jumpy, where is you hand?
Then you open it and you look...
And you shook another one.
And that's the way the handshakes started.
Yes, the shake.
May have a stone or a marble to stick in your eye.
In the older days
you should get a snap and all.
How the dancing started?
-Dancing is the same thing. -Fear again?
Just fear. The only thing you could do with a hand
was to see if there was a rock or a marble
or rubber band or nail or something that would stick in your head.
Right. Ok.
But while imobilizing my hand
dancing gets to complete the imobilization.
Dance and keep the feet busy so he can't get you.
Yes, but I think most people are interested
in living a long and fruitful life.
-You mentioned? -Fruit is good food, you mentioned.
Fruit kept me going for 140 years once
when I... was on a very strict diet,
mainly nectarines, I love that fruit
half a peach, half a plum, such a hell of a fruit.
It's not too cold
Not too hot, you know, just nice.
-What if... -A rotten one?
That's how much I love. I'd rather eat a rotten nectarine than a fine plum.
-What do you think about? -I can understand that.
Yes, that's how much I love them.
-Yes, I can understand, sir. -Some good things.
What did you do for a living?
Well, many years ago, thousands.
There was no heavy industry.
We know that.
Most things that we manufactured or we made,
most things we ever made,
was we would make a take a piece of wood
and rub it, rub it and rub it and rub it
then clean it and look at it and hit right with it
and hit a tree with it.
-For what purpose? -Just to keep busy.
There was not. There was absolutely nothing to do, had no job.
What other jobs were there?
Must've been something else besides hitting a tree with
the knowledge, hitting a tree with a
piece of stick was already a good job.
You couldn't get that job.
Mainly was sitting and looking in the sky
was a big job
and another job was watching each other.
-And what language did you speak? -They spoke...
-Rock, basic rock. -Years before Hebrew.
Yes. 200 years before Hebrew was the rock language, the rock talk.
Could you give us an example of that?
Hey, you don't put that rock on me.
Hey, what you do with the rock?
Do you remember you remember your Hebrew sir?
Yes, I would just I think I remember fluent...
Because I understand the modern Hebrew is different from the...

• Yes. The difference in some of the

-phonetic alliteration paterns. -Yes.
Can we hear an example of the ancient Hebrew?
A very ancient Hebrew is...
Oh, hi there, hello.
Hello there. How are you.
-Hi. How are you. -That's English.
-Oh wait, wait. -You remember any Hebrew?
Very little.
I don't think I remember.
I must have forgot a great deal of it.
-I think you forgot it all. -Maybe all, yes.
Maybe all. Thousands of years since I needed it.
Now, sir, did you ever...
Did you ever have any formal job as we know it today?
Yeah, well, I was a manufacturer. I was owner.
What kind of a factory did you have?
I had a I used to make the star of David, Jew stars.
Making a little money?
Where's that? Yeah.
Soon as religion came in, I was one of the first in that.
I figured this was a good thing.
How did you make them? Did you have tools?
Well, we didn't have a lady.
I employed six men each with a point.
They used to run together in the middle of the factory
A great speed, it was huge.
They were making a star.
Yes. We would make two a day because of the many accidents.
Six men running and... you know.
Lots of accidents.
You never thought of going into anything else?
Oh, no, I had an offer once.
-It came to me. Simon. -What Simon asked you to do?
Said he had a new thing, a new item,
a winner, looks like a winning item.
That was gonna be a big seller is called a cross.
And I looked at it and I turned it over
and looked in all sides of it
and I said, it's simple. It's too simple.
I didn't know then. Element.
-I didn't know with such a -You turned him down?
and I said, I'm sorry, but I'm too busy.
See, I could have I could have fired four men,
two men run together, bang, that is a cross.
Would say that I would I would have earned
over a hundred dollars doing that crosses and everything.
Yes, certainly.
Do you have a few moments, sir?
What do you mean? Money or the time.
No, we have to cut way for messages now.
-Okay, let's do it. Is it in English? -Yes.
By the way, sir, are you married?
I have been married several hundred times.
-Several hundred times? -Yes.
You haven't, man. Do you remember all your wives?
-One I remember well. -Which one was that?
The five one, Shyla.
I remeber her well.
I'm afraid to ask the next question, you had many hundreds of wives...
-Hundreds and hundreds. -But how many children you have?
I have over forty two thousand children.
And not one comes to visit me.
It's awful, sir
well, sir, it's really you mean to say there isn't one daughter...
there's many daughters, but, but they
you know how they are, children.
Good luck to them, let them go.
I don't want listen, let them be happy as long they're happy
I don't care. But they could send a note
write how're you Pop how you're doing Pop
you know, they don't.
Sir... ahn, you must have known
some great men in your time, you did travel to...
I knew the greater and the near greater.
Can I ask you about some of these...
Certainly, I'll tell you the true
the true whether I knew or not.
For instance, people are people are
very interested in somebody like Joan of Arc.
A lot has been written about her, we read a lot...
Aah what a kiss.
You knew Joan of Arc?
I went for her, damn it, I went for her.
Nowhere in history do we know of Joan going with it anybody.
Well, they don't print everything.
You did marry her? No.
No. I didn't marry her because she was on a mission.
she used to say to me
she used to say to me, I've got to save France.
I should say I look.
I've got to wash up. You save France.
See you later after you save France. I'll wash up, you know.
-How did you... -Hold it, I... yet.
How did you feel about her being burned at the stake?
Terrible.
I didn't I didn't know.
Sir, how about some of the legendary characters
who supposedly might have existed?
For instance, Robin Hood.
-Did he...? -Oh, yeah. Lovely man.
Ran around in the forest.
Did he really steal from the rich and give to the poor?
No, he didn't.
He stole from everybody and kept everything.
Out of the legend?
Out of the legend let's bring up that
he had a fellow monk, hired a press agent
running all the paper and roll and scroll.
He takes from the rich and gives to the poor, who knew?
You knew you took such a knock in the head
when he robbed you wouldn't knock him down.
-In other words... -A tough guy.
I hate to have our legendary figures smashed
Well, I hate do smashing for you.
So much to discuss, for instance,
-somebody like William Shakespeare -Oh what a pussycat.
-You are saying that you knew -A pussycat.
You did know it, for instance
Oh, that little beard, that cute hair...
He was reputed,
I guess you are agreeing that he was the greatest writer of all times.
Oh no, hey, hold up he was small.
What you mean? You just said he was great.
-Oh boy!
-And I said he was great... -No sir.
A cute man and a pussycat.
William Shakespeare was not a great writer?
Not good writer at all.
He wrote 37 of the greatest.
Shakespeare was not a good writer, no.
He wrote 37 of the greatest.
Would you ever see the original the first folios?
You mean they were edited by someone else?
Never mind the edit, did you see the folios?
No, I never saw them. Did you see?
I saw that folios, your wanna see how they are?
A blast...
A 'm' you know that look like a 'D'
an 'M' didn't look like an 'M'
I know that is a 'V'
Every letter was cockeyed and crazy.
Don't tell me he was a good writer.
The worst printmanship I ever saw in my life.
What he did? He did as it was reputed,
he did write 37 of the greatest plays of...
-38! -I only know 37.
Would you care to look at this list sir?
These items are listed come down to the ages.
-You know one that should be there? -Yes.
What's that?
Queen Alexandra and Morris.
Is there any copy of this unexistent?
This is a play that I put invested money in.
Probably the only one that didn't come to light.
Come to light and closed in Egypt.
Sir, you remember...
you remember any of the dialogue of Queen Alexandra and Morris?
Queen Alexandra turn to Morris and said:
Oh, Morris. What could it have been that I have seen?
Is it not in my marrow or we not have one on ourselves?
And he would say to her:
What are you hollering?
What are you hollering?
-Sir, what... -Wake up the whole castle, you know.
Sir, what did you do 2000 years ago to entertain...
-Walk and wing. -I want to know wether...
-Were there comedians -Oh sure sure, we had.
You remember any of the... 2,000 years ago...
A matter of days, let me see.
I remember one comedian gave us some laughs
while we were hysterical.
Well, who is he? Some good laughs.
Murray the Nut. He gave us a laugh.
A tiger came in the cave one afternoon.
Soothed in uninvited naturally.
Nobody asked how a tiger did walk in.
Tiger came in and Murray, you know, the joker
the tumbling, you know, the Nut
jumps at and grabs the tiger by the tail
yahaa, yahaa, yahaa...
and the tiger turn around and ate him in a minute.
and we get histerical laughing and laughing.
Best joke we ever had.
Oh sir, that's not very funny.
That was all we have, our chaos then that was all we have.
Terrible, I would consider that...
Have to pass me out, Murray took the tiger.
-That was entertainment? -Yes.
I would consider that in the realm of tragedy rather than comedy.
It's a point of view, to me tragedy is... is
if I cut my finger, that's tragedy.
It clinch and I cry and I run around
and I go into Mount Sinai for a day and a half.
I'm very nervous about.
And to me comedy is if you walk into an open sewer
and die, I like that.
Comedy I say.
-My finger is important. -Yes
In the 2000 years you've lived, you've seen a lot of items.
Certainly.
What is the biggest change you've seen?
In two thousand years the greatest thing mankind ever devised
I think in my humble opinion is saran wrap.
You can put a sandwich in it.
You can look through it. You can touch
you can put over your face and fool around and everything.
It's so cool you could wrap up
-You would ate it? -I love it,
put three olives in it and put a little one.
can put ten sandwiches and make up this.
-Whatever you want, It's clean and it sticks with.
-You equate this with... -You can look right through.
You equate this with man's discovery of space?
That was good, that was good.
-Sir, we ah... -Yes, yes.
We have to take time out for message now.
Why do you have to take time out?
You take the message, I'll keep talking.
That was a good message.
Well, sir, if we don't have too much more time
but we all here would like to know your code.
Well, alright, is this it?
A farewell? -A farewell address.
Hello there. This is 2000 years talking to you
from the depths of back there when we was
now I'm still and they not and I just want to say
keep your smile on your face.
And stay out of a Ferrari
or any small Italian car.
stay out of them. I wanna tell you that it's been
it's been a wonderful two thousand years
and you've been a wonderful civilization
and it's been a thrill living for 2,000 years
and eat a nectarine, is the best food ever made.

"Explain your past, Musa" the gov'ness walks at my right, shielding my from the piercing sun as we walks with the caravan. After the trench was dismantled, we are walking by foot to reach the capital, as the trench-line have been pushed far into our homeland.
"I was a cook when the war started, gov'ness" and now I am left wondering why did she chose me from anyone else in the caravan, there's the sergeant, the whom she asked to see earlier today.
"You have been trusted to cook rations for your company, as early as the war?" her baroque companion, similarly donned in her armor, walks close by ours, but never overtook us.
"No, gov'ness, I was a 10 years old when the war started, the war went for seven years and I fought for the last two" before she came, with weapons of the stars that could've decimate my trench instead of theirs
"Such a young man you are, seven years ago, the Emperor grants me audience, revealing that I was his progenitor"
This talk about an "imperium" across the stars and the deified emperor has gotten me worried. Is that her reason for talking to me, to ease my pain before sending me to the stars far from here? Or simply an act of pity?
The meager town came into view, and was it not for the ancient structure, we would've thought this was anywhere but the capital. Gray skies and beaten earth have become the synonym for the heart of Nagorow.
"I must say, this was not our expectation when your leader came into contact with my ship, begging for salvation" the gov'ness depart from me, and my instinct was to follow her, but who am I to her? And so I stay put and follow the rest of the caravan back to the main camp.
"You're lucky to have an audience with the Lady, runt" one of gov'ness' companion knocked me to the dirt, assuming that he's doing it out of spite and jealousy. I can see him walking to gov'ness
"I apologize for my companion's doing" another of gov'ness', as he extends his fingers that allowed me to stand to my feet "Lucius was indeed jealous, he was our best melee combatant and our Primarch haven't even bat an eye for him"
"Is that a rare thing?" Lucius and the gov'ness seems to enter the structure, doing their business there. I quickly glance at my watch, the gray sky seems to be forever, and it shows 1641. And I quickly look back at the gov'ness companion
"It is, perhaps Mother saw something within you, perhaps yours was interesting at the moment" the giant release his helmet, letting his bronze hair free from the confine "I am Rylanor, pleasure to meet you, Musa"
"As is mine, gov'nor"
The Sejm was delightful in seeing Fulgrim and her companions, as well as the news of the apparent victory on the frontlines. Such delight warrants them to spent their moneys on a grand feast right at the capital, inviting everyone within range to attend, with the guest of honor being the gov'ness herself.
"I would have thought you are with Mother, Musa" Rylanor brought two plates in his palm, the plate whom was enough for me was made miniscule by his hands, each contained meager food they could thrown
"Thanks, gov'nor" the feast gives us chair to sit, yet here I stand with him, outside of the building. Somehow the gov'nor chose to make a companion out of me, whilst gov'ness over there busy herself with her empire in the suns.
"I almost forgot what a food taste, Musa, back in the campaign, we would be served liquid ration with occasional starch" I took a look at him, and his plate was already cleaned
"You should try my cooking then, I cook better"
We let a simple laugh from the situation, from a soldier to another, from a human to another too. The door barges open and whom I thought to be Lucius emerge, escaping the feast.
"It's obnoxious inside, Rylanor, if you wish to see me, then don't, I'm heading to the nearest landing coordinate" and went he goes, somewhere place only he, gov'nor and gov'ness know. Something that I would not understand no matter how much gov'nor taught me.
"I have to agree with dear Lucius there" and speak of the gov'ness, and she shall came, looking at the horizon "they barely separate the nobility and the peasant"
I didn't mean to stare, but gov'ness wore something fine, something you'd see from paintings high in temple's ceiling, an ascendant of man. Looking carefully, it seems she wore old Nagorovian dress and modify it to suit her stature, or rather, her figure. She need not a corset, it seems.
"The food is delectable, Mother" Rylanor already took my plate without my knowing, something that I relent
"Every food is delectable when you are starved of them, dear Rylanor"
We all watched as a star suddenly rose at the horizon, perhaps something to do with Lucius and his departure. I suppose this is our future, being shackled by another uncaring emperor to fight the dangers of mankind.
"Say, Rylanor, but does that star seems approaching us?" and behind Lucius' ascend, a second star indeed looks as if its getting nearer. Just before I respond, nor gov'nor did for that matter, the air raid sirens blare and screech
"It is too late to dodge the missile, Mother, and I am the only one still wearing my armor, I would suggest taking a shield behind me" Rylanor easily stood and tower over us. I didn't even wait as I quickly take cover.
"Don't be ridiculous, Rylanor, these brutes couldn't even muster the technology to weaponize simple nuclear reaction" Rylanor didn't wait and cover me with his entire figure, and I just prayed that whatever nuclear is nor what reaction it cause would not be as devastating as I'd fear.
The moment of impact was blurry, but there was an apparent pain riddled to it, as the temperature rose akin to a sun blasting us with the heat. Like what was drilled into my head, I quickly wrap my entire face with anything, covering up the assuredly loud aftermath and the shrapnel flying around. I couldn't hear
And I wish I wouldn't hear
By the time the air around began to cool, my throat was hoarse, as if I have been shouting the entire time. It wasn't until I noticed the spasmic movement on my mouth that I realized, I have been barking around.
"At ease, gov'nor, at ease lads" I chanted
"It seems it was a nuclear explosion, Mother, albeit a primitive version of it" Rylanor seems to ignore my rant, addressing the gov'ness instead. He then release me, before coughing up liquids right at my face "apologies" he mumbles
"Be damned your humor, Rylanor" I hear the gov'ness, rasping in breath as I slowly gather my senses "Musa, you lived it seems" my eyes were blinking rapidly, due to the heat and the dust it caused "oh Rylanor, I apologized for your condition".
When my eyes fully recovered, I saw only desolation. No Man's Land was gentler than this, water and mud found refuge within them after all. But what I saw was beyond it, ruins and dry earth, trees and building charred, and people would likely evaporate. Peoples, on whom I was fighting with and fighting for, for two damned years. I couldn't take it anymore, first Maria and now this? Fate was far too cruel
Liquid barge through my mouth, followed close by every air in my lungs and waters in my eyes. There was no rythym, only that I was doing it in instinct, lying on all fours at the stairs near the gov'nor and gov'ness.
Only then did I brave to stand up, looking at them and the impact it caused. Gov'nor seems to be stuck in his place, unable to move as his hair rotted away and flesh melts to his armor. Now I understand why did he puke. The gov'ness was way less impacted, as her clothing burnt with the flesh on her skins, with her lying on her back.
"Cease your staring, Musa" she quickly commanded
"Yes ma'am" I quickly slap my cheek, a soldier need to finish his duties until the bitter end, and the enemy was no better after all "orders, gov'ness?"
"You're waiting for my orders?" she slowly sat herself, throwing out blood from her mouth while her arms sizzle and creates smoke "so it seems, help me get to one of landing coordinates" when she did sat, she saw her own legs, crushed from the debris of the railings and burnt to crisp "it seems I would have to relegate the matter of combat to you"
"Private Musa at the ready, gov'ness" so soon to serve this faraway empire, and my first duty is to escape the chaos that will ensue. And first, I need to find a cart or I will be carrying the giant on my back
"Musa, before you go" Rylanor rasp and wheeze as he reach for something, before he carved it with letters and numbers "you are familiar with latitudes and longitudes of your planet, I assume, and if not then you can ask Mother for direction" he gave me the knife, on which he have engraved numbers.
"And what will happen to you, gov'nor?" I took the knife and pocket it, then looking back at the gov'ness
"I will be fine, Musa, all I ask is that you deliver Mother there to the place, and rest assured that you will be awarded"
I ignore the last part, something about the futility in wealth and glory that I realized, living as a cook my entire life before becoming a soldier taught me that. I quickly strip my clothing, and though I have to face the cold soon, finding the gov'ness means of transportation is more valuable. I quickly wrapped the gov'ness legs with a shirt, then I cut another of my shirt into pieces before I wrapped it at her so I can carry her off, my suspender helped in holding her together too
"Something tells me I won't enjoy the journey" Fulgrim murmurs as she rest on my shoulder
"Be safe Mother, I pray that Musa will be sufficient to you"

Heartbreak.
That’s what got me, well, out of my funk. In a sense, at least. I was in a rut. Knew it. She did too. Guess we were in a rut, really. Ran its course. Doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell, but, well, sometimes stories end, you know?
So I did my piece. Curled up into the fetal position and fucking bawled. Days went by. Go to work. Go home. A zombie. Drank a lot more. But time wore down the edges eventually. And one day, I said “fuck it.” Packed my car, quit my job, and fucked off across the country. That was the plan anyway. Heading home. Maybe with my tail between my legs. I wasn’t sure.
It was a long drive. From the West Coast to the depths of the Midwest. From the shimmering, golden shores to undulating, aureate waves of grain. Radio stations fading in and out. Long stretches of static. Data dropping fucking everywhere. Sometimes I twisted through the AM band. Hellfire and brimstone. Vast conspiracies that always lacked imagination. What happened the fun stuff? Lizard people. Time travelers. Area 51. Not anymore. Everything’s a fucking angle. Propaganda. Switch it off.
I took a long way. Choosing county routes over the interstate. I had time to kill, so why not? Might as well see some of this country. The back parts. Dark parts. Quiet parts. Flyover parts. The “you don’t see anyone other than the locals and lost” and kinda parts. And I guess I was lost, right? In a sense. Though, I was hoping I wouldn’t become physically so. God knows I didn’t need to slip through the cracks of the Earth somewhere out near Kearney, Nebraska.
But things did get strange–shouldn’t that be expected out in these less-traveled places, though?--somewhere around Sheldon, South Dakota. I was at a rest stop, pulled over for a break, trying to get the last Clif bar to break free of the piece of shit vending machine, when I saw a black semi roll up.
Now, when I saw black, I mean completely. Utterly. Entirely. A pitch black cab with tinted black windows pulling a matching black trailer. Even the rims were black. It stood out like a oozing sludge against the golden, baked landscape. I stood there, by the vending machine, waiting for a while to see who would emerge. Of course I was curious. BUt…no one did. It just sat there–this beast of a vehicle–idling. I figured the driver must have been pulling over to take a nap or to call it quits from his shift–they can only drive so long, right? But you’d think they’d want to step out and stretch their legs.
Eventually, I managed to hit the plastic of the machine just right to free my Clif bar. I tore it open, took a bite, and returned to my car. Back on the road. I had places to be.
It was strange, though. I kept seeing the black truck after that. It passed me–somehow–on the highway a few dozen miles from the rest stop. But I caught up, a few miles outside of Sioux City. I passed right alongside it, my eyes straining to see who was driving. Naturally, the windows were tinted too and I couldn’t see a damn thing. I just couldn’t put it out of my mind. Such an odd sight. This big, beastly, pitch black truck barreling across the dull Midwest. It didn’t even have any markings. No company logo. No indication of what it was delivering, who it belonged to, or where it might be going. Well, it did have plates. Washington. But there was no way to know where it originated from.
After passing by it and getting through Blue Earth, I saw it again at a rundown motel. The Cozy Inn. I had pulled off a few hours earlier, deciding to spend the night. I was exhausted, had pulled a 10 hour day and could barely keep my eyes open. The clerk put me up in some grimy room that looked like the set of more than one true crime series. Stained sheets. Peeling wallpaper. A bathroom sink more inclined to spit out brown gunk than drinkable water.
My window faced the parking lot. I sat up for a while, curtains drawn, vaguely watching the television–playing one of those trashy true crime shows I feared I might end up on–and the parking lot. Cars occasionally came and went. I saw some of my neighbors, who looked mostly like travelers or perhaps vagrants. While a police officer was detailing a particularly gruesome scene on Murder Comes Home, I saw the black semi roll into the parking lot.
Once again, it sat there idling, headlights blazing through my window. I grew irritated. I almost got up to go outside. As I was contemplating the possible dangers of such a decision, a woman approached the monstrous truck. She looked beautiful in a miserable way, with a short fluorescent pink skirt and heels too high for the pock-marked parking lot.
She opened the passenger side door and climbed in, disappearing into the tinted darkness. The headlights went off and for a while I watched, silence save for the exploitative program murmuring in the background:
Her limbs were buried in separate spots along the roadside ditch…
My heart–broken though it was–thumped in my throat.
Her head was never recovered…
I walked outside, suddenly very concerned. I stood on the pavement in my shorts and t-shirt, facing the truck, no idea what I might do.
The door opened.
The woman stepped out.
Blood was running down her neck.
I ran up to her, “Miss, hey, Miss, are you okay?! You’re bleeding. Should I call an ambulance?” I was frantic, my eyes darting between the blood on her neck, trying to ascertain the source and the thumping truck.
“Oh, I’m fine. Just swell. Fucking grand.” Her voice was dreamy. Her eyes were glazed over as though she was in a daze.
I grabbed her arm, “I really don’t think you’re–”
She suddenly became more cogent, grasping my hand, “You don’t wanna get fucking involve in this, kid.”
I thought that was an odd thing to say–she was younger than me.
“I’m just trying to–” The headlights went on, illuminating us like a spotlight on a stage. The woman darted off, swaying as she did.
I stood there–stupid–not moving. All the lights in the parking lot went out and all I could hear was the engine idling. The driver’s side window rolled down. For a while–what seemed like an eternity, really–nothing happened. But then a hand emerged, casually, finger curling backwards, calling me over. And so I walked. What was I going to do? Be rude?
I couldn’t see inside the cab, but a voice emerged. It was deep, bone-shaking. It didn’t feel like it traveled through the air. More like it vibrated my eardrums, bouncing around my skull.
“You’re hurt.”
It took me a moment to gather myself, “Hurt?”
“Deeply. Wounded. Lost. Like a stray dog.”
I squeezed my hands together and could feel tears welling up in my eyes, “I’m just–”
“I can help.” The voice pushed inside me.
“You can?”
“Get in. Come take a little ride. You’ll feel better. Free. Happy. Complete.”
I stood in hesitation, my eyes on the hand, which was a deathly pale. It was almost translucent, but seemed so soft, gentle. I wanted to feel it on my cheek.
“Okay.”
I walked to the other side of the cab, pulled open the heavy metal door, and climbed into the plush, black seat. As soon as I pulled it shut I felt hands all over me. In my hair. On my neck. Roaming along my collarbones. Grasping my shoulders. I couldn’tj tell how many. Four? Six? Eight? Soft and gentle and cold.
I closed my eyes. I sank into the darkness. The headlights went out as the cab rumbled, pulling back onto the deserted county route.
And I felt good. So good.
Now, I don’t feel anything at all. Not scared or sad or hurt or lost. I’m found. Just like you could be found. So if you ever see a pitch black semi rolling along the highway, think about flagging it down.
And then, like me, you’ll never have to die

I have this fantasy, y'know. of having some sort of secret admirer. maybe a stranger, maybe a friend. he would just slowly get to learn things about me and I would grow into his heart like that. no sexual motivations, no interest in getting to know me so they can manipulate me into their laps. one day, he knows my favorite color, the names of my cats, he knows what I do when I'm alone and what I doodle when I'm bored and he just realizes he might be in love with me.
I think my wish is to be loved the way I love. everytime, it happened like this. like when I overheard a guy tell his friend he learned to crochet with his granny and when I talked to his friends he made sure I was being heard despite being a quiet talker and I've been heart-eyeing from afar ever since. or the one who was an acquaintance to my acquaintance, sat next to him and cracked jokes non-stop and I couldn't stop smiling. he told us about his mom, his dad, his brother and sister, about his childhood mischief. he made weird, nonsensical and off-putting questions and jokes but I would just feel so happy when he looked my way first to check if I was having fun. and then I had to fight every cell in my body to not follow his around like a puppy just so I know a little more, spend some time more around him. of course I'll see a guy pass by me and think "oh, he's cute" but it's a fleeting thought, not even close to infatuation.
I wish I could have someone to like me like this. not like just some piece of meat served on a plate, you eat away and throw the bones and the skin off once you had what you want. it feel so fucking impossible. it seems like too little men can even differentiate love and lust. have you seen how they talk about us? what they think of us? incels say women only care about looks and if you're not on the best half of the bunch you're not even acknoledged by women, and all women go after some weird ideal man who looks like this and that. hasn't it been historically the exact opposite? seriously, how many men do you know have married someone uglier than them in opposition to someone more good-looking?
for the vast majority of men is all about the sex, the looks. it's all about mentally ill pussy feels the best. it's all about having the old guy having the barely legal girl not because he likes her but because she's barely legal and thus better than any woman his own age or a bit older. it's about the male fantasy of the hot, servile latina/black wife, the male fantasy of the submissive and impressionable asian girlfriend, the innocent virginal blonde, the sensual redhead. this is all projection. after they're done crying about how they're not 6'0 or whatever, turn around and moan about how fucking disgusting would be existing next to a fat woman. if feels so incredibly gross to be in their circles and see what they say.
and I guess that's where I fucking enter. I look and act good enough to fulfill a male fantasy. sure, I guess I could go and pick a random to hook up with me. he will eventually get bored of the novelty, realize I'm not a sex toy and they don't actually like anything about me but sexual favors. suddenly I'm used goods.
at the same time, this is all there's left for me. because the good ones, the ones who care, the ones who are respectful and interested, don't want me. maybe I'm just not interesting enough, maybe I'm just too fucking broken to be deserving of being loved and love back. they have better options, because they always do. god, when was the last time an (available) guy sat next to me and asked about me? not my name or year. me. I can't recall.
I crave love so bad it crawls under my skin, it enters the pores in my bones, between the cells of my muscles, it runs my faces. I feel it with my whole body, I track the smallest sign of love like a hungry dog in everywhere I go, in everything I hear and see. I lay down and let my mind wander to the phantom sensation of a body over mine. my hand running on soft locks of hair, counting freckels and tracing marks, running my thumbs on dark circles. I dream of being clingy and affectionate and it's not annoying or something I should be ashamed of. I dream of movie dates where the movie actually matter, back rubs, gift exchanging. I dream of cooking something good and seeing eyes light up. I dream of hugging the hurt away after an argument. I dream of getting along with his family and him getting along with mine. I dream of a running toddler giggling their way to our bed. I dream of sitting down with a heavy photo album, reminiscing as we turn pages.
and then I realize all there's gonna be for me is being a male fantasy. something flimsy, fragile and bound to end. a toy you get for christmas and by easter it's in a donation box. someone to practice on before they find the one they want. that's all people like me get. and if I gain some pounds, cut my hair and stop giving so much attention to my acne and body hair, trying so hard to be funny and agreeable, probably not even that. ha.

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

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

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

I met Luna on a train two years ago. I’d just escaped from a toxic relationship, so romance was the last thing on my mind, but then she sat across from me in the carriage and asked about the book I was reading. She had a copy in her bag and wanted to know if it was any good.
I'd never felt such an instant, effortless connection with anybody before. I took a chance and asked her to dinner, and by the time the waiters cleared away our desserts, I already felt comfortable being vulnerable around her. So we went on a second date. And a third. And next thing I knew, we were planning our second anniversary.
In all that time she never gave off any 'creeper' vibes. Until a few months ago, when I stayed the night over at her place...
She'd gotten up early to use the bathroom. I grabbed her laptop off the side desk so I could catch up on some work e-mails, and the incognito tab was just sitting there. My first thought was: either she's having an affair or she's got a secret fetish.
What I found instead was a Google account with a photo album called ‘Michael’s EX’. In it, there were 427 photos of my former girlfriend turned psycho stalker, Sadie. This included shots of ‘Sadie the stalker’ with her family, screenshots of her passport—the works. On Facebook, Sadie's latest post said Moving to the Philippines, and since then she’d become a social media church mouse, so how did Luna keep her under surveillance? And how did you even get PERSONAL ID from a person halfway across the globe?
Down the hall, I heard the bathroom door swing open. Quickly I closed the laptop and pretended to be asleep until Luna planted a kiss on my lips. “Wakey wakey Bugs.”
I faked a stretch. “Morning Lola."
(At school, the other kids christened me ‘Bugs’ because of my cartoonishly large front teeth; I called Luna ‘Lola’ because of her blonde bangs and heart-shaped face.)
“How about we grab a fry for breakfast?” Her smile didn’t seem genuine, more like she was wearing a mask.
“Crap. I forgot I’m doing overtime today, I’ve gotta get to work.” With that, I shot out of there faster than a bullet train to Tokyo.
Because I didn’t wanna believe the worst about someone I cared so deeply about, I didn’t contact the police (not that anybody could’ve guessed what Luna was up to) and made excuses whenever she asked to meet, delaying the decision whether to end our relationship.
At night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time a hedge rustled outside, I’d run to the window and pull back the curtain only to discover a black cat skulking around the garden. I put this down to my previous relationship leaving me with a mountain of unresolved PTSD.
Sadie the stalker also seemed normal until we moved in together. After that she started picking fights if she caught me talking to another woman, even just distant relatives or childhood friends. The screaming matches went from weekly to nightly, only ever ending when I conceded to her every wish and gave her full access to my phone and social media accounts. I literally needed to grab my clothes into a bag and run away one night, and then I started hearing noises outside my new apartment. And although I never found any evidence, I was pretty sure she’d broken in at one point because the books on my side table were suddenly out of order one day. What hurt the most was Luna knew all this and still acted the way she did.
Right as I reached my lowest point, my close friend Gertrude called and said, “The universe is telling me you could use a sympathetic ear.”
I told her the universe didn’t know the half of it.
I’d met Gertrude—aka my surrogate mother—on a flight to London. Passing over Wales the aircraft hit heavy turbulence, and the grey-haired hippie in the seat next to mine squeezed my hand so tight that my fingers turned blue. After we levelled off, she apologized and said, “So what’s calling you to London?”
“A job.”
A few glasses of wine from the service trolley later, she blurted out, “You know your aura is strikingly similar to my husbands.”
“Uhh, thanks. Where is he now?”
“Oh, he burned to death in a house fire.”
Gertrude’s eyes started welling up. To take her mind off the subject, I said, “I lied earlier. I’m going to London because I fell in love with a Londoner.” I pulled up pictures of Sadie (back in her pre-stalker days) on my phone. “We met in Italy. She looked flustered trying to read a map book so I offered to help. Next thing I knew, we were planning a trip to this place called Orvieto.”
“Michael, I need to know how this story ends. Gimme your number.”
Since then, we’d met two or three times a year.
I laid the whole mess out over pizza. It was the first time since finding the Google account I didn’t feel hidden eyes crawling all over me.
Just as I wrapped up the story, over in the corner booth, a family burst into a chorus of happy birthday. A waiter appeared carrying a chocolate cake, capped by a giant candle that looked more like a flare. Gertrude tensed up.
“So what do you think about all this?” I asked.
She looked back at me and said, “It’s possible your reaction has been a touch on the dramatic side.”
“DRAMATIC??”
“Well consider things from Luna’s point of view. Your last relationship lasted for, what, three years? Maybe she felt threatened.”
“I don’t believe this.” I grabbed a cigarette from my pocket, but Gertrude snatched it away.
“You know how I feel about you poisoning your lungs, Michael.”
“Don’t you start. I got enough of that crap from Luna.”
Gertrude always encouraged me to work through my romantic problems. Ultimately, I decided her love of fairytale romances clouded her judgement and ghosted Luna instead. But I couldn’t escape her shadow. She always felt close. In fact, it got so bad that at a friend’s costume party several weeks later, my eyes kept compulsively scanning the crowd as if she was there in disguise, ready to pounce.
I stood off to the corner until, over the sea of heads, I spotted a beautiful stranger dressed as Jarlath the Goblin King. I took a shot of liquid courage and made a B-line towards her.
Halfway across the crowded room, beer splashed across the front of my Ziggy Stardust outfit.
“I am so sorry,” a female pirate said, patting me dry.
“Don’t worry about it.” Every time I tried circling her, she moved to cut me off.
“I am such a klutz. Why don’t you come into the kitchen so I can clean up this mess?”
I put my hands on her shoulders and steered her out of the way. “It’s fine. Trust me.”
Approaching Jarlath from behind, heart slamming against my chest, I said, “Well this is awkward. One of us is gonna have to change.”
Jennie had bright blue eyes and dimples impossible to miss. Ten minutes into our debate about David Bowie’s greatest album, I said, “You know Absolute Bowie are playing the Half Moon next week. I could take you?”
“Sorry. I’m going with my boyfriend,” she said with a sympathetic smile. From beside the buffet table, the pirate stared daggers in our direction.
“No worries,” I replied, despite the fact I was brimming with jealousy.
The next day, as I jogged off my hangover, a brown-haired lady cut across my path and we both went spinning to the ground.
“Flip, sorry.” I rushed to pull her up by the hands. “I’m like a bloody zombie lately.”
She did a doubletake. “Ziggy, right?”
There was no mistaking those eyes. “Jarlath?”
“Well, Jarlath or Jennie. Eithers fine.”
“Right. Well, sorry again. Enjoy Absolute Bowie.”
Before I could jog away, she said, “Hey, so that guy I was seeing? Turns out he’s a total prick.”
Jennie and I went for coffee. Coffee morphed into drinks. Drinks morphed into a steamy make-out session on my sofa.
But as she covered my neck in soft kisses, my stomach turned. It felt like cheating. So, I put the brakes on things and said, “I can’t do this. I’m really sorry. You’re amazing, but I just got out of a serious relationship…and…it’s just…”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.”
We agreed we’d let our connection blossom in its own time.
Jennie had a playful mystique to her. Within a handful of dates, we’d developed inside jokes and could tell what the other was thinking. But Luna’s imprint was hard to shake, to the extent I almost mixed up the two ladies’ names multiple times.
To detox, I suggested Jennie and I spend a romantic weekend in the Lake District, because after two days of hiking and kayaking my ex would no doubt be a spec in the rearview mirror.
Hours before we set off, however, Luna’s mom called. She wanted to meet and wouldn’t accept any excuses.
“Look, it’s obvious why I’m here,” she said, sitting across from me in Starbucks. “Ever since you and Luna broke up, she’s been acting…different.”
“Different? Different how?”
“I call but she hardly answers. I go over to her place but she’s never there. Now she’s telling me she needs to find herself. Says she’s moving to Australia.”
Her fingers tightened around her cup. “I need to know what happened between you two. And I don’t care if that paints anybody in a bad light. I’m just worried about my daughter is all.”
I told her about the Google account.
“Did you confront her about it?”
“Hell no. I ghosted that crazy bitc—” I cleared my throat. “I mean, I just…stopped seeing her.”
She started crying so loudly customers at nearby tables paused their conversations. I touched her forearm, promised I’d call if I remembered anything else, then set off for my romantic weekend.
But while Jennie and I enjoyed all that fresh air and pub food, a thought nagged at me. Luna adored London, so why move to Australia? It seemed so out of character. Back at our rented cottage, I was so fixated on the thought I needed a smoke, badly.
“What the hell is that?” Jennie demanded, as she stepped onto the front deck.
I glanced at my hands. “Uhh, a cigarette.”
“Michael! Don’t be sarcastic. You know how I feel about those things.”
“…Do I?”
“Uhh, well it’s the same as anybody else. Quit poisoning your lungs and put that thing out.”
“Alright alright, geeze. Sorry Luna.”
“That’s okay.”
A knot formed in my stomach as she went back inside. I’d called Jennie Luna by mistake. And she hadn’t noticed. In fact, her reaction to me smoking was identical to Luna’s—even the snappy way she said the ‘poison your lungs’ line.
I followed Jennie into the lounge, where she’d curled up on an armchair with a Colleen Hoover novel. She was hiding something. What else did she know about Luna? Maybe I could trick her into revealing some details…
From behind, I started massaging her shoulders. “Sorry for being rude before. I know what you said came from a place of love.”
“That’s okay.”
I waited until her eyes drooped shut, then said, “It really is perfect here, huh? Maybe we should stay forever.”
“Wouldn’t that be amazing?”
Her little groans of pleasure, the rhythm of her breathing, it all felt so familiar. I waited until the tension in her neck dissolved, then I pushed my lips against her ear and whispered, “So how about we take this into the bedroom…Lola.”
“Hmm. Sure thing Bugs.”
My hands froze. Jennie jumped up. “Uhh, that felt so good, why’d you stop?”
“What did you just say?”
“What did you just say?”
“I called you Lola,” I replied, my arms frozen in midair. “And you called me bugs.”
“Like the cartoon, right? I thought it’d be a cute nickname. Anyway, I’m tuckered out.” She forced a yawn. “Why don’t we get some sleep?”
As her hand laced with mine, an image of me waking up drugged and gagged and tied to the bedposts flashed before my eyes.
I said, “Sure. I just…need to use the bathroom first.”
The second the door shut behind me, I flew out of the house, climbed in my car, and sped away.
Within seconds my phone started blowing up with calls, followed by texts. Where are you going? Is everything okay?
No, I wanted to reply. I’m onto your sick little game. Whatever it is, I’m onto it.
Luna stalked my stalker, now Jennie somehow knew Luna and I’s nicknames. How? Did all women take turns drawing straws and whoever picked the short one needed to become my girlfriend?
I couldn’t go home. For all I knew, my exes would’ve been there burning effigies of me. I needed a safe place. Somewhere I could lie low until I got all this straightened out.
“Of course you can stay,” Gertrude said over the phone. “I’m out with some friends, but I’ll meet you later. If you hop the side gate there’s a spare key under the kissing gnomes out back.”
Gertrude lived in a detached house in Wembley. It took a bit of foraging to find the gnomes hidden beneath the weeds in the brown, patchy garden.
I needed to shoulder the door open. Inside, a mountain of letters and flyers had piled up on the welcome mat.
Down the hall, a huge archway connected the landing with a lounge, where a bar sat against the far wall, surrounded by upholstered sofas, a low table, and tie dye sheets strung over the filthy carpet. Everything had a real elegant vibe, despite the musty air.
I’d drained two glasses of whiskey before Gertrude arrived.
“Looks like you’ve had a rough evening.”
I said we could talk in the morning.
“Not a chance. You can’t take negative energy to bed. Come on, confession is good for the soul.”
She sat on the sofa and patted the empty seat next to her. So, with a weary sigh, I shared a tale of deranged exes.
“Crazy,” she said.
“I sure can pick ‘em, huh?”
“No, I mean you’re crazy.”
“What?”
“Think about it. What’s more likely: that your ex’s are secretly in collusion, or you’re being paranoid? Look how bloodshot your eyes are. When’s the last time you got a good night’s rest?”
She made a great point; teenagers on the street occasionally shouted ‘Bugs’ or ‘Thumper’ at me. Jennie might’ve come up with the nickname herself. I pinched the bridge of my nose, groaning.
“Look, sleep here tonight. Tomorrow we’ll brainstorm ways you can make it up to Jennie.”
I fumbled through my pockets for a cigarette.
“Really?” Gertrude said. “If you insist on poisoning your lungs, can you at least do it away from my home?”
“Well if I can’t smoke, I’m gonna need a refill.” I shook my empty glass.
On my way toward the bar, a wave of wooziness hit me. My first instinct was to blame it on the alcohol, but there was something else.
It was her reaction to the cigarette. My finger ran through the thick layer of dust along the bar’s countertop. Why was it like the place had been abandoned? Why did Gertrude always pressure me to stay with my psycho girlfriends? And how come she always reached out, as if on cue, whenever my relationships hit problems? It couldn’t be coincidence…
I poured two glasses of whiskey and carried them to the sofa. “So, you’re really against the whole smoking thing, huh?”
“Of course. It’s a filthy habit.”
“Yeah. Plus, there was that mess with your husband. House fire, right?”
“I’d rather not discuss it.”
“Sure, sure.” I ignited the lighter with a roll across my trouser leg.
Gertrude grabbed a cushion and hugged it. “What are you doing?”
“Alright, cut the crap. What the hell’s going on? Have you been sending your friends to date me?”
“What are you talking about?”
I wrestled the cushion from her and held the lighter beneath it. “I want an explanation right now or I’m torching this place.”
This was an empty threat. I wasn’t some pyromaniac—I just wanted answers. Inch by inch, I raised the flame. “Last chance. Why are the women in my life acting weird?”
Gertrude grabbed for the lighter. As I swatted her wrists away, we both got scorched, and for a moment her skin went wild with spasms, a sensation I can only compare to reaching inside a bucket of wet, writhing maggots. My gaze whipped between her face and her hands, which vibrated like plucked guitar strings.
Before I could scream, she yanked me up, clamped a cold, wrinkled palm across my mouth, and forced me against the wall. I thrashed around, unable to move. For a lady old enough to collect a pension, she was crazy strong.
She waited until I ran out of breath, then said, “Michael, please. I’m not going to hurt you. Open your heart and listen.”
What else could I do?
“You were right before. I have been keeping a secret from you. The truth is, I’ve been in love with you since we met. I’d never flown before. And you were so so sweet. You started talking about this other woman, but I knew our energies were perfect for each other. And it’s like I always say, love makes us do crazy things. You can’t begrudge me that can you?”
She looked as if she expected me to respond, so I shook my head.
“But I think we’ve reached a point where our connection is so deep we can be completely transparent with one another.” She took a slow, steady breath. “Michael, all your ex’s, Luna, Sadie, Jennie. They’ve all been…well, me.”
I stared at her, confused.
She sighed. “It’ll be easier if I just show you.”
Out of nowhere her hand wriggled again, then her face tightened, as though the skin was being stretched over the bone. Wrinkles smoothed out and colour bled into her grey hair, turning it brown, and within seconds I found myself face-to-face with Jennie. Even her vintage clothes morphed into a green blouse and white slacks.
“See?” she said in Jennie’s voice, her now blue eyes locked on mine.
I screamed into the soft flesh of her palm.
“Sssh, it’s okay. I’m not gonna hurt you. Watch.”
Her entire body jerked and twitched, the muscles spasming as she shifted from Jennie to Luna. “See? Think of these as costumes”—from Luna to Sadie—"the important thing is what’s underneath. And you’ve fallen in love with what’s underneath three times. Now I’m going to let go, but I need you to promise you won’t overreact. Understand?”
On the verge of a panic attack, I nodded furiously.
The second she pulled away I made a break for the exit. The thing posing as Sadie grabbed me and hurled me backwards against the wall.
Like a disappointed teacher, she put her hands on her hips. “I’ve been so patient with you, Michael. So very, very patient.”
She blocked off any hope of escape. I sidestepped around the outer edge of the room, towards the bar.
“All those years moulding you. Trying to grow you into the man I know you can be. I really thought we had it this time. For the record, I wanted to do this the easy way. But drastic times...”
I was so scared I slammed right into the cabinet and yelped. Glass bottles chattered together, and then something wet ran down the back of my shirt. It was whiskey, leaking from the overturned bottle onto the carpeted floor.
Speaking more to herself now, Gertrude said, “I’ll just have to keep you here until you love me as much as I love you. Of course, that means posing as you so nobody gets suspicious, but that’s no trouble. I’ll tell your dad you’re moving to Italy. You always loved Italy.”
Pose as me? She'd been killing my ex's and taking their place, I was just the latest in a long line. She’d keep me as a personal sugar baby if I didn’t escape, but how? She was impossibly strong, and the only thing that seemed to scare her was…
Snatching the bottle, I doused the remaining whiskey all over the carpet and furniture. As I flicked the lighter open, Sadie’s hands shot up.
“Bugs…darling…what are you doing?”
I took three slow, steady breaths. “Breaking up with you, you crazy bitch.”
I tossed the lighter forward. Within seconds flames sprung up all around us, spreading as far as the sofa. Sadie’s shoe caught fire, and as she stamped around, unintentionally fanning the blaze, her body writhed again, starting with the ankles. Fat boils climbed up every inch of exposed skin, milky white and with the consistency of frog spawn, like she’d had a killer allergic reaction to poison ivy.
She dropped to her knees, wailing like a wounded animal. This was my chance.
I made a break for the exit, giving the creature as wide a berth as possible. But as I got one foot planted in the hall something clamped tight around my ankles. My chin hit the floor, then I started sliding backwards.
I twisted onto my back. Where Sadie’s left arm should’ve been, a tentacle-like appendage stretched across the length of the room, a distance of over twenty feet. It reeled me toward her like a fish on a line. Whatever that thing was no longer looked human. It melted like an ice statue, with no bones or connective tissue inside, its lips nose and mouth becoming hideously elongated before dripping off in huge globs like melted candlewax. A fire alarm started wailing as the tentacle dragged me through the flames, scorching my arms and legs.
The loose mass of skin reached out and encased me like a mother bird sheltering its eggs.
“WHY WON’T YOU LOVE ME?” all my ex’s voices screamed at once. Whichever direction I looked, silhouettes of faces rose and fell, as if trying to burst through. Parts of them dripped inside my mouth, disgustingly warm with a bitter taste worse than Vaseline.
I put everything into clawing my way out if there. What was left of the beast had the consistency of wet clay and came apart just as easily. I tore away chunks until there was a hole large enough to squeeze through. Then, I crawled along surrounded by black smoke.
At the far side of the room I risked a glance back and saw a bumpy, uneven hand reaching out of a puddle of ooze. Soon I was crawling over the bristly welcome mat, then fumbling for the door. All I remember after that are paramedics wrestling me into an ambulance…
A specialist officer came to see me at the hospital the next morning. They’d been unable to contact the homeowner, Gertrude Huyton, and through his line of questioning I could tell they hadn’t found her ‘remains’ inside the charred house. Like the wicked witch of the West, my stalker had melted. I told the officer she said I could stay the night, and that I probably started the fire by dropping a cigarette.
“In that case, we’ll keep trying to reach her.” He walked to the curtain surronding my bed and paused. “Oh, and I almost forgot to mention, her cat is missing.”
“Her...cat?”
“Yeah. The little black one. One of the firemen pulled it out of the wreckage. The poor thing had burns over its legs but it ran off before anybody could take it to the vet.”
I swallowed a gulp and thanked him for telling me.
And now I’m still sitting here listening while nurses rush back and forth, terrified any one of them might be Gertrude…