Brit lit honors

If this content is something you want to see more of, comments below will be taken into consideration as we prepare to start finding the open submissions for a variety of writing and artwork competitions. If it's of no interest, let us know that too! This is YOUR subreddit!
Seeking Submissions for Poetry Chapbook Prize
Deadline: December 31, 2023
The winner of The Headlight Review’s 2024 Poetry Chapbook Prize Contest will receive publication (a perfectly bound book with a full color or black/white cover), an award of $500, and 25 copies of the book. A list of finalists will be announced sixty days after the close of submissions. All manuscripts will be judged blindly. The finalists who make it through the first round will be judged by esteemed poet Valerie A. Smith.
2024 Press 53 Award for Short Fiction
Deadline: December 31, 2023
The 2024 Press 53 Award for Short Fiction will be awarded to an outstanding, unpublished collection of short stories. Reading Fee: $30. Award: $1,000 cash advance, publication, and 53 copies. To Enter: Submit online with Submittable or by mail from September 1–December 31, 2023. Press 53 short fiction editor Claire V. Foxx will serve as the only judge. Winner and finalists announced by May 1, 2024; advance review copies sent to major reviewers and outlets; publication in May 2025.
Complete details at www.Press53.com/award-for-short-fiction.
After Happy Hour Contest (Theme: Animals)
Deadline: February 15, 2024
For this year’s contest, we want submitters to go wild—or domesticated, or sentient, or whatever other form of beastly you’re feeling. Submissions should feature some kind of animal that is integral to the story. Note that this doesn’t need to be a real animal—it could be a cryptid, a hybrid, or a human-to-animal transformation. Each $10 contest entry covers 1 short story, creative nonfiction piece, or suite, or up to 3 individual poems or flash prose pieces. Winners receive publication and a cash prize determined as a percentage of total entry fees (full details are on our website).
The swamp pink Prizes in Fiction, Nonfiction, & Poetry
Deadline: January 31, 2024
Formerly known as the Crazyhorse Prizes, the swamp pink Prizes award $2,000 and publication to a story, essay, and poem. From January 1 to 31, submit a story or essay of up to 25 pages or a set of 1–3 poems via Submittable. Judges for each genre can be viewed on our website. The entry fee is $20; all entries will be considered for publication. swamppink.submittable.com/submit
2024 Bill Hickok Humor Award Deadline: February 28, 2024
I-70 Review announces the Bill Hickok Humor Award for a poem. The winner receives $1,000, and the poem will appear in I-70 Review 2024. Submit one to three poems with a $15 entry fee to i70review@gmail.com. Reading period: Jan 1 to Feb 28. No submissions before January 1. Submissions will be eligible for publication in I-70 Review. The judge is Alice Friman.
For more info visit i70review.fieldinfoserv.com.
The Orison Prizes in Poetry & Fiction
Deadline: April 4, 2024
The 2024 Orison Prizes in Poetry & Fiction offer $1,500 and publication by Orison Books for a full-length manuscript in each genre. Judges: Ellen Bass (poetry), Kaveh Akbar (fiction). Entry fee: $25. Entry period: December 1, 2023–April 1, 2024. For complete guidelines visit orisonbooks.com/submissions.
2024 Colorado Prize for Poetry
$2,500 honorarium and book publication: Submit book-length collection of poems to the 2024 Colorado Prize for Poetry by January 14, 2024 (we will observe a 5-day grace period). $25 reading fee (add $3 to submit online) includes subscription to Colorado Review. Final judge is Brenda Shaughnessy; friends and students (current or former) of the judge are not eligible to compete, nor are Colorado State University employees, students, or alumni. Complete guidelines at coloradoprize.colostate.edu or Colorado Prize for Poetry, Center for Literary Publishing, 9105 Campus Delivery, Colorado State University, Fort Collins, CO 80523-9105.
Burnside Review Press Contest
Manuscripts of 50-100 pages of poetry will be accepted until December 31, 2023. Arda Collins will judge. The winning book will be published by Burnside Review Press in 2025. The author will receive a $1,000 prize, plus ten copies of the book. A $25 entry fee must be paid at the time of submission. Contest entrants will receive one Burnside Review Press title. The editors may select an additional manuscript from the submission pool for publication.
Visit www.burnsidereview.org for complete guidelines.
2024 William Saroyan International Prize for Writing
Deadline: January 31, 2024
Submissions are now being accepted for the 11th Saroyan Prize. The awards, co-sponsored by Stanford Libraries and the William Saroyan Foundation, are intended to encourage new or emerging writers and honor the Saroyan legacy of originality, vitality, and stylistic innovation. Two prizes of $5,000 each are given for works of fiction and nonfiction. Writers who have published four books or more are ineligible. Submit five copies of your work published between January 1, 2022, and December 31, 2023, with a $50 entry fee by January 31, 2024. Visit our website for complete eligibility and submission details: saroyanprize.sites.stanford.edu.
Interim Poetics: The Test Site Poetry Prize Deadline: December 15, 2023
Interim will choose two winning books for the series—one title publicized as the winner of The Test Site Poetry Series and the other as the Betsy Joiner Flanagan Award in Poetry. Both winners will receive a $1,000 award and their books will be published by the University of Nevada Press. Submit by December 15, 2023. www.interimpoetics.org/test-site-poetry-series
Driftwood Press In-House Contests + Additional Submission Opportunities
Deadline: January 15, 2024 (In-House Contests)
Driftwood Press is happy to share a plethora of submission opportunities for writers and artists! Our In-House Short Fiction & Poem Contests, in which every work submitted is considered for publication as winner or runner-up, is ending soon! For our yearly print anthology, we are looking for poems, short stories, comics, and visual art that will wow our readers with innovative language and strong craft. We are a paying market, and our published writers also get to take part in bespoke interviews about their work! Driftwood is also on the hunt for amazing book-length titles to grow our catalogue, so if you have a novella, poetry collection, comic collection, or graphic novel manuscript, we would love to read it! Visit us here for our Submittable page, and we encourage you to follow us on social media (@driftwoodpress) to learn about even more submission opportunities!
The Twin Bill’s Second Annual Baseball Lit Contest
Deadline: December 30, 2023
The Twin Bill, a baseball literary journal, is open for submissions for their annual contest for best baseball fiction, creative nonfiction, and poetry. The winner in each category will receive $100 and an engraved baseball trophy. The runners-up will receive $50 and will be published in our January 31 issue. Each piece will be professionally illustrated. Contest submissions are $10 and will be considered for both the contest and the Opening Day issue. thetwinbill.com/submissions/

Demographics: White Male, Mother has Bachelors of Science, Family income of 98k, Title 1 School, Small town (~16k residents)
Stats: 11 APs - Calc AB & BC, Bio, APUSH, Euro, Gov, Psych, Lang, Lit, Chem, Physics C I assume all scores will be a 5.
3.98 unweighted gpa 4.54 Weighted gpa (0.333 weight for honors classes & 1.0 for AP)
Currently 5th in class, hope to get 1st or 2nd next year
36 ACT Composite (36 for all sub scores)
ECs: 1) Speech & Debate - Freshman Year 2) DECA - Sophomore-Senior Year (President) 3) Community Service Club - Junior Year 4) NHS - Junior & Senior Years 5) JV Tennis - Sophomore-Senior Year 6) Supermilage - Senior Year 7) Robotics? - Maybe Senior Year 8) Private Pilot License: - received my pilots license on my 17th birthday. Less than 500 pilots are 17 in the world. This took me over a year to complete and is my passion 9) Mitchell Flight Club: Elected Club secretary by over 40 members. I manage intra club communications. This club has 2 airplanes and hangars. I help coordinate monthly meetings aswell. 10) Projects: - currently working on designing a wind tunnel, have made model rockets, worked with 3D printing, made rc planes, arduinos, some coding, plan on designing parts to make my car more fuel efficient by lowering drag coefficient.
Summer programs: 1) Missouri Scholars Academy: - Top 300 students in Missouri are selected to go to this month long program at mizzou. Every Missouri student has a chance to get in. 2) Boys State: I plan on running for governor but I have not participated in it yet 3) Naval Academy Summer Program 4) Air Force Summer Program 5) Aerospace Academy: Weeklong program in which I work alongside aerospace interns and develop spacecraft equipment.
Awards: 1) Various school recognition awards 2) 1st 2nd and 5th at DECA districts competitions 3) 3rd at DECA State 4) Did not podium but I attended DECA internationals 5) AP recognition 6) NMSQT Finalist probably* (1490 PSAT) 7) Private Pilot License
LORs: Very strong. I have a very good relationship with my teachers
Essays: Quite good, not Shakespeare but pretty good.
Intended Major: Aerospace Engineering
About me: I am a student with a total passion for space and rocketry. I love aviation and I am a pilot.
If anyone has any questions or wants me to go into more depth please let me know! -Drew

Demographics
State: PA
Highschool (2): Private Roman Catholic - Class of 85, Rural Public - Class of 200
Gender: Male
Race/Ethnicity: Hispanic
Mom: Business
Dad: Med, attended Northwestern University
Upper-Middle class/Upper, live in rural area
Intended Major: Electrical Engineering
School 1:
UW Fresh-Soph GPA: 94.6%
W Fresh-Soph GPA: N/A
School 2:
UW Junior GPA: 95%
W Junior GPA: 103.7%
Class Rank:
Fresh-Soph: ~15%
Junior: N/A (around 10% my guess)
Have all A's (90+) on yearly transcript except AP Lang this year
PSAT: 1480
Coursework
All Honors (with the exception of electives)
APs:
3 Junior Year. None offered Fresh-Soph.
AP World: N/A
AP Lang: N/A
AP Stats: N/A (4-5?)
AP Psychology: Next Year
AP Physics: Next Year
AP Calc AB: Next Year
AP Environmental Science: Next Year
AP Lit: Next Year
Other:

• High Honors Fresh-Junior
  
• NHS
  
• Honorable Mention Spanish Award
  
• 100 hrs local community service
  

& others
Cost Constraints / Budget

• 70k a year
  
• Mom said price range changes accordingly to "how good the school is"
  

Schools
Urbanized Preferred, not needed
Chicago area preferred (family near by) yet other options are fine
Size of school: Medium-Large is fine
Safety: Not sure
Likely: Michigan State, Illinois Institute of Tech
Match: Lehigh, Pitt, Purdue, UIUC
Reach: Not sure
plz let me know what colleges I should be looking for and suggest some

PLAYBOY Interview With Conan O'Brien Interview by Kevin Cook For Playboy Magazine February 1998
A candid conversation with the preppie prince of "Late Night" about his rocky start, his show's secret one-day cancellation and how David Letterman saved the day.
He was polite. He was funny. He gave us a communicable disease.
At 34 Conan O'Brien is hotter than the fever he was running when we met in his private domain above the "Late Night" sound stage. A gangly freckle-faced ex-high school geek he is "one of TV's hottest properties" according to "People" magazine. The host of "Late Night With Conan O'Brien" has become his generation's king of comedy.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Congested too, but O'Brien has far more to worry about than his head cold. A perfectionist who broods over one bad minute in an otherwise perfect hour of TV, he worries he might be anhedonic, "I have trouble with success," he says, "I was raised to believe that if something good happens something bad is coming." Sure things look good now "Rolling Stone" calls "Late Night" "the hottest comedy show on TV." Ratings are better than ever, particularly among 18- to 34-year-olds, the viewers advertisers crave.
But O'Brien only works harder. Despite his illness he taped two shows in 26 hours on three hours' sleep. He smoothly interviewed Elton John then burst into coughing fits during commercials. Later in his crammed corner office overlooking Manhattan traffic Conan the Cool gulped Dayquil gel caps. He coughed spewing microbes.
"Sorry, sorry," he said. Of course O'Brien can't complain. He came seriously close to falling to being banished behind the scenes as just another failed talk show host.
At his first "Late Night" press conference he corrected a reporter who called him a relative unknown, "Sir I am a complete unknown," he said. That line got a laugh, but soon O'Brien looked doomed. His September 13, 1993 debut began with O'Brien in his dressing room preparing to hang himself only to be interrupted by the start of his show. Before long his career was hanging by a thread. Ratings were terrible. Critics hated the show. Tom Shales of "The Washington Post" called it as "lifeless and messy as roadkill." Shales said O'Brien should quit.
Network officials held urgent meetings discussing the Conan O'Brien debacle. Should they fire him? How should they explain their mistake?
In the end of course he turned it around. The network hung with him long enough for the ratings to improve and the host of the cooler-than-ever "Late Night" now defines comedy's cutting edge just as Letterman did ten years ago.
Even Shales loves "Late Night" these days. He calls O'Brien's turnaround "one of the most amazing transformations in television history."
O'Brien was born on April 18, 1963 in Brookline, Massachusetts. His father, a doctor, is a professor at Harvard Medical School. His mother, a lawyer, is a partner at an elite Boston Law firm. Conan, the third of six children became a lector at church and a misfit at school. Tall and goofy, bedeviled with acne, he tried to impress girls with jokes. That plan usually bombed, but O'Brien eventually found his niche at Harvard where he won the presidency of the "Harvard Lampoon" in 1983 and again in 1984 - the first two-time "Lampoon" president since humorist Robert Benchley held the honor 85 years ago.
After graduating magna cum laude with a double major in literature and American history he turned pro. Writing for HBO's "Not Necessarily The News." O'Brien was earning $100,000 a year before his 24th birthday. But writing was never enough.
He honed his performance skills with the Groundlings, a Los Angeles improv group. There he worked with his onetime girlfriend Lisa Kudrow, now starring on "Friends." But Conan was not such a standout. In 1988 he landed a job at "Saturday Night Live" - but as a writer, not as on-air talent. In almost four years on the show O'Brien made only fleeting appearances, usually as a crowd member or security guard. His writing was more memorable. He wrote (or co-wrote) Tom hanks' "Mr Short-Term Memory" skits as well as the "pump you up" infosatire of Hanz and Franz and the nude beach sketch in which Matthew Broderick and "SNL" members played nudists admiring one another's penises. With dozens of mentions of the word that hit was the most penis-heavy moment in TV history. It helped O'Brien win an Emmy for comedy writing.
In 1991 he quit "SNL" and moved on to "The Simpsons" where he worked for two years. His urge to perform came out in wall-bouncing antics in writers' meetings. "Conan makes you fall out of your chair" said "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening. O'Brien's yen to act out was so strong that he spurned Fox's reported seven-figure offer to continue as a writer. He was driving for the spotlight.
By then David Letterman had announced he was turning shin - leaving NBC taking his ton-rated act to CBS. Suddenly NBC was up a creek without a host. The network turned to Lorne Michaels, O'Brien's "Saturday Night Live" boss. Michaels enlisted Conan's help in the host search planning to use him in a behind-the-scenes job. But when Garry Shandling, Dana Carvey and almost every other star turned down the chore of following Letterman, Michaels finally listened to Conan's crazy suggestion, "Let me do it!" Michaels persuaded the network to entrust it's 12:30 slot which Letterman had turned into a gold mine to an untested wiseass from Harvard.
O'Brien was working on one of his last "Simpsons" episodes when he got the news. He turned "paler than usual," Groening recalled. The Conan moseyed back to where the other writers were working, "I'll come back with the Homer Simspon joke later. I have to go replace Letterman," he said.
NBC executives now get credit for their foresight during those dark days of 1993 and 1994. They snared the axe and now reap the multimillion-dollar spoils of that decision. In fact, the story is not so simple. We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to unravel the tale of O'Brien's survival, which he tells here for the first time. Cook reports:
"His office is chock-full of significa. There's a three-foot plastic pickle the Letterman staff left behind in 1993 - perhaps to suggest what a predicament he was in. There's a copy of Jack Paar's 'I Kid You Not' and a coffee-table book called 'Saturday Night Live: The First 20 Years.' His bulletin board features letters from fans such as John Watters and Bob Dole and an 8" x 10" glossy of Andy Richter with the inscription: "To Conan - Your bitter jealousy warms my black heart. Love and Kisses Andy."
"Of course it's all for show. From the photos of kitch icons Adam West and Robert Stack to the framed Stan Laurel autograph, from the deathbed painting of Abraham Lincoln, to the ironic star taped to Conan's door - they're all clever signals that tell a visitor how to view the star. Lincoln was his collegiate preoccupation: stardom is his occupation. Somewhere between the two I hoped to find the real O'Brien.
"As a Playboy reader he wanted to give me a better-than-average interview. I wanted something more - a definitive look at the guy who may end up being the Johnny Carson of his generation."
"Here's hoping we succeeded. If not I carried his germs 3000 miles and infected dozens of Californians for no good reason.
O'Brien: Yes, this is how to do a Playboy Interview -- completely tanked on cold medicine. I'll pick it up and read, "Yes, I'm gay."
Playboy: We could talk another time. O'Brien: (coughing) No, it's OK. I memorized Dennis Rodman's answers. Can I use them?
Playboy: You sound really sick. Do you ever take a day off? O'Brien: No. The age of talk show hosts taking days off is over. Johnny Carson could go to Africa when he was the only game in town -- "See you in two weeks!" But nobody does that now. I will give you a million dollars on the first day Jay takes off for illness.
Playboy: Do you ever slow down and enjoy your success? O'Brien: If anything, the pace is picking up. Restaurateurs insist on giving me a table even if I'm only passing by, so I'm eating nine meals a night. Women stop me on the street and hand me their phone numbers.
Playboy: So you have groupies? O'Brien: Oh yes. And other fans. Drifters. Prisoners. Insomniacs. Cab Drivers, who must watch a lot of late night TV, seem to love me lately. They keep saying, "You will not pay, you will not pay, you make me happy!"
Playboy: How happy did your new contract make you? O'Brien: Terrified. The network said, "We're all set for five years." I said, "Shut up, shut up! I can't think that far ahead." Tonight, for instance, I do my jokes, then interview Elton John and Tim Meadows. We finished taping about 6:30. By 6:45 my memory was erased and my only thought was, Tomorrow: John Tesh. And I started to obsess about John Tesh. Sad, don't you think?
Playboy: Not too sad. You got off to a rocky start but now you're so hot that People magazine recently said, "that was then, this is wow." O'Brien: I try not to pay much attention. Since I ignored the critics who said I should shoot myself in the head with a German Luger, it would be cheating to tear out nice reviews now and rub them all over my body, giggling. Though I have thought about it.
Playboy: Tell us about your trademark gag. You interview a photo of Bill Clinton or some other celeb, and a pair of superimposed lips provide outrageous answers. O'Brien: We call it the Clutch Cargo bit, after that terrible old cartoon series. They saved money on animation by superimposing real lips on the cartoons. I wanted to do topical jokes in a cartoony way -- not just Conan doing quips at a desk. TV is visual; I want things to look funny. But we're not Saturday Night Live; we couldn't spend $100,000 on it. Hence, the cheap, cheesy lips, You'd be surprised how many people we fool.
Playboy: Viewers believe that's really the president yelling, "Yee-haw! Who's got a joint?" O'Brien: It's strange. You may know intellectually that Clinton doesn't talk like Foghorn Leghorn. Ninety-eight percent of your brain knows the president wouldn't say, "Whoa Conan get a load of that girl!" But there are a few brain cells that aren't sure. When Bob Dole was running for president we had him doing a past-life regression: "My cave, get away." And then back further, "Must form flippers to crawl on to rocky soil," he says. There may be people out there who believe that Bob Dole was the first amphibian.
Playboy: Do you ever go too far? O'Brien: The fun is in going too far. It's a nice device because you get Bill Clinton to do the nastiest Bill Clinton jokes. We'll have Clinton making fart noises while I say "Sir! Please!"
Playboy: Are you enjoying your job now, with your new success? O'Brien: Well, there are surprises. I hate surprises. Like most comics, I'm a control freak. But I am learning that the show works best when things are out of control. Tonight I ask Elton John if he likes being neighbors with Joan Collins. He says he isn't neighbors with Joan Collins. He lives next door to Tina Turner. So I panic -- huge mistake! But Elton saves the day. "Joan Collins, Tina Turner, it doesn't matter. Either way I could borrow a wig," he says. Huge laugh, all because I fucked up. Later he surprised me by blurting out that he's hung like a horse. The camera cuts to me shaking my head: That crazy Elton. What can I do? Of course, I'm delighted that he went too far.
Playboy: That "What can I do?" look resembles a classic take of Jack Benny's. O'Brien: There's an old saying in literature: "Good poets borrow; great poets steal." I think T.S. Eliot stole it from Ezra Pound. Comics steal, too. Constantly. When I watched Johnny Carson, I noticed that he got a few takes from Benny and Bob Hope. When a comedy writer told me how much Woody Allen had borrowed from Hope, I thought, What? They're nothing alike. Then I went back and watched Son of Paleface, and there's Hope, the nervous city guy backing up on his heels, wringing his hands and saying, "Sorry, I'll just be moving along." Now look at early Woody Allen. You see big authority figures and Woody nervously saying, "Look, I'll just be on my way." Of course Woody made it his own, but he must have watched and loved Bob Hope.
Playboy: Who are your role models? O'Brien: Carson. Woody Allen. SCTV. Peter Sellers. When Peter Sellers died I felt such a loss, thinking, There won't be anymore of that. There's some Steve Martin in my false bravado with female guests: "Why, hel-lo there!" And I won't deny having some Letterman in my bones.
Playboy: You were surprise as Letterman's successor. At first you seemed like the wrong choice. O'Brien: I didn't get ratings. That doesn't mean I didn't get laughs. Yes, I had a giant pompadour and I looked like a rockabilly freak. I was too excited, pushed too hard, and people said, "That guy isn't a polished performer." Fine! But it isn't my goal to be Joe Handsomehead cool, smooth talk show host. Late Night with Conan O'Brien is supposed to be a work in progress, and now that we've had some success there's a danger of our getting too polished and morphing into something smoothly professional. Which would suck.
Do you know why I wanted this show? Because Late Night with David Letterman played with the rules and it looked like fun. Here was a place where people did risky comedy every night for millions of people. We had to keep this thing alive. There should be a place on a big network where people are still messing around.
Playboy: How bad were your early days on the show? O'Brien: Bad. Dave left here under a cloud: his fans and the media were angry with NBC. Then NBC picks a guy with crazy hair and a weird name. And the world says, "Harvard? Those guys are assholes." I sincerely hope that the winter of December 1993, our first winter, was the worst time I will ever have. I'd go out to do the warm up and the back two rows of seats would be empty. That's hard to look at. I would tell a joke and then hear someone whisper, "Who's he? Where's Dave?"
Playboy: You had trouble getting guests. O'Brien: Bob Denver canceled on us. We shot a test show with Al Lewis of The Munsters. We did the clutch cargo thing with a photo of Herman Munster. Unfortunately, Fred Gwynne, who played Herman, had recently died, and Al Lewis kept pointing at the screen, saying, "You're dead! I was at your funeral!"
Playboy: For months you got worried notes from network executives. What did they say? O'Brien: They were worried. The fact that Lorne Michaels was involved bought me some time. But Lorne had turned to me at the start and said, "OK, Conan. What do you want to do?" Now television critics were after me and the network was starting to realize what a risk I was. Suggestions came fast and furious. I kept the note that said, "Why don't you just die?"
Playboy: Did they suggest ways to be funnier? O'Brien: They were more specific and tactical. The network gets very specific data. Say there was a drop in ratings between 12:44 and 12:48 when I was talking to Jon Bon Jovi. I'll be told, "Don't ever talk to him again" Or they'll want me to tease viewers into staying with us: "You should tease that -- say, 'We'll have nudity coming up next!'"
Playboy: You did come close to being cancelled. O'Brien: We were cancelled.
Playboy: Really? You have never admitted that. O'Brien: This is the first time I've talked about it. When I had been on for about a year, there was a meeting at the network. They decided to cancel my show. They said, "It's cancelled." Next day they realized they had nothing to put in the 12:30 slot, so we got a reprieve.
Playboy: Were you worried sick? O'Brien: I went into denial. I tried hard not to think, Yes, I'm bad on the air and my show has none of the things a TV show needs to survive. We had no ratings. No critics in our corner. Advertisers didn't like us. Affiliates wanted to drop us. Sometimes I'd meet a programming director from a local station where we had no rating at all. The guy would show me a printout with no number for Late Night's rating, just a hash mark or pound sign. I didn't dare think about that when I went out to do the show.
Playboy: Are you defending denial? O'Brien: How else does anyone get through a terrible experience? The odds were against me. Rationally, I didn't have much chance. Denial was my only friend. When I look back on the first year, it's like a scene from an old war movie: Ordinary guy gets thrown into combat, somehow beats impossible odds, staggers to safety. His buddy say, "You could have been killed!" The guy stops and thinks. "Could have been killed?" he says. His eyes cross and he faints.
Playboy: How did you dodge the bullet? O'Brien: There were people at NBC who stood up for me. I will always be indebted to Don Ohlmeyer, who stuck to his guns. Don said, "We chose this guy. We should stick with him unless we get a better plan." He was brutally honest. He came to me and said, "Give me about a 15 percent bump in the ratings and you'll stay on the air. If not, we're going to move on."
Playboy: Ohlmeyer started his career in the sports division. O'Brien: Exactly, his take was, "You're on our team." Of course, it wasn't exactly rational of Don to hope I'd be 15 percent funnier. It was like telling a farmer, "It better rain this week or we'll take your farm away."
Playboy: What did you say to Ohlmeyer? O'Brien: There wasn't time. I had to go out and do a monologue. But I will always be indebted to Don because he told me the truth. Wait a minute -- you have tricked me into talking lovingly about an NBC executive. Let me say that there were others who were beneath contempt -- executives who wouldn't know a good show if it swam up their asses and lit a campfire.
Playboy: Finally the ratings went your way. Hard work rewarded? O'Brien: Well, I also paid off the Nielsen people. That was $140,000 well spent.
Playboy: Ohlmeyer plus bribery saved you? O'Brien: There was something else. Just when everyone was kicking the crap out of the show, Letterman defended me.
Playboy: Letterman had signed off on NBC saying, "I don't really know Conan O'Brien, but I heard he killed someone." O'Brien: Then I pick up the paper and he's saying he thinks I am going to make it. "They do some interesting, innovative stuff over there," he says. "I think Conan will prevail." And then he came on as a guest. Remember, this was when we were at our nadir. There was no Machiavellian reason for David Letterman, who at the time was the biggest thing in show business, to be on my show.
Playboy: Why did he do it? O'Brien: I'm still not sure. Maybe out of a sense of honor. Fair play. And it woke me up. It made me think. Hey, we have a real fucking television show here.
Of six or seven pivotal points in my short history here, that was the first and maybe the biggest. I wouldn't be sitting here -- I probably wouldn't even exist today -- if he hadn't done our show.
Playboy: The Late Night wars were hardly noted for friendly gestures. O'Brien: How little you understand. Jay, Dave and I pal around all the time. We often ride a bicycle built for three up to the country. "Nice job with Fran Drescher!" "Thanks, pal. You weren't so bad with John Tesh." We sleep in triple-decker bunk beds and snore in unison like the Three Stooges.
Playboy: You talk more about Letterman than your NBC teammate Leno. O'Brien: I hate the "Leno or Letterman, who's better?" question. I can tell you that Jay has been great to me. He calls me occasionally.
Playboy: To say what? O'Brien: (Doing Leno's voice) "Hey, liked that bit you did last night." Or he'll say he saw we got a good rating. I call him at work, too. It can be a strange conversation because we're so different. Jay, for instance, really loves cars. He's got antique cars with kerosene lanterns, cars that run on peat moss. He'll be telling me about some classic car he has, made entirely of brass and leather, and I'll say, "Yeah, man, I got the Taurus with the vinyl." One thing we have in common is bad guests. There are certain actors, celebrities with nothing to say, who move through the talk show world wreaking havoc. They lay waste to Dave's town and Jay's town, then head my way.
Playboy: You must be getting some good guests. Your ratings have shown a marked improvement. O'Brien: Remember, when you're on at 12:30 the Nielsens are based on 80 people. My ratings drop if one person has a head cold and goes to bed early.
Playboy: Actually, you're seen by about 3 million people a night. Your ratings would be even higher if college dorms weren't excluded from the Nielsens. How many points does that cost you? O'Brien: I told you I'm an idiot. Now I have to do math too?
Playboy: Do you still get suggestions from NBC executives? O'Brien: Not as many. The number of notes you get is inversely proportional to your ratings.
Playboy: What keeps you motivated? O'Brien: Superstition. We have a stagehand, Bobby Bowman, who holds up the curtain when I run out for the monologue. He is the last person I see before the show starts, and I have to make him laugh before I go out. It started with mild jabs: "Bobby, you're drunk again." Bobby laughs, "Heehee."" Then it was, "Still having trouble with the wife, Bobby?" But after hundreds of shows, you find yourself running out of lines. It's gotten to where I do crass things at the last second. I'll put his hand on my ass and yell, "You fucking pervert!" Or drop to my knees and say, "Come on, Bobby, I'll give you a blow job!"
"Ha-ha. Conan, you're crazy," he says. But even that stuff wears off. Soon, I'll be making the writers work late to give me new jokes for Bobby.
Playboy: Did you plan to be a talk show host or did you fall into the job? O'Brien: I was an Irish Catholic kid from St. Ignatius parish in Brookline, outside of Boston. And that meant: Don't call attention to yourself. Don't ask for too much when the pie comes around. Don't get a girl pregnant and fuck up your life.
Playboy: Were you an alter boy? O'Brien: I wanted to be an alter boy, but the priest at St. Ignatius said, "No, no. You're good on your feet, kid," and made me a lector. A scripture reader at Mass. He was the one who spotted my talent.
Playboy: What did you think of sex in those days? O'Brien: I was sexually repressed. At 16 I still thought human reproduction was by mitosis.
Playboy: How did you get over your sexual repression? O'Brien: Who says I got over it? My leg has been jiggling this whole time.
Playboy: What were you like in high school? O'Brien: Like a crane galumphing down the hall. A crane with weird hair, bad skin and Clearasil. Big enough for basketball but lousy at it. My older brothers were better. I would compensate by running around the court doing comedy, saying, "Look out, this player has a drug addiction. He's incredibly egotistical."
I was an asshole at home, too. My little brother Justin loved playing cops and robbers, but I kept tying him up with bureaucratic bullshit. When he'd catch me, I'd say, "I get to call my lawyer." Then it was, "OK, Justin, we're at trial and you've been charged with illegal arrest. Fill out these forms in triplicate." Justin was eight; he hated all the lawsuits and countersuits. He just cried.
Playboy: Were you a class clown? O'Brien: Never. I was never someone who walked into a room full of strangers and started telling jokes. You had to get to know me before I could make you laugh. The same thing happened with Late Night. I needed to get the right rhythm with Andy and Max and the audience.
Playboy: So how did you finally learn about sex? O'Brien: My parents gave me a book, but it was useless. At the crucial moment, all it showed was a man and a woman with the bed covers pulled up to their chins. I tried to find out more from friends, but it didn't help. One childhood friend told me it was like parking a car in a garage. I kept worrying about poisonous fumes. What if the fumes build up? Should you shut off the engine?
Playboy: For all your talk about being repressed, you can be rowdy on the air. O'Brien: The show is my escape valve. When I tear off my shirt and gyrate my pelvis like Robert Plant, feigning orgasm into the microphone, that shows how repressed I am -- a guy who wants to push his sex at the lens but can only do it as a joke.
Playboy: Aren't you tempted to live it up? O'Brien: I always imagined that if I were a TV star I would live the way I pictured Johnny Carson living. Carousing, stepping out of a limo wearing a velvet ascot with a model on my arm. Now that I have the TV show, I drive up to Connecticut on the weekends and tool around in my car. I could probably join a free-sex cult, smoke crack between orgies and drive sports cars into swimming pools, and my Catholic guilt would still be there, throbbing like a toothache. Be careful. If something good happens, something bad is on the way.
Playboy: Yet you don't mind licking the supermodels. O'Brien: At one point a few of them lived in my building, women who are so beautiful they almost look weird, like aliens. To me, a woman who has a certain approachable amount of beauty becomes almost funny. It's the same with male supermodels. They look like big puppets. So while I admire their beauty I probably won't be "romantically linked" with a model. I'd catch my reflection in a ballroom mirror and break up laughing.
Playboy: The horny Roy Orbison growl you use on gorgeous guests sounds real enough -- O'Brien: Oh, I've been doing that shit since high school. It just never worked before.
Playboy: Your father is a doctor, your mother an attorney. What do they think of their son the comedian? O'Brien: My dad was the one who told me denial was a virtue. "Denial is how people get through horrible things," he said. He also cut out a newspaper article in which I said I was making money off something for which I should probably be treated. So true, he thought. But when I got an Emmy for helping write Saturday Night Live, my parents put it on the mantel next to the crucifix. Here's Jesus looking over, saying, "Wow, I saved mankind from sin, but I wish I had an Emmy."
Playboy: Ever been in therapy? O'Brien: Yes. I don't trust it. I have told therapists that I don't particularly want to feel good. "Repression and fear, that's my fuel." But the therapists said that I had nothing to worry about. "Don't worry Conan you will always be plenty fucked up."
Playboy: When a female guest comes out, how do you know whether to shake her hand or kiss her? Is that rehearsed O'Brien: No, and it's awkward. If you go to shake her hand and her head starts coming right at you, you have to change strategy fast. I have thought about using the show to make women kiss me, but that would probably creep out the people at home. I decided not to kiss Elton John.
Playboy: Do you get all fired up if Cindy Crawford or Rebecca Romijn does the show? O'Brien: I like making women laugh. Always have, ever since I discovered you can get girls' attention by acting like an ass. That's one of the joys of the show -- I'm working my eyebrows and going grrr and she's laughing, the audience is laughing. It's all a big put-on and I'm thinking. This is great. Here is a beautiful woman who has no choice but to put up with this shit.
But it's not always put on. Sometimes they flirt back. Sometimes there's a bit of chemistry. That happened with Jennifer Connelly of The Rocketeer.
Playboy: One guest, Jill Hennessy, took off her pants for you. Then you removed yours. Even Penn and Teller took off their pants. O'Brien: Something comes over me. It happened with Rebecca Romijn -- I was practically climbing her. Those are the times when Andy and the audience seem to disappear and it's just me and this lovely woman sitting there flirting. I keep expecting a waiter to say, "More wine, Monsieur?"
Playboy: Would you lick the wine bottle? O'Brien: It's true, there's a lot of licking on the show. I have licked guests. I have licked Andy. Comedy professionals will read this and say, "Great work, Conan. Impressive." But I have learned that if you lick a guest, people laugh. If I pick this shoe off the floor, examine it, Hmmm, and then lick it, people laugh. I learned this lesson on The Simpsons, where I was the writer who was forever trying to entertain the other writers. I still try desperately to make our writers laugh, which is probably a sign of sickness since they work for me now. Licking is one of those things that look funny.
Playboy: Johnny Carson never licked Ed McMahon. O'Brien: We are much more physical and more stupid than the old Tonight Show. Even in our offices before the show there's always some writer acting out a scene crashing his head through my door. A behind-the-scenes look at our show might frighten people.
Playboy: One night you showed a doctored photo of Craig T. Nelson having sex with Jerry Van Dyke. Did they complain about it? O'Brien: I haven't heard from them. Of course I'm blessed not to be a part of the celebrity pond. I have a television show in New York, an NBC outpost. I don't run with or even run into many Hollywood people.
Playboy: You also announced that Tori Spelling has a penis. O'Brien: I did not. Polly the Peacock said that.
Playboy: Another character you use to say the outrageous stuff. O'Brien: Polly is not popular with the network.
Playboy: You mock Fabio, too. O'Brien: If he sues me, it'll be the best thing that ever happened. A publicity bonanza: Courtroom sketches of Fabio with his man-boobs quivering, shaking his fist, and me shouting at him across the courtroom. I'm not afraid of Fabio. He knows where to find me. I'm saying it right here for the record: Fabio, let's get it on.
Playboy: Ever have a run-in with an angry celeb? O'Brien: I did a Kelsey Grammar joke a few years ago, something about his interesting lifestyle, then heard through the network that he was upset. He had appeared on my show and expected some support. At this point my intellect says, "Kelsey Grammar is a public figure. I was in the right." Then I saw him in an airport. Kelsey didn't see me at first: I could have kept walking. But there he was, eating a cruller in the airport lounge. I thought I should go over. I said hello and then said, "Kelsey, I'm sorry if I upset you." And he was glad. He looked relieved. He said, "Oh, that's OK." We both felt better.
....See my other post with the last third of the interview

There is a LOT of back story that ties into this, but I'm just going to keep it on the topic for now.
Back in 2014, my mother was still living in the NYC projects, and had a very good job paying great money, but because the projects were for low income people, she made too much money, so her rent was raised very high. The NYC housing authority wasn't going to kick her out because she was a tenant in good standing since 1980, but the rent they were charging left her unable to fix her credit and save for the condo she was trying to buy.
My husband and I were living in Brooklyn, and looking to move to Florida because our landlords were totally inept douchebags, and we had to take them to court several times for repairs, so I came up with the idea of us temporarily moving back into the projects with her to help her save for the condo, and then my husband and I would leave to Florida from there.
When we moved in back in December of 2014, my mother and I immediately clashed, and it was just like living with her when I was growing up, trying to impose her control freak will on people. The only difference was that my husband was caught in the middle. Throughout everything, my husband and I documented the money we were helping her out with. I kept telling my mother to let the NYC housing authority know that my husband and I were there, as per their rules and regulations, and she insisted on not letting them know until she was ready to move. Finally, everything came together in September of 2015, and her condo would be ready to move into that December. She finally went to NYCHA to let them know my husband and I were there, but they informed her that she was to let them know in April of that year, and that I had to be the one to appeal to NYCHA since my mother was moving out.
After 18 months of appeals and court dates, and NYCHA make me jump through hoops (and meeting their demands) to try to keep the apartment, at least until my husband and I left to Florida, NYCHA decided to bring it back to my mother not telling them I was there. So in June of 2017, my husband and I wound up in a family shelter. The first person I told was my cousin Gabrielle, who lit into me about how it was MY fault that I screwed up with NYCHA, that my husband and I were withholding money from my mother and terrorizing her. I was thrown for a loop, and felt hurt because up until that point, Gabrielle and I had always been close since her birth, as I'm 14 years older. I got over that hurt when I realized that false narrative was put into place BEFORE anyone knew my husband and I were going into the shelter, and then I got PISSED. My mother was always one of those who fucks up, but hates being told she fucked up, and comes up with convoluted reasons for justifying the fuck up. So I figured she went and told my grandmother, banking on the fact that 1) She'll tell the rest of the family and 2)That my grandmother never gets her fact straight. Which is exactly what happened.
Unbeknownst to my grandmother, again, my husband and I documented the payments to my mother, as well as documenting the payments to NYCHA when my husband and I took over the rent, AS WELL as documenting the court dates. I told my husband, who was working at the airport at the time, to make copies of the documents, because I was planning on confronting the family with proof. It was just a matter of when.
I had to figure out what the "when" was going to be, as my great-grandmother was in her 90s, battling Alzheimer's, and since I knew the confrontation would most likely get heated, I didn't want her exposed to that. Unfortunately, that meant not being able to see her for the last few years of her life, as I accepted that the "when" would have to wait until after she was gone.
I got a call in August of 2019 that my great-grandmother had passed away that morning, and that the funeral would be in a few days (at this point my husband and I were still in the shelter system). On the day of the funeral, I called my cousins, Will and Dan, and told them to meet me at the storage unit where I kept the copies of the documents in a folder. They were in town from Florida for the funeral, and even though DNA makes us second cousins, in our hearts we have always been BROS, so I knew they were going to have my back. I had written on the folder "Here's the proof that I didn't screw up, and your daughter is a liar. Do whatever the hell you want with this info." I placed the documents in my backpack, and I changed into a blue shirt with bright pink flamingos (Side note: The shirt was to honor the spirit of my great-grandmother. In her lifetime, she survived an abusive alcoholic husband, and out of her 7 children, lost a daughter to lupus, a son to cancer, and 2 sons to AIDS, and yet somehow found the strength to greet every morning with love and joy and hope. If I would have worn all black, that would have been disrespectful to her).
Upon arriving at the funeral, I locked eyes with my grandmother, gave her a look that said "Don't even think about saying a word to me" then walked past her to my great-grandmother's casket. I stared at her, silently thanking her for everything that she did for me, while simultaneously apologizing for not being there the last few years of her life. While I'm doing this, I notice that the funeral home is filling up quickly, and decided that was the time to make my exit not only from the funeral home, but from my family. I gave one last kiss to my great-grandmother's forehead, took the documents out of my bag, walked over to my grandmother and said "this is for you", before throwing the documents at her feet. Aside from Will and Dan, that was the last my family has seen of me.
According to Dan, the family was PISSED with what I did, and he and I thought it was hilarious. He said they felt I was taking out my anger on the entire family, which was another false narrative pushed by my grandmother. While the other family members really did nothing to me, at the end of the day, they didn't care enough to get MY side of the story when they had the opportunity to do so....so later for them.

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Chapter 169 – A moment of truth. A moment to lie.
Shida exhaled slowly as she flew in a parallel line along the massive, slowly rotating hull of the Sun. The near true-black surface of the enormous ship loomed ominously next to her, tricking her brain into the impression that it was somehow trying to pull her tiny little hunter into it like a black hole or some shadowy portal. Though obviously, that was just a literal trick of the light.
Activating her frontal thrusters yet again to slow the momentum of her flight, she just barely noticed the movement on the hull next to her as something adjusted to the now slowing movement of her cargo. A moment later, a harpoon much like the one she herself had fired into the lump of molten material that had solidified around the still dutifully pinging black box shot against the precious debris, latching onto it and connecting it to the larger ship.
With the press of a button, Shida's own harpoon then automatically shot off its tip before her hunter reeled in the connecting cable as well as the remaining rod. Almost as soon as she was detached, the Sun's harpoon already began to reel the black box lump in as well.
It admittedly took a bit of time and finesse, but this process was still much easier than trying to somehow land with the barely controllable lump of hull-slag still attached to her ship.
Rubbing a hand over one of her hears, Shida released a mild huff before then firing her engines up again as she adjusted her course to fly around the ship and find her way into the dock.
Once the slightly precarious maneuver of flying through the relatively narrow, rotating tunnel that was her entrance was overcome, the feline turned her hunter onto 'life support' mode as she sat back, since she would have to wait for the atmosphere in the dock to be reinstated before she could even think about getting out.
Suddenly, a comm came in for her, making her ears twitch as she listened up.
“Please move your ship to the corner of the dock and stand by, Lieutenant-Commander,” the voice from her radio informed her briefly. “The dock will be needed for the landing of an urgent shuttle. Atmosphere cannot be reinstated before it has landed.”
Blinking slightly, Shida stared at her console for a moment. Shuttle? Why was there shuttle flying around in a situation like this?
Luckily, it didn't even take a full second before her brain fired up again and she quickly reached for the button to activate her own microphone.
“Copy that,” she said before quickly starting her ship up again, just enough so that she could slowly roll it into the dock's corner. Once there, she activated her microphone again. “Standing by,” she announced before leaning back once again.
She released a long exhale as she stared at the wall that was now right in front of her. And as she sat there with nothing to do but to think while she was surrounded by an airless room, she slowly began to feel that something was wrong.
Not with the situation, no. Even if she still wondered why the hell a shuttle was dicking around out there just after an active combat situation, that wasn't what was irking her. Though, admittedly, she also didn't really know what was. Was it something about herself? Not really. She felt fine.
Though, after a few more moments of being alone with her thoughts, it slowly began to hit her. Why did she feel so fine?
Not that she had expected to be totally broken up by a combat situation, even if it was sudden. She was trained for that much, she sure would hope that she wouldn't let it get to her too much. However, while not being too stressed out was one thing...why wasn't she angrier?
The last few times she had so much as heard about an attack, she had been absolutely livid. Blood-boilingly so. And that didn't even come close to how she had felt when she saw the victims of the attack on the detention center...
But now? She was calm. They had just been attacked out of nowhere. She had been dragged into a sudden battle. So many people, both foe and friend, had died today. And she was sad about that. She felt the remorse about the people who had been killed here. She even felt the aftereffects of pulling the trigger herself down in her stomach. But apart from that? Nothing.
What was different now? Where was that fire? And more importantly...was it good or bad that it was so suddenly gone?
Prooobably something to bring up with Dr. Nasution once she got an opportunity to attend her next session, which would probably be quite soon given current circumstances. It had been a while with everything that was going on, but she figured there was at least a good chance that their 'pleasure cruise' would not be continuing after everything that had occurred.
It seemed that the coreworlds were even more hostile ground than they had imagined.
About a quarter of an hour later, the announced shuttle had finally settled down and all hatches were sealed shut while air was slowly funneled back into the room. It took maybe a minute or two more before a specialized sensor in her ship informed her with a glowing light on her console that the surroundings were once again breathable, meaning she could safely open her hatch.
Pressing the corresponding button, the hatch of her ship sprang open, releasing a slight hiss as the seal was broken and air-exchange with the outside took place for the first time since she had closed it.
Once it was open, Shida could already hear some commotion as a large group of people came immediately flooding into the room as soon as it was safe to do so, and once she had climbed out onto the wing of her ship, she could see that they had come bearing large bags as they hurried towards the shuttle, which was currently in the process of lowering its ramp.
Resisting her urge to stand and stare to see what was going on, Shida climbed off the wing in order to go and properly announce her return.
However, almost as soon as her feet made contact with the dock's floor, she suddenly felt how she was almost taken off her feet by another body crashing into hers, startling her so much that her claws were already coming out as her arms raised to meet her sudden tackler – though a combination of a familiar scent and breathing luckily soothed her nerves long before her aware mind could catch up to who had run into her there.
Instead of sinking their claws in, her hand laid flatly down on James' broad back as her arms wrapped around him to return his sudden hug. As she held him, she could feel that he was quite unsteady on his feet, and she subtly supported him to not loose his footing as they embraced for a long moment.
A bit of a purr started up in her chest as she leaned her head against his. She didn't say anything, worrying that it may come off as mockery if she did, but she could feel that he had been worried about her. And although she obviously didn't like making him worry – especially since she knew how much that stung after having to worry about him way too often recently - she still couldn't deny that she always appreciated getting to feel just how much he cared about her so directly, and a warm feeling spread throughout her as her purr intensified.
Though admittedly, she could've done without the firm kiss he pressed onto her cheek after a moment. Still, she knew that it was an important expression of his care to him, and so she simply closed her eye on the kissed side and endured it for a moment before he finally pulled away.
Looking at his reddened face, she could read right off it that he wanted to say something like 'Don't ever do that again' or anything in that vein, but obviously he also knew that she was just doing her duty, and so he held his tongue.
His mouth opened a bit, presumably to say something else, however the chaotic and from this distance slightly incoherent shouting of the group that had rushed in earlier now meeting with the crew of the shuttle interrupted him, catching both of their attentions as they looked over.
As they did, Shida's eyes widened slightly once she realized what the chaotic scene she was looking at there really was. A stretcher carrying Admiral Krieger was wheeled down the shuttle's ramp, surrounded by medics and doctors working on her on all sides.
Her skin was a ghostly white, far more so than even her usual pale complexion, and fully on display as the remains of her uniform were under her in tattered, cut-open rags, leaving her almost entirely exposed except for her most private area and her right leg, which had been covered with a white sheet. Every other inch of her skin seemingly had to remain free as the medical personnel worked on it from all angles; sticking her with needles or attaching cables, tubes and electrodes to her as she was rolled along. Two blood bags were already dripping fresh life into her at that point, and by the look of things, a third one was soon to follow.
Still, the almost body-horror-esque sight of the doctors trying to preserve her life was by far not the most gruesome one the scene offered. That honor belonged to her uncovered left leg. Or at least...what was left of it...
Shida's ear twitched as her concentration on the scene was briefly interrupted by a soft voice speaking right next to her.
“Mama...” James mumbled aghast, causing Shida's eyes to widen slightly.
It was one of the few words from his native language that the feline actually knew. “Mom”. And hearing it out of James' mouth was an almost bizarre experience. James never called his mother mom or any similar term of endearment. In fact he made it a point not to.
Granted, in this case, it was unlikely that he had consciously made the choice to do it in this case, however the sheer fact that it would slip out of him like this spoke volumes of just how deeply the shock of seeing her in that state reached.
Not that Shida didn't understand, of course. Familial bonds or not, the Admiral was...well, of course they both knew that she wasn't untouchable by any measure. Far from it. She was just a person like anybody else in the end.
However, knowing that she could get hurt and actually seeing it were two very different things, apparently.
In the corner of her vision, she noticed how James suddenly began to move in the direction of the ongoing rescue, and she quickly jolted forwards to stop him, wrapping her arm around him firmly as she held him back from getting in the way of anything.
Luckily, apart from a brief push that only lasted for as long as it took him to realize that he had been stopped, he didn't resist her as she restrained him from approaching any further, and so the both of them just watched as the stretcher was rolled along and ultimately out of the dock.
“That was meant for me...” James mumbled, clearly thinking aloud as he kept staring at the door even after it had closed again.
Immediately, Shida pulled him in firmer, side-hugging him as she pressed her body up to his.
“She wouldn't have traded places with you if you tried to force her,” she assured him while pushing her face against his shoulder. She knew that the relationship of those two was rocky to say the least, however she still knew that much to be true. Whether she was the motherly type or not, if anything, the Admiral was just as stubborn as James was, especially when it came to duty.
James stood frozen for a bit, seemingly not exactly knowing what to do with his feelings in his current state. Shida could only imagine how much ethanol was still flowing through his veins at that time, mixed with a cocktail of all kinds of different hormones and endorphins. With all of this added back-and-forth stress, she couldn't blame him for struggling to hold onto a single thought at that time.
“Oh, James!” a new voice suddenly joined the fray, whipping both of their attentions around yet again as even more bodies emerged from the shuttle, having presumably stood back to make room while the rescue efforts were ongoing.
But now that the coast was clear, so to speak, two familiar large forms came lumbering down the shuttle's ramp.
Moar and Congloarch looked...rattled...to say the least. With Moar, it was understandable. She probably didn't have all too much experience of standing right next to a dying person as every thinkable thing was done to them to keep them alive, so Shida wouldn't have thought twice about it had it just been her.
However, the tonamstrosite was a...different story. His four eyes didn't scan the room or focus on different things at all. All four of them were pointed straight ahead with only very loose seeming focus on the people he was approaching as he walked.
His mouth hung slightly open, and he seemed to push his tongue out just a little bit while the fleshy muscle twitched up in place before settling down again, over and over, making it appear almost as if he was subtly retching.
James' stormy mind seemed to immediately latch onto the the possibility to focus on anything and went right along with a wave of his usual compassion as his eyes fell onto the to giants. This time, Shida didn't hold him back as he hurried in their direction.
“What in chaos' name happened?” he asked once he was just a few steps away from them, though even in his now focused and concerned state you could clearly tell from his gait that he wasn't quite all there.
“Oh James...” Moar repeated, struggling to speak as she shuddered in place where she stood, both of her clawed hands firmly hooked into her long fur as if clinging on for dear life.
Releasing a deep groan, Congloarch shook himself so heavily that a grinding sound came from some of the plates along his body.
“There was an attack,” the large reptile then said the quite obvious before shaking again. “There was...an invasion-” he kept describing before pausing abruptly, turning his head away as his tongue pushed itself up again, causing him to clearly struggle to suppress whatever urge overcame him at that moment.
Shida's ears and tail sank deeply as she watched those two. She could only imagine what could've occurred to have even Congloarch so broken up. And she could see it on James' face that his heart sank just as much, even if less outwards signs clearly showed it.
Slowly, Shida began to walk up to Moar at an even pace. As she did so, she gently nudged James in the direction of the other giant while passing him, knowing that he had the better relationship to the tonamstrosite out of the two of them.
Taking the hint without issue, James walked up to the enormous reptile and placed his hand on the highest part of the man he could reach while Shida leaned up against Moar's plushy leg comfortingly.
“It's alright,” James then said softly, patting his hand against Congloarch's armored skin gently while also leaning his face against the side of the giant's body. “You don't have to talk about it right now. You can take some time.”
The reactions of the two giants were very different, but at the same time equally appreciative of the soothing contact.
Moar leaned down as one of her hands unclenched from her fur to reach for Shida, reciprocating the gentle touch through an innate social drive. Seemingly on instinct, her hand went right for Shida's hair, seemingly seeking the contact with fur since that is what another rafulite would provide, and so the old lady simply petted through Shida's hair in gentle strokes while the feline pressed up against her.
Meanwhile, Congloarch seemed to simply relax in place as James leaned against him, making no effort to initiate any form of contact himself as his eyes slowly closed.
It even went so far that it seemed like he needed to put in a conscious effort to not lay down right then and there, which would've probably been inappropriate in the middle of a dock. In fact, all of this was probably inappropriate for this place, but sometimes what had to be done had to be done.
Still, with James being only somewhat in-commission right now, Shida eventually felt it to be her duty to coax everyone out of the dock once she felt that things had calmed down enough to move so they could continue this at a calmer, more private location, where the two giants could truly focus on processing everything that had happened.
–
A gentle humming filled the air, stirring her awake as light uncomfortably shone through her twitching lids while she struggled back and forth between a conscious and unconscious state.
Though once she finally pushed herself far enough into awareness to gain control over the motion and slowly forced her eyes fully open, even if she still had to squint heavily against the light from above, she glanced around through her blurry vision, instinctively searching for the source of the increasingly familiar sound of the hummed song.
She recognized the melody. It was the 'Ode to strange suns', a very old and very famous song that first emerged back in the early days of Earth's interstellar travel, when traversing light-years to reach another star-system was still a daunting endeavor. It was often sung by those in the primitive ships, often called 'tubes', to give them hope during their bleak journey. A melancholic song about giving up your life just to see what's out there – and one day push your people so far beyond what they had once been.
So far, they hadn't quite reached the lofty goal that the song set for humanity, since it spoke of mapping every star and finding eternity too short and infinity too small for their ambitions. According to the song, the day would come when 'no more strange suns rise'. What an idea that was...
Still, even more so than the song itself, she recognized the soft voice that was humming it, and her heart lifted at the implications of hearing it. She felt soft sheets rustling underneath her head as she slowly turned her face towards the sound, and the corners of her lips slowly lifted into a smile as her eyes, which were gently tearing from the harsh light biting into them so suddenly, fell onto the scene before her.
Nia sat slightly leaned against the headrest of her bed with her eyes closed, the room's white light gently playing over her dark yet soft features as she turned her face in the Admiral's direction while softly swaying her head to the rhythm of her humming, not moving it more than a centimeter with each tilt so her gentle dance wouldn't interfere too much with the work of James' hands. He sat behind her with both hands behind her back, gently holding her hair as he weaved it into long braids with practiced motions. There was a clear 'weakness' to Nia's movements, and the way she sat strongly indicated that she likely lacked the strength to completely hold herself up on her own.
And yet despite that, her humming was cheerful and content as she had her hair braided by her brother. She seemed...at peace.
After simply observing the scene for a few long moments, feeling like she could get lost in the sight if she wasn't careful, Admiral Krieger then tried to push herself up a bit, however the attempt was short-lived as a searing pain shot through her right shoulder as soon as she put any pressure onto that side of her body, forcing her to flop back down almost immediately. And as soon as she did, the pain quickly dissipated into a mellow numbness that was all too familiar to her.
She was on some strong painkillers, she could tell. Therefore, if it still hurt like that when she attempted to move, moving was probably a bad idea. Not that she couldn't have borne the pain if it was necessary, however the sight of her children like that told her that it very clearly wasn't. Whatever other challenges and battles the future may have had in store for them, this was a moment of peace, and she should use it for her recovery while she still could.
Meanwhile, her movement and brief hiss of pain had naturally not gone unnoticed. Once her eyes were no longer closed from the brief jolt of pain, she saw that Nia's eyes had now also opened. Her humming had stopped as the sweet girl's face lit up upon noticing that the Admiral was truly awake and had not just shifted around in her sleep.
“James!” she exclaimed, trying to move so suddenly that she accidentally pulled on her own hair that was still firmly in her brother's grasp, before he could react and adjust to her movements. Uncaring about the brief discomfort that surely caused, Nia excitedly lifted her hand to point at the Admiral, however James already had a knowing look on his face.
“I saw,” he replied, clearly far less focused on the braiding process than his demeanor would indicate from the outside. He quickly finished up the in-process braid between his fingers and fixated it with a small, golden, tube-shaped clasp before letting go of Nia's hair, thus allowing her to freely move her head around again.
Nia then looked over at her while James slowly stood up and moved to the corner of the room.
“How are you feeling, Sophia?” Nia asked in a gentle tone that did nothing to hide her happiness, her eyes gleaming slightly in the light as tears began to well up within them.
The Admiral released a long exhale as she settled into the sheets, though her eyes never left Nia's face – apart from a very brief moment of them following James to see where he was going. Nia looked slightly messy with her hair half-braided and the light-blue gown she wore all crumpled up, however just like her earlier humming, that messiness had a certain peace to it that allowed the Admiral to relax.
“Just how I look, I suspect,” she replied, the smile on her face returning. “I'm glad to see you awake again.”
“Hey, that's my line!” Nia jokingly complained with a mild chuckle that audibly got very close to shifting into a soft sob at one point.
At this point, James had returned from the corner of the room, walking up to the side of Nia's bed opposite to the one he had been sitting at previously. And with him, he had brought a large wheelchair.
Briefly, he turned his head towards his mother, the look on his face rather unreadable. For a moment, his mouth twitched, and it seemed like he wanted to say something. However ultimately, he pulled his gaze away again before anything was said.
Without complaint, Nia allowed her brother to lift her out of the bed and into the wheelchair, before he slowly pushed her over to the side of the Admiral's bed.
Almost immediately once she was within reach, Nia's hand found hers, holding it gently while James was once again on the move, this time towards a bedside-drawer that stood in between both of their beds.
Opening it, he briefly rummaged through it before pulling out an arrangement of small items, with which he then sat down next to the Admiral as well.
Leaning down, he gently reached for her face in a gesture that could've been mistaken for tenderness, had his fingers not reached to pull her lids open a bit with gentle force right before he shone a bright light directly into her eyes. Despite the uncomfortable nature of the action, Admiral Krieger didn't resist it in any way, physically or otherwise.
After he had ensured her pupils worked properly, James then gently grabbed her by her chin and moved her face around so that she looked straight 'ahead', which in this case meant right up to the ceiling while he got up a bit to loom over her.
“Aaaaaah,” he then ordered while holding a clear, plastic tongue-suppressor close to her mouth.
Following the order without hesitation, the Admiral opened her mouth widely, though she forewent the actual saying of 'aaah' in the process. Soon enough, her tongue was uncomfortably pushed down by the plastic item while she could see some light leaking out of her mouth in the corner of her vision.
After a brief moment of inspection, the pressure was already relieved and she could close her mouth again as James moved away from her, checking some of the monitors of devices that were attached to his mother in various ways.
The Admiral couldn't help but gently chuckle at the professionalism he clearly very deliberately employed as he dealt with her waking up. It was a nice act, however, she was smart enough to know that, since he didn't call anyone in to do it, he likely had asked to conduct these precautionary examinations himself instead of calling a doctor in for it, likely promising to call in someone more professional than himself should he find anything actually worrying.
But, based on his reactions, it seemed like everything was in working order. At least the vitals she could see on the monitors herself certainly were. Not exactly 'healthy', of course, but also not directly concerning for someone who had just gone through the wringer like she had.
Or, well...she didn't quite know how 'just' it had been. She was admittedly a bit too groggy to fully remember the exact date and time during which the attack leaving her injured had taken place, which meant even the clock on the wall was of very little help with determining just how long she had been out for.
“Do you feel anything strange?” James asked her, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Any pain? Nausea? Discomfort?”
Krieger shook her head.
“Nothing, apart from being high as a kite,” she replied before briefly glancing down at herself. Her body was almost completely covered by a white sheet, so she couldn't exactly see anything. However, she knew what was underneath. “Though I'm sure my leg would be in a lot of pain if I could actually feel it.”
In the corner of her vision, she both saw and felt Nia flinch as she was still holding her hand, her face darkening a little.
James' expression also seemed to turn more serious after her jokingly said words, betraying his usually not horrible pokerface.
Slowly, she released a long breath.
“It's gone, isn't it?” she suspected immediately. Not surprising after the state her leg had been in when she last saw it.
Nia's face just turned even more glum at that, however James sighed and nodded.
“Most of it, yes,” he replied honestly, knowing her well enough to cut any sort of bullshit. “Though you will be glad to hear that your usual 'precautions' worked without a hitch. Your body accepted the prosthesis and you should be able to walk again almost immediately.”
She smiled.
“I always told you, it pays to be prepared,” she said, lifting her unoccupied arm with a finger playfully raised in lecture. Though then, she moved her gaze over to Nia, reaching her already raised arm over to Nia's head and pulling her in a bit closer before gently caressing her cheek. “Come on, why the frown?” she asked, giving a gentle smile. “You heard what he said, I'll be good as new.”
A returning smile fought itself through Nia's tears at the caress, and she nodded meekly – before then suddenly throwing herself forwards, out of the wheelchair and onto the Admiral in a brazen embrace.
A sharp pain once again shot through the Admiral's shoulder as another body suddenly pressed down onto hers, however this time she did not care a single bit as she moved her arms around her daughter and gently petted along her back while Nia clearly did her absolute best to suppress the quiet sobs leaving her. Meanwhile James stood next to it all with a stoic expression, only his eyes betraying the obvious compassion he felt for his sister's happiness.
Once the embrace was enjoyed and a few soft words were exchanged, he aided Nia in getting back into the wheelchair wordlessly.
And the Admiral didn't need him to say anything. The mere fact that he had decided to be here told her more than enough – even if he would likely say that he was here to visit Nia when he would be asked about it.
A few moments later, the door to the room opened, with two new people entering in a visible hurry. Though, despite their haste, both Tuya and Shida froze when they fully processed the scene they had barged into, with neither of them seemingly knowing if they wanted to proceed or not.
Taking the decision off them, the Admiral lifted her hand and waved them closer.
“Come in,” she said invitingly, not at all opposed to their presence here. Not for nothing, she was more than happy with the partners that her children had found for themselves. She could hardly have wished for better ones.
Still seeming a bit hesitant, the First-Lieutenant and Lieutenant-Commander then continued their motion, even if much slower now.
James and Nia both had pretty unreadable expressions on their faces at this point as they watched their respective partners approach. They all exchanged a long gaze with each other, which clearly told her children something that she wasn't quite privy to yet.
James was finally the one to break the silence.
“What brilliant timing,” he sighed a bit as he turned around, quickly grabbing a remote from a nearby nightstand. With it, he turned up the volume of a running but up until now muted screen that the Admiral had only been tangentially aware of so far.
Though now that everyone's attention seemed to be pulled towards it, she didn't need to be a genius to realize that something important was being broadcast there. And so she got quiet and listened, her professional seriousness returning as he fought through her slightly hazy state to not miss a detail, especially so as she saw just who the cameras were pointed towards.
Leaving her enormous head to hang slightly, Apojinorana Audoxya Tua, High-Matriarch of the zodiatos and current Acting-Leader-Supreme of the G.C.S. had taken the stage behind what had to be a house-sized podium, even if it didn't appear like it on screen.
The Admiral suppressed any feelings she had towards that vile woman as she concentrated on listening to her words.
They had seemingly missed the beginning of the conference they were not tuning into, so hopefully they hadn't missed anything important.
“...firm the attack. One of the current Nahfmir-Durrehefren, previously known as Melvolhorron, used his command over several of our ships and the loyalty of crews that had been radicalized by the ongoing galactic tensions -both zodiatos and coluyvoree- to mount the attack. No outside influence on his actions from any third-party outside of the zodiatos territories has been indicated during the investigations. The black box that was discovered by the human forces and handed over to galactic investigations in full accordance to communal law and without any resistance brought some additional light to his motivations. Among the usual logs and data you would expect to find, it also contained a seemingly deliberately saved...letter of devotion to...none other than my own person. It seems that this...tragic event turned heinous crime was something that he saw as his best chance to advance his position to that of the true Durrehefren. He seemed to believe that my devotion and favor could be gained through a decisive strike against the humans, whom he believed I hated deeply – along with all other deathworlders, it appears. It also appears that he believed this hate would go far enough that I would approve of any methods to achieve this strike against them – even an attack on not only another coreworld, but one of our oldest and most loyal allies. It's-” she cut of briefly, releasing a distressed trumpeting sound before reaching her trunk up to run its ends over her many dark eyes. “It is, of course, hard for me. Not only to have such a crime committed ostensibly in my name, but also that this seems to be an image that I have imprinted onto my people. An image of hate and discord that has radicalized them to the point that they would stoop to such levels simply to see the 'opposition' suffer. And while it is no secret that the humans have been at odds with me, I would never approve of such a heinous attack, not only because...friends of mine...were lost in it, too. And I am not free of blame. I see now that I was so focused on sternly defending us from the accusations posed against us, that I entirely forgot to also show the compassion that is so necessary at a time like this. And I want to apologize for this. Deeply. Even as the attack was committed by a blinded individual, the zodiatos will take full responsibility for it. We are willing to pay any required reparations to each of the injured parties involved, and we deeply wish that our ties we have to those harmed can be mended, be they old or new, strong or tattered. We will gladly welcome any diplomatic outreach from the injured parties as well as all others who are concerned in hopes to not only aid in the recovery of our alliances, but also in the healing of our very own souls as we will take any effort we can to move away from the hate that has caused this tragedy. Our people will not become one of violence and terror, that I swear by all three of my names. And I hope that all others follow that example, so that this tragic event may become a part of our history that will never be repeated. Now more than ever, we need to remind ourselves of the values that this galaxy was built upon. I thank each and every one of you for your attention. Success to you. Prosperity for all. Unity in the community.”

Demographics: Well-off white male, large public high school
Academics: Current junior GPA 3.93 UW 4.82 W 8 APs so far (gov (5), apush (3), human geo (5), world, lang, chem, physics 1, calc ab), taking 6 next year (micro/macro, physics c, csp, calc bc, lit, music theory) 1540 sat (750 math, 790 ebrw)
Intended major: some kind of engineering, probably chemical
Awards: advanced curriculum for excellences in science scholar, national honor society, science national honor society, music honor society
Extracurriculars: 250 service hours
Ultimate frisbee club sport all 4 years
Physics club
Boy Scouts for 6 years, will likely be Eagle Scout by the time I apply, lots of leadership experience
Staffed a leadership training summer camp twice
Will participate in a “discovering engineering” program this summer
Interning under a physics professor at a top university this summer
Play several instruments and do a lot with music including my own band, and pep band at my school all 4 years
I think that’s it, I would appreciate any thoughts. Also, should I try to retake the sat for a higher math score?

Maaaaaybe not puting the monolith on the center of my base next time..
Killbox with some IED deadlife traps are sure something

As you can see from the title I am applying to Service Academies! (Naval Academy & Westpoint) I am absolutely cooked but instead of whining for the last 2 years I dug my heels into the ground to improve as much as possible for a better shot at appointment.
Here are my stats as a Rising Senior: (Still in Junior Year)
Academics: GPA: 3.6 UW//3.85 W
140/592 Class Rank
8 Honors Classes and 7 APs by the time I graduate.
Courses: AP Psychology (B) AP English Language (A+) AP US History (B) Stats and Probability(B) Physics Honors (B) Spanish 5 Honors (A-) JROTC LET 3 (A)
Senior Year (Next Year): AP English Lit. AP US Government & Politics AP Computer Science A AP Spanish Language and Culture Precalc Honors JROTC LET 4
Standardized Testing: May 4th SAT: 1220 (650 Reading, 570 Math) I am taking June and October. For reference I am proud of my score because I began with a 930.
ECs and Awards: JROTC
Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps (JROTC) Battalion Commander; 1st in command of JROTC program; Organize and lead battalion (12th grade) Battalion Executive Officer; Chief of Staff; 2nd in command of battalion (11th Grade) Battalion Operations Officer; (10th Grade) Company Commander; held command of 95-100 cadets; JCLC (JROTC Cadet Leadership Challenge) (Rising Junior) Raiders; National Raiders Competition Team Captain; (3 years) Drill Team Squad Leader (3 years) Color Guard (2 years) Orienteering (3 years) Service learning (3 years) ^ All of this takes 5 days per week and makes it very difficult to do anything else.
High School Soccer Freshman Year
Track and Field: Sophomore Year- Junior Year Distance runner (I need to try and get a varsity letter)
Volunteer at Local retirement home (20+ hours, will grind more out over the summer.)
Employee at prestigious country club 520+ hours worked in the course of a year.
Junior Award: Elmira College 22k per year in scholarship money.
JROTC Cadet Leadership Award which was awarded for excellence in leadership and capacity to serve and instruct a group of cadets that were placed under my command.
Physical Fitness: 5:35 Mile 50 Push-ups in one minute 48 Sit-ups in one minute (Working on it)
Overall I am a below average applicant but to anyone reading this do not be afraid to chase your dreams to matter what. My end goal is to commission as an officer in the US Army or Navy which I will figure out how to do regardless of if I get into these schools or not. I’m going to keep putting in the work and see what happens, but any pointers from people in this sub Reddit would be awesome! Thank you for reading.

In the small town of Wolf's Hollow, the residents whispered of ancient secrets hidden in the dense, shadowy forests. Legends spoke of werewolves, but not the kind that transformed under the pull of the full moon. No, these werewolves could shift their forms at will, and they came in two distinct kinds: the benevolent Protectors and the malevolent Ravagers.
For centuries, the myth of the full moon had been spread by the Protectors to mask their true nature and keep the balance of power hidden from humanity. But now, the truth was on the brink of being exposed.
Draco had always felt a strange connection to the forest, a pull he couldn't explain. His grandmother, known in the town as a wise old herbalist, had entrusted him to her best friend Ahmad when Draco was just seven months old. Ahmad, a man of great wisdom and skill, had raised Draco, teaching him diplomacy, martial arts, self-defense, and all the science known to the world at that time. Draco had grown up believing his real family had died in an accident, knowing nothing of his true heritage.
One night, while wandering the outskirts of the forest, Draco heard a low growl. He turned to see a pair of glowing eyes watching him from the shadows. Instead of running, he felt an odd sense of calm. The eyes belonged to a large, silver-furred wolf, its demeanor gentle yet powerful. As it stepped into the moonlight, its form shimmered, and in a heartbeat, the wolf transformed into a tall man with kind eyes and an air of ancient wisdom.
"Do not be afraid," he said softly. "I am Lucian, one of the Protectors. You are in danger, Draco. The Ravagers have discovered who you are."
"Who I am?" Draco repeated, his voice trembling. "What do you mean?"
Lucian explained that Draco was a descendant of a long line of Protectors, and his latent abilities were beginning to awaken. The Ravagers, sensing his emerging power, sought to corrupt or destroy him to tip the balance in their favor.
As if on cue, a chilling howl echoed through the night. Lucian's expression darkened. "They're coming. We must move quickly."
They ran deeper into the forest, the howls growing louder and more menacing. Draco's heart pounded in his chest as they reached a hidden glade, illuminated by the faint glow of bioluminescent plants. Here, Lucian stopped and turned to face him.
"Draco, you have the power to choose your path," he said urgently. "You can embrace your heritage as a Protector and help us defend Wolf's Hollow, or you can walk away and let the Ravagers bring chaos and destruction."
Before he could respond, the Ravagers burst into the glade. Leading them was Kieran, a dark-haired werewolf with a cruel smile. His followers, all in wolf form, surrounded Lucian and Draco, their eyes gleaming with malice.
"So, the lost son of the Protectors has finally surfaced," Kieran sneered. "Join us, Draco. Embrace your true nature. Why fight for a town that would never accept you if they knew what you really are?"
Draco's mind raced. He looked at Lucian, then at Kieran, and finally back at the town he had called home his entire life. The teachings of Ahmad echoed in his ears, tales of heroism and sacrifice.
With a deep breath, Draco stepped forward, his eyes meeting Kieran's. "I choose to protect," he said firmly, feeling a surge of power within him.
Kieran's smile faded, replaced by a snarl. "So be it," he growled.
The battle was fierce, but with Lucian by his side, Draco fought with a newfound strength. He felt his body shifting, the power of the Protector lineage coursing through his veins. In the end, the Ravagers retreated, vowing to return.
Breathing heavily, Draco turned to Lucian. "This is only the beginning, isn't it?"
Lucian nodded. "Yes, but together, we can ensure that the light of the Protectors never fades."
And so, under the stars, with the myth of the full moon shattered, Draco embraced his destiny as a Protector of Wolf's Hollow, ready to face whatever darkness lay ahead.
After their narrow escape from the Ravagers, Draco and Lucian sought refuge in the hidden hideout of the Protectors. Tucked away deep within the heart of the forest, it was a sanctuary cloaked in secrecy, where the light of civilization dared not penetrate. Here, amidst the shadows and whispers of the trees, they hoped to regroup and plan their next move.
As they entered the dimly lit chamber, Draco couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. He scanned the room, his senses on high alert, until his gaze settled on a darkened corner where the light of the lamp failed to reach. Two red eyes gleamed from the darkness, and a voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the room.
"Are you ready to learn the ways of the Protectors?"
Draco nodded, his curiosity piqued. As the figure emerged from the shadows, he recognized the commanding presence of Ahmad, the Alpha werewolf and brother of Draco's late mother. Ahmad's age was evident in the lines etched upon his weathered face, a testament to the countless battles he had fought and the wisdom he had gained over the years.
For centuries, the power of Alpha had been passed down through generations, but now, as Ahmad explained, Draco stood on the cusp of something unprecedented. A true Alpha, born not from lineage but from sheer will and strength of character, destined to lead the Protectors into a new era.
Draco's training intensified under Ahmad's guidance. For fourteen years, he honed his skills, mastering the art of combat and strategy, all the while relentlessly pursuing the Ravagers who threatened their existence. With each victory, Draco felt the power within him grow, a primal force waiting to be unleashed.
But as Draco's strength grew, so did the desperation of their enemies. Kieran, the cunning leader of the Ravagers, launched a relentless assault, targeting Ahmad in a brazen attempt to cripple the Protectors. In a fierce battle that shook the very foundations of their hideout, Kieran struck a fatal blow, leaving Ahmad gravely wounded.
As Ahmad lay dying in Draco's arms, a surge of energy pulsed through him, a force unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was then that he realized the truth: the power of Alpha was not bound by bloodline but by destiny, and Ahmad had chosen Draco as his successor.
With his last breath, Ahmad passed on his Alpha powers to Draco, infusing him with the strength and authority of a True Alpha. In that moment, Draco transcended his mortal limitations, his spirit ascending to a higher plane of existence.
With Ahmad's legacy coursing through his veins, Draco confronted Kieran with a newfound determination. Their final battle raged on, a clash of titans that echoed through the forest, until at last, Draco emerged victorious, his enemies vanquished and his destiny fulfilled.
As the new Supreme Alpha, Draco stood tall amidst the ruins of their battleground, his voice resonating with power as he commanded the loyalty of all werewolves who pledged allegiance to the Protectors. With Ahmad's guidance and Lucian's unwavering support, he would lead his pack into a future filled with hope and unity, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
And so, with the rise of the Supreme Alpha, the legend of Draco Al Dragoon was born, a symbol of strength, courage, and the indomitable spirit of the Protectors. In the annals of history, his name would be etched in stone, a testament to the enduring power of the human will to defy fate and forge a path toward a brighter tomorrow.
Long before the time of Draco Al Dragoon, there existed a legendary figure whose name was whispered in awe and reverence: Abdul Mateen, the Holy Monarch. In an age shrouded in darkness and chaos, he rose from humble beginnings to become a beacon of hope for his people.
Abdul Mateen was born into a world torn apart by war and strife. His homeland, known as Draconia, was besieged by darkness, its lands ruled by fear and tyranny. From a young age, Abdul Mateen witnessed the suffering of his people, the oppression and injustice that plagued their lives.
Driven by a deep sense of justice and righteousness, Abdul Mateen vowed to bring an end to the reign of evil that held his land captive. With unwavering determination and boundless courage, he embarked on a quest to unite the scattered tribes of Draconia under his banner, rallying them to fight for freedom and liberation.
Through countless battles and trials, Abdul Mateen proved himself to be a formidable warrior and a wise leader. His charisma and conviction inspired legions to join his cause, swelling his ranks with warriors from all walks of life. Together, they marched against the forces of darkness, confronting evil wherever it lurked and vanquishing it with righteous fury.
But Abdul Mateen's quest for justice did not end with the defeat of his enemies. With victory within his grasp, he ascended to the throne as the Holy Monarch of Draconia, ushering in an era of peace and prosperity for his people. Under his rule, the land flourished, its people united in purpose and harmony.
Yet, peace was not to last. In the shadows, a new threat loomed, a sinister force bent on revenge and destruction. A beta werewolf, descended from the lineage of Keiran, harbored a deep-seated hatred for Abdul Mateen and his legacy. In a cowardly act of treachery, he struck down the Holy Monarch, ending his life and plunging Draconia into mourning.
But even in death, Abdul Mateen's spirit endured, his legacy living on in the hearts of his people. His sacrifice became a rallying cry for justice and freedom, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, the light of hope would never be extinguished.
And so, as the ages passed and new heroes arose, the legend of Abdul Mateen lived on, a testament to the power of courage, compassion, and the enduring spirit of those who dare to stand against the tide of darkness and forge a path toward a brighter tomorrow.
As the empire of Draconia crumbled in the wake of Abdul Mateen's death, chaos engulfed the land, leaving it vulnerable to the machinations of the Ravagers who sought to claim the throne for themselves. But amidst the turmoil, a glimmer of hope emerged from the ashes of despair.
In the sacred texts known as the Gospel of Abdul Mateen, a prophecy foretold of a Holy Monarch who would rise to lead the people in their darkest hour. Descended from the noble lineage of the legendary monarch himself, this chosen one would wield the power of a super strong Alpha, feared by all who dared to oppose him.
For generations, the Protectors guarded the teachings of the Gospel, keeping the prophecy alive through their unwavering faith and dedication. They knew that one day, the chosen one would emerge to fulfill his destiny and restore balance to the land.
And so, as the dark ages threatened to descend once more, the Protectors remained vigilant, their faith unshaken by the encroaching shadows. They knew that the darkness could only prevail if the people turned away from the worship and remembrance of the divine.
As whispers of unrest echoed through the land and the Ravagers grew bolder in their ambitions, the stage was set for the arrival of the chosen one, the Holy Monarch who would rise to reclaim his birthright and usher in a new era of peace and prosperity for Draconia.
But his path would not be easy, for the forces of darkness would stop at nothing to thwart his destiny. Only through courage, faith, and unwavering determination would the chosen one overcome the trials that lay ahead and fulfill the prophecy of Abdul Mateen, the Holy Monarch of legend.
In the sprawling land of Draconia, a land rich with diverse ecosystems ranging from the towering mountains in the north to the vast plains, dense forests, scorching deserts, and boundless oceans, a new chapter of darkness was about to unfold.
Centuries had passed since Draco, the immortal True Alpha, had vanquished Kieran, the malevolent leader of the Ravagers. After the battle, Draco had retreated into the deep recesses of the northern mountains, choosing solitude over the limelight, leaving the Protectors to continue their noble mission. Over time, Draco's legend faded into mere folklore among the Protectors, and his name was whispered only in tales of old.
The northern mountains, a region long believed to be inhospitable and devoid of life, held secrets that few in Draconia could fathom. Hidden within their massive peaks lived the descendants of Azma Al Dragoon, a Holy Monarch akin to Abdul Mateen. Unlike Abdul Mateen's empire, which spanned the east, west, and south, Azma's dominion was confined to the north, as decreed by divine command. Her lineage was blessed with the extraordinary gift of voice command over all living beings, including dragons, unicorns, and even vampires.
In the present day, the Al Dragoon empire was ruled by the grandson of Draco's younger sister. Unlike his forebears, this monarch was neither pious nor righteous. He harbored ambitions that defied the sacred Gospel of Azma, which sternly warned against expanding the empire beyond the northern mountains. Driven by arrogance and a misguided sense of superiority due to his high-altitude dominion, he decided to conquer all of Draconia.
With the power of voice command, he enslaved the Protectors, forcing them to turn against their own. The once-guardians of peace and justice became unwilling instruments of tyranny, carrying out the young monarch's brutal campaign. In a mere seven months, the entirety of Draconia fell under his iron fist, its diverse landscapes unified under a reign of fear and oppression.
As the flames of conquest spread across the land, the ancient prophecies of Abdul Mateen and the Gospel of Azma weighed heavily on the hearts of the oppressed. The true believers whispered of a destined hero who would rise to restore balance and justice. The legend of Draco, the True Alpha, once a fading memory, began to rekindle in the hearts of those who still held hope.
Deep within the northern mountains, Draco stirred from his long isolation, sensing the turmoil and suffering that plagued Draconia. The time had come for the prophecy to be fulfilled, for the Holy Monarch to rise again and lead the people out of darkness. Draco, the immortal protector, would reclaim his legacy and confront the usurper who had dared to defy the divine decrees.
With the land of Draconia on the brink of an all-encompassing darkness, a new chapter of legend was about to begin, one that would see the return of a forgotten hero and the fulfillment of a destiny written in the stars.
In the quiet seclusion of the northern mountains, Draco grappled with his newfound powers and the immense responsibility they carried. He feared that the voice command, a power capable of influencing all living beings, might corrupt him and turn his strength against the very people he sought to protect. In his despair, Draco prayed fervently to God, seeking guidance and reassurance. For days, he prayed without rest, his pleas met with silence. Exhausted and weary, he finally succumbed to sleep.
In his dreams, Draco found himself in a tranquil garden, surrounded by lush greenery and ripened fruits. As he enjoyed the serenity, a divine light enveloped the sky, and a powerful voice resonated through the air. "Go to the house of the late Ahmad," it commanded. "In the basement, you will find a scroll that will reveal the truth."
Awakening with newfound purpose, Draco journeyed to the old, abandoned home of Ahmad, the man who had raised him and trained him. In the basement, he discovered a hidden scroll. With trembling hands, he unrolled the ancient parchment and began to read.
"Dear Draco,
This is your uncle Ahmad. Yes, I am your mother's brother. Your father did not die in an accident. Your grandmother entrusted me with you because you are the son of Malik Al Dragoon and an Alpha werewolf, my sister. You are a hybrid, possessing the voice command as a descendant of Azma Al Dragoon and Abdul Mateen. Your strong aura signified you as a true Alpha, but your grandmother sealed your voice command to prevent a werewolf from ruling the Al Dragoon empire.
Now, you are the Supreme Alpha, the werewolf promised by God to become the Holy Monarch. To claim your voice command, you must venture to the maze of the mountains at the start of the Northern range.
With love and faith,
Ahmad"
Determined to fulfill his destiny, Draco set off for the maze of the mountains. The journey was perilous, but Draco's resolve was unwavering. He navigated the labyrinthine paths with skill and determination, eventually arriving at the heart of the maze, where he encountered a formidable black dragon known as Golden Fury, the mightiest of all Draconian creatures.
The battle was fierce and brutal. Draco fought valiantly, sustaining severe injuries, but his strength as the Supreme Alpha allowed him to heal rapidly. Summoning his inner power, he finally vanquished the dragon. As the beast lay defeated, Draco approached a glowing glass bottle. When he opened it, a brilliant light surged into his throat, causing him to choke and collapse.
In a dreamlike state, Draco found himself face to face with the Emperor of Al Dragoon. The emperor's eyes burned with hatred as he declared, "I'll find and kill you. You now possess the voice command, so I can't control you, but I'll find and kill you."
Draco awoke with a start, his resolve hardened. He journeyed to the town of the Protectors and, with a mighty roar, summoned them. The Protectors, now a formidable force of 150,000 strong, ceased their activities and gathered around him. Their leader, Ameen, approached, awestruck.
"Who are you?" Ameen asked, his voice trembling with reverence.
"I am Draco," he declared, "the True Alpha and descendant of Abdul Mateen and Azma Al Dragoon."
The Protectors fell to their knees, apologizing for their actions under the influence of the voice command.
"Do not apologize," Draco said, his voice strong and compassionate. "It was not you. It was the voice command."
Ameen, filled with awe and respect, responded, "We all thought you were a myth. We never expected to see you in our lifetime."
Draco nodded, understanding the weight of their words. "Myths become reality in times of great need," he said. "Now, we must prepare. The time has come to overthrow the tyrant emperor."
That night, the Protectors held a grand feast in honor of Draco. They celebrated his return and pledged their loyalty to his cause. With a vast army at his command, Draco began to devise a strategy to take down the usurper who had plunged Draconia into darkness. The prophecy of the Holy Monarch was unfolding, and the final battle for Draconia's future was about to begin.
As the Protectors feasted in honor of Draco's return, a palpable sense of hope and determination filled the air. Draco, now fully aware of his destiny, began to outline a comprehensive plan to reclaim Draconia from the tyrant emperor who ruled from the northern mountains.
For days, Draco and his closest advisors, including Ameen, strategized tirelessly. They knew that the emperor's power was formidable, bolstered by the voice command that allowed him to control vast numbers of beings. However, Draco's unique position as a Supreme Alpha with the same voice command powers gave them a fighting chance. His hybrid nature and immortal status made him a beacon of strength and resilience.
One night, as the moon cast a silver glow over the camp, Draco gathered the Protectors. "Our enemy is powerful," he began, his voice steady and commanding, "but he underestimates the strength of our unity and the righteousness of our cause. We fight not just for ourselves, but for all of Draconia."
The Protectors roared in approval, their spirits lifted by Draco's words. With their morale high, they set off towards the northern mountains, moving stealthily through the diverse terrains of Draconia. They traversed forests, crossed plains, and navigated deserts, their numbers growing as more people joined their cause, inspired by the legend of the Holy Monarch.
As they approached the foothills of the northern mountains, Draco called for a halt. It was here, in the shadow of the towering peaks, that they would face their greatest challenge. Draco knew that to defeat the emperor, he would need to draw on every ounce of his strength and the faith of his followers.
The night before the final confrontation, Draco retreated to a secluded spot to pray. He sought divine guidance, asking God for the strength to lead his people and the wisdom to use his powers justly. As he prayed, he felt a warm, comforting presence surround him, a reassurance that he was on the right path.
At dawn, the Protectors assembled at the base of the emperor's fortress, a massive stronghold carved into the mountainside. Draco stood at the forefront, his presence commanding and inspiring. With a roar that echoed through the mountains, he led the charge.
The battle was fierce and intense. The Protectors fought valiantly, their determination fueled by the righteousness of their cause. Draco, with his voice command and supreme alpha abilities, was a force to be reckoned with. He called forth dragons, unicorns, and other creatures, rallying them to their side.
Amidst the chaos, Draco faced the emperor in a final showdown. The emperor, confident in his power, sneered at Draco. "You think you can defeat me? I am the ruler of Draconia!"
Draco's eyes blazed with determination. "You are a usurper. The true ruler fights for the people, not against them."
The clash between them was monumental. The emperor, though powerful, was no match for Draco's combined strength and the divine favor that guided him. With a final, devastating blow, Draco defeated the emperor, ending his tyrannical reign.
As the emperor fell, the fortress walls seemed to shudder, and the oppressive atmosphere lifted. The Protectors cheered, their victory a testament to their unwavering faith and the fulfillment of the ancient prophecy.
With the emperor's defeat, Draco ascended to his rightful place as the Holy Monarch of Draconia. He pledged to rule with justice, compassion, and humility, honoring the legacy of Abdul Mateen and Azma Al Dragoon. Under his leadership, Draconia began to heal, its people united and hopeful for the future.
Draco's story, once a myth, became a legend etched in the annals of history. The land of Draconia, vast and diverse, thrived under his reign, a beacon of peace and prosperity in a world that had known too much darkness. And so, the prophecy was fulfilled, and the Holy Monarch brought light to Draconia once more.
In the years following his victory over the tyrant emperor, Draco ruled Draconia with wisdom and justice. His marriage to Alina brought him great joy, and together they had children who, to Draco's surprise, were entirely human. Puzzled, Draco turned to God for answers, praying fervently until one night, a divine light filled his dreams.
"Draco, my faithful servant," the voice of God spoke, "your children do not possess your powers because they do not need them. Your lineage has fulfilled its purpose, bringing peace and justice to Draconia. Your descendants will thrive as normal humans, living lives of love, compassion, and integrity. Their strength lies not in supernatural abilities, but in the goodness of their hearts. In due time, a boy from your firstborn son's line will inherit the powers you possess. Until then, trust in your family's strength and wisdom."
With this divine message, Draco found peace. He understood that his descendants would carry his legacy in their hearts, if not in their abilities. As the years passed, Draco watched his children and grandchildren grow. When Alina and their children aged and passed away, Draco felt the weight of his immortality.
The Protectors, too, began to age and die, their children inheriting their virtues but not their powers. Seeing the natural order of life take its course, Draco decided it was time for a new chapter. He named his firstborn son, a wise and just ruler, as the new monarch of Draconia.
Draco then gathered all the supernatural beings of Draconia—dragons, unicorns, vampires, and more—and led them to a vast underground cave, twice the size of Draconia itself. This hidden sanctuary became their new home, a place where they could live in peace away from the mortal world.
For a thousand years, Draco and the supernatural beings remained hidden. As generations passed, the people of Draconia began to forget about Draco and his legendary deeds. Two thousand years after his disappearance, the people of Draconia, now living in a democracy, revolted against Draco's descendants, seeking independence and self-governance.
By the early 3000s, the memory of Draco had faded into myth. Emerging from his underground sanctuary, Draco observed a changed world. He saw a society that had abandoned faith, turning to atheism and forgetting their divine heritage. Saddened by the state of the world, Draco decided to document his story.
Writing his tale in a book, Draco published it anonymously. The book, filled with the true history of Draconia, the legacy of Abdul Mateen, Azma Al Dragoon, and Draco himself, became a bestseller. People were captivated by the story of the immortal protector and the holy monarchs, though they believed it to be fiction.
Having shared his story with the world, Draco returned to his underground cave, content to live out his days among the supernatural beings. Though the world above had forgotten him, his legacy endured in the hearts of those who read his book.
Draco watched over his descendants from afar, knowing that one day, the prophecy would be fulfilled, and a boy from his firstborn son's line would inherit his powers. Until then, Draco lived peacefully, the eternal guardian of Draconia's true history, and the hope for a future where his legacy would rise again.
Stoic's reign of terror had reached a peak, and the people of Draconia were living in constant fear. Among the oppressed was a young boy named Aman, who had suffered greatly under Stoic's brutal rule. One day, unable to bear the torture any longer, Aman decided to flee, seeking refuge far from Stoic's clutches.
He ran for days, his feet bloodied and his body weakened, until he reached the base of a massive mountain—the forbidden mountain that no one had ever successfully climbed. Desperation fueled his steps as he began the arduous ascent. To his astonishment, he made it to the summit. However, as he stepped into the middle of the top, the ground beneath him gave way. Aman plummeted into the depths, falling for what felt like an eternity before he lost consciousness.
When Aman woke, he found himself in a grand hall, unlike anything he had ever seen. Majestic dragons curled on one side, vampires and werewolves—ancient and frail but kept alive by some mysterious power—stood on another, and orcs loomed nearby. In the center of this hall, sitting upon an imposing throne, was Draco, radiating an aura of timeless power.
Draco's voice echoed through the hall, "What is your name, boy?"
Terrified and disoriented, Aman stammered, "Am I dead? If I am, oh god, forgive me. I never believed in you, but you are merciful. Please forgive me. Before dying, I prayed to you to help me, even though I didn't believe. Please forgive me, as I never sinned except for not believing in you."
Draco's roar shook the hall, "You mere human, I asked for your name, and you dare call me god? I am but a servant of the true God, who is all-powerful, all-knowing, and infinitely merciful. I am not worthy of such a title. Now, tell me your name."
Aman, trembling, replied, "I am Aman."
Draco's eyes narrowed, "What is your full name?"
The boy hesitated before answering, "It's Aman Al Dricon."
The name triggered a suspicion in Draco's mind. Although the name 'Al Dragoon' had been erased from memory by divine decree, 'Al Dricon' was close enough to spark curiosity. Draco turned to his Grand Mage, an ancient and wise figure, and commanded, "Determine his lineage."
As the Grand Mage began to weave his spell, the ceiling of the throne room shone with an ethereal light. A voice, clear and powerful, filled Draco's mind, a voice only he could hear. "Yes, my servant Draco, he is the boy I told you about," said God.
Draco's heart swelled with both awe and responsibility. This boy, Aman, was the fulfillment of the prophecy. He was the descendant promised by God, destined to inherit Draco's powers and lead the people of Draconia out of darkness.
Draco addressed Aman with newfound reverence, "Aman, you are more than you realize. You carry the blood of heroes, of legends. You are destined for greatness, to restore light to this land. Your journey has only just begun."
Draco's intense gaze bore into Aman as he asked, "How is everything upstairs? Tell me about the world above."
Aman, still a bit dazed from his fall and newfound surroundings, took a deep breath and began to recount the horrors of Stoic's rule. He spoke of the relentless oppression, the fear that had gripped the hearts of the people, and the suffering that was now a daily reality. As he spoke, Draco listened intently, his expression growing darker with every word.
When Aman finished, Draco asked, "Are you a werewolf?"
Aman couldn't help but burst into laughter. He laughed so hard that tears formed in the corners of his eyes. "Bro, that's hilarious!" he managed to say between laughs.
Draco's voice thundered through the hall, "Kid! Stop laughing! See who you're talking to. I am Draco Al Dragoon, the Monarch of all the beings of Draconia. Who do you think I am?"
Aman, still giggling, opened his eyes to see Draco undergo a startling transformation. Before him, the most handsome human he had ever seen morphed into a fierce, bloodthirsty white werewolf with glowing red eyes. The sight was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
Aman's laughter stopped abruptly as he took in the transformation. For a moment, he was speechless, his mind racing to process what he was seeing. Then, almost reflexively, he giggled again, albeit nervously this time. "You mean you're the main character of the book I read?"
Draco's eyes narrowed, his red gaze piercing through the boy. "What book?"
Aman, now more cautious but still holding onto a sliver of incredulity, replied, "There was this old book I found in the ruins of a library. It spoke of a great hero named Draco Al Dragoon, who ruled over all beings and protected Draconia from darkness. I thought it was just a story."
Draco's expression softened slightly, recognizing the irony. The tale of his own life had become a forgotten legend, mistaken for mere fiction. He reverted to his human form and stepped closer to Aman, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That story is my life, Aman. And now, you are part of that story. Your destiny is intertwined with mine. Together, we must bring light back to Draconia."
Aman, feeling the weight of Draco's words, nodded solemnly. "What do I need to do?"
Draco smiled, a mix of determination and pride in his eyes. "First, we train. Then, we reclaim our land."
Despite Draco's best efforts to impart his knowledge and skills to Aman, the boy remained a mere human. Try as he might, Aman could not replicate the supernatural abilities of his ancestor.
Draco watched with a mix of frustration and concern as Aman struggled to harness the powers that were his birthright. It was as if fate had played a cruel trick on them both, leaving Aman powerless in the face of the growing darkness.
Despite his lack of supernatural abilities, Aman's determination remained unshaken. He trained tirelessly alongside Draco, honing his skills in combat, strategy, and leadership. Though he may not possess the strength of a werewolf or the command over dragons, Aman possessed something equally valuable—a steadfast resolve and unwavering courage.
As they prepared to confront Stoic and his dark forces, Draco placed his trust in Aman's human ingenuity and resilience. Together, they forged a bond that transcended bloodlines and abilities, united in their quest to bring hope and freedom back to Draconia.
As Draco surveyed the desolate landscape of Draconia, his heart weighed heavy with sorrow and anger. The once vibrant land he had sworn to protect now lay in ruins, its people shackled by the tyranny of Stoic. Determined to confront the oppressor alone, Draco ventured into the heart of the darkness.
Entering the decrepit castle that had once been his own, Draco was met with a chilling sight. Humans, once proud and free, now toiled as slaves under Stoic's watchful eye, their spirits broken and their hope all but extinguished. A towering statue of Stoic, adorned with chains and symbols of power, loomed over the enslaved populace, a cruel mockery of their suffering.
Draco pressed on, his steps echoing through the silent halls until he reached the throne room—the seat of power now tainted by corruption. There, amidst the decay and decay, sat Stoic, oblivious to the looming threat that stood before him.
With a thunderous roar, Stoic commanded his servants to capture the intruder, unaware of the true identity of the figure before him. Draco, bound in chains, met Stoic's gaze with unwavering defiance.
"And who are you to challenge me?" Stoic sneered, his voice dripping with arrogance. "A mere human, nothing more."
In an instant, Draco's form shifted, his human guise melting away to reveal the fearsome visage of a werewolf. His eyes blazed with righteous fury as he faced his adversary.
"What did you say?" Draco growled, his voice reverberating through the chamber. "And you? You dare to proclaim yourself as the 'God of Draconia'? How childish."
Stoic's bravado faltered in the face of Draco's raw power, a flicker of fear betraying his facade of invincibility. In that moment, the balance of power shifted, and the stage was set for a confrontation that would decide the fate of Draconia.
Draco lay on the cold stone floor of his chamber, his body battered and bruised from the fierce battle with Stoic. Despite his immortality, the wounds he bore were a stark reminder of his mortality in the face of such overwhelming darkness.
As he struggled to rise, a blinding flash of light enveloped the room, leaving Draco momentarily disoriented. When the light subsided, he found himself back in the familiar confines of his underground sanctuary. Confusion clouded his mind as he tried to comprehend what had just transpired.
Before Draco could gather his thoughts, a voice, stern and commanding, echoed in his mind. It was the voice of God, unmistakable in its authority and power.
"I never told you to go there," the voice admonished. "You are strong, but not as you were before. Only Aman can defeat him."
Draco's brow furrowed in confusion. "But how?" he asked aloud, though he knew the answer already. Aman, despite being human, possessed a strength and determination that transcended mere physical abilities.
"I will give him the power," came the reply. "You must teach him how to fight."
With a sense of purpose renewed, Draco set about his task. He would train Aman to harness the latent power within him, to wield it with skill and precision against the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
And so, beneath the earth's surface, far from the prying eyes of their enemies, Draco and Aman began their preparations for the ultimate battle. Together, they would rise against Stoic and his forces, united in their quest to reclaim Draconia and restore peace to the land.
As Aman stood before Stoic, the weight of destiny resting heavy on his shoulders, he felt a surge of power unlike anything he had ever known. In that moment, he was no longer just a mere human but the chosen successor to Draco, the Supreme Werewolf and righteous monarch of Draconia.
Stoic, unaware of the transformation that had taken place within Aman, prepared to engage in battle. But before the first blow could be struck, Aman spoke with a commanding voice that echoed through the chamber.
"You should stop," Aman said, his words carrying the weight of authority that came with his newfound power.
To his own surprise, Aman realized that he had inadvertently invoked the voice command, compelling Stoic to halt in his tracks. Stoic, unable to resist the compelling force of Aman's command, froze in place, his defiance momentarily subdued.
"Yes, my Liege," Stoic muttered, his words betraying his unwilling submission to Aman's authority.
Draco, observing from the sidelines, understood the significance of what had just occurred. Aman, with his newfound powers, had surpassed even Draco himself, becoming the true heir to the throne of Draconia.
Aman, still coming to terms with his newfound abilities, turned to Stoic with a mixture of surprise and determination. "Is this your trick, Stoic?" he asked, suspicion lacing his words.
Stoic, shaken by the unexpected turn of events, shook his head. "No," he replied, his voice tinged with both fear and resignation. "I don't know how, but you stopped me."
With a swift and decisive motion, Aman transformed into his werewolf form, his eyes blazing with righteous fury. In one fluid motion, he struck out, severing Stoic's head from his body with a single blow.
As Stoic's lifeless body crumpled to the ground, a wave of relief washed over Draconia. With the defeat of their tyrannical ruler, peace and harmony were restored to the land once more.
And so, under the leadership of Aman, the Supreme Werewolf and righteous monarch, Draconia entered a new era of prosperity and unity, free from the shadow of darkness that had threatened to consume it.
As the dust settled and peace returned to Draconia, Draco stood before Aman, his successor and the new Supreme Alpha. The weight of centuries of duty and responsibility bore heavily upon him, and he knew that the time had come for him to relinquish his powers and embrace the life of a mortal once more.
With a solemn nod, Draco accepted his fate. He had served his people faithfully, but now it was time for him to step aside and allow a new generation to lead. Turning to Aman, Draco spoke with a voice filled with wisdom and resolve.
"It is time for me to pass on the mantle of leadership to you, Aman," Draco said, his words carrying the weight of a lifetime of experience. "You have proven yourself worthy of this responsibility, and I have no doubt that you will lead Draconia with strength and wisdom."
Aman nodded, his eyes filled with determination. He understood the burden that now rested upon his shoulders, but he was ready to embrace the challenge.
But before Draco could fully relinquish his powers, a voice echoed through the chamber, resonating with divine authority. It was the voice of God, speaking directly to Draco.
"There should be only one Supreme Alpha," God declared. "Draco, it is time for you to give me your powers."
Draco bowed his head in acknowledgment. He had known this moment would come eventually, but it still filled him with a sense of solemnity. With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and began to channel the power that had been bestowed upon him so many years ago.

Hello, all: time to dive in - the takeaway message here is that there is no evidence that Thomas Kingston had a funeral on March 12th as reported.
Every single article about this funeral informs us that William was present at the funeral, and with no photo or quote evidence, we need to seriously examine how flimsy the facts are that it even happened. I do believe Thomas Kingston is actually dead, and therefore something must have happened with the body, but I DO NOT believe he had a service in the way it has been reported. The reports of his funeral were fabricated to send one message: William was present at his funeral.
Just the day prior, on March 11, Camilla and William appeared and were photographed sitting together at Westminster Abbey to mark Commonwealth Day. There are quite a few photos from that day, as are the many days before - folks will say there is a media block on these stories, but evidence shows there are many photos of the Royals taken and published the same day. Which makes it extremely strange that the next day, there are are NO photos from the funeral of Thomas Kingston - an event that allegedly had 140 guests, including Prince William, and had a funeral procession that went from Kensington Palace to St. James palace. No photos from outside, inside, or direct quotes from anyone who attended the funeral.
At this point, there was no official statement from Buckingham Palace or Kensington Palace on the death of Thomas Kingston, and no announced services. The funeral was first reported by Richard Eden to the Daily Mail at 12:44 EDT on March 12 (the same date as the alleged service).
Now, we are seeing articles in late May saying Lady Gabriella is being asked to appear at the Trooping of the Colors and that there will be another, larger service in honor of Thomas Kingston in June. Why are they having another service, and why would there be a second one? Why was the first one so small? How did the first service manage to stay so private when it was 140 people, including the Prince of Wales? Now, I found a Daily Beast article that claims "Buckingham Palace had requested that no media attended the service". Was the service ever announced? No. I'd like to see the email to the news outlets telling them no press allowed. If there is no media allowed, why would Buckingham Palace immediately confirm William's attendance and allow a dozen stories to run the same day? Sure, very private. Related - I'm making a master timeline of the RF since December 2023, and let me tell you - Camilla has been more active than any of them. She was just with William the day before, she's been the biggest show horse of them all this year, and yet she's not present for this tragic funeral? I don't buy it.
As with much of this Kate Missing saga, I don't know exactly how this piece fits or what it means. But it is a piece of the puzzle, no doubt. They want us to believe that Thomas Kingston's death was not suspicious, and that William appeared at his funeral. ------
Now let's examine some key dates and facts as they have been reported:
Thomas Kingston died Sunday, February 25, 2024

• "According to The Telegraph, Kingston died by suicide at his parents’ home in the Cotswolds on Sunday. He was 45. Senior coroner for Gloucestershire, Katy Skerrett, said Kingston had lunch with his parents before his father took their dogs on a walk. "On his return, Mr. Kingston was not in the house," according to the coroner's office. Kingston's mother began to search for him after 30 minutes, and his father "forced entry on a locked outbuilding when no reply could be gained. His father found Mr Kingston deceased, with a catastrophic head injury. A gun was present at the scene. The emergency services were called and the police are satisfied that the death is not suspicious," the coroner's office said." https://people.com/thomas-kingston-died-traumatic-head-wound-gunshot-lady-gabriella-husband-cause-of-death-age-45-8602940
• "died at the age of 45 on Sunday in Gloucestershire, England. He was found deceased at a home and emergency services were called at around 6:25 p.m." https://nypost.com/2024/02/28/entertainment/thomas-kingstons-final-days-before-death-with-wife-lady-gabriella-revealed/
• "Gloucestershire Constabulary has said it was called by the ambulance service about the death of Mr Kingston. The force said: “We were called by the ambulance service at 6.25pm on Sunday with a report of the death of a 45-year-old man at an address in the Cotswolds. The death is not being treated as suspicious and a file will be prepared for the coroner.”" https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/royals/thomas-kingston-cause-death-everything-32226346

Thomas Kingston's death was announced Feb 27

• Announced simultaneously by his family's statement and Buckingham Palace, both statements only released as quoted through the media. Earliest report of statements announcing death were late Tuesday Feb 27. (There was no official statement on royal.uk website or their social media. The quote from Buckingham Palace comes through an unnamed spokesperson.)
• Thomas' widow, parents family statement, unclear who released it (some articles say authorized/released by Buckingham palace for the family). According to Tatler, it came from Kingston's family first:
  • "Kingston’s parents, Martin and Jill Kingston, and his sisters Joanna Connolly and Emma Murray announced his death at 6pm on Tuesday 27 February, describing him as a ‘beloved husband, son and brother’, before asking the public to ‘respect our privacy as we mourn his passing.’ Kingston was found dead at an address in Gloucestershire, and a police spokesperson said that the ‘death is not being treated as suspicious’ and a ‘file will be prepared for the coroner.’" https://www.tatler.com/article/thomas-kingston-funeral-lady-gabriella-windsor
  • "A statement released on Tuesday on behalf of Lady Gabriella Kingston, Martin and Jill Kingston, Joanna Connolly and Emma Murray said, "It is with the deepest sorrow that we announce the death of Thomas Kingston, our beloved husband, son and brother. Tom was an exceptional man who lit up the lives of all who knew him. His death has come as a great shock to the whole family, and we ask you to respect our privacy as we mourn his passing."' https://people.com/thomas-kingston-dead-45-husband-lady-gabriella-windsor-former-boyfriend-pippa-middleton-details-8601086#:~:text=A%20statement%20released%20on%20Tuesday,of%20all%20who%20knew%20him
• Buckingham Palace statement through unnamed spokesperson -
  • "A palace spokesperson said that King Charles and Queen Camilla were informed of Kingston's death. "The King and The Queen have been informed of Thomas’s death and join Prince and Princess Michael of Kent and all those who knew him in grieving a much-loved member of the family. In particular, Their Majesties send their most heartfelt thoughts and prayers to Gabriella and to all the Kingston family," the palace spokesperson's statement said." https://people.com/thomas-kingston-dead-45-husband-lady-gabriella-windsor-former-boyfriend-pippa-middleton-details-8601086#:~:text=A%20statement%20released%20on%20Tuesday,of%20all%20who%20knew%20him

An inquest into the death was opened Friday, March 1

• "An inquest into Mr Kingston's death opened on 1 March at Gloucestershire Coroner's Court. His death was not being treated as suspicious, and no-one else was involved." https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-68549345
• "An ensuing inquest found that Kingston died by apparent suicide. A spokesperson for the coroner's office confirmed to PEOPLE that the cause of death was a "traumatic wound to the head," and a gun was found near his body. PEOPLE confirms the inquest has been adjourned to a later date." https://people.com/thomas-kingston-died-traumatic-head-wound-gunshot-lady-gabriella-husband-cause-of-death-age-45-8602940
• "“I have received evidence of the brief circumstances surrounding this tragic incident also in written format, which complies with rule 23 of the Coroners Rules 2013,” the senior coroner Katy Skerrett said. “These brief circumstances are as follows: Mr Kingston was visiting his parents’ home in the Cotswolds. On 25 February 2024 he ate lunch with his parents. His father went out to walk the dogs. On his return, Mr Kingston was not in the house, and after approximately 30 minutes his mother went to look for him. His father forced entry on a locked outbuilding when no reply could be gained. “He found Mr Kingston deceased with a catastrophic head injury. A gun was present at the scene. Emergency services were called. Police are satisfied the death is not suspicious. A postmortem has been undertaken by Dr Jones, a consultant histopathologist, and a provisional cause of death has been given as a traumatic wound to head.The coroner said she was satisfied with identification, initial cause of death and the brief circumstances surrounding Kingston’s death, and adjourned proceedings to a date yet to be fixed.” https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2024/ma01/thomas-kingston-died-from-traumatic-head-wound-and-gun-found-inquest-told
• "“I can confirm I have received evidence of identification of the deceased in written format, which complies with Rule 23 of the Coroner’s Rules 2013,” she (Katy Skerrett) said. “That evidence is sufficient for identification and I can thereby confirm the deceased is indeed Thomas Henry Robin Kingston, 45, whose home address is in London." https://www.standard.co.uk/news/crime/elizabeth-ii-gloucestershire-princess-police-tom-b1142627.html
• Allegedly no Royals came to the "short hearing at the court in Gloucester", but an official from the household did?
  • "“Having been satisfied with identification, initial cause of death and the brief circumstances surrounding Mr Kingston’s death, I can formally open this inquest. “I now adjourn it to a date to be fixed.” No members of the Kingston family were present although an official from the royal household attended, as did several members of the media." https://www.standard.co.uk/news/crime/elizabeth-ii-gloucestershire-princess-police-tom-b1142627.html

A funeral was held on Tuesday, March 12, 2024 in London.

• "According to SkyNews, Kingston’s casket traveled from Kensington Palace to the Chapel Royal before the hour-long service began at 11:30 am. The BBC reports that the service was followed by a reception at St. James’s Palace and a private cremation." https://www.vanityfair.com/style/thomas-kingston-st-jamess-palace-funeral-prince-william
• "Mr Kingston’s coffin was brought from the chapel of Kensington Palace, accompanied by close family for the hour-long service which began at 11.30am. The service was led by the Sub-Dean of the Chapels Royal, the Rev Canon Paul Wright, with a sermon by the former Bishop of London, the Rt Rev Richard Chartres. The funeral was followed by a reception in St James’s Palace and a private cremation, but no details have been shared of Mr Kingston’s final resting place. A larger scale memorial service is expected to be held in honour of Mr Kingston in due course." https://www.bbc.com/news/uk-68549345
• "Tom’s body had been carried by hearse in a funeral procession from Kensington Palace. Lady Gabriella was joined by her parents, her brother, Lord Frederick Windsor, and his wife, the actress Sophie Winkleman." https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/royals/article-13425387/RICHARD-EDEN-heartfelt-royal-gesture-help-Lady-Gabriella-Windsor-recover-tragic-death-husband-Thomas-Kingston-powerful-signal-really-means.html
• Who attended the Funeral?
  • "On Tuesday, Prince William joined a group of 140 mourners in London to honor the life of Thomas Kingston, the husband of Lady Gabriella Kingston, who died February 25 at age 45. The funeral took place at Chapel Royal, a small chapel in St. James’s Palace, and other royal guests including Gabriella’s parents, Prince and Princess Michael of Kent, the Duke of Kent, Princess Alexandra. Thomas’ parents, Martin and Jill Kingston and his two sisters, Joanna Connolly and Emma Murray, were also present." https://www.vanityfair.com/style/thomas-kingston-st-jamess-palace-funeral-prince-william
  • "Thomas Kingston was given a royal send-off today in a funeral attended by Prince William and other members of the Royal Family. The body of the financier, who was found dead last month aged 45, was carried in a procession that began at Kensington Palace, the family home of his widow, Lady Gabriella Windsor. The procession ended at Ambassador's Court at St James's Palace. A private family funeral was then held at the Chapel Royal" https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-13188199/Prince-William-Thomas-Kingston-funeral.html
  • "King Charles was not in attendance as he continues to step back from public outings amid his cancer treatment. Meanwhile, Queen Camilla had prior commitments to host a reception at Buckingham Palace on Tuesday morning." https://people.com/prince-william-attends-thomas-kingston-funeral-8601555

Another service will be held in the future

• "A larger scale memorial service is expected to be held in honour of Mr Kingston in due course." https://uk.news.yahoo.com/william-royal-family-gather-private-161940842.html
• "Kingston’s hourlong service was followed by a private cremation, with a larger memorial service likely to be held in the near future." https://nypost.com/2024/03/12/entertainment/prince-william-attends-thomas-kingston-funeral-after-death/
• "According to Eden, Kingston's family, in partnership with the Royal Family, have organised a memorial service for the late financier. Some of Kingston's friends have already been invited. A source told The Mail: "It will be a wonderful chance to celebrate his life." Kingston's funeral took place at the Chapel Royal within St James’s Palace in March." https://www.gbnews.com/royal/king-charles-lady-gabriella-balcony-lovely-gesture#

Why no press at the funeral?
I just found this - I haven't seen this detail in any other article so I'll post it here.
"Buckingham Palace had requested that no media attended the service, which was held at Chapel Royal, St James’s, followed by a reception in St. James’s Palace.
A spokesperson for the palace Tuesday thanked the media for respecting the family’s privacy and said the funeral was attended by Prince William. The queen was not able to attend due to a prior engagement and the king could not attend due to medical advice to avoid large gatherings while he is being treated for cancer.
A larger memorial service is likely to be held in due course."
https://www.thedailybeast.com/prince-william-attends-thomas-kingstons-funeral-after-his-sudden-death

hi everyone! i’m currently about to apply to colleges soon and have a relatively low gpa (compared to my peers!!) and have pretty above average ec’s i’d say (full list below) and would love and greatly appreciate advice from others on what to do and/or people’s profiles who were accepted for insight :)
planned majors: journalism, any related communications major, or undeclared!!
honors and ap’s so far: - honors soph american history - honors soph chem (one semester) - honors jr english - ap csp - ap physics - ap stats (one semester) - ap psych (next year) - apes (next year) - ap lit (next year) - ap world (next year)
ec’s if needed: - key club kiwanis relations coordinator - key club president (w/h abt 115 hours total of volunteering) - key club executive assistant - founder and editor in chief of a personal online newspaper (about 300 followers!!) - assistant features editor and social media manager of school newspaper - aerial arts athlete and performer - dancer - local science museum volunteer (hope to have 100 hours by final application due date!!) - aapi nonprofit youth action league - aapi nonprofit internship (this one i’m applying for so still not fully sure if i’ll get it but hopefully so!! 🥹) - asian pacific islander student union chapter founder and secretary - research paper (hoping to do this in the summer about physics/aerodynamics in aerial arts and hope to self publish!!)
awards so far: - school award for drive basically js recognition from my math teacher for being driven - school award for all school values (perseverance, respect, integrity, drive, empathy) same as above but different values of course and is a much higher reward (only given to one student per semester, the one above is one from each teacher per semester) - aerial arts completion first place in open division - currently two newspaper story awards - key club officer of the year - plan to apply for pvsa adults bronze award (100 volunteer hours)
extra: for those who will say it’s not possible, my school data set has a couple people who got into usc with average gpa’s (3.7-9 in comparison to the elite at our school) with one outlier at a 3.3 gpa!! so pls give positive and honest advice :)

The following is a transcription of an audio cassette I discovered in my father's safe, shortly after he died. The tape has been transcribed for you here in its entirety, for my own sake.
Dad - Can you say that again?
Grandpa - Which part?
Dad - The date Dad, the recorder wasn't close enough. I wanna make sure we get everything.
Grandpa - Why is it so important that you get every last detail anyway?
Dad - Because that's what the doctor said, Dad. The more detail we get, the better he can help you.
Grandpa - Oh! is that right? He's gonna help me huh? How's he gonna do that exactly? Stuff some more magic pills down my pocket? Maybe sign me up for group therapy? Those are ALWAYS loads of fun!
Dad - No, I think he just wants to get a better understanding of -
Grandpa - He can't help me. Nobody can. Better psychiatrists have tried and failed. You wouldn't believe me anyway. There's no point.
Dad - Well, If nothing else it would help us and the doc to make better decisions regarding you. Look, I promise that I will listen to everything you have to say. I promise I’ll believe you ok?
Grandpa - Don't say that! You can't promise me something like that. It's a bullshit statement and you know it.
Dad - Alright fine. Fair enough. I promise that I will TRY to believe ok? I’ll … try. Look, forget about the doctor alright? I want to know what happened that night, ME. I want to know what you were doing in Norway. Why you can never get a damn good night's sleep, just tell me, please.
Grandpa - (Deep breath) …fine
February 20, 1943. That's when it all went down. The Axis Powers had been almost completely driven outta Africa, and the Soviets had effectively turned the tide of war in Eastern Europe. We Had the Nazis on the run, for the time being at least. They were vulnerable, sure, but they still had every capability of rebounding and kicking our asses. As such, the US was particularly interested in taking out any and all Axis weapons development programs.
Dad - Weapons development programs? What, like their tanks or the atomic bomb or -
Grandpa - Exactly. The Allies specifically targeted their hard water factories to cripple their production of the atomic bomb. But there were other targets. So-called “Wonder Weapon” projects scattered all over German-occupied territories. Manufacturing depots, chemical weapons labs, bioweapons research centers, etc. THAT'S what I was doing in Norway.
Dad - Where in Norway did they send you?
Grandpa - … Northern Norway. Far off the mainland lay an island with a Nazi outpost on it. Very little was known about the place at the time regarding its exact purpose and mission. According to our spies inland and the Norwegian rebels, the locals referred to it simply as “Fort Ond”. They said it was … a bad place. That the prisoners who were taken there were never seen again. That the waters bordering its shore were barren of all aquatic life and colder than even the most bone-chilling frostbite. Command didn’t give a shit about any of that though. Their only concern was 2 things. “Why is this installation so far from the German homeland? And “Why is it so far from mainland Norway? The conclusion they came to was that the Nazis had to be developing some sort of weapon there that they didn't wanna risk infecting a lot of people with.
Dad - So, they thought it was a chemical weapons plant?
Grandpa - No, they thought it was a bioweapons lab. Smallpox, anthrax you know that kinda stuff. We THOUGHT that's what they were doing there, but we didn't know for sure. That's where my unit came in, and where Operation Maelstrom was greenlit.
Dad - Maelstrom?
Grandpa - I didn't pick the damn name. Anyways, they wanted to keep the operation as covert as possible. Minimal manpower. One squad of British SAS, one squad of Canadian commandos, and last but not least, one squad of Army Rangers. Including yours truly.
Dad - Was the purpose of the mission just to gather intel or-
Grandpa - Our first priority was the eradication of the fort's inhabitants and the seizure of any relevant intel. However, we were also prepared for it to turn into a sabotage mission at a moment's notice. Leadership felt pretty confident about the bioweapons theory and didn't wanna take any chances with letting the stuff potentially get away, hence the limited manpower. The last thing we wanted was for the krauts to get spooked by a large invasion force and flee with any samples….
Dad - Dad? Are you ok?
Grandpa - Yeah, just gimme a second.
(The metallic opening sound of a lighter can be heard, along with the sizzling burning of paper)
Dad - Really? You gotta do that now huh?
Grandpa - What? Oh! I'm sorry, is the smoke gonna bother your little nose that much? Would you prefer I do it some other time?
Dad - I’d prefer you didn't fucking do it all! Though, In a way, it's oddly inspiring. A senior citizen, part of “The Greatest Generation” still puffing that shit all these years like it's of no consequence to his health.
Grandpa - Fuck the consequences. Can I continue now? Or is this gonna turn into an intervention? Cause if so, tell me now so I can save you the time and just leave the room and enjoy the rest of my smoke.
Dad - … please continue.
Grandpa - We were all flown to Iceland for our briefing. From the moment I arrived, I had my doubts about the operation. The sheer lack of intel we had to go off of regarding: fort size, manpower, and exact purpose just seemed odd to me. I remember thinking to myself “I hope this is enough men.''. When I did so I caught my friend Weathers looking around too. I could tell he was thinking the same thing. From there, we boarded a British destroyer that took us less than 10 miles from the island. We had to travel the remaining distance on our own in 2 PT boats. I remember just how cold it was that night. How we all subconsciously stood closer to each other than normal in a vain attempt to try to stay warm. Like a bunch of penguins, the lot of us. It was a half-hour ride to the island so we stayed like that for a while. Just hunkered up and tried to keep warm as much as we could while we waited for any sign of something. When we were about a mile from the island, we got that sign.
We saw it long before we ever got near the stuff. When we did, we all went silent and watched as we slowed down our boats to make a cautious approach. A thick fog had blanketed the sea around the coastline in all directions for about a half mile. It had a faint… red hue to it. Not a deep red, just faintly visible. It towered above us nearly 15 feet in the air like a tidal wave and seemingly stared us down. We slowly crept our boats up to it inch by inch until our bows were nearly kissing it. From there, a few of the Canadians on the adjacent boat got out some equipment and began probing the fog for any sign of toxins. We all sat there and waited for them to finish their work. As they did so I took notice of the absolute unnaturalness of it all. It made no movement towards, nor away from us. Yet it billowed and Contracted and breathed soothingly in place like you would expect a body of smoke to do. I remember distinctly thinking of it not as a wall, but more like a veil or a curtain. Hiding the island from us. A few minutes later the Canadians signaled over to our boat and gave Our commander, Captain Hawks the thumbs up. The fog wasn't toxic as far as they could tell. Given our mission though, we couldn't take any chances of it being a gas of some kind. Better safe than sorry. So we donned our gas masks and made sure our suits were nice and sealed up. I in particular had taken the liberty of duct taping around my gloves and boots to ensure it was airtight. Then, we started our boats back up and slowly sailed on into the unknown.
At first, I couldn't see anything. The fog was so thick it limited my visibility to just a few feet in front of me. And even less so in front of the boat. We couldn't have our lights on for fear of being spotted. When we were out in the open water this was fine of course. The moon and stars lit up the surrounding waters nicely for us. But now, there was little to no light penetrating the fog. we were engulfed in near-total darkness. So we just slowly inched our way forward as safely as we could. I just sat there and watched the red vapor hit and dance off my goggles while I searched for any sign of land. For a while, nobody said a word. We all just waited for what seemed like an eternity. The longer we pushed ahead, the tighter the grip on my rifle became as my nerves started up. Finally, One of the Brits broke the silence. I watched him tap the man in front of him and heard him whisper “Are we sure this is the right -'' his sentence was quickly interrupted. We had landed.
The entire boat shook wildly as a few of us lost our footing and had to grab the side walls to stay upright. As we did so, I looked around me and noticed the fog gradually growing thinner as we made our approach. Steadily, its opacity diminished. I could begin to see shapes through the veil. The crunching noises ceased a few seconds later and with them, so too did the fog from my line of sight. It was still there, but it was thinner and lower to the ground than it was over the open sea. It only came up to our knees from that point on. Which meant I could finally see our objective. The island. It was … a mess of scattered jagged rocks and hills. Caverns and towering cliffs that seemed to scatter in all directions. Like a porcupine made of stone. At its center, one giant hill stood out. I followed it from the base to the peak with my eyes and at its peak, there was a door. That was it. Not a trace of human life. No pathways, no trenches, no buildings of any kind. Nothing that would suggest any sort of operation was being undertaken on the island. There were a few guard towers of course. We knew at least that much from our aerial photos, but we had chosen our landing site specifically to be in a blind spot they wouldn't see us from. That was it though. Apart from the door that stuck out amidst the terrain looking utterly unnatural in the distance, there was not a sign of life. No buzzing of insects, no splashing of fish, no chirping of birds, even the wind itself seemed to bow before the island's authority and ceased completely. No life whatsoever. I thought back to when we first encountered the fog and just how right I was in my thought process. We truly had crossed a veil of some kind.
Captain Hawks, gave the hand signals. We all filed out and patrolled inland as fast as we could to a nearby cave. The Norwegians were waiting for us there.
Dad - The Norwegians? Were they the ones who gave you the fort's intel to begin with?
Grandpa - The very same. Adding them to our roster brought our total strike force to 35 men….
Dad - Dad?
Grandpa - …
Dad - it's ok Dad, take your time
Grandpa - (takes a deep breath) We headed into the cave and linked up with the Norwegians. Who sat steadfast in defensive positions. One of them stood up as soon as we breached the darkness of the cavern and swung his gun over in our direction, shouting at us to presumably lower our weapons, before quickly lowering his own back down and making a half-hearted apology attempt. Hawks was livid. He stormed over to the man and with one forceful strike of his fist he sent the poor Norwegian hurtling towards the ground. “You some kind of fucking moron kid? I was this close. THIS CLOSE to blowing your goddamn head off!” the commander of the Norwegians rushed over to stand between the two of them. “Please forgive us, sir! We've been on edge since we arrived a few hours ago! it was an honest mistake!” He helped his fallen soldier back to his feet and ordered him to the back of the cavern to tend to his face. Afterward, he and Hawks stared at each other for a few seconds in silence while we all just waited for one of them to speak. The leader of the Norwegians spoke first. “Something is wrong. Very wrong. Our intel is severely off.” He said. “None of the guard towers have occupants and we haven't seen a Nazi soldier patrolling the island for 3 days now. We've been spying on the island for weeks now as best we could. The entire time we did so soldiers were patrolling the shores, manning the towers, and watching the coastlines. But 3 days ago this… fog emerged. Obscured our vision and made it nearly impossible to see anything on the island. Since we arrived we've done multiple sweeps and scouting runs along the island's surface before your arrival. No one is here, American. Not a soul. It's like they just… vanished. At least, from the island's surface.” I looked back over at Mckinley who did the same. We exchanged confused looks at one another before looking back at the 2 leaders who were now talking too quietly to one another to hear. Finally, Hawks turned to face us and with a deep sigh said “We THINK the Nazis have locked themselves away within the fort's cave systems and interior. According to our good buddies here, the island's surface is safe. Let's hope they're right. Conduct final checks on all your equipment then form up by the cave entrance. We're going in.
We got into formation and made our way up the rough terrain to the door I spotted when we first landed. As far as we could tell, it was the only entrance to the interior of the fort. The ascent was nerve-racking. The cold, wet staircase that led up to the fort's entrance proved difficult to scale with all of my equipment. Which was made all the more dangerous of course, by the fog. With it clinging to around knee level on every surface of the island it made it damn near impossible to see where we were stepping. So we just slowly tip-toed our way up to the door as best we could. All the while nobody uttered a word. It was so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat throbbing in my ears. Eventually, we reached the top of the stairs. The door itself was … monolithic.
Dad - Monolithic? What like ancient?
Grandpa - Oh yeah, stood nearly 9 feet tall and looked like it was made out of bronze or copper, I don't know. Some kind of faintly orange metal. It was covered in strange engravings that could only be described as hieroglyphic. They weren't of course, but that's the only comparison I've been able to find since that day. Believe me, I've tried. Looked through every damn book I could think of. Nothing comes close to the symbols and markings I saw engraved on that door. It was like a foreign language of some kind. It didn't look like it was written, or chipped away from the door by an expert's hand so much as it looked like it was slashed or cut. Like something had hacked away at it with claws or teeth to create the strange writing. It didn't look like a human's hand had done it. Looking up at the door, I felt like an explorer. Like I had found something lost to mankind for millennia and was rediscovering it. Only, I Didn't wanna be the person to discover this. At that moment I wasn't sure I wanted to be aware of this place's existence let alone have to open the damn thing and walk past it into god knows what. We readied our explosives, expecting to have to breach our way in. To our surprise, however, the wooden beam that was attached to the door lifted. The monolith opened slightly. And with it came the stench of utter, all-devouring Rot. like puss and spoiled milk, Bile, and sulfur all fused into one unholy concoction that assaulted my nostrils and instantly forced tears down my cheek. At first, I panicked. Believing my mask wasn't secured tight enough and I was inhaling a toxin of some kind, but when I looked up I saw all of my team members doing the same. Our masks were all working fine. We couldn't have all had a potential leak right? The smell was truly just that powerful.
The door had only given way and opened a tiny bit. Our frontman quickly had to ask for help as the door was too heavy to heave by himself. Four men, me included, pushed with all our might and then quickly ran out of the way as soon as the door was completely opened so the guys behind us could aim down the opening.
When they did, they didn't see much. Their flashlights shined straight into a wall that angled down and away from us. What lay before us was another staircase. Carved out of the very stone of the mountain itself. The fog clung lower to the ground past the doorway. Only coming up to about ankle height. but it still obscured the steps all the same as the walk up to that point. We stared down the doorway waiting for the order to advance. But Hawks said nothing. He just stood there with his gun trained ahead and his other hand held up, silently telling us to wait. I suspected he was listening. Waiting to hear any commotion from us opening the heavy door. For any sign of the enemy. There was none, however. Not a sound could be heard from down the staircase. Just like everywhere else so far. Goff leaned over to me and tapped me on the shoulder “Somethings not fucking right man” he whispered. I didn't respond. I didn't feel I needed to. Everyone was already thinking the same thing anyway. No point in vocalizing it. Especially not when I could visibly see what Hawks was thinking. I watched a chill run up his spine that shook his held-up hand and rifle slightly in place. I'd never seen him like that before. He steadied himself and with a low reassuring grunt, which was probably more for his benefit than ours, he gave the order. “File in.” so down we went.
We descended for about twenty feet. The staircase itself was dark but we could see light at the bottom. The sight of the light was a relief. Instantly I felt a tiny shred of my anxiety whither away as my instincts took hold and I readied myself for any Germans that might be waiting for us at the bottom. There were no Germans, however. None left anyway. None … alive. When I reached the bottom of the staircase, the scene laid out before me was like something you'd see at a crime scene. It was a big square room illuminated by a gas lantern in its center. The door directly ahead of us led to an opening in the floor with a ladder hooked to it, with 2 doorways on our left and right. Like a plus sign or a cross. Various crates and workstation desks laid toppled over and all faced the direction of the newly discovered staircase. Like sentry posts, they all faced towards the same point. Scattered throughout the room were the nazis. Half sunken into the fog and slightly obscured by it, draped over crates, leaning up against the walls, crumpled up like a soda can in the corner. There were at least a dozen of them. Their blood pooled beneath our feet but I could hardly notice it through the tinted fog. I took a step forward and That's when I heard the familiar jingling of empty bullet casings beneath my feet. Subsequently, bullet holes could be seen in nearly every square inch of the wall in front of us. “Jesus Christ!” Weathers shouted as he entered the room behind me, prompting Hawks to hold up his hand again signaling for him to shut up. “Whoever the fuck did this might still be here. Stay frosty” he muttered sternly to us. out “Fan out, check the rooms on our flanks'' He commanded via hand signals.
Half our men went to the room on the right while the remaining went left. I along with 3 others stood guard in the lit room and kept our guns trained on the Ladder ahead of us. As I knelt behind a crate to take a better defensive position, I noticed one of the Nazis was lying face down in a puddle of his own blood close to my right. I kept my rifle trained ahead as I slowly reached over and heaved on his shoulder forcing him to roll over onto his back. He had a look of utter terror frozen onto his face, with eyes wide open and mouth agape. He bore cuts, and large slash marks up his chest and torso which caused his entrails to expose themselves slightly. I looked around the room at the other men to verify and sure enough, the ones who weren't submerged in fog shared similar wounds of varying size and volume. “ what the fuck happened here?” I thought to myself. This thought was quickly overtaken by a doubly terrifying realization. I looked at the bullet holes directly ahead of me and thought “Whatever the hell happened here, I'm standing in the same place they were.”
After a few tense moments of sitting with that realization, the squad checking the right room emerged holding a few books and folders. They bore similar engravings to the ones seen on the door upon our arrival and were bound in leather so ancient, that it looked like the faintest breeze would disintegrate them if they weren't careful. They showed it to Hawks who took one of the books and began sifting through its pages. At first, he scanned the pages carefully, and thoroughly, but he quickly thereafter began to shuffle through them frantically and impatiently before reaching back and shoving it into his pack. “
Right about that time the squad from the left room emerged. A British soldier approached and said “Just more dead krauts sir. There's um… there's something. We found cages, big enough to fit a human in. There were bodies in them but… they weren't Ger-” “Civilians” The Norwegian team leader interrupted. “These fucking animals.” Hawks looked like he was getting ready to say something but he didn't get the chance. All conversations and thoughts were stopped when the sound of screaming could be heard down the ladder.
With one uniform motion, all remaining men turned their guns to face the same direction as I already was. We waited for what felt like an eternity. For a head to come bobbing up the opening in the floor. For the sound of footsteps. For any sign of the enemy. Nothing came. After about a minute or so Hawks gave the order. We were going down there...
I don't wanna do this anymore…
Dad - Dad, please. You can do it. Just take a second ok?
Grandpa - the smell Patrick…
Dad - What about it?
(My Grandpa can be heard taking a huge huff of his cigarette followed by loud coughing)
Grandpa - I can't get it outta my nose! It's been 60 goddamn years since then and I can't get it outta my nose! God! By the time we had reached the bottom, Goff had already vomited from it. I had to fucking cover him while he did it. Good thing I hadn't eaten anything before the briefing or else I would've too. When we reached the bottom. There was nobody. Just like the rest of the island, not a sign of life.
Dad - Dad, what did you see at the bottom of the ladder?
Grandpa - … A well. It was a large cavern-like room with multiple passageways that branched off in all directions but at its center, was a well. Made out of the same stone as the mountain itself and yet, it somehow looked older. More ancient. More… monolithic. Along its rim… were the same damn etching and carvings as the door. Upon closer examination, we saw that It was the source of the fog that had plagued us since our arrival. We watched it for a while and observed The fog billowed up, out, and over the top of the well in all directions at a constant unnatural rate. I couldn't believe that such a tiny source could have produced as much as we'd seen up to that point. I couldn't believe that The colossal wall that we encountered upon our arrival originated from such a minuscule well deep in a mountain. As we spread out to cover the other passageways, I approached it and leaned over. Patrick… The smell was so fucking strong that I was thrown back onto my hands and knees almost immediately from the stomach contractions. It was the source of the fog … of the smell… everything.
Dad - What was in the well?
Grandpa - Blood. The whole fucking thing was filled with blood. More blood than I'd ever seen in my life. More than the room upstairs, more than any other mission I'd ever been on and it was fresh! It boiled gently and seemed to move on its own as though it were alive and aware of our presence in the room and when I gazed upon it, the attack on my nose and stomach seemed like one of calculation. As though a cobra had spat in my face for daring to get too close. I wasn't allowed even a second to recover from the stench, however. At that exact moment, we heard more screams. Seemingly, from every passageway in the cavern emitted what I can only describe as wails of anguish. Like the flesh was being peeled off somebody's forearm and pouring salt back into the wound at the same time. They pierced all of our ears like razor blades and made me wince so hard I almost forgot about my stomach pain. “How fucking big is this place?!” I thought to myself “What the hell could be happening just down one of these tunnels?”.
“Fuck this” Hawks said. “Start planting charges. We are getting the fuck out of this place as soon as possible.”
It was music to all of our ears. One of the soldiers came over to check on me as the rest began to start laying charges. There was nothing professional about our process. We were just laying them out as fast as we could so we could get the hell out of that wretched place and back to the boats. The screams continued the entire time we worked.
Dad - Were they getting closer?
Grandpa - I don't know. They sounded like they were coming from every passageway all at once but It was hard to tell. We had a man eyeing down every doorway just in case though. It didn't matter. We should've been watching the well! As I struggled to compose myself and get back to my feet I had a front-row seat to what was about to happen. Goff … the poor bastard. He was doing his rounds, laying his charges along the floor. Around the well. I wanted to speak up, to tell him not to get too close. But I was still sucking in air through my teeth and couldn't get the words out. All I could do was hold my hand out to him and grunt. He turned to face me. “You gonna make it?” was the last thing I heard him say. At that very moment. An arm shot out of the well behind him. Locked itself around his neck and pulled him into the well headfirst.
The arm was inhumanly long. More like a tentacle than an arm… but its form was undeniably human still! It wrapped itself around his neck and dug its fingers into the side of his face as it dragged him deeper and deeper down. I watched him thrash around and kick his legs wildly in a vain attempt to get free. Spraying torrents of blood in all directions around him. He was already halfway submerged by the time our men got a hold of his feet. When they did so, another arm shot out of the well and locked itself around Goff's waist now pulling him in faster. I could hear gurgling, and see bubbles of air making their way to the wells surface. The poor bastard was drowning in that putrid liquid! The men pulled with all their might but it didn't slow down his descension in any noticeable way. They heaved and barked orders to the others like rabid dogs. Desperate to save our comrade. But No help came. We were alone with the incomprehensible, and it was winning. The rest of us simply stood by dumbfounded and watched As he was forcibly dragged down the well inch by inch. When it was clear that the men could do nothing more they let go and took a few steps back. Their entire arms were covered in blood up to their elbows. For a moment. Nothing happened. Nobody said a word, moved a muscle, or did anything. We all just faced the well and tried our best to process what had just happened. It didn't last long. The well began to gurgle and bubble as though it were digesting my friend. It began to overflow. Slowly, the thick crimson liquid oozed over the top of the well and onto the cold stone floor beneath making its way towards us. I was the first to make a move. I stood up and began to slowly step backward towards the ladder. That's when the massacre began.
In an instant, all of Hell erupted around us. The same arms that had dragged my friend to a then-unknown fate sprang out of the walls around us as though the island were alive and began to frantically swing around searching for a body to claim. A few of them found their mark and pulled some of the men towards the walls. Wrapping themselves around their necks, locking them in place, and suffocating them. Any sense of composure our toughest men had remaining left their bodies that very moment, as we all made a mad dash sprint for the ladder. The room was only dimly lit by all of our flashlights though. When we broke our formation and began to run, our visibility became significantly more limited. Bodys ran into each other and men began slipping on the blood that had now reached all of our feet. The fog had also begun rising in intensity at a startling rate and was now almost as thick and copious as it was out on the sea. This made it all the more hard to tell what exactly was happening and before I knew it, I was knocked onto my ass by one of the Canadians as he ran straight into me. The blood rose higher and higher. At an inconceivably fast rate, it was halfway up to my knees by the time I regained my footing. When I did I felt a sudden rush of movement brush by my left leg. That's when I saw it. There were shapes moving in the blood! Large, serpentine-like shapes that slithered all around us and began to quickly encircle my team. Like sharks they enveloped us, poised for the kill. They seemed to be probing us for weakness, waiting for the exact right moment to strike and take as many of us down as they could. I wasn't gonna let them get me. My body moved independently of my paralyzed psyche as I sprinted for the ladder, and leaped as high as I could to escape the cavern. However, The ladder was barely wide enough to fit one man on it. It was Made of wood and was not meant to support the weight of more than a couple of men at a time. I remember just how carefully we had to scale it just to get down to the cursed room in the first place! I worried it was going to give way at any second and I would be stranded in that room with those things! With the well! I felt it crack and buckle beneath me as more men than intended all tried to climb it at once. I pushed into the man above me, just as the person below me did. All in a desperate race to escape. Just when I was sure all was lost and I would never make it out, I reached the top and rolled onto my back. As I did so I heard a loud snapping sound, followed by 8 loud splashes hitting the liquid beneath.
I rolled over and shined my flashlight down the hole to look at the scene and try to help some of the men escape what had now become a tomb. It was no use though. It was 20 feet down. I… I couldn't reach any of them. Weathers… McKinley, they stared up at me and shouted for help but what was I supposed to do? The blood had risen to about waist-high by that point and there were more of those fucking things still circling them! They climbed over one another in a desperate attempt to get enough height to reach the exit but it was nowhere near enough. I felt so helpless. I watched the mysterious shapes and figures in the blood creep up to them from behind. Then, As if coordinated, in an instant they pounced on and dragged 3 men under the murky depths all at once. In that split second when they had leapt from the blood to attack the men I caught only the faintest of glimpses of their true form. They were like eels, or … or leeches with spider legs and beaks. Something of that family but it's still not an accurate comparison. They were truly, otherworldly. Inhuman even to creation itself. They were abominations that I'm glad were obscured by the fog as, to have glanced upon them in all their unholyness would've been too much for me at that moment. They yanked the men down into the ocean of blood. As they did so the men thrashed around chaotically and knocked more men over making the already futile pyramid of terrified men all the more pitiful. That's when I noticed the three who were taken by those serpents were being dragged towards the well! They were being dragged to the well so it could devour them just like Goff and take them away to some unspeakable fate! I looked at the edges of the room to search for the first victims of the attack. The ones who had been forcibly dragged towards the walls by the arms. When I found them I felt my stomach churn once again. Their bodies were halfway into the cavern walls! The arms were dragging the men headfirst into the island itself to be consumed! It was as though the island itself was alive! The well was alive And it wanted us dead! The remaining few screamed and pleaded and begged me to help them. All I could do was stare down at the chaos before me and watch.
I was ripped out of my comatose state by a firm hand on my shoulder. It was Hawks.
“Get up! We gotta get the fuck out of here!”
He picked me up by the back of my shirt and dragged me to my feet pushing me up the staircase. I had no activity coursing through my head and yet I ran. My body was truly on autopilot. I couldn't think of anything other than the men we were leaving behind and the look I saw on their faces as they screamed at me for help. The fog had now completely engulfed the inside of the fort and I struggled to maintain my footing as I ran as fast as I could through the first chamber and up the staircase. As we exited the main door I was stopped dead in my tracks. I heard gunshots behind me. By god… They were still alive! They were still fighting to get out and I was abandoning them! Hawks once again yanked the back of my shirt forward as he walked past me.
“There's nothing we can do for them! We have to get to the boats now!” and with that, he ran off ahead of me through the red smoke. Every fiber of my being compelled me to go back but my body refused to obey. I just stood there trembling, white knuckle grasping my rifle as I struggled to make a choice. After a few agonizing seconds of contemplation, I followed after Hawks and made my way to the boats. To freedom.
As we sped away from the island at top speed I was able to slowly creep back to the real world mentally and finally take note of my surroundings. It was me, Hawks, and 3 other British troops. Only 5 men had made it out. None of us said a word. We all just kept to ourselves and stared off into space doing our best to process what had happened to us. I looked back at Fort Ond one last time before it disappeared over the horizon. The fog had grown larger now. Redder. Hungrier.
When we got back to the destroyer we told command everything that we saw and what had happened. They didn't believe a word of it. I can't really say I blame them. We must've sounded insane to them. Showing up missing 30 men, covered head to toe in blood, Rambling about a mysterious well, our friends being dragged away to an unknown fate by strange creatures, Ancient bronze doors, and slaughtered nazi soldiers. They told us that we had most likely been exposed to a nerve agent. That the base was being classified as a possible chemical weapons lab and that when we inhaled the fog, maybe we were subjected to it and its hallucinogenic properties. But we were sealed up head to toe! We stood up for ourselves as best as we could. We all corroborated each other's stories and validated each other's testimonies. We swore up and down till we were blue in the face that the island was not what we thought it was. That our friends had been killed by an unknown force and that we had to destroy the fort. They just stared at us like we were a pack of lunatics. They had made up their mind about what had happened to us on that island. Any attempt made by any of us to set the record straight only served to make us look even more insane to them. I turned to one of the admirals and spoke up one last time. I had to know something before they turned us away.
“Please tell me you guys are gonna level that fucking place”
He stared at me for a few tense seconds before simply saying “We’ll handle it.”
And with that, it was over. All the remaining members of Operation Maelstrom were discharged the next day. Deemed “medically unfit” to continue service. Each of us was briefed individually on the events of that night and I was told not to utter a word to anyone about the events of Operation Maelstrom, or to disclose the fort's location to anybody. The Colonel who was briefing me told me “For the record, I believe there's at least a little truth in what you told us. But regardless, you and the survivors are a liability now. Unstable and erratic. We can't risk putting any of you onto another operation, not after what happened to you. Or at least, not after what you think happened to you. I'm sorry but this is for your own good.” I was put on a plane the next day and sent home.
that's it…
You don't believe a word of what I just said, do you?
Dad - Well… no, not all of it. I mean, I want to but it's a little much to proc-
Grandpa - I know how it sounds! You think I don't hear myself saying this shit to you? I know how it must sound! But it's the truth, son. The well is real! What happened to me… was real.
Dad - I'm sure it must've felt that way, Dad. But you gotta-
Grandpa - YOU DON'T BELIEVE A FUCKING WORD OF IT! Nobody does. You, the doctor, and every other person I've confided in just think I'm some fucking lunatic who imagined all this. I see the way you're looking at me! Like I'm just some poor old man who's losing his mind! I KNOW WHAT I SAW! I KNOW WHAT I WENT THROUGH! You weren't there.
Dad - I know I wasn't! I'm not saying I was Dad but c'mon. Work with me. Isn't it possible it WAS a nerve agent or something? How the hell would you know it wasn't?
Grandpa - BECAUSE WE ALL SAW THE SAME DAMN THING! All of the survivors of Maelstrom gave the exact same testimony upon our return! Everything from our encounter with the fog to our return to the ship was synced up perfectly! What? Do you think we all hallucinated the exact same thing?
Dad - No! I just think that maybe-
You know, They took the books that Captain Hawks acquired. Oh yeah! They made sure we kept nothing from our mission. Stripped us bare right after we returned to ship but He told me what he saw in those pages! More of those Strange symbols! Those hieroglyphics of unknown origin. The mention of a “Tor zur Hölle”. Some kind of fucking portal to hell, or somewhere worse, or god knows where! You wanna know why I can't sleep at night, Patrick? The real reason? It's because I know it's still there! “Well handle it”.Yeah like hell they did! They probably just set up shop themselves and tried finishing what the krauts started. Or maybe not. Maybe they heard our warnings and listened to us. Maybe they shelled the place into oblivion and actually did handle it. But I'll never know son. I'll never get my closure on the events that happened that night. I'll never get to know with 100% certainty that the well has been sealed and that whatever lies in the depths of Fort Ond can't get me anymore.
Dad - Let's just take some deep breaths ok? Why don't we just calm down and -
Grandpa - This was a waste of time. It always is with you people.
Dad - Dad, please!
Grandpa - We're done here! turn that damn thing off and get-
The tape ends there. I couldn't find any additional tapes in my fathers' belongings. So, for the time being, that's where the story ends too. I didn't know my grandfather too well. He died when I was 12 and was a recluse so sadly, this tape is one of the only glimpses I've ever gotten into his life. I don't know what to believe. It’s easy to write him off as crazy or the victim of a gas attack. But The fear I heard on that tape sounded so real. That's gotta mean something right? If nothing else, the torment he endured was real. And Maybe, that's all that matters. Or maybe, just maybe… he’s right. Maybe Fort Ond still stands. Exactly as he described. Hidden somewhere, behind the veil of fog.

Hey everyone! I am currently a junior (senior in August) and I just wanted some opinions on my application and if I should apply test-optional (I am leaning towards applying test-optional though). Also if someone could let me know when the new term typically opens for admissions for Fall 2025 that would be amazing!!!! Sorry, 1 last thing! Is it okay if I list helping with family business in my extracurricular or should I leave it out?
So here we go...
Background Info:
Applying out-of-state to GAP
First in my family to go to college
Asian
I go to a small catholic high school (class size is around 100)
I am super interested in the GAP Pharm & Pitt is my top choice rn!
GPA & ACT:
Cumulative (Weighted): 4.18 as of now
I got a 22 on my first ACT - Taking it again next Saturday but I think I am going to apply test optional to Pitt

• I may take the September test and apply with my score for other colleges

Grades/Classes & Trends:
I had 1 B+ which turned into an A second semester
Another B which turned into an A- second semester
(Those are the only other grades that are not A's)
I have taken 2 AP Classes - AP Lit & Lang (Finished with A's)
I have taken 3 Dual Credit classes and I am taking 3 more next year (senior year)
I have taken 1 Honors Class - Honors Algebra II (Started w/ a B but ended the year with an A-)
Extra Curricular Stuff:
Founder and President of HOSA
NHS Officer
Pep Club
Student Council Leader (3 Years)
School Ambassador (3 Years)

• Treasure: 1 year
• Hopefully president next year!

Varsity Tennis

• I have been playing for a while and have gone to districts and placed and even gone to state with my team
• I also help coach little kids sometimes!

10 Week Summer Pharmacy Internship at a college near me
Hospital Volunteer
Also I am trying to get around 100 hours of volunteering this summer to add to my application!
Job/Helping with my parent's business and I have had to take over: for example, my dad had a heart attack last year and I had to take over for 2 weeks. - Brought in a good amount of income through marketing and more
Senior year Internship: Half day at school, and rest of the day at the hospital
Please let me know how you think I will do and if I should apply test optional and when to apply!

Hey everyone! I am currently a junior (senior in August) and I just wanted some opinions on my application and if I should apply test-optional (I am leaning towards applying test-optional though). Also if someone could let me know when the new term typically opens for admissions for Fall 2025 that would be amazing!!!! Sorry, 1 last thing! Is it okay if I list helping with family business in my extra curricular or should I leave it out?
So here we go...
Background Info:
Applying out-of-state to GAP
First in my family to go to college
Asian
I go to a small catholic high school (class size is around 100)
I am super interested in the GAP Pharm & Pitt is my top choice rn!
GPA & ACT:
Cumulative (Weighted): 4.18 as of now
I got a 22 on my first ACT - Taking it again next Saturday but I think I am going to apply test optional to Pitt

• I may take the September test and apply with my score for other colleges

Grades/Classes & Trends:
I had 1 B+ which turned into an A second semester
Another B which turned into an A- second semester
(Those are the only other grades that are not A's)
I have taken 2 AP Classes - AP Lit & Lang (Finished with A's)
I have taken 3 Dual Credit classes and I am taking 3 more next year (senior year)
I have taken 1 Honors Class - Honors Algebra II (Started w/ a B but ended the year with an A-)
Extra Curricular Stuff:
Founder and President of HOSA
NHS Officer
Pep Club
Student Council Leader (3 Years)
School Ambassador (3 Years)

• Treasure: 1 year
• Hopefully president next year!

Varsity Tennis

• I have been playing for a while and have gone to districts and placed and even gone to state with my team
• I also help coach little kids sometimes!

10 Week Summer Pharmacy Internship at a college near me
Hospital Volunteer
Also I am trying to get around 100 hours of volunteering this summer to add to my application!
Job/Helping with my parent's business and I have had to take over: for example, my dad had a heart attack last year and I had to take over for 2 weeks. - Brought in a good amount of income through marketing and more
Senior year Internship: Half day at school, and rest of the day at the hospital
Please let me know how you think I will do and if I should apply test optional and when to apply!

im a junior who is interested in finance/investment banking. Which T20s would y'all recommend I apply to? Also I really want to go to IU Kelley, do you think Id get in???
Hooks?: Middle Class, Mixed Race (light skin), Tall? (idk what hooks are)
Classes: 2 Accelerated classes Freshman year 2 AP soph year (CSP) 3 AP JR year (CALC AB, PHYSICS, ECON) 3 AP Senior year (LIT, CALC BC, STAT)*
SAT: 1460, (750RW, 710M) I have 2 opportunities to improve in math and super score 1500 (which I think I will)
GPA: 3.7/4 4.2/5 Steep upward trend from freshman to junior year, junior year grades were tuff
ECs: DECA Yearbook Club photographer Social media Photography portfolio Football and track and field Basketball freshman year LIT 80 Volunteer hours at stay away summer camp with kids from various backgrounds Founder of Stock and investment Club -school wide stock market comp -30 members -Weekly meetings… all ur average bs club stuff Honor societies: math and national NHS officer Mathnasium Tutoring job 3months ago to present Golf Caddy 2 months ago to present BBL Commercial cleaning gig 2 years BounceU Birthday party worker 3 years Asset management “internship” Cold called an asset manager and got the opportunity to job shadow, I learned a lot and he is my mentor in my aspiring field of finance, I plan to go back for a little more formal internship experience (still won’t be completely formal because they don’t give highschool internships) PFEW- Stay away business camp that provides hands on work experience and networking opps Managing portfolio - Actively managed Personal stock portfolio for retirement
Planned ECs: Summer Internship: I have a couple finance options that I applied to. Another question I have is if you guys think it’s possible to get an investment banking internship as a high schooler? Would it even be worth it if someone answered my cold emails and gave me a shadowing opportunity? I need a big finance EC to help me standout that’s my main issue in my application. Math competition: I was enrolled in an Olympiad but it got canceled, I’m working with my teacher to find another comp because I feel like it would help display my passion for math.
I feel that my application lacks a BIG EC, so if you guys have any additional ideas for one I’m all ears.

Lagrange Station, L5
After the Earth/Moon flyby, the rest of the trip was quiet, almost dull. They explored some more slept, read, played chess with Captain Oliver, once they got over the expense of the chess set. They discovered that elegant tools do not a master make, as they each won about the same number of games.
When they had docked with the station, Captain Oliver had asked them to remain in the ship until he gave them the all clear to come out. He explained that there would be a group of people to meet him at the airlock, and keeping their presence onboard quiet would be in everyone's best interests.
"Best to appear as if nothing unusual is happening, just taking on supplies for my next trip out. No one should take too much interest in that, I hope." he'd said.
They waited, while the ship played a video feed of the activities at the airlock. As expected there was a group of people there to meet the captain, but it was far less formal than what had happened at their home station. Apparently the coming and going of a Starship was more routine at the massive Lagrange stations. Most folks simply shook his hand, made a few comments, and walked off, speaking into their phones. A few stayed longer. The captain spoke at length with one man in particular, who was making notes into his wrist pad, listening and nodding. After a time, they shook hands and parted company. The man headed off, as did the captain.
"Where's he going?" Lan asked.
"I've no idea" Joe said, they were both eager to explore the massive station, each of the three Lagrange Stations where kilometers across, these cities in space served as hubs of commerce, centers of technology, destinations for travel, and most importantly vast supply depots. It was said you could by products from any human populated world on them, even some of the more distant colonies.
Unfortunately with commerce and tourists, there came the criminal as well. Con men, ordinary thieves, and unscrupulous shops selling 'Alien' wares all preyed on the unwary. Normally in space, communities were too small and tight knit for much crime to occur, but the massive stations had equally large populations, bringing with them the same sets of problems experienced in similar cities on Earth.
After what seemed like a long time, the captain returned, in reality he'd only been gone a bit over an hour. They welcomed him at the lock as he entered.
"Where did you go?" Joe asked, a bit of his impatience showing.
"There are things I have to do, routine things, that we must do, both because they have to be done, and because we must appear routine and boring while we are here." he explained.
He continued, "I have made arrangements to take on supplies, enough for several months trip. I also had to meet with the station master, as is protocol, and there is of course the bureaucratic details that must be done when docking on a station. Even I have to follow some rules you know." he smiled at this last statement.
"Why take on so much supplies?" Lan asked, she was thinking that their plan only took about a month, their time.
"First, to maintain appearances that I'd be leaving for one of the more distant colonies. If people believe that Sundance will be gone for several decades, they will be less likely to look for us. Also, we'll be taking on a few technicians from the shipyards to help finish the Azure Flame. They need to eat too."
This made sense, they'd forgotten about the work that had to be done when, or if, they found the Azure Flame.
"Will we be allowed off the ship?" Joe asked, he really did want to look around the huge station, and some of that could be heard in his voice.
"Yes, but with a few precautions." Captain Oliver said. He disappeared momentarily and returned with a set of wrist pads. These were slim, flexible devices, that communicated specifically to Sundancers AI. "Use these to communicate via Sunny, she'll also provide you with navigation data and over watch- to keep you out of trouble! They are older models, which from your point of view, is so far out of date as to be completely obscure, and therefor secure, in their operation."
They each put on a pad. They fit well, and could easily be concealed in a sleeve.
"Before you go, would you like to see if we have anywhere to go after this?" he asked.
They'd forgotten that one of the other purposes of this stop was to provide a second directional bearing on the signal to the Azure Flame, to confirm it's location outside the system. They both nodded excitedly. Their eagerness to get out to explore and see the sights momentarily dimmed as the real adventure asserted itself.
Captain Oliver lead them into the compartment with the communications equipment. They stopped opposite the old unit that had started their adventure only a few days ago.
"Would you like the honors?" Captain Oliver asked Joe. Joe nodded and stepped up to the console. It was powered up, and the yellow indicator was lit. Joe touched it. The message appeared on the screen, Azure Flame appearing. After tracing the message out a few times, the dialog appeared with the directional data. The direction to the source was almost identical to the original measurement from their home station, halfway across the solar system. The Captain Whooped with excitement!
"It is real!" he said, a huge smile splitting his face. "Sunny, would you plot this with the original data and see if the location reported agrees?"
"Yes," she replied. "Triangulation of the two signals agrees with the reported position data with a circle of error of less than five-hundred-thousand kilometers."
"Excellent!" the captain was excited.
"Didn't you think it was out there?" asked Joe.
"Honestly, I had hoped, very much, that it was. I remained skeptical, and expected that I would be taking you home after this stop. But now... " he paused, the possibilities running through his mind.
"Now?" Lan asked.
"Now we have a ship to find!" the captain said.
They were in high spirits, and felt ready for anything. "Do you still want to go see the station?" he asked them.
"Yes!" they replied almost in unison.
"I thought you might, however, you must be very careful. Speak of our trip to no one, in fact don't even admit you know anything about Sundancer or me at all." then to his ship, "Sunny, have you linked with their pads?"
"Yes, I have them." came the reply.
Captain Oliver became serious, "You will do exactly as Sunny tells you while out and about on this station. There are parts of it, you should not go to unescorted, or at all really. This place has people from all walks of life, and more than a few of them would find you two to be easy marks for a variety of unpleasantness."
They agreed, of course by now they would have agreed to trade their right hands to see the station. They also had the confidence of the innocent, knowing that nothing bad would happen to them, because bad things only happened to other people, or people in stories.
They waited until the corridor was clear and exited the lock, quickly heading to one of the commerce centers that was now highlighted on their pads, the devices showing maps and providing them directions.
After they'd left, the captain asked his ship, "Do you think you can really keep them out of trouble?"
Her reply reminded him of just how good she was. "I've already linked with the stations security AI, and advised it that I had been tasked with keeping those two safe, providing her with the necessary proof of custodianship. I've got access to monitor the stations video feeds, and several com channels from Security. I have also scanned and picked up some coms that appear to be related to the local criminal elements, I will be monitoring these as well. I have also hacked into some of the stations controls, and can, if I need to, isolate them by closing off emergency bulkheads, and sending in security teams."
"I'm impressed," He said.
"Well, it helps that the security AI is an old friend, despite several upgrades, she's still the original from our early days." Sunny said, "When we leave, I plan on providing the data I collect from the clandestine frequencies to her so she can clean up some of that activity."
"Very Good, now, can you set up a secure channel for me to the shipyard? I need to setup the next steps, we need a lot of things, and to get them quietly too. Are you ready with your part?" he asked.
"Of course" the ship replied.
Joe and Lan walked about, at first things were not much different than what they were used to. Station design was deliberate and standardized after all. The passageways were larger than home, but that was about all. Their wrist pads guided them through the station to the nearest commerce area. This was an entire section of the main ring and it was also a giant arboretum. The effect was that of having a village market in a tropical forest. The station had gone so far as to have live birds, which flitted about, some being fed by tourists, others enjoying the lower than normal gravity, which gave their flight patterns an aerobatic quality.
They walked down the main pathway through the center of the commerce village. There were shops selling every imaginable good. Shops advertised food imported from Earth, Ganymede's farms, as well as locally grown hydroponics. Clothing shops offered everything from evening wear to used space suits. One shop, called FarAway, advertised "Alien life forms from the furthest reaches of Space" these turned out to be a few plants and fungi, and one bored looking amphibian with a three legged structure, and a third upward facing eye. None of them were for sale, however, there were very strict laws on the importation of alien life, so the shop sold holographic "Replica's" that the owner could keep without fear of destroying a local ecosystem, or worries about exotic needs. The shop also unironically sold rocks from Earth, as well as Mars, Earths moon, and several other famous bodies in the solar system.
After the FarAway shop, they wandered a bit. There were street performers, they paused to watch a man play something that looked like a guitar, trumpet, and drum set had all been in a bad accident and reassembled hastily. He smiled and capered bout, singing and playing his mini-orchestra.
They wandered some more, and ate some real ice cream under a large spreading tree, that seemed to be home to a species of yellow birds with black wings. The birds sang high whistles and chirps. Their antics delighted the two explorers.
Joe saw a shop that offered space suits, old vintage ones, and the latest slim, almost transparent EVA systems that were light as a feather, but could keep you alive in the hard vacuum of space. As he looked through these, he recognized several models used by famous explorers that he had read about. His enthusiasm slightly dampened when Lan pointed out that they both had state of the art suits for their use back on Sundancer. This was momentary, as he realized that he might actually have an opportunity to use the suit, and in deep space no less.
They left the shop and continued their exploration of the stations better areas. They were looking everywhere and nowhere at the same time, They eyes were always on the move from one sight to the next, unlike a few pairs that seemed to only take interest in them...
Earth side: London Metropolis
A man spoke on a screen, completing a report to a figure in a darkened office. When he finished speaking the figure nodded, and pressed a few pads. Acknowledgement and payment headed to the speaker, both through channels that would be very difficult for anyone to trace, and yet, almost instantaneous.
The man in the office sat quietly considering the information he had just received. He quietly spoke, "Initiate call to Milan, secure channel, encryption enabled." A second later the screen before him lit up, displaying a woman this time. She was dark haired, with blue eye's, and a certain intensity of gaze that made the caller uncomfortable.
"We have confirmation on most of the intel we received about Stardancer, the crew, and destination. Confidence is high that there is an unclaimed Starship hull orbiting in the Oort cloud."
The woman took this in, only someone who knew her very well would have noticed the subtle shift in her features that indicated a heightened interest.
"Options?" was her only answer to this.
"There are currently no ships in system that could beat the Sundancer or even meet it at that distance. Our best option is to prepare a rendezvous at some distance from the shipyard to claim the salvage. The estimates on the time required to complete the build out of the ship are as long as two months. We can have substantial forces ready in several incoming vectors ready in that time."
The woman nodded again. "Complete that plan, advise me, then execute when ready unless I directly countermand it." She ended the transmission. As she sat there, she wondered about the Azure Flame, and the opportunities it represented to someone bold enough, or ruthless enough, to acquire it.
In London, the man in the dark office sat just a moment, then began calling in several people he would need to begin planning and coordination. This was going to be a very big operation, very big indeed.
//------------------------End Part 9--------------------------------------------//

This idea came to me in college and I've sort of played around with it over the years. I would appreciate any constructive criticism, especially focused on the prose and characters. This would be the introductory chapter of one of the main characters, Karl Klug, who is an important noble in his country. I hope you enjoy!
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KARL 1
Three men stood beneath a great oak branch, hands bound and nooses pulled tight around their necks. The branches connected to a mighty tree, old as the mountains themselves. The men were all silent, as were the other corpses gently swinging in the morning breeze. The air was still cold from the dew, not yet banished by the still rising sun.
“If you have anything left to say, now would be the time.” Karl Klug, Lord of the Wald said as he eyed them with disgust from the back of his chestnut horse destrier. He sat tall in the saddle, his close cropped brown hair and clean shaven face a far cry from the ragged appearance of the condemned. His heavy, black, woolen cloak was pulled tight, the hood up to block out the wind. Under the cloak he wore a simple brown doublet, with a crest bearing the black tree on a green field that was the sigil of his house. Karl always made sure to represent House Klug when acting as Lord, as was his duty.
These men were thieves, rapists, and murderers. They attacked travelers on the roads of the Wald, and it was Karl’s duty, as Duke of the Wald and Lawspeaker to the King, to keep those roads safe. The law demanded only one punishment for their transgressions. Their fate would serve as a warning to other would-be bandits.
The first man, a stern face and hard eyes, said nothing, but spat on the ground. The second man, fat and whimpering, managed to speak out in between choked sobs “Please m’lord. Mercy! They made me do it!”
The last man, a boy no older than fifteen, barked at him to be quiet. “We’re done for Ozzy. Go to the Wainman with some dignity, would you?” Such bravery in one so young. What could he have become if he followed a different path?
With that, Karl nodded to Jorivs, his household Resolver, who pulled hard on the ropes, them each one by one into the air, sending them kicking and choking into the Beyond. The second one, Ozzy, screamed and begged for his mother before the rope cut him off. Jorivs tied the final line off to a stake, while Wolter, his barber-surgeon companion, scribbled something down in a book. “They go to their doom in all different spirits, yet they all dance the hangman’s jig just the same.” He said as he turned a page.
“Amazing the lessons they teach at Spierpont.” Jorvis chuckled as the last pair of legs stopped kicking. “Shame Lemba couldn’t join us.”
“The Elf has seen his fair share of death. Let him enjoy his peace.”
“I only jest, my lord.” Jorvis said as he took a sip from his canteen. He motioned for Wolter to take a drink, but the older man was too busy furiously scribbling in his notebook to notice.
Karl looked to the east. The dawn was still cresting the horizon. “I’m off to the woods. I will not be disturbed.” Matilda and the children will still be sleeping. Best not to wake them with my return.
His pages nodded and replied in unison “Yes my lord.” By Karl’s standing order, Jorvis was peeling the boots of the dead men, better they should shoe a pauper than rot on the condemned. Wolter sketched the hanging men in his book, taking special care to note the lolling tongues and soiled breeches. Jorvis had the boots in a loose pile when he pulled a knife and a small pouch from his belt. “The eyes,my lord?”
He nodded grimly. “Hain will have his due.” Jorvis took a small stool and set to work, all six organs removed in a few quick flashes of the blade. Jorvis placed the grim package in its usual place on Baldur, Karl’s horse. With the bloody sack tied to his saddle, Karl rode off towards the thick forest nearby, a page in tow to hold his horse.
The page started to speak, and then stopped himself. He was a small boy, ten or eleven at the most. He had been to several executions before and not once had he been troubled by the sight of death.
Karl noticed the indecisive boy and helped him along.
“Something bothering you, Wiglaf?”
“The” came a squeak. Wiglaf cleared his throat and tried again. “The Resolver grumbles, lord. He grumbles that it would be easier to take the eyes before hanging the condemned.” He said meekly
“I know he grumbles. I know. But this is the way things are to be done. Taking their eyes before they hang is not the punishment for their crime. These men had their trial, and I sentenced them to die, not to be tortured. Do you understand, Wiglaf?”
“Aye, my lord. I understand.” Wiglaf nodded.
Wiglaf. So eager to learn but so nervous to offend. I’ll talk to his father the next time we meet.
This was the first time in months he had a chance to take in the forest. The influx in banditry in the past year had been a great source of woe not only to Karl, but to the Waldish people as a whole. They had enough to be fearful of without their fellow man adding to their problems. It had kept Karl up many nights, as he racked his brain trying to figure out the cause.
He had built roads, sick houses, held fairs, endorsed the Bard’s college, done all in his power to keep the people happy and content and quiet, and yet, there were some who still turned to crime. Why? No. Not now. Not here. Karl decided that he needed to rest his mind from constant affairs of state, and allow himself to relax before he made his offering.
They reached a clearing, and Karl dismounted. “Hitch up Baldur and rub him down. Have something to eat from my pack if you get hungry. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone this time.” The page nodded. Wiglaf, a good lad, if a bit timid at times. Weather had concealed his typical path into the great forest, but muscle memory lead his way.
He enjoyed his solitary walks in the woods, it gave him a chance to forget the woes of rulership, the frustrations of fatherhood, and the horrible curse that befell his bloodline. Now that things had quieted down with the bandits, Karl hoped he might have more time to be a husband to his wife, Matilda, and a father to their children. His three children, though nearly adults themselves, still tended to make a commotion. What they need is a firm hand. Their mother will spoil them rotten if she has her way. Karl laughed to himself. She always gets her way.
His feet knew where he was going, even if his mind did not. He always returned to the same place, no matter what direction he turned. Are the woods themselves magic, or just the creatures that inhabit it? He wondered as he found the well worn dirt path covered by a tunnel of tree limbs. The branches must have kept this clear from storms after all.
Few who entered the Wald came back alive, save for the Elves and their slaves, who usually came out in one piece. Most who walked too far past the tree line simply vanished. There were rumors, of course. Even his own grandfather had claimed that he was, in fact, the same Helm Klug that had vanished without a trace in the winter of 542. He had fallen through a tree hollow and into the myth shrouded realm of Cunnan, where time flows differently, or so the stories go. As such, though ninety-five years had passed from the time of the vanishing, Helm had only aged ten years or so.
Karl’s realm was a dangerous one, even without the recent rise of the highwaymen. To an outsider, walking alone in the duchy of the Wald was like strolling past a dark alley with coins jingling loudly. To Karl Klug, Lord of the Wald, it was like walking into his own bedroom. He had grown up here, he knew that danger lurked behind every tree, above every branch, and below every root. Not once had he seen anything like what Grandfather Helm had rambled about. No fairies or witches or traces of Hain. Still, one had to tread carefully here. Even Karl would not dare to venture in some parts of the forest, for an ancient force still had power in the dark parts of Bordrim.
I hope Hain will be pleased with my tribute. To survive here, one had to know when to fight, when to run, and when to submit. Some might call that heretical, going against the word of the church, But that was not something he wished to think about now, not when he was trying to be at peace.
The fresh air cleared his head and refreshed his spirit. Karl took a long, deep breath filling his lungs with the cold morning damp. He knew he would not be distrubed here, as none but the Duke of the Wald may travel to this part of the woodland.
He had been Duke ever since the death of his father when he was just four years old, though he had not ruled in his own right until he was fourteen. In that time, he had learned much from his regents, and his mother, who was far more capable than many made her out to be. She had taught him that most men, however pure their intentions may seem, nearly always had some ulterior motive that they wished to advance. Karl remembered that as his most valuable lesson, and it had assisted him greatly as he came of age. My father’s sycophants did not last long when I ruled in my own right.
The sound of rushing water came to his ear as he walked by the River Cember where his father had drowned. He used to intentionally go out of his way to avoid being near it, but now he barely gave it a second glance. I used to be so afraid of the water, until I understood why Father died. But by then, Mother had the Court Elf Lembe throw me in Sillac Pond. How I thrashed! It didn’t seem so scary after that. Fate is far more terrifying than any danger and far more comforting than any joy. Once you have been through the worst, everything else can be done with ease.
Karl heard a branch snap in the trees to his right, and his hand slipped to the silver coated dagger at his hip. He stood still as the trees around him, slowly moving his eyes from right to left as he looked for the source of the noise. Funny. I was afraid of harmless water for so many years when there were very real threats all around me the entire time. As long as I stay on the path, no beast would dare harm me.
There were no further noises, and judging by the humming of insects and the singing of birds, there was no real threat. Probably a stag or maybe one of Grandfather Helm’s Fae creature having a laugh at my expense. He continued walking for some time, climbing up small, rolling hills and ducking under fallen tree trunks, before reaching a final, gentle incline which led to Hidden Hill. That was where they found his older brother, Jasper, hanging from the tree at the top. That was the day his father had told him about the curse that stalked their family.
He made his way up the slope, as he had countless times before. The top of the hill was clear, save for one tree, planted by Karl’s grandfather Helm upon regaining control of the Wald after decades of Gaunt rule. His family adopted that tree, and made it part of their heraldry. A great black tree, sounded by the green of the forest.
The air seemed to resist being pulled into his lungs now. He had to unclench his teeth, relax his shoulders. He looked down at his fingers. He had scraped away the flesh near the nails on his thumbs and middle digits. How long have I been at it this time? It is difficult to relax when I am surrounded by some many painful reminders of the past. No matter how deep in this forest I walk, I cannot escape the memories that tears at me.
He kept his eyes low. Karl enjoyed seeing the blooming flowers and vibrant weeds that grew along the path he always walked. One particular group of plants caught his eye. A clover patch. The old folks said that in every clover patch, there was one particularly special sprout. And so Karl made a point to look over each and every patch he saw, even if only a passing glance.
What’s this? He said to the tiny green sprout as he crouched down for a closer look. A clover with four leaves. Lucky, lucky. Karl smiled as he plucked the clover and put it in his coin purse. And a good omen too. I know Otto will love this.
Karl continued up the path, and sat beneath the great black tree, looking out onto the castle that stood proud below in the clearing. Grey Hallow, it was called, and it was among the oldest in Bordrim, predating even the great fortresses of the Empire that many great houses now called their own. With two rings of thick, tall walls and towers covering every angle of approach, no enemy had ever successfully stormed the walls. Though a knife in the back is sometimes better than a ram at the gate, as history has proved.
Karl grabbed the now wet sack that Jorvis had provided. He quickly found a small knothole and stuffed the grisly offering side. The Dule clasped his hands together and bowed his head. “Haim, please take this offering that we may know quiet peace.” He sighed. Was Haim even real? Or just another story to make obedient children?
As Karl reclined in the unearthed roots of the black oak, he smiled. *Real or not, offerings to Haim aren’t all terrible.*This was the tree that he had married Matilda under, after he came back from the Siege of Hammerring, the last remaining Imperial stronghold in Bordrim. He had made a fortune by securing the ransoms of important Imperials, bringing House Klug from the embarrassment of near bankruptcy to extreme wealth in a single day. He had spent coins like a drunken gambler blessed with immovable luck that night, and from then on men had begun to say he was the richest man in the kingdom. I don’t know about any of that. But riches aren’t just measured in gold. Karl thought as he ran his fingers along the black bark of the tree.
Searching through the leather pack he took from his saddle, Karl grabbed the cloth that held the dried venison and cheese he had carried along for his breakfast. The castle will just be coming to life now. He thought as the sun began to climb higher in the sky. After he had broken his fast, he pulled a quill, a tightly sealed ink pot, and a piece of parchment from his sack. He began to write.
“Your smile, a joy
Your laugh, a pleasure.
When we are together,
Troubles are light as a feather.”
Karl would have a servant hide that among Matilda’s things, where she would discover it later. Even after fifteen years of marriage, Karl loved to create these little surprises for his wife, just as she loved finding his cumbersome gifts and clumsy poetry.
A long, steady drumming sounded over the tops of the trees, booming from the direction of Grey Hallow, but far beyond. In the west, birds squaked and scattered to the wind. By the cadence of their beat, Karl knew it was the Elves, come to pay their respects and receive letters of safe passage as required by the Pact. A little earlier than expected. No matter. I prefer early to late. No doubt my Chamberlain, Aldred, will have everything prepared. Karl sprang to his feet, dusted off his trousers, and rolled the dried parchment. He followed the path back to the castle at a quick pace, humming a song his Bard had sung the previous night while they slept under the stars.
The day had well and truly begun upon his return. Servants wearing the green and black of his house dashed about as their duties required. Men stood guard wearing the Great Black Tree of the Klugs on their livery. The halls were alive with chatter and the scuffing of feet. Karl knew a long line of petitioners awaited him in his hall, but everyone knew that an audience with elves took precedence over the squabbles of men. They had all heard the drums, and they would be pressed together like bees in a hive just for a glimpse of the pointy eared outlanders. Every year, young elves Elves embarked on a great journey that they called *THING* or “The Taste” in the Imperial tongue. They spent anywhere from one to one hundred years living among the mortals, learning their ways and customs. Some spent the rest of their millennia-long lives among the mortals, watching dynasties rise and fall, technological marvels stun the world, and should they be unfortunate enough to make friends or find lovers, they witness death on a scale previously unimaginable.
Lemba is due to return home by the end of the year. After seventy years of service to my family, he’s earned his rest. Perhaps one of the newcomers would like a position at court. I would very much like to continue my lessons. Karl flexed his fingers at the mere thought of magic. Outlawed in most realms of men, Karl had insisted on instruction. The training was hard and the consequences if discovered by the Church would be dire, but in a land as dangerous as the Wald, every advantage counted.
The drums boomed, growing louder as the elves approached closer. I must hurry. I cannot insult them by wearing the same clothes I just wore to an execution. Karl jogged down the path from whence he came. Wiglaf was holding Baldur by his reigns, and he snapped to attention the moment he saw Karl approach. “The drums my lo-”
“I heard. Ride ahead and have your father prepare clothing for court.”
“Right away, my lord.” The page said as he galloped away. Karl followed at a quick but more relaxed pace. No sense in appearing sweaty and exasperated for my guests. He reasoned as he rode down the winding path.
His servants were waiting at the gate for him. They grabbed their reins from Baldur, and Karl climbed down from the horse. “Andred has selected your clothing, m’lord. Right this way, if you please.” Onna, the fat seamstress said and she beckoned him to follow. She led him to the laundry, where Karl pulled the dirty articles he had worn for the execution and picked up the courtly clothing she had laid out. He pulled the white linen tunic on first and fasted it was a leather belt inlain with a large silver buckle. His slipped into brown wool trousers next and grabbed a pair of light leather boots. While I won’t appear filthy in front of my guests, high fashion is not something I care to waste my gold on.
Karl sat in his finely carved chair on the dais at the end of the hall. It sat to the right of an identical, but smaller chair where his wife sat*.* She wore a black and green dress with a modestly cut v-neck which exposed her pale skin. Her golden hair lay in one long braid along her shoulder. and her piercing blue eyes smiled back at Karl’s own green. This was the women he had fallen in love with the moment he first spoke to her. She had been less convinced, at first. While he had been the highest born of her many suitors, he had not been her first choice.
“I thought you were boring!” She would tease him later. “You barely said a word the first three times we met.”
“I was nervous.” He would reply. “You captured my heart and my wits that day in High Hibaltia.”
“Well, that wit is what won me. Perhaps I just borrowed it for a time.” She smiled.
Cleverness, justness, kindness. These are the things that make me love you.
The couple held each other's hands as they looked over the court. The chamberlain, Aldred, was quickly giving some last minute instructions to his son and another page, and they immediately scrambled to their work. Guards stood firmly at attention in front of the doors, knowing that they would be facing a hallway full of eager onlookers at any moment.
Their three children stood to the side, talking amongst themselves. Grimbold was the oldest. And doomed to die young, as my brother and uncle have. He was tall, taller than Karl even. He had the arms of a blacksmith’s apprentice and Karl’s own brown curls. He shared his mother’s sky blue eyes and slender nose, as well as her quick temper. He’ll want more responsibility soon. I’ve already denied him a squireship. Perhaps a minor position at court would assuage him.
Next to Grimbold was Charlotte, their only daughter. She too had Karl’s curly brown hair, but she wore it in a long braid, like her mother. She was just like Matilda, in fact. They were both skilled with numbers, and Charlotte’s fascination with bards rivaled Matilda’s own obsession. The two of them often pleaded with Karl to hire this performer or that one, and Duke Karl Klug, Lawspeaker of Bordrim, would not resist his girls, especially Charlotte. She had just turned fourteen, and would be expecting suitors soon. I doubt any of them would be worthy of her. The two of us share a thin patience for stupidity and love makes fools of us all. Especially this false, courtly love the Pawley’s have been peddling these last centuries.
And then there was Otto, the youngest of the three. He stood in between his brother and sister, obviously uncomfortable and being talked over. Nervous and shy, Otto had trouble making friends with children his age. He got along well enough with Wiglaf, but the two never actively sought each other out for play. Probably waiting for the other to make the first move. Karl thought to himself.
“Otto!” Karl yelled. The boy snapped nearly to attention. “Come here, lad. I have a surprise for you.” The boy warily came before his parents.
“Close your eyes and stick out your hands, Otto.” Matilda gently urged.
Otto did as he was told. “Karl dug around in his coin purse and pulled out the clover and a gold coin. He placed the two in Otto’s open palm.
His eyes beamed just before the rest of his face lit up. “Is it real?” He asked as he squealed at his gift.
“Just found it this morning. I figured, with you as my son, I already have all the luck I need.” Otto grinned wide, his missing baby teeth apparent in his otherwise toothy smirk. “Now, with that coin, I want you to find a book that we can read together. Would you like that?” “Yes, father! Yes, yes!” Otto exclaimed, almost shaking with excitement.
“Now get back to your place. The Elves will be here soon.:
“Yes, father!” Otto slipped the clover and coin into his own purse and hurried back to his siblings.
Matilda leaned over and kissed Karl on the forehead. “You’re a good man, Karl Klug.” His mind raced back to dawn, and the creaking of ropes. “I try to be, my love.” He kissed her forehead back. There was a commotion behind the doors to the hallway. It started as a low murmur, and then grew in size, becoming a roar of excitement.
Lemba, Karl’s tutor and resident Elf, took
The Elves had arrived.
Two figures, hooded in dark crimson cloaks, approached the dais. Less than a quarter of what I was told to expect. Behind them were six large, muscular, green skinned orcs bound together at wrist and ankle. Less than a tenth of what I had prepared for. Some Orcs had obviously suffered wounds in the recent past, black blood welling up through tightly wrapped bandages at shoulder, scalp, or thigh. Karl knew from past experience that were these wounds even a slight inconvenience to the Elves, the Orc would be killed with no more pity than lame donkey.
The two cloaked figures marched in a praticed cadence as they moved towards the Duke and Duchess. They all move like that in this room. Is it tradition? Or something more calculated? Lemba, can you enlighten me?
“In due time.” The elf’s voice answered in Karl’s mind. “For now, let us see who has survived the journey.
Karl cast a quick and silent spell to identify the travelers, his only tell was a twitch of the nose, which may have been mistaken for an aborted sneeze.
Viksna and Piske Dun Beske, twin siblings of a prominent Orhani family. Lemba leaned and whispered into Karl’s ear. “The youngest children of a powerful family of sorcerors. T
“Viksna and Piske you illuminate my land with your presence.” Karl’s voice boomed across the hall. It had been so long since he had shouted without magical amplification that he wondered if his throat could even yell anymore.
The two outsiders removed their hoods and stood with clasped hands and bowed heads. Their hair golden, their ears pointed, they were both of a similar height and build, shorter than most men in the room, and Karl could tell they were thin even under their robes.
“And you honor us with your hospitality, Lord Klug.” The pair said in unison.
“You’ve arrived sooner than expected. Was your trip pleasant?”
“We ran into some trouble with monsters, I’m afraid.” Piske said, matter of factly.
“ They devoured quite a few of our slaves.” Viksna added. And of course, the Shadow King must have his due. Our traveling companions were not to his liking. We two and The six Orcs you see behind us are all that is left, I’m afraid, out of the seventeen souls we departed with. Ah, yes. The older races call Haim by his title and dare not refer to him by name. A superstitious bunch, the Elves.
Three slaves for each of us is hardly fitting.” Piske scoffed.
“A shame. I will see that they are tended to. And my servants shall make up for your deficit. See these creatures to their quarters.” He ordered with a wave of his hand.
Guards cautiously herded the six chained beasts on the points of spears, but the broken creatures simply did as they were told and offered no resistance, not even a scowl. They were broken in mind and spirit, they simply existed to do as they were told. Even still, they looked as if they could crush a man’s skull without much effort, and so the guards insisted on caution. I cannot say I blame them.
The instant their slaves were gone from the room, the elves both went down to one knee, each pulling a small bundle from their cloaks. In unison they spoke. “We have come to pay tribute to the Lord of the Wald. Bordermaster, River Watcher, Upholder of the Pact. We offer these small tokens to you, Great Lord.”
Karl pushed up from his seat on the dais and walked towards the pair, gesturing them to stand. This well rehearsed speech never fails to delight my courtiers. “You have left your great capitol of Orhani to live amongst the lesser lived. You have endured freezing cold and driving rain. You have crossed river and mountain, field and fell, and traversed the Wald itself. You have fought beast and monster and seen many things that Man fears in his dreams. You have lost friends and companions along your way, and for that, you have our sympathy. However, all is not lost, and these deaths have not been in vain. You have proved yourselves worthy of fellowship through your very deeds. I bid you stand, as friends of Men.” The two figures stood, pulling back their hoods as the ritual demanded. They both looked as beautiful as painted godlings, young as if in their prime, though each must have seen a hundred years come and go.
The two approached, stepping slowly, deliberately, in unison to the dais where Karl sat. Piske stepped forward, leaving his sister still as a statue with her bundle still in her hands.
“For you, my lord. A gift.” He bowed and handed the package to Karl.
“Thank you, Piske.” Karl exchanged a rolled parchment for the gift. The container was small, and light. It could have been empty if Karl did not know better. He pulled the string holding everything together, and opened the paper wrapping. Inside was a ring, small and green, with all manner of beasts carved intricately on the sides.
“This is remarkable, Piske. You have my thanks.” Karl said as he turned the ring over in his hands. He spied an eagle, a fish, a rat, and a bear amongst the throng of creatures on the metal.
Piske looked to Lemba, eyes practically screaming for help. Lemba chuckled to himself for a moment and then cocked his head in Karl’s direction.
“May I approach, my lord?” the Elf asked in the elegant Elvish tongue, hands out stretched. Karl nodded his approval and he came forward. Piske leaned forward, taking the ring from the Lord’s hand and slipped the emerald ring onto his own left pointer finger.
“This ring is rather...peculiar, my lord. Observe.” The Elf cleared his throat and began to shout “Will one of you fellows come out? We’d like to make introductions.”
A heavy silence, followed by quiet, confused muttering amongst the onlookers. Then a shriek came from the rear of the crowd, growing louder and closer by the second.
That’s when it appeared before Karl’s eyes. It came forward at a run. Sharp claws, huge black eyes, and jagged yellow teeth.
“The ring summons rats?” Karl answered in Elvish in between laughs.
“Or maybe it makes the wearer forget his manners.” came a perfect Elvish reply from the rat. Karl’s eyes shot wide. Bhalik’s Maw. Did that rodent just speak? He regained his composure and looked around his court. Everyone was staring up at him. Had they all heard too?
“They can’t hear me, you big oaf. Only the ring bearer can.” Karl glanced at the green band around his finger. “My name is difficult to pronounce, but for the sake of simplicity, call me Ymaut. Piske tells me you have a rather large network of informants. How would you like to expand?
“We’ll discuss another time. Thank you, Piske. You honor me.”
Piske bowed. “Of course, my lord. My sister has brought you a gift as well” gesturing to his companion. He stepped back to take her place, while Viksna approached, bowed and held out her tribute. The thing she brought was bigger and heavier than her brother’s gift. When Karl had finished unwrapping it, he understood why.
“A Grimoire.” he said quietly.
“May I approach, my lord?” Karl nodded absently as he flipped through the pages.
Viksna whispered. “I am told you enjoy practicing magic. I would be happy to teach you, if you’d like.”
“This is too much to trade for a mere letter of safe conduct. Anything in my power to give you is yours, if you but name it.”
Viksna thought for only a brief moment. “Should there be an opening for a position in your court that I may be suitable for, I would like to enter your service.”
Lemba is leaving my service, to return to Outland. If you would care to remain here and assume his role upon his departure, I would welcome the company.” Karl said as he struggled to tear his eyes away from the book. That will be all for today. My servants will show you to your chambers. Should you want for anything at all, you need only ask and it is yours.”
The two bowed low. “You honor us, my lord.” the two Elves said as one. As they slowly walked from the hall, Karl’s Chamberlain, Aldred, whispered in his ear. “My lord, Sir Vanya has come to charge Baron Stevers as an oathbreaker. My duty calls. Karl thought, the grimoire still open in his hand.

Demographics

• Gender: female
• Race/Ethnicity: Black/Nigerian
• Residence: southeast of US
• Type of School: public
• Hooks (Recruited Athlete, URM, First-Gen, Geographic, Legacy, etc.): none

Intended Major(s): biochemistry
Academics

• GPA (UW/W): 3.9/5.2
• Rank (or percentile): 14/400+
• # of Honors/AP/IB/Dual Enrollment/etc.: lots of honors, 2 AP’s, and fully emersed IBDP
• Senior Year Course Load: IB English A Lit and Lang HL, IB Spanish B SL, IB History (Americas) HL, IB Chemistry HL, IB Theory of Knowledge, College Algebra & Band

Standardized Testing

• SAT: 1200 (what the flip)
• ACT: 29 (27M, 26S, 33W, 31R)
• AP/IB: 1 on AP Psych, 3 on AP Lang, 5 on IB Music, 6 on IB Math. (can you guess which ones I didn’t send)

Extracurriculars/Activities

1. Leader for a youth ministry
2. Marching band for 3 yrs, drum major for 2.
3. Instrumentalist for my church choir for a yr
4. President of Tri-M (Music Honors Society)
5. Social Media Outreach for International Club and Science National Honors Society
6. A part of yearbook staff for 3 years
7. Worked as a cashier

Awards/Honors

1. Performed at Carnegie Hall
2. Personal commendation letter from the state senator
3. All-State Band musician (2x)
4. Awarded a full scholarship to a drum major institute
5. Questbridge Finalist
6. President Scholar for a college’s Early Bird Program as a Junior

Letters of Recommendation
Excellent relationships with recommenders 1. Honors and IB Chemistry teacher, taught me for 3 years. We talk about book recommendations a lot and her teaching is one of the best I had. 8/10 2. IB English and TOK teacher, taught me for 2 years. Her rec letter was so sweet 🥹 9/10 3. Counselor. Helped me a TON with my Questbridge journey and really was supportive throughout my 4 yrs. 8/10
Interviews
None!
Essays
This process was beyond stressful. For Questbridge, you have to write 2 main essays, one being 800 words and the other 500. Then you answer 9 short answer prompts.
In the first essay, I wrote about my Nigerian name and how it’s mispronunciations took a role in my character development. It was the most exhausting to write, I may or may not have cried about it.
My next essay was about the moment I realized Martha Speaks from PBS Kids wasn’t real. No futher elaboration.
The short answer prompts were the most fun to write. I talked about stuff ranging from what I’d do if I saw the Apostle Paul to my fondness for Pride & Prej (2005)
Decisions
For Questbridge, you rank up to 15 colleges. After becoming a finalist, any college(s) could pick you, but the highest ranking school that matches you is the school you must attend.

1. Rice
2. Yale
3. UVA
4. Washington and Lee -> MATCHED w/ a FULL RIDE!!
5. College of Holy Cross
6. Vanderbilt
7. Northwestern
8. Notre Dame
9. UPenn
10. Emory
11. Swarthmore
12. UChicago
13. Davidson
14. Macalester College

Additional Information:
Since 8th grade, it was my goal to get the highest SAT/ACT score so that I could be successful. As you can see, my SAT score is not that impressive. But to me, my scores set a foundation to my growth in HS. Now, let’s just forget AP Psych, I let the Soulja boy crank me on that one. But anyways, my scores challenged me to push myself in acedemics, extracurriculars, and leadership.
I hope this post somewhat served at a confidence boost. You don’t have to join every club in your school, I only did the ones I actually had interested in. And you don’t have to be a Jack of all trades; dwell and expand on the hobbies you enjoy.
Also, if I sound out of touch with reality, my apologies, I haven’t touched grass in a while.
Anyways….I’m just extremely grateful to God, my family and teachers for supporting me through this process. And best of luck to the class of 2025, y’all got this!!!!

It was a dark day at Furlong keep as Tora looked over maps of the island, trying to decide if it was best to fight from within the walls or in the open field. Both seemed like terrible ideas, and worst of all they had just received news from Fortress Dana.
“What do you mean ‘We cannot expect them to lend aid?’ Is that not their very purpose for existing?! What we have been paying our yearly tithes to expect!? For heaven’s sake there are darklings in their midst! Tell that crawly little spineless whelp of a fortress commander that I expect him and his forces to depart immediately or my dying command shall be a bounty on his head, dead or alive as a traitor!”
“Uhm… are you-”
“AT ONCE!” she snapped at the servant, who recoiled under her ire.
“Yes my lady, at once. Who shall we send?”
“My name is Tora. I am not your Lady yet. Should the gods see fit to let us survive this disaster then perhaps… Send Ilaril… With instructions not to return lest it is with a sizable force. If it cannot be managed, she is to go to Bartelion and stay there… carry on the line.”
“But Tora… She’s 13!” Shiva protested. Shiva was Tora’s sister and the keep’s smith. They were the same age, but Tora had always been destined for the high chair. Groomed for years to lead. And so she would. It didn’t help that Shiva was now missing much of a leg and had her wing in a splint. Tora had carried her much of the way home, an effort that had damn near killed them both.
“And unwounded!... Unlike you, Harkur, and Toliar. Jackalope and River are far too young to go. If our line is to carry on she shall have to show that we are worthy of it… Make sure to impress upon her the seriousness of her mission. Give her what supplies can be spared and what equipment she wants, but she must travel light, do you understand?”
“Yes my Lady, I shall inform her at once,” the servant went, bowing and moving to leave.
“Yes… and send a copy of the message to Fortress Dana to Baretelion at once as well.”
The servant stopped, looking back at her with a hesitant expression. She was about to demand his reply when he spoke up meekly.
“We don’t have any Bartelion birds left, we have sent them all.”
“No, not by bird, use the rings you halfwit!” Tora snapped again, feeling the end of her rope approaching.
“We sold the rings my lady...”
“Oh for crying out loud…” Tora broke out, head sinking as she felt Shiva’s hand on her shoulder. “Empty threats, is that what it has come to then? A Furlong unable to stand by their words… Disgraceful.”
They had been peering over maps for hours trying to deduce just what was to be done. They were coming, her scouts had done well. Rashan had made camp but an hour's flight west on the island and showed no sign of knowing he had been discovered. “Be off with you, send the threat. If anything, maybe we will get someone to arrest me for my insolence who can hold a blade. In fact, add that if they intend on arresting me they best bring an army.”
“Yes of course my- Tora,” the servant replied, finally running off to see her will carried out.
“What of Naxima? How far out is she?” Shiva questioned, simply and coldly.
“We don’t know… We do not even know if she accepted the contract. And we cannot afford to extend the offer to anyone else. No one believes we have the funds, so payment was needed in advance.”
“What if she simply took the money? We do not know her well.”
“Then we may curse her from the depths of hell or the reaches of heaven… Wherever we may go.” Tora replied darkly. There was not much real hope to be had. Certainly not after the loss of Tarin and Kalbida.
Tora cast her mind back to that dark day. They had done battle with Rashan and his band many times during the summer, both in defence of fellow keeps and during the attempted siege of Lochen keep. A siege which proved to be their undoing.
Either it had been a trap or the gods had been against them that day. They believed Rashan had been driven off following injuries sustained at the battle of Yandar keep. A valiant defense that nevertheless ended with the keep but a smoldering ruin and what remained of the Yandars’ fighting strength flying alongside the Furlongs’ and the Travdas’ to Lochen for revenge.
They had laid siege, not willing to destroy another keep with the Yandar family now homeless. They would take it by force instead. They had the red dragon Tarin on their side, who had served alongside them for many years at Furlong keep. And despite the dragon suffering wounds in the previous battles, they were certain of victory.
Camp had been made, and work commenced to whittle away at the defenses. Rocks were dropped on roofs, and doors were rammed through. It was slow work, but progress was steady. They would slaughter the traitors in their homes and take it for themselves so the Yandars could be repaid for what they had lost.
But it was not to be. Rashan had returned during the dead of night on the third day. And in the darkness they had struck. Darklings and Lochen keep dwellers alike descended upon the siege camp, the sentries barely managing a warning of the impending disaster.
In the chaos that followed Kalbida had fallen to some sneaky slimy traitorous bastard. THE Kalbida Furlong, slain by a knife in the night. The armor which might have saved her was locked away in a collection somewhere in the capital to help fund the fighting after the long years of struggle. It was a disgrace.
A disgrace that left Tora in command. A position she had long envied and prayed to receive, but not like this. Not in the hour of disaster and shame. She had given the only order she could. Fall back to the keep. Fall back and regroup… but not everyone. They could not outfly a dragon in the night. Rashan must not follow them to their halls.
Tora did not know if her mother would have despised her or lauded her for what she asked next. But Tarin was to be commended. The dragon stood his ground and in his fury, wounded the traitor Rashan once more, this time grounding the traitor and setting Lochen keep ablaze, even if he paid the ultimate price.
The inferno drew away the distraught dragonettes watching their home burn to the ground, and the darklings swarmed to protect their master. No chase was given as those left worthy of the white slipped away into the night, making for what keeps still stood. Soon they had all consolidated in Furlong keep. It was smaller and easier to defend, and most importantly built tougher than most. So here they stood. Those who remained, aiming to fight against the night, a battle they were bound to lose.
They did not know how long they would have. Rashan would come for them, but the coward would not seek battle until he was healed and possibly reinforced even further. They were hoping for a month and they had nearly gotten it. The brazen arrogance of the traitor, that he did not believe aid would come to the Furlongs.
And what infuriated Tora most of all was that he had been proven right… no one had come. Nothing. They had sent for more mercenaries and most importantly a dragon able and willing to fight. They should have been here by now.
The price had been steep but it was the last hope they could muster and the last coin in their coffers. They would not flee their home. The Saga of the Furlongs would not end with cowardice. They would do as their mother had taught them. They would fight to the last, and they would die well. And if necessary, alone.
“Open the armory, we have preparations to make.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
“A well fought battle, Lady Bizmati. Was this your first?”
“No Major, I have served on many occasions. But it was the first fight under banners for my son Fanto,” Nunuk replied to the major, glancing towards her son who was busy recounting the events of the battle, though it could hardly be called a battle.
“I see, I did not see him fight, did he acquit himself well?”
“Better than the opposition. What a farce this was.”
“Yes, quite,” the major replied, glancing about the surrendered garrison. Nunuk was not privy to how it had been uncovered that something was rotten at Fortress Dana, but they had nevertheless set out expecting a full-fledged siege against a royal guard fortress, a daunting challenge for any force.
But upon their arrival, they were not met with much opposition at all, only confusion and hastily opened gates. It had taken some time to discover what had transpired. Orders changed or ignored, falsified information relayed, and reports hidden. Only one person had the authority to orchestrate such a thing, and he could not have been alone.
They had found the fortress commander barricaded inside his offices. A quick council was held to determin what to do about him, ideally the traitor should be taken alive, for questioning. And so they elected to smoke them out.
The last charge of the commander and his entourage had been the only true excitement of the day. Nunuk had fought alongside Fanto and Kokashi in the corridors. They had managed to capture a lieutenant who had sought to flee the scene, and only with a mild dismemberment. He would be fit for questioning even without an arm.
“I have been led to believe that you brought a mage, is this true?”
“Yes, my husband Apuma, not much of a fighter but capable nonetheless. He is the lore keeper of our keep.”
“Ahr, very good. Fetch him, would you? Who knows what magical secrets might be hidden in that office. We shall have to comb through it. Let me know if you find anything of interest.”
“Of course, major, right away. If there are any traps or hidden compartments we shall find them.”
With a brisk nod she excused herself to go fetch her kin. She knew that bringing the old coot along was a clever idea. Even with the lack of battle to gain favor, there were often other ways to make oneself stand out when banners were called. She just hoped the major would be generous enough to make mention of her, and more importantly, the name Bizmati.
“Listen up you three, work to do. Apuma, we will need your spellbook. We are going through the office.”
“Oh right, of course sweetheart. Anything specific?”
“Not in the field, Apuma,” she replied, trying not to chuckle. “Anything a traitor could think of. Traps, hidden compartments, messages and the like. Do your best.”
“Of course, anything for you sweety… Oh I mean Nunuk… Lady Bizmati?” the old man tried, clearly probing the waters of whatever she approved of.
At that she could no longer help but let out the chuckle and shake her head. “Just move your claws, come on now.” And so she led the way through the fortress courtyard towards the administration wing. As they walked she called over her shoulder. “So Fanto, what do you think?”
“Honestly?... Bit disappointed, I mean all we did was tie up a fleeing coward,” the young man replied with a shrug. He had been hoping for more, she knew that.
“Yes, I suppose so. Then again one should hardly wish for blood. All in all I think this has gone as well as it could thus far. We did our job, and possibly we even acquitted ourselves well enough to to be credited for our part. And not a scratch to be seen on any of us.”
“Yes mum. Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for. I know what you were wishing for. Plenty of dark skies around, you shall have it one day.”
“Could we make it after I have retired?” Kokashi questioned with mirth in his voice.
“Looking at our mothers I shall end up retiring after you, old man,” Fanto said with a snicker, giving the slightly older guard a soft punch to the pauldron.
“Old man, pah. I am the old man here, 65. Whatever I am doing out here is a mystery,” Apuma added heartily.
“Oh please, I am 78 you know, and I do not plan on putting down this blade till I make 100,” Nunuk added, shaking her head. ‘65 old? Let me be free of such nonsense.’
“Oh I don’t know mum, my back is starting to feel a little stiff you know? Maybe I’ll call it at 30.”
“If so it will be under a different name than Bizmati,” Nunuk replied, feigning seriousness as she led them up the stairs. “But until then, you shall continue to do me proud.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
“What is the plan then, Tora? He shall take a run on the keep if he is given one,” Chenglu questioned as the two of kept an eye on what equipment they had and who received what.
“Exactly. Lances, up high. Hide in the clouds and dive upon the red flare. With the master dead darklings become a far less dangerous threat,” Tora replied, the freshly appointed captain of the guard nodding his assent.
“All or nothing aye? I suppose there isn’t much else to do.”
“Even if the keep is lost the battle is not yet over.”
“What if he does not appear today? He may be waiting for weather or scouts?”
“Or nightfall… We cannot let him know we are above him. Give Tanaruk a flare and send him out to the northern treeline, once he sees Rashan approaching he shall signal and we make for the clouds. Anyone who can hold a lance must be on the roof from now on ready to fly. Have some hot soup brought up, it may be our last meal.”
“Yes ma’am. I shall see to it, but won’t the flare give away that we know he is coming?”
“It will. But we have no alternative. See that it is done, hopefully he shall believe we intend to fight from within the walls.”
“Right away, I shall see you up top.”
“Indeed, I shall be but a moment,” she replied, glancing about the armory, wondering if there could be anything she might have missed. Some edge they could use. Her eyes landed on the small wooden crate, straw sticking out the sides of the lid reminding her of the contents, grabbing a satchel from the wall she opened the lid.
“Live with honor… die with glory.”
Tora and all who could still fly worth a damn had made it to the roof once their kit had been sorted. The servants had brought up the soup for them. It was not a filling meal, it felt wrong that this may be the last thing that was eaten before a final battle. But it was warm and they would need that part to stave off the night.
She had made it very clear that alcohol would not be allowed tonight. They could drink if they survived, but various snacks and dried meats were brought up from the stores. They would not need it for winter after all.
They had watched from the rooftops for hours and hours, and darkness was starting to fall. ‘Come on you bastard, show yourself, do you need the night behind you as well? Damn darklings, this better make it into the history books,’ she cursed to herself as she kept staring into the darkening night sky. The cloud cover was thick yet dry. Ideal for concealing high-flyers.
She knew full well their chances were much lower at night against darklings. But it would seem Rashan wasn’t overconfident enough to give them that advantage. Hopefully his thralls would find navigating the darkness difficult. One could only hope it would force them below the clouds to stay in formation and on course. ‘If they don’t the plan will not work. They may even slip past Tanaruk.’
__________________________________________________________________________________
“So what is this Furlong place?” Fanto questioned as they jogged to the northern hangar. They would investigate these strange reports.
“I don’t know, but we best check up on all this. It sounds like a feud which has escalated to baseless accusations, but they are very serious accusations nonetheless,” Nunuk answered as she glanced around, trying to discern just who were being sent and how many.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, if my memory serves these Furlongs have fought well in many battles for the crown. They are, however, well known for being troublesome, you see. But I do not ever think I have heard of them using subterfuge or acting cowardly. In fact, I remember this one tale of a young huntress of theirs who once challenged a black dragon to single combat for insulting her fashion sense… she didn’t win, of course, but still.”
“I see. Well, I suppose we shall soon learn if these darklings are imaginary or not,” Fanto added, sounding just a touch excited.
“That we shall Fanto. That we shall. I believe we intend on flying through the night. We may then spend the morn either listening to their apologies or being celebrated for coming to their aid. Either way should be a fine day.”
“Quite the plan you got there mum. Sounds good.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
As the night wore on the sounds of snores had started to echo from the cold windy rooftop. The fires were tended for warmth, but the post could not be abandoned, not on Tora’s watch.
But as the hours wore on she too had succumbed to sleep. It was no kind sleep. Tormented with visions, of battles fought, and battles to come. Rashan the red prominent throughout. There could be no mistake. The dragon was coming. And by the gods they would give him a fine welcome.
Tora could almost feel a smile forming on her face as she thought of the look of horror on that wyrm's face. If this was the end, she would be taking that overgrown waste of scales with her. And she had just the tool for the job, her mother’s lance and her satchel.
Her reverie was broken by shouts and a pair of hands shaking her awake, coming to in confusion she glanced around as Captain Chenglu shouted at her. “He is here! Quickly, quickly!”
She scrambled to her feet peering into the darkness. To the north a bright red light was glowing in the night sky, and in front of it a black silhouette was getting nearer.
“He has made it past the treeline, there is still time. Douse the fires!” Chenglu commanded as Tora got to her senses. The dragonettes on the roof were already jumping off the sides into the air and beating skywards. Tora grabbed her lance and scrambled for the edge, checking her satchel one last time before she leaped into the fray. ‘All still there. Very good.’ Glancing to Chenglu, he too had three flares strapped across his chest. If darklings could go blind, they would find out tonight.
They had all headed for the clouds as quickly as they could, and with mighty beats of effort Tora pushed herself into the lead of the formation. She was an excellent flier. As a gilded huntress and first in line to the Lady, nothing less was acceptable. Once at the head she bellowed back. “Form on leader,” the order echoed back through the climbing rabble. They did not have time for their original plan. There would be no proper formations or waves of attack.
Looking down at her army, the far off red flare made it all but glow in the night even this far away. ‘Why did we not have some dim ones?’ she cursed, knowing full well it was a blessing that they even had flares that worked. A gratuitous luxury in these times. In the end, it would not matter. They all knew their mission; kill the dragon, then retreat to the keep for now. It must be done, element of surprise or not.
As they climbed she anxiously watched the dragon as it carried on towards the keep, flying straight towards the hilltop. He was perfectly open. ‘You think you will get your one run at us. I say different,’ Tora cursed to herself, heart pounding as she leveled out the formation, pushing on forwards into a perfect position for a diving attack. They had no more time for altitude, they would not reach the clouds. It would not matter.
Letting silence reign for but a moment, she drew her breath and shrieked as she rolled over onto her back, lance couched as she pulled up into her dive, the others following the sounds and acting in kind. She knew the maneuver by feel, she let herself plummet, wings tucked as she gained speed, streaking silently through the night. A dozen fliers behind her coming down as a cloud rather than a line and one target in front of her. ‘Come on you stupid girl. Hit. Hit the bastard!’ Rashan flew onwards, either unbothered or unaware of the dragonettes hurtling towards him.
Something was off, he was no idiot. He knew they saw him coming, he had to know they would not let him reach the keep. Perhaps he thought them a beaten force? They had fled their last battle without any true opposition.
Behind her flares were fired to either flank, lighting up the dark silhouette bright as day, the massive beast of 40 tonnes at least, did nothing. Then without a sound the dragon simply vanished, as if nothing had ever been there. Only the ground beyond. ‘Did he turn invisible?!’ Then Tora’s heart sank at the sound of the massive, familiar roar. Behind them.
__________________________________________________________________________________
The final number setting out from fortress Dana had come to a mere 3 dragons, two young greens and a middling red at the lead. Less than Nunuk would have liked to see considering the reports from the island, but still a force which should see off a darkling raiding force with little trouble. They were traveling with one of the greens, a charming young lad by the name of Quera.
He was a keep-dweller himself from further in near the city, so they had plenty to talk about to while away the hours. Nunuk had taken a few stints flying by herself of course, it would not do to have Apuma give up the comfortable spot after all. He would need to stay on his wings in case battle was joined after all so the dragon may do his job.
As morning broke, the light shining from the horizon behind them lit up the majestic flying island ahead of them. It was far above them too however, its craggy grey underside clearly visible in the morning sun, dew making it glint and shine back at them.
There was some cursing as all realized the long climb needed to match heights. But the ocean below was an excellent motivator, and it was an awe-inspiring sight. Two hours of steady advance and climb later, the winds carried them over the edge of the island as if to welcome them to the green paradise contrasting against the receding blue hell behind them. Landmarks were found and maps were studied as they turned for the nearest keep on the island, which just so happened to be this troublesome Furlong place. It would be interesting to hear what they had to say for themselves to be sure.
As hills and trees slid away beneath them, Nunuk took the time to appreciate the landscape. It wasn’t every day you got to see a new island, and it was always said that every last one was truly unique. This far north, there were even a few needle trees to be seen here and there, something they would never find at home.
“Smoke ahead!” Quera called out. Looking ahead the dragon was indeed right. They must have found their target. A very successful journey all things considered. “There is an awful lot of it isn’t there?”
Attention sharpened, looking at the rising column of smoke in the distance. On closer inspection, it seemed to be much further away than might first have been guessed. Which would make it a truly calamitous amount of smoke.
“The Furlongs aren’t miners or something like that, right Apuma!?” Fanto shouted, flying in close to the green dragon.
“No no, warriors and hunters, I am certain of it!”
“Quera, what speed you can manage,” Nunuk decreed, putting on her helmet. She had no command over the dragon, but it had been very clear she knew more about the matter of war than he did. And he obeyed well enough. His surely already tired wings redoubled their efforts towards the pillar of smoke. Any keep-dweller knew what those often meant.
__________________________________________________________________________________
“The fire is burning down through the stories. We do not have long here,” Shiva noted with resignation.
It was over. She was only walking with the help of a crutch. Tora and nearly all those still able had been lost to the deception. Rashan had gotten his reinforcements. Or perhaps they had been here all along. A witch. Maybe even more than one. It was the only explanation for the illusion spell.
It also meant that their friends, her very own sister, would likely soon be coming back to fight them. And darklings remembered their past. Tora knew their tactics, she knew the corridors. All the hiding holes and secret traps. It was over.
“We cannot leave either, we would be cut down as deer at a hunt!” Naran broke out, evidently holding back tears as he clutched their young boy in his arms. Jacky was clinging to Shiva’s remaining leg in terror.
“Then what do you prefer, young man? Wait till the flames reach the basement, or follow my mother’s teachings one last time?”
“The flames… they cannot bring back a pile of ash. I will wait for the flames,” he responded after but a moment’s thought, clutching their boy even tighter. Shiva could feel Jacky tighten her grip as well, though she didn’t make a sound.
“Very well, then we wait. I doubt Rashan will let us all be lost to the flames anyway,” she sighed, looking to the door leading to the outside. They had a pair of such doors, one right after the other. thick oak with metal bracings. They would hold for some time should someone attempt to get inside. And they still had the vats of oil above ready to pour onto anyone attempting the door. Of course, Tora knew that.
“No! I will not sit here and wait for them to come for us.”
“Naran…” Shiva wanted to object, but what was there to object to? If he wanted to die on his own terms, she couldn’t blame him. “Right. I will stay at the door. If I am lucky they will be dumb enough to try it. Darklings don’t come back from the dead.”
“No don-”
“You go. I am not moving.”
It was evident he wanted to object, to plead with her to not be stupid, but he didn’t. Instead, he turned to the rest of those huddling away from the smoke. “If we stay the smoke will take us, the fire may never reach us. We only have one chance to not be turned! To make it to the gates… please. We have to go up.”
Shiva turned to look at everyone here. Servants, mothers, fathers, children. All either too wounded, too young, or too old to fight. He was right. She was the last living Furlong now able to hold a blade, and the others could not fight, there was no point in staying.
“He is right! Outside you will get the blade, here you will choke to death. Run into the flames. Keep a knife with you to cut it short. You will suffer less.”
There were tears in her eyes as she laid it bare for them all. No one moved, some stared at her or Naran, others huddled closer to each other. She couldn’t bear to look at them. The people she was responsible for, and what she had to ask of them. They wouldn’t go by themselves though.
“I order you! I-I I order you to do it. Go into the fire. It is the only chance left!” she shouted at them as the tears won out. Naran looking back at her, clutching Toril, their boy, their sweet baby boy. “I ORDER YOU TO GO. NOW! I will cut down any who delay. There is nothing for you here!”
On her crutch she hobbled over to the battle axe she had once swung with grace, picking it up and letting the crutch fall away as dragonettes started to get up, fear and horror in their eyes. “In the name of the great god Tula. I swear it.”
Jacky pushed her head into her leg as she to started to sob. “I won’t leave you, I won’t leave you! I won’t! I won’t! I won’t!”
People started to get up, the sound of crying and sobbing filling the room as one by one they made for the stairs. Naran crouched down in front of Jacky as Shiva stood firm. What else could she do? The tears were rolling down her face as she stared down friends and even family as they glanced back at her, filing out. Some gave her a nod of recognition, a final goodbye, others refused to even look at her.
“Heeey. Jacky. Come now, Mum has to do this. And we have to do something else. Okay?”
“I WON’T LEAVE HER!” Jacky screamed out the top of her lungs, refusing to let go, claws digging into her mother's leg. “I WILL NEVER LEAVE HER!”
“Listen now,” Naran went, Shiva’s husband, the man she had loved for over 30 years.
“I WON’T! WHY WON’T YOU GET IT!”
“Jacky list-”
“It is okay,” Shiva forced out through gritted teeth. “She can stay.”
“Are yo-”
“She can stay,” Shiva repeated, looking down at her crouching husband. “Go. We will be fine.”
He rose back up to his feet before giving her a nuzzle, his one free hand wrapping around the back of her head to hold her close one last time. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
__________________________________________________________________________________
“Interceptors coming up! Darklings, lancers with them!” Nunuk called out from her perch at the dragon's neck, peering down at the developing battle. “He is running!”
They were bringing their whole formation down on the back of the red dragon. They had caught him sitting pretty outside the keep, likely waiting for his minions to do his job for him. A red dragon next to a burning keep with darklings flying around could mean only one thing. And as they dived it became blindingly obvious just how real the Furlongs’ pleas had been.
The red was a venerable beast, and who knew what tricks he may possess, allied with the dark as he was. They would take no chances with him.
“Slow down, Quera! We shall clear the way. Do not show quarter!” Nunuk shouted out, her final words of advice as she disembarked to join the diving dragonettes heading for the deck. They had the element of surprise, the darklings taking off from the field in front of the keep rising to meet them.
Glancing behind her, she saw Fanto and Kokashi forming a V behind her. She smiled back at them. She knew Fanto had dreamed of this. He loved all her stories from when she was younger. Finally, he would have his own. She just hoped it was not too late for the Furlongs and whoever else had sought refuge in the blazing keep.
‘Here we go then.’ She drew her blade and calmed her mind. Few expected a talon blade as it phased through their parry, especially in a split-second flyby. And her armor would see her through this day, like it had done so many times before.
A moment of stillness, of howling wind, then the pass. They picked their targets, she spied the glint of a golden crown and maneuvered to take them on. That one might be dangerous, best she handle them.
She juked to the side of the darkling, it was a beast of a woman who came by in a flash carrying a lance, a poor choice of weapon for fighting a dragonette. She was easily a head taller than Nunuk, if not two. But her bulk made her slow and her weapon even more so.
Nunuk dragged her blade along the darkling’s flank, drawing blood and eliciting a scream from the monster as it tried to pull away from the lady. Nunuk smiled, looking back ahead to check for more targets. Then there was an explosion, she snapped her head around to look behind her, seeing only Kokashi, staring in horror at the puff of smoke and crackle of lightning where Fanto had been but a moment before. “FANTO!”
__________________________________________________________________________________
Shiva sat on the bench she had dragged over in front of the door, head in her hands crying. Jacky trying her best to console her, blessed be her heart. The screams from above, the horror, then the silence. And now the smoke was growing thicker. Soon it would be too much to bear. She would have to use the fire bomb she had left. Jacky didn’t need to know. She had faced enough horror for a lifetime tonight.
Her ear twitched, was it a trick? Or had someone landed outside the doors? She snapped her head around to look at the sturdy oak and steel. Tears receding, grip on her axe tightening.
“What is it mum?” Jacky questioned, looking up, scared to the bone. Shiva listened intently, both ears front. There was someone out there.
“We are not alone.” With a grunt of effort she rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders one last time as she leaned on the axe, glancing to the rope which would see the intruder bathed in burning oil. All she need to do was cut it. She had to wait. She needed to get as many as possible.
Then a series of knocks. Shiva stiffened, staring at the door. Then a shout muted and muffled by the stone and wood.
“Anyone in there! I am Lady Bizmati, open at once!”
“NEVER! WE KNOW YOUR TRICKS!” Shiva roared back in defiance, Jacky hiding behind her.
“There are no tricks! Are there any more of those bastards in there! I wanna kill them myself!”
“All you will find here is Furlong steel!” Shiva retorted, not backing down, instead moving closer to the rope and readying her axe.
“THEY KILLED MY SON! I WANT EVERY LAST ONE LEFT, AND I WANT THEM NOW!” came the screaming reply. She sounded manic. A mother in grief. A sound Shiva knew all too well. She didn’t want to believe. She couldn’t believe. That would mean that. That they didn’t. The screams, the flames. Her baby boy. She had told them. Ordered them to do it. It could not be. “OPEN THIS DOOR AT ONCE OR I SHALL GAS YOU ALL OUT!”
Shiva hobbled over to the lever, and with a pull the stones swung free and the heavy doors parted open. She prayed it was a trick. That she would see a witch, or some other foul creature. As light peered into the smoky room she stood and watched in horror.
“About time where are-” Out of the smoke came a small-ish woman. Wearing fine shining armor. Covered in blood, and bits of black. Fire and fury in her eyes. And Shiva dropped the axe.
“No…”
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Tigra, the baby killer back in the game with a new high score! Knocking it out of the park with the father, too, this time! co-co-co-combo kill!
Will Shiva and Jacky ever get revenge? Will Nunuk find a replacement son who's less boring than Rachuck? Tune in to HoH as the story continues!
Any and all children harmed in the making of this episode er strictly imaginary... that's why it's funny.
HoH Chapter 1 HoH Chapter 190

HELLMIRE
Well, the name certainly fits. The heat that felt like it had been extracted straight from the Sun, the fire tornadoes, the barren and lifeless desert. Certainly something that would exist only in a place like Hell. All across the section of the planet they were on, were red-striped circles that pulsed on the map. Some were relatively small, others medium-sized.

Okay, perhaps this wasn't all bad. Uzi had played more than enough shooter games to know what those were, and the laughably small enemy outposts could be cleared by just about anyone here without breaking a sweat. Well, not more than they already were. The heat had all four of the drones practically sweating bullets, and the desert that stretched on for miles was certainly not helping.

But at least the worker hoped they could clear them all effortlessly.

The sand-filled winds slightly blew the teen's dull purple hair to the left, and stuck a few sand grains in her hair, which went unnoticed even by Uzi herself. A small smirk crossed her face, and the tingling sensation ceased, and her mind's racing slowed, if only by a little.

Andrew swiped one finger on the small screen, moving the map to one of the moderately-sized circles, marking the center of it.

“I hope you all aren't afraid of bugs.” The moment the word bugs was uttered, J noticeably tensed. Even though the murder drone was hoping the Sergeant hadn't seen it, the feeling of a pair of eyes burning into her back told the Disassembly Drone otherwise. Trying to will both the tension, and the mounting fear of what resides on this planet away but to no avail, J turned on her heel, facing the Sergeant and looking at the holomap. The circle he had marked wasn't far from here, just a couple minutes’ walk away.

J was damn thankful she had wings. Even if she wanted to walk the distance, the heat would render her immobile her before she could even get a considerable distance. The white-hot sand-filled winds themselves were already slightly distorting her vision anyway, and there was no way in Hell she was dying here. She leapt into the scalding-hot air, stretching her wings to half capacity, and was soon followed by the other three drones.

‘Guess they were just as steaming as I am.’

“If I'm gonna be honest here, I thought those were for gliding.” Andrew quipped to himself, shrugging. His eyes followed the drones as they leapt into the air and watched as they flew off. Sighing heavily, Andrew flipped off the holomap and swiped on his screen once more and threw down another beacon. After a couple seconds, another pod came crashing down, and with it, a jetpack. Soon, the Sergeant was also in the air, flying off to meet the drones.


After a minute of flying, V spotted what looked like overgrown cockroaches. Some were green, others orange, and there was one large creature that was white and red. Almost the very moment V laid eyes on the creature, its head almost demonically snapped up towards the drone.

Then it disappeared. ‘Dear Robo-Christ, it fucking disappeared.’

V opened her mouth, but the sound of a jetpack’s boosters shut it. She was once again face to face with the now-flying Helldiver. All three of the drones stopped flying, instead hovering in the air, surprise and confusion written all over their faces. V quirked an eyebrow at the jetpack, examining it as if it was some foreign object.

“What?” Andrew was first to break the silence, a Welsh edge to his voice. “Never seen a jetpack before?”

He was met with collective head shakes. Half because they had never seen a jetpack, and the other out of disappointment because they had failed to pick up the fact that he was Welsh earlier.

“Jetpacks are heavily outdated where we come from. They stopped using them centuries ago.” Uzi explained.

A dead silence.

“Centuries?” Andrew wasn't sure if he was just hearing things, or something. Centuries ago? “Okay, what year do you people come from?” He said, half-expecting them to recite the present year. “Actually, disregard that. What year is it?”

“3071?” N replied. That completely shattered the Sergeant's expectation.


“Aw, hell nah. This is some back to the future bullshit.” Andrew groaned, facepalming as he hovered down to the bugs, muttering strings of swears under his breath. He was quickly followed by the four drones, but the sound of the Sergeant's boosters alerted the bugs. It didn't do much of anything to deter the Helldiver, as he landed on one of the bugs, crushing it's head and spraying a nauseating green all over his legs and lower torso.

He was soon followed by J. But before she could touch down, she was pinned down by the very same creature that had disappeared after making eye contact with her. The startled drone's optics hollowed as she tried to wrestle herself out of its hold, to no avail. It raised one of its legs, and thrust it down, skewering her torso and using the other to tear her in half before it was subsequently shot dead by the Sergeant. J was still, lifeless. Just as she was when she was shot on the ship. Her gray intestines and various other organs hung out, strung every which way in the desert sands.

Andrew would be lying if he said he wasn't completely sick to his stomach watching that. He had seen men fall to these creatures, yes, but this… It struck a nerve in him. The way the corpse was sprawled, it made him remember another. All over the concrete, barely breathing. Barely alive.

The sound of tires screeching, the heart-wrenching and blood-curdling screams of children, the deafening sound of metal on metal.
"Lloyd..?"
Andrew nearly jumped out of his armor and skin the moment he heard that voice. It was one he hadn't heard in years. A feminine one. A soothing, Welsh feminine voice, yet rough around the edges. Just as quickly as it came, the voice disappeared, and Andrew was once again staring at J and the bug's dead bodies.

“I… I need a moment.” Uzi stammered, a vomit green covering her visor as she staggered away to a nearby dead tree, then proceeding to vomit her guts out on the spot.

Without even flinching but inwardly nauseated, Andrew patiently waited for J to reconstruct and get back up. And just as he expected, it slowly began. Slowly yet surely, the drone reconstructed herself, and just as quickly as she had fallen, she had gotten back up. Even though he had been unmoving on the outside, there was a bile building up in the Sergeant's throat that cost him all of his willpower just to hold down.

‘Mental note: Never stare at dead drones again.’

Just faintly, Andrew could still hear the shrieks of two child-like voices and still feel the harrowing feeling of floating upwards, then being thrown out of glass. The spiking pain of the shards, the white-hot sensation of landing on pavement.
Andrew shook his head ever so slightly, trying to wrest the memories away once more, but to no avail.
The planet seemed to tremor as more bugs burrowed out of the ground. They varied in size, but most were rather small. All three drones’ optics hollowed as they began to get into defensive stances. V looked to the Sergeant, half-expecting a signal. All he did was gesture towards the bugs. “Let's see how you all fare against the fodder.”

V was first to charge in, the razor-sharp claws that have tasted the oil of countless Worker Drones at the ready. Almost naïvely, one of the smaller bugs raced forward to meet her, and was instead instantly cut down the middle by one of the blades on her wings. V only cackled maniacally as green splotches and guts flew in every direction, changing her right hand in lieu of an M19 45mm assault rifle. Before she could fire off a round, J kicked another bug that looked like an armored scorpion. The claws themselves looked like they were sharper than an obsidian knife, and the armoring it bore looked like it could stop an artillery shell in it's tracks.

But looks can be deceiving, can't they?

It skidded across the sand, digging its claws into the sand and stopping itself just five feet away. J quickly followed up by a clean sword strike, making the creature roar in pain as a small gash was created, rendering the creature half-blind. Almost like they had coordinated and practiced this for years, V followed up with another claw strike, completely blinding the creature, then flying upwards and cleanly slicing off its tail and shooting it in the back of the head, spraying a sickly green all over.
The creature went limp, and V couldn't help but sadistically smile as she gazed upon her handiwork, hovering over the dead bug for a short while before floating down beside J. J, on the other hand, only stared at the corpse, her optics hollowed. A slow, dull-burning bile slowly climbed up her throat the more she looked at the thing, but she couldn't tear her gaze away. Her own eyes disobeyed her commands, and they fixed themselves upon the corpse, unwilling to look at anything else.

CORE MEMORY ESTABLISHED.

Before J could even stabilize herself, and try her hardest to shake off the growing nausea, tens of the small bugs were upon her, only to get blasted to green splotches by a still-cackling V. Before V could fill the remaining four with lead, J quickly swiped forward, cutting the back of the tiny bug that was just about to pounce on her clean off, her optics still hollowed, and her breath still shaky and shallowed. J’s optics fell to the dripping green liquid on her blade, and the once-cream colored sand now stained a ghastly green and yellowish red. J swiped downward once again, flicking the blood off of her blade before changing it back into a regular hand. Her optics flit nervously over their surroundings, spotting two burrow-looking things in the distance. It glowed a bright orange, as if something was in there that was a source of blinding light.

“Tell me, do you all have grenades by any chance?” Andrew asked, turning to N, who was also watching the burrow with a curious gaze, trying not to pay any attention to the now actively-decomposing corpse of the scorpion-bug thing. V felt a small ping in her stomach as her gaze fell to the corpse once more. Her face contorted in disgust as she watched the thing for a short while, before tearing her eyes away.

“Do small rockets work?” N asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Andrew wordlessly shook his head. Without even looking in the short, still-shaking teen’s direction, he threw a grenade in her direction, to which she caught. Almost instantaneously, the worker threw the grenade away, not even bothering to check if the Sergeant had pulled the pin or not. The grenade landed a couple feet away, and the four waited for an explosion.
“I didn’t pull the pin, now go get it. You pull the pin, and throw it in there.” He said, pointing a finger to the burrow. Uzi’s nerves frayed as she went to pick the grenade up. With it in hand, the Worker hooked a finger on the pin.
There was a moment’s hesitation before the short teen pulled the pin and threw the grenade towards the burrow. The small explosive went straight into the hole, the sounds of stone and dirt against metal faintly heard as it clacked and clicked against the sharpened and jagged stone before exploding, the flames belching out of the opening of the burrow like it was some sort of hibernating fire-breathing dragon as the glow faded away. But the resulting smell… It was appalling, for lack of any better term. The air reeked of rotten meat, and a sewer in a heatwave combined. It made all four of the drones almost double over and vomit, but Andrew remained still.


He would be lying if he said he didn’t want to do the same, but his experience as a Helldiver had hardened him to the point where he simply would not allow his body to do it. Though the nauseated group of drones could not see it, Andrew smiled. It wasn’t noticeable. No, not at all. It was small, and would be barely noticeable even if he had his helmet off. He slowly clapped, not loudly, but just enough for the drones to hear it.
“Well done. But that’s certainly ain't all of 'em….” Andrew's words blurred as the smell subsided, and reality once again hit the four like a punch from Mike Tyson in his prime. Were there any other bugs? Stronger ones, bigger ones? Were there more of those that pounced on J? Would they all survive being on this hellhole? Thousands of questions raced through the four drones’ heads, yet none dared to speak them out. Without showing any sort of emotion, V silently tried to will the countless rushing questions away to silence and oblivion in vain.

The minutes slowly trickled by into just as slow-passing hours as the five trekked across the desert, clearing nest after nest. J came to expect and estimate the strikes of the Stalkers as Andrew said they were referred to.

“I've seen men die to those things in ways you can't even begin to imagine. Stay on guard, or you'll join them someday. They'll use camo, get the jump on you. They're a tanky bunch, too. They can take a real beating.” He explained to J just a half hour ago. These things were truly nothing to scoff at, and if J was to be honest, they terrified her. Andrew caught her shaking while they were coming up on yet another nest. By now, they were all covered in green and red, and the recent gunshots from their previous nest clearing still echoed in her mind. Almost spontaneously, Andrew held up his arm, signaling a halt.
“Do not show fear.” He said, his voice monotone and almost callous. “The more you start shaking like you’re a leaf in autumn, the more bugs will be attracted to you. They love it when their enemy shows fear. They will swarm you, and leave nothing left.”

He once again began swiping on the small screen, throwing over yet another beacon at the hive. “Wait for it.”
About five seconds later, the sound of a shell firing off in the distance was barely even heard before a moderately-sized explosion rocked the landscape, the small plume rising up as if it was a nuclear missile.

“Alrighty, this is the place. You all will have your first tastes of what it's like to be a Helldiver.” That very same pride returned to his voice, a small chuckle slipping out as he swiped on the small screen again, calling down a small capsule that extended upwards a couple feet. A small metallic-silver colored drone flew upwards from a small compartment on the base of the flag post, flying around the flag before a camera slowly slid out from the bottom. It turned on, casting a small blue light as it played what the four drones could only assume to be the anthem.

It was a very soothing, almost hypnotic melody that made even V slightly sway her head along to the song, though the drone silently prayed that nobody saw her do it. Yet she had a gut feeling that the Helldiver currently saluting and quietly whisper-singing along to the anthem had seen her. The singing was whispered, yet it was just audible enough for V to hear it, being the closest to him.

“Freedom must reign over ev’ry last star… Through citizens lost in the all-righteous wars… Honor their deaths, do your part for the cause…”

Though none could see it, Andrew allowed another small smile to cross his face as the very same white-yellow-blue flag finally sprung outward, fluttering proudly in the sand-filled winds. Her gaze fell to Uzi, who had stopped tapping her foot to the melody, making direct eye contact with the murder drone, which was quickly broken.

“Steadfast support, of our regime, is how humankind will reign supreme. No questions or doubts, shall be allowed… Traitors will all be disavowed…”

Eventually, the symphony stopped, much to some of the group's dismay. Andrew took a couple more seconds to admire the flag as if it was an ancient treasure worth all of the galaxy’s gold. Another blue beacon lit up far in the distance, prompting N to look to it almost instinctively. It was about ten minutes’ fly to the location, and it looked like their ticket out of this hellhole. All of the four drones collectively breathed a sigh of complete relief, swiping off some pixelated sweat droplets from their visors. It was tiring to even spread their wings to flying extent, much less take off in the sweltering heat. Their limbs strained as the four drones once again took off, this time with much more effort, each of the four’s breaths labored, shaky, and sharp as they once again took off through the sand-caked wind, soon followed by Rex.
Without looking at the Sergeant, instead focusing on the now-brewing sandstorm right smack in the middle of the extraction zone. This was going to be one long day. With the amount of sand she was flying through, Uzi could swear her hair had changed its color to that of the sand. Some of it even flew into her mouth, which the teen quickly spluttered out. “Gahd, I didn't sign up for this..” She muttered under her breath. She was just a teenager, an eighteen-year-old being thrown through one nightmare after another, as if God himself wished to test her limits. She picked up speed, trying her damn hardest to ignore the knot in her stomach. Despite all of her effort to logically reason with herself, one half of her couldn't help but have the growing dreadful feeling that this was just the beginning. The sandstorm was coming up, and quickly. Before the five even knew it, they had charged headfirst into the gaping maw of the sandstorm. The winds tossed them around as if they all were ragdolls, threatening to knock each and every one of them out of the air.

“DOWN, DOWN!” Andrew shouted through the loudly whistling wind. Almost as if they were all waiting for the command, the four drones immediately dove downwards towards the small computer at the top of the plateau they were coming up on along with their Helldiver comrade. The ground came up quicker than any of them thought it would, whether it be from the absolutely kicking wind or the constant sand streams obstructing their vision. They landed roughly, Uzi being first to land. She landed shoulder-first, a sickening crack followed by a shout of pain shooting through the air that even the howling wind could not hide. The rest got off quite easy, with minor bruises and cuts, save for Andrew. His armor had only slightly dented, and it was practically invisible to any eye anyway.

“Mother of…” She almost swore through ground teeth as she cradled her limp arm. Trying to move the arm only reaped a spike of white-hot pain that moved throughout her body like a thunderstorm.


“Helldiver to Pelican-1, we got company. The good kind. Make sure you have a table for five.” Andrew said, which was then followed by almost inaudible speaking coming from the Helldiver’s helmet that the four drones could barely hear at all. Spotting her broken arm, Andrew calmly jogged up to the pained drone and took out a sort of syringe from a small pouch on his right breastplate. He raised his arm back, tapping the teen on the shoulder, which made her immediately turn her head towards him. “This is gonna sting, alright? It's a stim, it'll help with the wound.”

“N-no, I can-” Uzi was cut short by a stinging feeling, then a subsequent… Damn, this felt good. It felt like she was back to normal, and her arm worked fine. It even looked like it had completely regenerated, and the fatigue that came with flying through a sandstorm was completely gone. To say that she felt better than ever was a complete understatement. Uzi rolled her arm, expecting another shot of pain that never came as she staggered up through the storm. “Holy shit… What the hell was in that thing?”

“I don't know. Ministry of Truth and the scientists that made it know. All I, and you all gotta know is that it works.” Andrew shrugged, his voice stern and clear, but rushed. Like he wanted to change the topic. Uzi caught his tone, but did not speak of it, instead giving a nod. The sound of thrusters dying down pierced the air as the very same sleek black VTOL slowly descended, not even affected by the raging thunderstorm. “Oi, Scott. Who's the newbies? They ain't bots, that's for sure.” What the four drones could only assume was who the Sergeant called “Pelican-1”.

“They're with me. Hope you got an extra seat.” He gruffly replied, gesturing for the dumbfounded drones to come with him to the back. Without much of a choice, given the barren desert, and the lack of any hope of getting off of this place besides the VTOL currently on the ground, they followed.

“Ay, y'all hurry your asses up ‘fore I get sand in my seats again. Took ages to clean that out.”

“Yeah, yeah. We're going, Pelican.” Andrew replied, his voice a mix of irritation, and camaraderie, as if he was speaking with a lifelong friend. The group clamored into the surprisingly spacious back of the VTOL, the ramp closing behind them the moment they all entered. The metallic gray door to the cockpit swooshed open, and out of it was a man dressed in all-black pilot gear, the Super Earth insignia stitched onto his left breast almost perfectly. “Shotgun's vacant, anyone want?”

J shot up, keen on not sitting next to Uzi, muttering a quick “thank you” before softly nudging past the pilot, taking the seat. The pilot took a deep, audible breath, his shoulders rising and falling in quick succession. “Scott, I hope you know what you're doing.” His voice turned from lightly jabbing, but lively, to straight-to-the-point, somewhat irritated and monotone. He quickly slipped back into the cockpit as the VTOL took off, effortlessly shooting past the atmosphere and into the inky black vacuum of space.

"Yeah, I do too."


Before any of the four drones knew it, they had docked on the Super Destroyer once more. Nearby, near the galactic map, the Sergeant was deep in conversation with Pelican-1, the two hunched over on different sides of the table, pointing to planets as if they were chess pieces. To the left of the table, where Pelican was, was a series of red, some darker than others. On Andrew's side, was yellow, some lighter than others. All other planets were covered in blue, with Super Earth in the middle, along with another much smaller planet beside it. N had just come out of the barracks, wearing that bright smile the four drones came to know him for. The tear streaks were well hidden, almost completely invisible to the naked eye. V was… God only knew where she went, and J was fighting with Uzi, as per usual.

Damn, he was happy the rooms were soundproof.

“Alright, listen up!” Andrew’s raised voice cut like a sharpened blade through the air, making each of the three present drones freeze. He sounded pissed, but for the approximately five hours they had known the Welshman, he always sounded pissed in some way. The sound of distant slurping was heard as it got louder and louder. V came through the West door, some sort of iced coffee in hand, slurping through a straw.
“Oi, read the room.” Pelican said, his voice echoing through the quiet bridge. The slurping stopped almost immediately.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Andrew snarled, giving V a side eye that nobody saw due to to his helmet. “From here, you all are going to Mars. There, you will stay for 5-10 months, and become proper Helldivers, which you will then come back here, as I have personally arranged. I wish you all good luck.”


Those words sent cold chills down each drone’s spine, and confirmed Uzi's worst fear. This was truly just the beginning.
Author's Ramblings: Yeah, this is truly Just the beginning. TRIPLE POST INCOMING HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE-
I pity these poor drones. They don't know what's coming..
I gazed a gazeless stare, we walked a million hills, I must have died alone... A long, long time ago... Who knows? Not me. I never lost control... You're face, to face, With the man who sold the world....