Chapter Seven
If bone burying was considered sacred, then Mike should be allowed to call hole digging hallowed. He had suspicions regarding what Evals was up to, while questions remained regarding his miraculous recovery from near death. He didn’t want to think Evals was lying to him, which would be out of character for him. Evals had been open about everything with him since the day they met. Mike realized he had kept things from him, though. In hindsight, he might have felt better if he had told Evals more about his painful past rather than carrying it all inside for so long. There was so much more he could tell Evals too.
Mainly how he felt about him.
Mike thought it was silly to think about that while stranded on an island. They ought to figure out how to get out of there. Still, they were stuck there alone together. He encountered his fair share of novels on the subject. They were primarily fictional accounts he snuck away from Eric’s private library. They were all about humans in forbidden love affairs with female keidran on remote isles that could be mistaken for tropical paradises. Every island conveniently had a blue lagoon where the two characters did dirty things. Aside from how poorly written they all were, causing Mike to roll his eyes with every page turned, he couldn’t get passed breeding in the filthy water. That was gross.
Still, he understood the appeal of being stuck on an island with someone as hunky as Evals. If he could write a novel about it, Evals would be the human hero pursuing a passionate and illegal connection with Mike. He’d base the female keidran off himself; perhaps, the only instance where he would permit fantasizing as a female. As he walked across the beach, Mike tried thinking of a name he would give his characters if he ever wrote the book. He might as well name the human Evals. He had nothing to worry about from Evals ever connecting the dots since he couldn’t read. As for the female keidran, he gave it some serious thought.
“Mary,” he thought. “Her name ought to be Mary Sue.”
He snapped his fingers excitedly. Mike thought that was a good name. For a moment, he seriously considered writing the book. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a quill and ink with a steady supply of paper on the island, so far as he knew. It was all one big silly thought anyway. If they ever got off the island, Mike wouldn’t write some erotic romance novel based on him and Evals. It was nice to think about the two as just themselves, enjoying each other’s company in such a beautiful place.
As he blushed, Mike’s attention was drawn inland. He might as well explore the island himself while he had nothing better to do. He assumed Evals would be gone for a while. He wasn’t worried about getting lost, either. An island was an island and was only so big. Taking a deep breath, he started inland.
Walking through the jungle, Mike was impressed by how big the trees and their leaves were. He stopped and used a damp leaf to funnel some rainwater into his mouth. Two birds chirped as they flew overhead, twirling around each other as Mike watched them and smiled. They looked cute together. Unable to figure out their species, he took the sappy way out and viewed them as a pair of lovebirds.
Mike laughed and remarked to himself, “You are so cheesy.”
He was comforted by seeing more wildlife on the island and enjoyed a song or two sung by the birds. Mike would be damned if he was going to eat them, though. Having lost his appetite for rabbits, he figured he’d learn how to fish. Evals might protest the switch to white meat, but there was plenty Mike could do to prepare it to be worth his while. Fish was also considered brain food, which Evals needed more of.
As he ventured further through the jungle, Mike stopped when he heard running water. It couldn’t be the ocean because he was too far inland now. Growing curious, he pushed passed the thick foliage until he happened upon a great clearing. Stepping out onto a rock quarry, he looked over the ledge and stared into a vast, beautiful lagoon. His attention was drawn further up by a waterfall. Looking back down into the lagoon, Mike was in disbelief. Life imitated art, or in the case of what he was thinking, life imitated poorly written erotic smut.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said to himself.
He spent a moment taking the sight in. It was a wonderful place. Looking back into the lagoon, he figured the drop must have been fifty feet or more. Briefly feeling mischievous, he came to his better senses and decided to leave for now so he could find Evals and bring him back to show him. Turning to leave, Mike only took a few steps before abruptly breaking into a run. Jumping off, he hollered excitedly until he splashed into the water. At the last second, a scary thought crossed his mind that he didn’t account for how deep the water was. It could have been shallow, guaranteeing a broken leg or even death. It was too late, but luckily for him, the water was deep, and he torpedoed far enough down that he had to swim back up.
Resurfacing, he gasped for air and laughed. As he floated in the water, Mike enjoyed himself. He wished he could have shared it with Evals but couldn’t resist the jump. Swimming to the rocky shore, Mike got out. He had to be careful he didn’t slip, and some of the jagged rocks weren’t kind on his soft paws. Stopping short of the waterfall, he looked up but could barely see anything as it rained all over his face. Stepping into it, he soaked himself. As cold as it was, it felt good. He couldn’t explain why, but there was always something relieving about how freshwater felt, unlike the ocean. There was a nice contrast between the salty water he swam in and the freshwater now crashing down on him. He let his mouth fill up with it. After swallowing the water, he tried taking more in but ended up with too much and coughed it all out. That was enough water for him.
Stepping out, he found a hidden cave and was even more impressed. There was a chill there that not even the tropical weather outside could temper. The lagoon only got better the more he explored it. Sitting down, he took a moment to admire the waterfall from inside.
A glint of light got his attention. It wasn’t coming from outside, either. Looking back, he saw something in the dirt. Crawling over, Mike dug it out and discovered a mana crystal. Impressed by his find, Mike held it up.
“Would you look at that?”
It was a small crystal. They were a dime a dozen in those sizes that could be found in gift shops in every port town. Still, to find them out here was impressive enough. Mike hated to think about what humans would do to an isolated paradise such as this if they knew mana crystals existed there. They would probably mine it all, destroying the wildlife and working slaves like him to death to get every last piece. They would end up flooding the market and be forced to sell the crystals on the cheap. Closing his hand, Mike didn’t want people to find the island, but that would complicate things since he and Evals needed to be rescued. Their rescuers might not even care who they were except that they were slaves. They might not even get to leave the island and instead be put to work. Just thinking about it sent a chill down his spine.
Turning to leave the cave, he approached the waterfall but glimpsed something. Mike saw his reflection but could have sworn there were others. Perhaps, he was seeing things, or his eyes weren’t adjusting well in the dark. There was also the mana crystal. Opening his hand, he held it out and shined it on the water. At first, he only saw himself. Thinking it was all poppycock, he would have considered nothing more of it, but the light from the crystal flashed into the water and revealed two other foxes standing behind him. Startled, he stumbled back. Just in case, he looked back, but there was nobody there.
“Ok,” he said while glancing at the crystal. “Nobody is there, obviously, but I still saw that.”
Mike knew what he saw, but rather than throw the crystal away as he should, curiosity got the better of him. Shining the crystal back on the waterfall, he saw them again, and he didn’t need to figure out who they were.
“Mom? Dad?”
He never knew what they looked like, but something told him it was them. His mother was beautiful and had the same long hair and eyes as him. With a smile, she put a hand on his shoulder. Mike reached up to touch her, but while he could do that in the reflection, he couldn’t feel her hand in real life.
As for his father, when Mike looked at him, he found him to be average.
He delighted in seeing them but felt sad he never got to know them, nor would he ever get to see them beyond the reflection in the waterfall. When they faded away, Mike reached out to them, but his hand stuck through the waterfall, and he was alone again. Taking a step back, he couldn’t let such visions get to him. Mana crystals, especially where they were in steady supply, were potent, and even a keidran who didn’t know magic, such as himself, could be susceptible to their powers. He glanced back into the cave, wondering how many of them there might be. However, something told him to look back into the waterfall, and when he did, he saw someone else there with him.
This time, Mike could only blush and enjoy seeing himself being embraced from behind. He knew this wasn’t real either, but he let himself think it was for a moment. Perhaps, it could be one day.
A familiar voice asked him, “Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Did I tell you already how much I like seeing you like this?”
He chuckled and responded, “Oh? I never thought you’d go for guys, especially when they’re all wet and stinky like I am.”
“What are you talking about? You’re a vixen.”
Having closed his eyes, Mike opened them and found himself a female in his reflection. Annoyed, he splashed the vision away. The mood had been spoiled, and there was no silly dark Basitin magic excuse he could use this time. Looking at the mana crystal, he tossed it away and left the cave in a huff.

• These are only wolf/storm, some beaearth skills but not mains.
• They are unique heavy, but you can adjust

One of my favorite crazy builds, very late late endgame. May have low survivability most likely but decent all res/dmg reduc.Cons, maybe have too few health gens/no unstoppable.Maybe it can kill everything before he dies :)https://d4builds.gg/builds/b5dc6ef6-ae88-4f49-9a01-d4c54091169b/Uses storm as wolf skills with Lupine mastery to get insane crits and storm/lightning procs. You're a walking crit storm wolf druid. ----- https://d4builds.gg/builds/87185cbc-2695-450e-a139-3be247317e2e/ NF build. Basically applies slow/vul/immobile, good fortify gen and unstoppable from aspect and bulwark. Big defense, and long distance. Buffs to basic skill to get more spirit, some movement speed, and apply vulnerable. Bulwark can proc cyclone armor, vice versa. Spam Lightning storm to get cooldowns on all your storm skills with symbiotic aspect. Which means more earth procs. ----- https://d4builds.gg/builds/ca804eed-1c3b-4f49-aa9f-bd86ef7af24a/This is a high survivability poison wolf build. Shred with poison dmg aspect, companions with rabies, creeper with increased poison duration. Because we have rabies being applied through wolves, we put points into, but replace it on the skill bar with hurricane to get +2 to all werewolf skills. Waxing gibbous is amazing, you'll be critting 24/7. Spirit boons just amplify all these skills, reset companions, and 30% crit boost. ----- https://d4builds.gg/builds/f6918ac4-d16c-4900-96e1-7e03c8f32805/ Similar to the one before, but we go GDire Wolf and roar, instead of companions. We will have max uptime with GR, because we will have 24/7 crits. Good survivability with unstoppable on ultimate, debilitating roablood howl. (fortify and health), fortify passives, rabies to spread poison. Roar to immobilize if needed. Else just shred away. Waxing Gibbious again, because it makes Shred one of the best, if not the best, core skill for Druid.
-----
Idk what will be best, but these are some builds I made that seemed interesting. I'd like to make more Earth/bear builds. Hope this gives good ideas for someone

Hello hello. I hope you enjoy this short introduction of myself.
Some have asked why I've come here to seek this, and really, why are any of us here? We're searching for something that we can't find elsewhere so we've decided to give this a shot.
I've tried other sites without luck and dating is difficult in my area. By that I mean everyone is super country, as in enjoying fishing and listening to country music while complaining about liberals. Or, to phrase it another way - guns, God and Trump. That's a hard pass for me, so this seems like the next step.
A couple of things before I start:
Distance isn't an issue for me. I'm hoping to meet someone and chat to see where things lead, if there's a connection of any sort. If there is, we can move from there. Distance is a relatively small issue if you can find someone who is truly perfect for you, after all.
I should also mention that, for the most part, age isn't an issue. To some extent it will be of course, but I don't mind a bit of an age gap in either direction at all. If it's an issue for you, that's understandable; however, if you think it will be for me, well the only way to really find out is to message me, now isn't it?
I'm open to anyone who sees this and is interested (including those of any experience level) as I don't want to limit myself when I could possibly find chemistry with someone.
Also, while I am in general an emotionally intelligent, nurturing and supportive person, I'm also a massive sadist. To be more specific, I enjoy psychological sadism (although physical sadism is definitely fun too) and that is reflected in my kinks and, to some extent, my personality. While I believe boundaries and limits are to be respected at all times, and I don't enjoy anything if my partner doesn't, I absolutely love teasing, tormenting and torturing my partner in both play and everyday life.
Prepare for a mountain of text! It's a bit long, but I assure you it's worth the read. I decided that since I'm putting myself out there with a post, I want to truly and fully put myself out there and represent myself. I'm hoping that those reading this will recognize the effort that was put into this and get a good feel for who I am as a person. If you feel it's too much, save it for later, skim or even just message me if you would rather get to know me more naturally.
My post is cobbled together from thoughts, beliefs and realizations that I have come upon in my years in the lifestyle (which is why you might see slightly different styles of writing in different parts, this post is taken from my kink profiles and are the sum result of over ten years of experience that I find I still add to every now and then. I try to edit and organize it a bit from time to time, but it's difficult due to the fact that there's so much that I wish to include.)
Long story short, I can be a bit...rambly, sometimes. So apologies in advance for that, although I have recently made great strides in editing my post. So I've got that going for me, which is nice.
While it's certainly a lengthy read, it's not nearly as bad as it seems. I recommend reading the whole thing (obviously since I wrote it), especially if you're interested in getting to know a kinky, geeky and empathetic person.
Now that I've covered that, it's time to get to the part you've been waiting for.

About me:

I decided to put this part first because I believe that, above all else, the people involved should connect on a personal level and "click", if you will. This tells about who I am and my hobbies and such. If someone can't accept this part of me, how could we possibly get along?
I'm a lighthearted, playful and fairly laid back, yet somewhat serious minded, person who's rather upbeat and probably too curious for his own good. I'm also kind, caring, friendly, sometimes cynical and often sarcastic (although in a lighthearted manner, and never at the expense of others.) There's nothing I love to do more than laugh; I love most things involving humor, although I do believe there's a very fine line between hilarity and stupidity.
Now, for some little bits of trivia about me:

• According to the Myers-Briggs system, I'm an INFP. Online tests can give you an idea of where to start, but they're not that reliable and the results can change depending on your mood that day. To truly discover your type requires self-reflection to learn about your cognitive functions, and while doing so I learned a lot about myself. I don't follow it religiously, but I believe there are some elements of truth to it.
• I'm definitely a Type B Personality.
• I'm a hopeless romantic, an old soul who's young at heart, a cynical optimist and a realistic dreamer.
• I'm definitely that type that believes in better safe than sorry, and one of my mottos is "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst." I also tend to do copious amounts of research before any big decision.
• I consider myself to be a very grounded, down to earth and genuine person.
• I'm extremely friendly and believe in treating others with the same respect that you would like to receive and generally try to do what I feel is "right" by others (more on that in a bit.)
• I like to believe in the best of human nature, although I seem to be let down a fair bit. Even so, I don't want to let that stop me.
• I have very strong values and ideals, and an even stronger moral compass.
• I believe people are free to do and believe what they want, so long as they don't harm themselves, harm, cause trouble for or inconvenience others, or attempt to force those beliefs on others.
• I believe that a life lived for others is the only life worth living.
• I believe that there's no point in worrying about things that you can't change. If you let yourself get dragged down by it and obsess over it, you'll find yourself crushed under the weight of all the injustices in the world.
• I've been told (rather often actually) that I have a very nice voice, frequently being told that I should go into radio or be an announcer of some kind. I'm very expressive and my voice reflects that, having lots of highs and lows. Truthfully, I believe it's one of my better features.
• I much prefer talking to typing in general, especially when first getting to know someone as you get a much better idea of their personality. Also, I feel like I come across kind of...stiff in my writing style when that's very much not me, so voice allows me to showcase my truest self.
• I tend to be a confidant of sorts; due to my open and genuine nature and what I've been told is a welcoming...aura, I suppose, people tend to find me easy to talk to and trust, coming to me to confide things and seek out advice. This is something that brings me great happiness and pride as having the trust of others is important to me.
• Promises are very important to me; once I give my word in regards to something I'll keep it, even if I don't particularly want to. As cheesy as it might sound, to me my word is my bond.
• Admittedly, subtlety is not one of my strong points. I'm a very open, upfront and honest person. I'm terrible at lying (I hate doing it and I just give away that I am) and can't keep a straight face to save my life. If I were an actor, I would probably be Jimmy Fallon.
• I welcome people to give me constructive criticism and feedback as I'm constantly looking to improve myself. Yes, that even includes those that message me saying my post is far too long.
• I can't fake a smile to save my life, it has to be genuine for me. One of the many reasons I hate having photos taken of me.
• I find intelligence, humor and kindness to be the most desirable traits in a partner (although being easy on the eyes doesn't hurt.)
• My senses are all very sensitive, and can sometimes overwhelm me when I'm introduced to new stimuli.
• I used to do drugs. I still do, but I used to too. Wait, I'm just kidding, just wanted to throw a little Mitch Hedberg in here. I don't drink, smoke or do drugs. While I have no issue with those who drink, I do tend to avoid smokers and hardcore drug users.
• Despite what the length of my post may say about me, I absolutely hate writing.
• I enjoy visiting places but hate the actual traveling (which is one of the reasons why if I could have one power it would be teleportation [actually if I could have one power it would be the ability to manipulate space and time, however for simplicity's sake I'm just going to say teleportation for now {not Star Trek teleportation though, fuck that.}])
• I hate waiting and I hate making others wait.
• I love the symbolism of trees and what they represent: strength, vitality, protection.
• If I had to rank the seven deadly sins in the order that I'm guilty of from most to least, it would go: Gluttony, Pride, Sloth, Lust, Envy, Greed and Wrath.
• If I were to list the Magic the Gathering colors that I most identify with from most to least, it would go: White, Blue, Green, Red and then Black.
• Growing up I was all about DBZ, Dinosaurs, Gargoyles, Ghostbusters, Ninja Turtles, Pokémon, Power Rangers, Spider-Man & X-Men.
• I absolutely love animals and have two cats of my own, Ivy and Jasmine (there are wonderful stories behind both names), that I love to death. I probably talk to them like people a bit too much.
• I spend far more time living in my head than I should.
• I firmly believe that breakfast offers the best food. I could eat waffles everyday.
• I call Gatorade by their flavors as opposed to their colors.
• I absolutely love when I'm thirsty and soda burns my throat.
• You won't catch me running unless something is chasing me. Partially because I have asthma, but mostly because running is awful.

Over the past several years I've come to appreciate music a lot more than I used to (before it was simply used as background noise as I can't stand silence) and have discovered that I'm a fan of alt-metal, heavy metal and hard rock more than anything else.
Some bands I enjoy include:

Adelitas Way, Amaranthe, Breaking Benjamin, Disturbed, Evans Blue, Five Finger Death Punch, Gemini Syndrome, Otherwise, Pop Evil, Sevendust, Shinedown, Shaman's Harvest, State of Mine, Theory of a Deadman, Three Days Grace (before Adam Gontier left)

I enjoy other types of music as well, for example another band I like is Bowling for Soup as I love their sense of humor; it's great to see people not taking music so seriously. I'm also a fan of big band music, which I actually have Fallout 3 to thank for. I enjoy classical musical as well and, despite having no real knowledge of it and most of it sounding the same, I find it incredibly relaxing and peaceful.
While I enjoy relaxing and watching television, I have trouble watching hour long shows as I can only focus on it for so long before my attention wavers, around that time I start looking at my phone and just waiting for it to be over. It's also why I don't watch too many movies; I need my entertainment bite sized. I'll watch movies every once in a while, but they generally need to be 100 minutes tops (unless it's something I'm super into.).
I have difficulty getting into things that are realistic; they usually need to be fantastical in nature and capture my imagination. My preferred genres are comedy, horror (mainly supernatural, no slashers) and most things involving special powers or abilities, however I can sometimes get into action or drama as well. I also have a love for the world of animation, possibly because they tend to be more creative and aren't limited by reality; it's part of why I'm so partial to anime.
Some shows that I'm fond of are:

Animation: Adventure Time, American Dad, Archer, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Bob's Burgers, Bojack Horseman, [China, IL], Disenchantment, Futurama, HarmonQuest, Harvey Birdman: Attorney at Law, King of the Hill, Metalocalypse, Mike Tyson Mysteries, Mr. Pickles, Rick and Morty, Robot Chicken, South Park, Superjail, Ugly Americans, Venture Bros.
Live-action: Arrested Development, Better Call Saul, Breaking Bad, Carnivàle, Dexter, Eureka, Friends, Game of Thrones, The Good Place, House, The Lost Room, Monk, The Muppets (2015 series), The Office, Parks and Rec, Psych, Stargate, Stranger Things, Walking Dead, Warehouse 13, Wilfred

I definitely binge my shows, I like to wait for a season (or preferably an entire series) to be done before I jump into it. I'm also the type that's fine watching something just once. If I ever feel the need to watch it again it will be many, many years later. This extends to games as well, I generally need things with replayability such as MOBA's or Rogue-likes.
Gaming is easily one of my biggest hobbies and has been for many, many years now. I see it as an art form, as a way to tell a story that you can deeply immerse yourself in and get pulled into, something that can captivate you and make you lose all track of time because it's simply so engrossing. It's also a damn good way to have fun and kill time, especially when you're playing with friends. It's a big part of my life and something I have spent quite a bit of time and money on. Some people may be put off by this, but it a part of me that I will not deny or hide; after all, if someone has an issue with that then how compatible could we possibly be?
Some video games that hold a special place in my heart are:

Action/Adventure: Alan Wake, Assassin's Creed, Bastion, Batman: Arkham Asylum, Bayonetta, Brütal Legend, Bully, Darksiders, Dark Souls (first one), Deadly Premonition, Dead Space, Devil May Cry (3 & 5), Enslaved: Odyssey to the West, Heavy Rain, Hellblade, Infamous, Last of Us, Legend of Zelda (A Link to the Past, Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask, Wind Waker), Luigi's Mansion, Metal Gear Solid (Twin Snakes, 3, 4 & 5), Ninja Gaiden (2004), Overlord, Phantom Crash, Resident Evil 2 remake, Saint's Row 2, The Saboteur, TMNT: Turtles in Time
Fighting: Anarchy Reigns, Blazblue (series), DBZ: Budokai, Dragon Ball Fighterz, Marvel vs Capcom (2 & 3), Mortal Kombat (9 & 11), Soul Calibur 3, Super Smash Bros. Melee
MOBA: Dota 2, Guardians of Middle Earth, Heroes of the Storm
Rogue-like: Binding of Isaac, Crypt of the Necrodancer, Darkest Dungeon, Dead Cells, Don't Starve, FTL, Monster Train, Slay the Spire
RPG: Bravely Default, Dragon Age (Origins and Inquisition), Dragon's Dogma, Elder Scrolls (Oblivion and Skyrim), Fable (1 & 2), Fallout (3 & New Vegas), Final Fantasy (IX, X & Tactics Advance), Grim Dawn, Mass Effect 2, Pillars of Eternity (series), Pokémon (Red, Blue, Yellow, Gold, Silver & Stadium), Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic, Suikoden 2, Tyranny, The Witcher (2 & 3)
Shooter: Bioshock (series), Battlefield Bad Company (1 & 2), The Darkness, Deep Rock Galactic, Gears of War (1 & 3), Left 4 Dead, Shadowrun (2007 FPS), Team Fortress 2 (when it first came out, it's a little much now), Vanquish
Simulation: Animal Crossing (first one), Doki Doki Literature Club, Harvest Moon, Life is Strange, Pokémon Snap, Tabletop Simulator
Strategy: Civilization (3 & 4), Endless Legend, Magic the Gathering: Duels of the Planeswalkers (2012 & 2013), Portal, Star Wars: Galactic Battlegrounds, Warcraft 3

Not only that, but I've also gotten into tabletop gaming, including both board and pen and paper games (such as Dungeons and Dragons.) I initially got into the latter as an exercise to strengthen my creative muscles but found it was a fun way to goof off with friends. For the former, it's almost gotten to the point that I enjoy them more than most video games as it provides an experience that you don't get anymore; friends gathered around and competing against one another or cooperating against a common foe, something that's disappeared with the advent of the internet.
Some board games that I love are:

BANG! The Dice Game, Dead of Winter, Dice Throne, Epic Spell Wars, King of New York, Lords of Waterdeep, Munchkin, Pandemic, Red Dragon Inn

I enjoy reading as well, although I find it difficult to find a book that can keep my focus and really draw me in like I crave. I'm constantly on the prowl for new material, and my favorite genres would probably be apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic, dystopian, horror and dark fantasy/grimdark, although I'm certainly in the market for something that has a good element of humor to it as well. If you have any recommendations, I'd absolutely love to hear them!
Bring up video/board/tabletop games, super powers, comics, cartoons, anime, manga, sci-fi, fantasy or technology and I'll happily chat your ear off. I'm quite social and love to talk, however I'm also an introvert so there are plenty of times where the pressure of constant social interactions with others gets to me and I need to take some time to myself to mentally recharge.
As I mentioned, I absolutely adore animals. Seriously, if you want to make me hate a bad guy, have him hurt an animal. Ironically, I'm practically a carnivore. I'm convinced that I would starve if I had to hunt for my own food just because I couldn't bring myself to hurt them.
Speaking of food, I'm a bit of a foodie (I dislike that word, but it's accurate.) I'm all about sauces, seasonings and spices, not to mention a love for anything deep fried. I love experiencing different tastes and textures while trying new things...as long as they're not vegetables. No veggies, except corn and potatoes; those two get a pass as they're amazing. I also enjoy onions and peppers in small quantities in dishes.
I've got a nice guy next door look in that I have no tattoos or piercings, have glasses, stay clean shaven and have a bit of a baby face (as in I look rather young, I often get mistaken for being in my mid 20's). I wouldn't say that with my look I would be called handsome, sexy or hot (however I am often called cute (I've also been called handsome a fair amount, it still feels weird though.) I'm also rather pale due to the fact that I stay indoors most of the time (if you can't tell from that, I'm white.) Because of my appearance, and my friendly and laid back nature, people tend to view me as rather innocent. I suppose that isn't entirely incorrect though, I'll admit that I can be a bit naive at times in regards to people and the world.
As for politics and religion, I tend to try to stay away from both.
While I believe I'm somewhat in the middle for the former, as I have views from both sides, if I had to choose I'd say I definitely lean way more towards the left. I believe in the greater good, the needs of the many over the needs of the few, in advancing science and finding alternative fuels and materials that don't pollute or destroy our environment in the process, in trying to create a brighter future, etc, etc. I'm definitely not on the far left however, and hate social justice and cancel culture. I'm empathetic and all, but people need to stop getting offended by every tiny thIng and creating problems that don't exist. That's definitely not exclusive to the left, the right is very guilty of it as well.
For the latter, I generally just consider myself not religious as I don't think or care about it too much. If I had to classify it though I'd say I'm agnostic. This means that, while I don't believe in any god or gods, I acknowledge that they might exist. While I'm 99.3̅3̅3̅% certain that there is no grand creator or afterlife, there's no real way we can know for certain. We're a very young and ignorant species, there's much about life and the universe that we are unaware of or don't understand yet.
I just try to focus on being a good person and doing right by others, not for some earthly or heavenly reward, or for a smug sense of self satisfaction, but because it's simply what I want to do. It's who I am and what makes me feel good about myself.
I try my best to live by The Golden Rule (also known as treat others you the way you wish to be treated or do unto others as you would have them do unto you), being guided by own moral compass that directs me in how I interact with others. I always do my very best to make others feel wanted, cared for, appreciated and understood, to give them validation; I never want anyone to feel left out or unwanted, for any reason at all. Perhaps it's from my own difficult childhood, since I felt that way when I was young and don't want others to go through the same things that I did. Whatever the reason, whenever I say or do anything I tend to, without even realizing it, think about how it will affect the other person and the different ways that it could be taken. I strive to treat others with the courtesy and respect that I believe that they deserve.
As I mentioned, I have a strong moral compass. The only problem is, this is true North for my compass; I feel that's the correct way to treat and interact with others, and I believe that's what everyone should do. So when other people don't act in the way that I believe they should, even though I know everyone is different and everyone has different thoughts, feelings and experiences that led them to those (we are the product of our environments after all), it can bother me. I've come to realize that this is due to holding myself to extremely high standards, and often holding other people to the same standards to which I hold myself.
Unfortunately, that can lead to conflicts with others, sometimes over things that they might feel to be insignificant. It doesn't happen very often though as I can recognize whether something is actually a big deal or not and put it to the back of my mind; I wouldn't be a very good friend or partner if I nitpicked over every little thing, now would I? Despite being very much driven by my moral compass, I'm also calm, collected, understanding and logical by nature.
I've realized that I used to put a lot of pressure on myself when interacting with others, trying to be funny and entertaining, overall trying to make sure that they were having a good time and enjoying themselves. If, for whatever reason, I felt that they were bored I ended up trying even harder to keep them engaged and joyful. It was somewhat of a bad habit of mine; I suppose I just felt like I had a personal stake in everyone that I interacted with, a responsibility almost, and didn't want to leave them wanting. I still do this to some extent, but not as much as I used to; as I've grown and matured, and my anxiety has lessened, I've learned to pull back a bit and that I don't need to carry everyone's burden on my shoulders. I still wish to keep people engaged and happy, and still take on more responsibility than I probably should, however I imagine that I'll always be that way; it's just in my nature.
I'm an emotionally intelligent and extremely empathetic person who's well aware of his inner workings due to my introspective nature. I'm easily able to see things from multiple perspectives, which I believe is because of how I process empathy. I don't necessarily feel the exact pain of others, but I mirror it; it's second nature for me to put myself in their position which allows me to understand the plethora of ways they can think and feel. This is something that is a core part of who I am and that I take great pride in.
I feel deeply, which can lead to me taking things to heart and sometimes reading too much into things or overanalyzing them. Thankfully, due to my great experience in emotional control and regulation (which I'm about to go into), I'm generally able to take a step back from my emotions and understand the intent and meaning behind words and actions so there's less of a chance of misunderstanding.
Because I feel so deeply, that caused problems for me when I was younger. My emotions were a swirling vortex, out of control and ready to burst out at any second. Puberty certainly didn't make this any easier either.
It's been said that our personal identity is 80% environmental and 20% genetic. While I might be genetically predispositioned to feeling so deeply, a lot of it likely comes from traumas experienced in childhood and my inability to process them properly. They left scars that I'm still dealing with today, and as a result of said scars, growing up I was diagnosed with PTSD, anxiety, depression and OCD, on top of the ADHD that I already had. However, I'm thankfully in a very good place thanks to a combination of past therapy, current medication and constant reflection.
I've done a lot of work to be able to get a handle on my emotions. Because I got used to having them under such control, I've been told that at times I can come across as kind of indifferent or hard to read. That's one of the reasons that I'm such an upfront, open, honest and expressive person; I want people to be able to understand me and I generally tell exactly what I'm thinking or how something makes me feel so that others can do that.
Honestly, one of my biggest fears is that no one will ever be able to understand me like I understand myself. It's right up there with a fear of the unknown (one is the reasons I don't do deep water, I don't want to fuck with any Cthulhu monsters that are down there) and losing my memories, as in the end we're just a sum of our memories and I don't want to lose who I am.
I never claimed to be perfect; I have my flaws as well, and try to work on them every day to improve myself as a person. Since I've already put so much of myself into my profile, I thought that it was only right to put the negative parts in as well.
While some of these things could certainly be considered negative traits, I believe that they help make me the Dom that I am. Because I AM so compassionate, because I AM so empathetic, because I HAVE been through so much and still keep going, I feel that I can give a sub or a slave what she truly needs to thrive in her environment. Feel free to read more about that below.

My Beliefs:

If I had to break down why this all appeals to me to one reason, to put it simply, I'd have to say that I'm the kind of person who wants to be needed. I find that, overall, I feel more driven and fulfilled if I know that I have someone that depends on me. If I have someone whose best interests I must keep in mind, who I need to protect and care for, I feel a greater sense of purpose than the humdrum rumblings of everyday life.
When you combine that with my nurturing and empathetic nature this type of relationship is the natural choice for me (more on that next). I believe that's also why I find myself naturally drawn to the weak, the helpless and the damaged. I have an overwhelming desire to heal them, to help and protect them while nurturing them and watching them grow into who I know they can be, which goes with what I was saying before.
A sub knows that her Dom loves her unconditionally and only wants what is best for her. While I do certainly enjoy doing this, I primarily do this to help my sub above all else. I'm a nurturing soul who wishes nothing more than to protect his partner. To take care of her and help her when she needs it. To be her support and her life line. To give her the guidance, structure and discipline she needs to feel fulfilled in life. To set rules and guidelines so that she can move freely within those set limits and be happy. To help her decide what is best for her when she herself doesn't know. To provide the security and comfort of knowing that she is being taken care of and that she has someone she can talk to about anything without any sort of judgment or prejudice. I want her to thrive and become the person that she was always meant to be. I enjoy pushing my sub to explore her boundaries and limits, within reason of course. I simply wish to see her flourish and blossom, to help her become what I know she can be and reach higher plateaus.
I realize the previous paragraphs could sound condescending in some ways, however that couldn't be further from the truth. I see my partner as an equal, someone who simply has different needs that I can fulfill so that they can live a fulfilling life themselves, and in turn by fulfilling those needs of theirs, I feel fulfilled as well. We ultimately form a symbiotic relationship of sorts.
Make no mistake, I have no desire to micromanage every tiny detail of my sub's life, nor form a codependent relationship where she's entirely reliant upon me for her mental and emotional needs. The level and extent of the D/s relationship is decided after long discussion and input from both parties.
Some believe that being a Dom is just telling people what to do and getting what you want while getting off, but it's so much more than that. It's not as easy or simple as it appears, you must always keep what is best for your sub in mind, even if it conflicts with your own immediate or future interests. You must constantly be aware of her needs and desires while providing checks and balances to help her live a life worth living. Anyone can simply give a sub what she wants, it takes a true Dom to say no because you feel that is what is best for her.
At least that's how it should be. There are so many "Doms" out there that don't care about their subs at all, only themselves. They don't care if they're suffering physically or emotionally, they simply use them as toys they can play with and then toss aside when they're bored; they abuse them and hurt them simply because they get a kick out of it. A real Dom/sub relationship is a very special and strong bond, much more so than a vanilla relationship in my opinion. So many people seem to have issues understanding that unfortunately, there's a certain stigma associated with this and preconceptions are formed before they even learn anything about it.
Truthfully, I believe the sub holds the power in the relationship in many ways. She is the one that is choosing to submit after all, to give up her power and control to the Dom. Despite that, she is the one that has control over the power of safe words, that can stop an activity with a single utterance. Her subservience is completely voluntary, something that many people don't seem to think about. It's not simply about someone bossing someone around because they can, it's about someone choosing a partner that they feel is worthy to give their all to.

What I'm looking for:

I'm not here looking for a booty call or one night stand, but to find a potential partner in crime, possibly for life if a connection is made. More than anything, I simply wish to find someone who looks at me the way this girl looks at her prom date.
While the following is my ideal, as I said at the beginning, I'm open to talking to anyone that reads this. However, I'm not particularly interested in "littles" or "brats".
Ideally my partner would be what is typically called an adult babygirl, and I'd like to elaborate on that term since some might not be familiar with it. Essentially it's someone who enjoys the nurturing, loving and structured aspect of a Daddy Dom or DD/lg relationship but isn't a little themselves; meaning that they don't have a mental age that they regress to, among other things. (I don't identify as a Daddy myself, however due to my protective and supportive/nurturing nature you could say I'm Daddy leaning.)
Some people have their entire lives revolve around the lifestyle, going to munches, conventions, parties and attempting to reach out to their community and find a place to belong. That might work for them, but it's of no interest to me. While I'm certainly not opposed to chatting and making friends and connections, I have no desire to be a part of a community. I'm simply seeking one whose ideas and beliefs line up with my own for a symbiotic relationship as I mentioned before
If I had to describe such a relationship, it would definitely be on the lighter side of the spectrum in regards to what daily life would be like. I'm seeking a 24/7 TPE, however I also enjoy being casual with my sub. Perhaps in some ways it's more similar to a vanilla relationship with strong Dom/sub undertones than a typical BDSM relationship.
In my perfect situation, we would still be able to joke around, have fun and be very close and romantic; however there is also the constant understanding that I am in charge, and what I say goes. No matter how much fun we may be having or what we might be doing, she should always know her place, even if it's only in the back of her mind. There are rules in place for her benefit, and if she breaks those rules she will be punished.
By what I say goes, I mean I have the final say in subjects because, as a submissive, she has given the reins of power over to me. She trusts me to make her decisions for her and to do what is best for her, to take care of and protect her. I'm never the type to say "this is how it's going to be, I don't care what you want, end of discussion" as discourse is the only way two people can truly understand one another. I always value my submissive's input and always want her to give her opinion and speak her mind if something is bothering her.
My ideal sub would be one that is loyal and devoted above all else, but also one who is looking for a Dom she can actually have a connection with. One that, not necessarily needs, but craves guidance, support, structure and discipline in their life; whose life does not feel complete without this, like there is a void deep inside her that cannot be filled unless she has a Dom to guide and take care of her, that she can in turn make happy and serve to the best of her ability.
Beyond anything else though, I want to like them as a person before I love them as a sub. My perfect partner would be someone who is intelligent, kind-hearted, earnest, funny and a has a fair touch of dorkiness in her. I want her to be someone that actually has personality, that I can laugh with and talk to for hours upon hours on end and still hate the thought of leaving. Someone that will either indulge my love of games and geekery or join me because she's just as much of a fan of those things as I am. Someone who loves how I tease and torment her, keeping her on the edge and revelling in the pleasure I get from watching her squirm.
One thing to note is that just because I am very friendly (sometimes people are surprised when I begin acting more Dominant, others aren't as they say they can "sense it in the way I present myself", even while being friendly and joking around) doesn't mean that I'm not strict when I have to be. I have no problem at all with enforcing rules and giving out punishments, although it's certainly not my favorite aspect of the relationship. I would prefer to reward, encourage and nurture my sub, however there are times when discipline is necessary; if one feels the need to act up, one must be ready accept the consequences after all.
If I had to describe my style of dominance, or what makes me dominant, I suppose that would be a little tricky. I don't feel the need to control everything, nor do I attempt to, and I have no problem with kicking back and letting others take the reigns in everyday situations if I feel they're more qualified or I just plain don't feel like it. Nor am I the type that "oozes" dominance, I don't care for confrontation and am a very easy going, go with the flow person. What I believe it boils down to is I simply feel comfortable with power and, quite frankly, enjoy it. I bear the burden of leadership well, it comes naturally to me and I thrive when I have the weight of another's life on my shoulders; I have little trouble making hard decisions when I need to. It also helps that my sexual inclinations line up with this nicely. If it doesn't last quite some time and doesn't end with both parties panting and soaked in sweat, I'm not particularly interested in it.
On that note, I have quite the kinky side despite my friendly and charming exterior. I suppose I should list it here because, while certainly not the primary focus of my interest in this, sexual compatibility does factor in to some extent.
My kinks are:

Anal, begging, biting, blowjobs, body worship, bondage, choking, cock worship, consensual non-consent, creampies, crying (the good kind), cumplay, deepthroating, degradation, desperation, dirty talking, face fucking, facials, free use, hair pulling, hole stretching (basically pushing my partner to her limits), humiliation, hypnosis, name calling, objectification, orgasm control (which includes edging, forced orgasms, orgasm denial and ruined orgasms), public play (in a discreet manner), slapping, spanking, spitting and teasing.

One thing I feel I should mention is that the acts of degradation and humilation are limited to play time and only sexual in nature, never attacking my partner in any way.
I also believe very strongly in aftercare and safe words as the mental and emotional well being of my partner is very important.
I realize there's no one way to live this lifestyle, but I feel like a lot of what I said should be obvious and general knowledge in regards to this; however from my experience it doesn't seem to be that way too often (not referring to the that are inexperienced in this, more those that do this for the wrong reason), which is why I wanted to share my views in such detail.
I feel like I've rambled on enough already and am dangerously close to having a TL;DR (yeah, I hit that ages ago), so I'll just say that if you're interested in learning more about me and getting to know me, you can give me a message and we'll see where things go. I like to get to know people naturally, just talk with them and see where things lead, whether that be a short chat, a simple friendship or something more. It seems silly to have expectations when you don't even know the person or how you'll get along.
Even if you're nervous or anxious, you think you might not be good enough, doubt my intentions or anything along those lines, still give me a message. After all, what do you have to lose?
Thanks for taking the time to read my little novella, I hope to hear from you soon. So long, and thanks for reading!

(Prev) Wiki
A Spacer’s life is spent in two states: Sheer terror, or staring at a countdown. Raised Admiral Thursh Whoomerson sat in his command chair aboard his Human No, you feather-brain, CONFEDERATED flagship and tried not to stare at the ever-so-slowly changing numbers. It gets worse when you are in command. Everyone else has something to do, well, nearly everyone else. At least everyone on the bridge. Anything I try to do now will either look like over-eagerness, anxiety, or a lack of trust in my crew. He turned to look at the plot, relaxed his body, and started in on a meditation he’d learned specifically to make time seem to pass faster while projecting an air of calm confidence towards his crew.
For a wonder it worked for once. A soft ping brought him out of his meditation as the timer hit zero and the Xaltan fleet neared the gravity trap they’d lain in their path. He allowed himself a cold smile as dozens of potential trajectory lines for each enemy ship sprang up on his plot and his his ‘radar’ controllers tried desperately to narrow the possibilities down. The Benzegal Shipyards my fall before this war is over… but not today!
After a few minutes the lines had been reduced to a mere handful for each ship and – better – all of them had converged in to a small enough area for what he wanted to do next. He hit a few controls and outlined a section of space, and the ship’s computer calculated the time-to-fire for him.
He sent the target solution off to all of his Ship Captains, then opened up a fleet-wide comms channel. “The Xaltans have arrived for the dance just on time. Welcome Fleet, you have your designated targets, and I will send you adjusted engagement vectors if they seem necessary, but it doesn’t look like it will. It looks like our dance partners are doing an unusually good job of dealing with the grav-sheer of our little surprise, and will arrive in tight order. Lets reward their efforts with a warm welcome, shall we?”
He heard a few dark chuckles across his flag bridge and nodded inwardly. Moral is still running high, and that is good. How will it be two years from now when we are still having to engage the Xaltan fleet?
Another timer began to tick off seconds. As it neared zero Whoomerson gave his command. “All ships in Welcome Fleet, fire all guns and energy weapons, maximum dispersion patterns. Fill that area of space with everything we can put in it for the next forty seconds. Fighter wings, as soon as the fire is complete, I want every fighter we have moving at maximum acceleration, mode 2.”
The deck tremored beneath him as his own main gun fired, then all secondary batteries went off right behind it. Yet another counter started, timing the barrage, as his gunners cycled through their weapons. The plot showed what seemed to be a haze eminating from his fleet and crawling toward the ever-tightening field of his enemy’s return to normal space.
A light appeared on his console. He looked down at his Comms officer and shook his head, then punched the necessary buttons to officially deny the enemy Commander’s attempt to communicate. He had to force his feathers down as he leaned back in his seat and shared a commiserating glance with his Comms Chief. What point would there be in talking to a dead man? I know he has multiple suicidal ‘loyalty officers’ on every one of his ships, ready to blow them up rather than retreat or – cool breeze forbid – surrender. He also knows that I know. He shook his head quietly. No. They can’t surrender, can’t retreat, can’t even listen to reason… and talking to that Walking Dead Man would do nothing but hurt the moral of my crew. And, possibly myself.
The latest timer mercifully hit zero at last. Well, mercifully for himself and his ruminations… not so much for the Xaltans. The singularities on the Xaltan ships finally gave out under the grav-sheer of the larger singularity several of his ships were maintaining, and those ships translated – hard – down into normal space. The Admiral had to hand it to them: they’d kept their battle line in far better order than most spacers would have been able to under the circumstances.
Sadly, for them, that meant that all of them came out directly into the teeth of his fleet’s ordinance. They came out in their standard wheel-and-spoke: small and mid-sized screening ships in a rotating disc-shaped formation overlapping their shields to provide cover for the larger capital ships behind them. Of course, the formation didn’t work so well when you got hit before your shields could spin up.
Nearly a third of the ‘wheel’ simply ceased to exist in an instant. Another third of it took crippling damage and could no longer hold their formation. Most of the rest took a number of hits, but some had been lucky enough to come out a little behind their fellows, and were spared the worst of the damage. Then the Capital ships hit the cloud. All of them began to roll instantly, trying to spread the damage against as much of their armor as they could. One managed to get its shield up even before they passed through the cloud of fire. Another one sputtered and went dark. A hard half-growl half-cheer went around the Flag Bridge as that capital ship’s icon winked out, but no one looked up from their stations so Whoomerson let it slide.
Opening round to me, then… though that isn’t hard when you get to ambush an unsuspecting opponent. Surprise is the ultimate High Ground. He turned to fleet-comm. “You have already sent tactical data to the Under Fleet?” The woman at the station nodded. “Good.” He thumbed the fleet-channel. “Opening salvo goes to us, but you all know that these lizards will fight to the last: they have no choice. All Captains, weapons free! Mark your targets, rotate your fire, and don’t let up.”
He then took control of the plot and watched as the two fleets converged. The Xaltans closed their ranks quickly, allowing overly damaged ships to fall behind the screen. They kept the same formation, however: The loss of one Captial ship meant that they still had enough screeners to maintain cover. Only the Pinigra and the Kothro can use that particular formation to its true potential, and the Pinigra – from what I understand – only because they let their computers do most of the navigating. He shook his head slightly. Still it is effective. Or, has been. Too bad the Humans figured out how to anticipate the holes they open up for their big ships to fire.
He drew some vectors on the plot for fighters to go out and flank the screen disc, looked at the computer’s projections of the disc’s movements, and assigned a few priority targets. And another timer. “All first line ships: when that timer hits zero you are to concentrate fire on the marked targets. Two salvos each, then go back to your previous firing zones.”
Acknowledgments floated up from the pit, but he had already moved his concentration forward. He unconsciously leaned in to study the plot, and… there. He almost sighed as he started Yet Another Timer… and then another one a little before it. “Underfleet, you have your countdown timer. You can see where it will put you, work your firing solutions out now. Welcome fleet, when your timer runs down you are to slow to fleet speed three. Make it look like we are growing timid from the fire we are taking.”
He suppressed a wince as the icon for one of his own picket ships winked out, and another signaled a need to come off the Line. “And, for flight’s sake, watch your shield-overlaps! I want the Xaltans to think we are taking too much damage, not for it to happen!”
More acknowledgements floated up from the pit. They got cocky. I’m going to ream some Captains when this is done. Movement at the edge of the Xaltan disc caught his eye, and he watched two flights of his fighters crest the disc at different locations… and be immediately destroyed by wide-angle sweeping shots from several of the large destroyers.
Whoomerson grimaced slightly, but then turned his attention to the rest of the Xaltan ships and smiled. The fighters had been a long shot, at best. He allowed himself to ruminate out loud. “It appears that the Xaltans are capable of learning, at least a little, and have learned not to let our fighters get around their discs.
“Now, lets teach them a lesson about ignoring a bull to swat a fly.” One of the timers reached zero, and the ships he’d designated fired their two salvos at specific ships within the Xaltan disc. As his ships fired he selected two points on the disc, and set yet another timer, along with an order that all ships fire everything they had on those spots when the timer hit zero.
The ships in the disc which had been the target of the salvos pushed extra power to their shields, at the cost of their engines, and rolled to distribute the force. Then they found themselves alone, in a small empty segment of the disc, with the combined might of several Xaltan Capital ships pouring through the hole which had opened up. The picket ships were destroyed, utterly, and managed to absorb a great deal of the fire caused by those openings. Yes, oh mighty Xaltans. Continue to use the same strategies against us over and over. Couldn’t possibly go badly for you.
At the same moment the entire fleet opened up with everything they had, and sent a colossal barrage of fire streaming at two points in the disc. Even that barrage would never have penetrated the overlapped shields of the disc… except that another of those openings widened in the disc, almost as if the Xaltan wanted to accept the fire.
The barrages sailed through the open space, though a few less well aimed shot did singe the shields on a few picket ships. The energy weapons, near-lightspeed missiles, and super high-velocity slugs tore directly into the exposed underbellies of the destroyers which had positioned themselves to take out his fighter wings.
Three of the destroyers went dark, and two others began to lose their places in the formation. To their credit, the Xaltan fleet responded in good order. The disc of picket ships abruptly changed their movements, obviously responding to an order to change their defensive pattern. At the same time, their capital ships made a path to allow the injured ships to limp away from the fight without doing too much to their order of battle.
Whomerson felt a hard smile play at his lips. Not much, but enough.
As the damaged ships reached the middle of the Capital ship’s formation, another timer hit zero, and Whoomerson’s fleet opened with another full barrage. This time they didn’t concentrate their fire, but spread it across the enemy disc, causing all of their ships to respond and focus their attention on his fleet… rather than the Underfleet which translated down from FTL space just ‘below’ them.
The Xaltan formation finally responded badly. After all this time, and the way they work their formations, they still get locked into two-dimensional thinking so easily. The picket ships all had their shields focused on the incoming fire, and probably had lost both communications and sensors for a moment.
The Capital ship formation found itself, with its mobility badly hampered by their own tight formation and the damaged ships 'falling' through them made it worse.
The Underfleet announced their presence by firing at the unshielded ‘back side’ of the defensive disc, destroying whole sections of it and allowing nearly a quarter of Welcome Fleet’s barrage to pass thorough what had suddenly become so much space-dust.
They then fired into the fleet of Capital ships, which also had their shields mostly forcused forwards towards the obvious battle, with some token shielding covering their rears in case of some sort of end-run maneuver.
They had, however, left their bellies almost completely exposed. In the space of under a minute the battle turned from one of attrition which looked to cost the Confederated fleet nearly as much as it would cost the Xaltans, to a total rout. Some Xaltan ships turned to flee or shut down engines and tried to surrender, and Whoomerson felt a pang of sadness as most of those ships suddenly seemed to explode of their own accord.
A few others tried to suicide-ram Confederated ships, but his Captains stood ready for just such a maneuver and brought concentrated oblivion down instantly.
As the last of the Xaltan ships winked out Whoomerson felt a strange sadness settle over him. It took a few minutes for him to identify the feeling's cause; Those ships that tried to surrender, or to run. I would have let them go, would have let those men live, but no. The Xaltan Voters…
He took a ragged breath and looked at his second in command, then through his flag bridge, and saw the same sentiments settling on so many faces. One of the Xaltan ships managed to surrender, at least. I wonder if their ‘loyalty officers’ all suddenly grew a sense of self-preservation, or the crew managed to subdue them? He shook his head to banish such musings, forced himself to sit straight in his chair, and thumbed the all-fleet channel. Time to remind everyone who is at fault for all of this, and push their anger… if only to drive away the guilt.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Late on this one, I blame the Holiday. (For those not in the US, we had one of our biggest national holidays this weekend: Memorial Day, which is a remembrance of the sacrifices made by our military people... it is a little like the 'armistice day' that I understand a number of our European friends celebrate, from what I understand?
The editor for links still hasn't been fixed, so adding them is irritating, so I'm not doing more than the minimum right now.
Word count a little higher than usual, since the 2K 'stop' was very near the end of this scene. Next, we are back in the Council chambers, from a somewhat different POV. Hope everyone in the USA has had/is having a good holiday, and everyone not in the USA had a good weekend!

Previous Chapter - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Eleven - The Room of Doors
‘Get moving!’
Sara watched the men readying their horses, squinting at the brightness of the stone. The courtyard was full of the sound of boot-steps and creaking leather. Overhead, a thin veil of rippled grey hung over the early winter sky, and the dawn sun tugged gleaming at its edges. Overhead, the dull black shape of an old stormtower bled the sky. Empty, just like the rest of them. There was something very jarring, Sara decided, about the worn jerkins and stubbled cheeks of her father’s men, ensconced in a pillared courtyard of vast stone. They were out of place, and they had been every moment since arriving in Uldoroth, she realised. They didn’t belong here. Her own anxiety was mirrored imperfectly with the relief on their weary faces, and the dark rings under their eyes seemed just a little less deep. There may be Black Hand to deal with, back in the Westmere, but it was home. At least there your enemies had the decency to show themselves. Sara realised she was chewing her lip. At her back, two of the Black Guard waited wordlessly in their gold-touched armour, much more in keeping with the finery of the courtyard, and everything else in the capital. They were waiting to escort her away to the Queen, unaware they found a girl not so eager for the honour as she had been, just a few days before.
‘Father!’ She called out, spying him across the writhing mass of men in their moss green cloaks, but he seemed not to hear her. He was standing near the arched cloister at the far side of the square, cloaked and ready for travel, in hurried conversation with a shaded figure standing beyond the marble facade. She squinted, trying to make out the other man, but there was nothing but a dark shadow to trace.
‘Well then, M’lady.’ A voice said beside her, and she turned to find Halin looking down at her, a kind smile on his broad face. ‘You’ll be a right proper Princess when I next see you, methinks.’
Sara smiled at him and shook her head sheepishly. ‘Uldoroth is not my home, yet, Halin. I won’t forget.’
‘Be careful you don’t, Lady Sara.’ Halin glanced distrustfully at the Black Guard behind her. ‘Lots of fancy folk here. Fancy folk with fancier lies.’
‘I’ll be careful, Halin.’ She told him seriously.
He smiled again, and the sternness dissolved away from his face.
‘Take care, M’Lady.’ He told her, dipping his head politely. She returned the gesture, dropping into a small curtsy.
‘Look after my father, will you?’
‘Always, M’Lady.’
Halin hurried off into the throng in the square, and Sara watched him go, feeling her the knot in her belly tighten. The conversations with her unexpected visitors had left their mark, a nagging uncertainty gnawing at the excitement that had carried her through her first few uneventful days in the capital. The little comfort she had taken in the presence of her father and his men was a loss she could ill afford. She watched her father’s back, frowning softly to herself. Her thoughts were not what she had imagined, when she had thought of him leaving. A hundred different times, and more. Had she expected tears, grief at the parting? Relief? Instead, there was only the fear, a dull, leaden weight in her belly, clammy-cold as marsh-water.
‘Come on, you whoresons! I want to be on the road before lunch!’ Halin roared, and the men quickened their work. Her father had not moved, still deep in conversation, just out of sight. She peered a little closer, and for a moment the pale sunlight crept over the top of the square, flashing against a colourful doublet marked with a silver brooch. The Fox’s lips barely moved as he spoke from the shadows of the cloister, and her father was scowling. Sara frowned.
‘Mount up!’
The ornate wagon that had been her home all those weeks trundled into the square, then, drawn by a pair of stout horses. Sara saw her father turn reluctantly towards it, striding out into the square. Sara peered past him into the cloister, and for a moment Lord Bywood’s sharp eyes caught hers. Then he smiled, dipping his dark, smooth head, and vanished himself away into the shadows.
‘Father!’
Sara hurried out into the crowded square, leaving her escort behind, darting between the shifting limbs of the horses. Her father turned towards her as she approached, and smiled small smile, in two parts, one weary, one sad.
‘Sara.’
She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest for a moment, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She knew her role, and the knowing of it made her safe for a moment. Then she stepped back, looking up at him.
‘I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I… There was much preparation to do.’
Sara did not reply. His eyes had that same distance that they had had since they arrived in the capital. Uldoroth had worn at him, as if all the brightness and finery had made his skin dull, eyes darkened like the contrast of shadows in bright sun.
‘Will you write?’
He blinked as she spoke, then smiled, and the tiredness fell away from him for a moment. He took her chin gently in one hand, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
‘Yes, I will write.’ He told her, and she saw again that fierce ambition in his eyes, the look she had known so well on their journey from the Westmere. Swollen around the soft, lazy ease of diminished strength. ‘And I shall expect news in return. The Rose of Westmere will show these fools how a real lady charms.’
Sara smiled and lowered her eyes self-consciously.
‘I… I will not disappoint you, father.’ She said quietly, and found, in spite of herself, that there were tears in her eyes.
‘See that you do not.’ He replied. Then he let go of her chin and climbed quickly into the carriage. He leaned out from the window for a moment, before they were gone, banging a hand against the wooden panels of the door impatiently.
‘Move out!’
‘You heard him!’ Halin bellowed in response, holding his horse in check beneath him. ‘Back to Westmere, before your wives go straying!’
With that, her father’s men spurred their horses away into the white corridors of the citadel, bound for the sky-cages and the city below. They had arrived on foot, leading their steeds, but they left by horseback, hurried by grave purpose towards the long road west. She watched the window of the carriage as it trundled away with the horses, but her father did not appear again. She stayed there, staring after them, until the party were out of sight and the great gate of the keep heaved closed behind them, slamming into the distant stone with a resounding thud.
‘M’Lady.’
She turned to find the Black Guard waiting, watching her with dark eyes through the narrow slits of their polished helms. For a moment, the suddenness of the departure threatened to overwhelm her. What was it he had told her, slurring over his unfinished dinner, in the pristine perfection of their lodgings, surrounded by invisible eyes? Power belongs to the strong. To those who take it. Just then, standing in the courtyard, watching alone as her father departed, she realised that he was right. And he wasn’t strong enough. She took a deep breath, smiling for the Black Guard, and followed them out of the ancient courtyard into the halls beyond.
*
The broad, open avenues and garden-ways of the Keep of Eranor closed in to interior corridors rather quickly, when you knew the way, and soon Sara was following her black-gilded escort through pale passageways lined with statuettes and tapestries, ceilings lost far overhead to the flickering light of amber flames. An occasional glimpse of pale sunlight leaped out across the stone floor, shimmering through shifting motes of dust. Sara was her Lady-self again, graceful and poised, gliding over the polished floor after her escort. The giant corridors were a maze of twists and turns, past fragment-views of gardens and libraries and sitting-halls and galleries, but she was dimly aware they were moving towards the Hall of the King. The thought made her a little giddy.
‘Will I be received in the King’s Hall?’ She asked as they walked, but the Black Guards didn’t reply, and their armour clinked in the quiet. Sara frowned, following them. The passage curved, rising, and she found that the wall on her right side suddenly gave way to the hall below. One of the galleries, set high in the rafters of the King’s Hall. She stopped, putting her hand on the balustrade and peering out over the ledge, into the vaulted, silent emptiness of the hall. Some fifty foot below, the patterned black and white marble of the floor gleamed in flashes of reflected amber, quiet and empty. At the far end, pale sunlight caught the Night Throne, setting fire in the mirrored stone. Overhead, the matching nightglass ceiling gleamed like a lake in starlight, and swirling figures swept back and forth across it in the shifting light of the chamber. Sara felt a little thrill run over her neck.
‘Sara.’
Sara blinked, starting, and found Dana standing beside her.
‘Sister!’ Sara took hold of her sister’s hands and rose onto her tiptoes, pressing a kiss against her cheek. ‘Here to welcome me into the fold?’
She was struck again by the strangeness of her sister, the difference in her. Dana wore black, a dress of simple lines and inlaid jet, at once relaxed and taut as a lute string. Her pale hands were folded over her belly, and her muddy dark hair was pulled back into a bun. The Black Guards halted behind her, waiting.
‘I am to escort you to the Queen’s chambers.’ Dana said simply. With that she turned and began to walk away along the balcony, towards a closed door at the throne-end of the hall. Sara frowned, hurrying after her.
‘Do the King and Queen not share chambers?’ She asked as they walked, and the hall below drew on beside them.
‘Their Majesties prefer… to keep their own space.’
The Black Guard fell into step at a respectful distance behind them, armoured heels clicking against the stone.
‘How many others are there?’
‘How many what?’
‘Handmaidens. How many does her Majesty keep?’
Dana did not break stride. ‘Two others, and the Matron.’
‘I suppose we shall not have servants of our own.’ Sara said quietly, eyeing the shadows shifting over the nightglass ceiling. ‘No need to spy on us when we are so close.’
‘Sara-’ Dana began, but Sara cut her off.
‘Father is gone, you know. This morning.’
‘I know.’ Dana replied, looking ahead.
‘You did not come to see him.’
Dana did not turn.
‘I’m sure he will miss you terribly, sister.’
Sara bristled suddenly, grabbing her sister’s arm.
‘I did not ask for it!’
Dana looked down at the hand on her arm, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Any of it!’ Sara told her, angry now, her whisper cracking. ‘I didn’t ask to stay. I didn’t ask him to send you away. I would have given anything to go with you. I thought he would never let me leave.’ She lowered her voice, flicking an eye back towards the waiting guards. ‘I did not ask for the way he… the way he…’
She took a breath, swallowing, and straightened, looking her sister in the eye.
‘There are worse things than being ignored, Dana.’
Dana’s hand folded over hers.
‘Let’s… let’s put it behind us.’ She said quietly. ‘You are here, now.’
Sara blinked at her, nodding. She wanted to say more, but her words would not come, locked away from her tongue by the choked gulping of her breath. She lowered her eyes, and Dana squeezed her hand.
‘Sara, listen to me.’ Dana murmured, leaning close. ‘You must be careful. The Queen-’
The door at the far end of the gallery swung open, creaking on its hinges. The pair fell silent, frozen, and whatever Dana might have said, she held instead.
*
‘Wait here.’
The Matron, the head of the Queen’s Keepers, was an elderly woman with rounding hips and hair the colour of ash tied into a tight bun behind the worn-leather creases of her forehead. She was wearing black, same as Dana, though her smock was somehow plainer, when she opened the door onto the gallery, ushering the sisters wordlessly into the corridor beyond. Dana had bowed her head deferentially, withering under the Matron’s hard eyes, and quickly disappeared into one of the many doors of the hallway. Sara almost asked for her to stay, but instead she steeled herself, remembering her lessons, and followed the stern old woman down the long, flickering hallway. The corridors of the keep were all severe, all lit by weak, flickering torchlight and gleaming the gleam of cold stone, but here they were particularly bare. There were no busts, no tapestries, no mosaics. Nothing but cold, dead rock, lent a little life by the dim thrustings of infrequent braziers. In her own apartments, she had understood the quiet, but here, in the keep proper, there was an eery silence to the corridors that jarred with Sara’s anticipation. Where were the nobles in their gay clothes, where was the music and laughter of a King’s Hall? Sara frowned to herself, and kept walking.
The room at the end of the hallway was broad and rounded, like a kind of circle made out of many flat edges, each holding the low light of a brazier. The marble floors were black and white and patterned like a gamesboard, empty but for a broad nightwood table at its centre, matching the room itself for its odd roundness. On the far side, a wall of shutters opened out onto a large, bare balcony, and over the intricately wrought stone balustrade, Sara could see the City of the Moon below, sweeping away towards the edge of the Heartspire, empty stormtowers stabbing black into the sky. Beyond, the great emerald plains of Valia stretched out into the west, past the fiery line of the river Arq, scored with jagged, dark rock and silver streams. Sara swallowed, realising she’d never been so high up.
‘Wait here.’
‘But-‘ She protested, frowning, but the Matron was already gone, turned on her heel and disappeared back the way she had come. Sara flinched as the door slammed shut behind her, and the silence of the room prickled at her skin. The breeze rustled over the balcony, swirling about the pillared windows, but the air inside was still as the grave. She stepped slowly over to the table, touching the polished wood. This much nightwood would have cost more than a wagonload of gold. She traced the knotted lines across the black surface, trying to ignore the cold weight churning in her gut.
Time stretched on around her, and the minutes dragged by like years. Despite the open air flooding through the windows, the chamber was not cool, warmed by the subtle glow of the braziers, and she felt a little wetness beginning to build under her arms. She looked about herself, trying to calm her heart. There were four other doors in the room, besides the one they had entered through, all dark and heavy looking, and each bore a pattern of silver on its face. There was a cradle, and opposite it, a pendant with teeth like a wolf. Beside the cradle door, a small drinks table, a glass jug of purple wine atop it, with a pair of matching glasses. The two doors closest to the balcony bore a sun and a crescent moon. She looked a little closer, and realised that the markings were not moonsilver, merely an imitation in gleaming silver paint, and the door she had entered through bore no markings at all. Sara watched them, imagining the rooms that lay behind each. Which one was the Queen behind, she wondered, and her heart quickened at the thought, stomach churning. She was stranded, here, now, in the capital. What if the Queen didn’t like her? What if she said something wrong? Would she be sent away again, back to her father?
‘Lady Westmere.’
The crescent moon had swung open, and the Queen glided through, a beautiful shadow in a studded black dress, arms glistening with little sharpened sequins the colour of midnight. Her hair had been contorted into an elaborate maze of raven curls over her pate, and her pale skin took on a translucent sheen in the pale light from the balcony doors. The throat of her dress was open, as it had been in the King’s Hall all those days ago, and she wore the same golden necklace, its myriad points sharp like daggers with their drops of ruby blood.
Sara blinked, then remembered herself, and dropped into a low curtsy, bowing her head.
‘Your Majesty.’ She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor.
The Queen did not reply. Sara was dimly aware of her shadow moving across the floor, crossing to the drinks table beside the cradle door. Sara risked a glance up, then, and found the Queen’s slender back to her. When she at last turned, she had a glass goblet of wine clutched in her narrow fingers. Sara lowered her eyes again.
‘You are a pretty one, aren’t you.’ The Queen said quietly, as if to herself. Her voice was cold, like ice leaking over lakewater, deep and still. She took a sip from her cup, and Sara could feel the cut of her eyes against her skin. ‘What did the Weasel of Westmere do to sire such a pretty daughter. Your sister, maybe, I understand, but you…’
Sara forced herself not to frown.
‘Well trained, I see.’ The Queen murmured, smiling coldly. She took another sip of her wine. ‘Your mother’s touch, I assume, not your father’s.’
Sara hesitated. She glanced up at the Queen, then lowered her eyes again, nodding.
‘I hear she is unwell.’
Sara looked up again, braver this time, and found the Queen’s dark eyes watching her over the rim of her glass.
‘She has an affliction, Your Majesty. She does not eat, and rarely sleeps. The Keepers say it is a disease of her mind.’
‘The one thing none of us can escape.’ The Queen sighed, toying idly with her glass and looking out of the window over the city below. ‘Still, there are worse places to be sickly than a Lord’s hall.’
‘I suppose… I suppose that is true, Your Majesty.’
The Queen raised an eyebrow. ‘Suppose, do you?’
Sara squirmed for a moment under the weight of her eyes, but then the Queen turned away, stepping slowly around the edge of the table till she was standing beside the open windows. She took another sip of her wine, back to Sara again.
‘Your sister met you, this morning.’
Sara hesitated, thrown for a moment by the abruptness of the statement.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And she came to you yesterday, in the apartments Bywood found for you.’
‘Yes.’ Sara felt the cold weight return in her belly. She thought of what the Fox had warned her. There is always someone watching. She cast her mind back to her conversations with Dana. Gods. What had they spoken of? Had she said something out of turn?
‘Curious, that she did not seek out your father.’
Sara let out her breath slowly. That was not a particularly well-hidden curiosity.
‘Dana must have been very busy, Your Majesty.’
‘She is as busy as I make her, and that is rarely too taxing.’
Sara sighed. ‘They have… sometimes not seen eye to eye.’
‘And you?’ The Queen turned as she spoke, fixing her eyes to Sara’s again. Behind her, the distant sounds of the city drifted lazily up through the air, swirling around far-off columns of wispy smoke. ‘What do you say of him?’
Sara hesitated again, stuttering. ‘He is my father, Your Majesty. I trust that he always knows what is best for his daughters.’
‘In my experience it is fathers who know the least about their own daughters.’ The Queen replied dryly, sipping again. ‘Come, let me look at you, then.’
She came back around the nightwood table, her long, narrow limbs gliding over the polished floor, and stopped in front of Sara, setting her glass down beside them. She took Sara’s chin in two spindly fingers and tilted it upwards so that she was looking her in the eye, only a few inches from her face. Sara realised again how tall she was, as tall as her father, at least, though her slender frame made her seem much smaller. She tried not to squirm, but she found that the Queen’s fingers dug uncomfortably into her chin, dark eyes flitting back and forth across her face like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes, very pretty.’ She said at last, not releasing her chin. Sara could feel her breath on her face, smelling softly of dark wine. ‘No wonder. You look like her, you know.’
‘Who-‘ but the Queen had already turned away, back to the table, picking up her wineglass in one bone-stretched hand.
‘The Matron will meet you outside. She will give you your tasks and show you to your chamber. You will begin tomorrow.’
Sara flinched, realising she had been holding her breath. She curtsied to the Queen’s back, suddenly a little giddy.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘You may go, girl.’
Sara turned to go, not at all sure what to make of the encounter. She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder, but found the Queen looking out over the city silently again, wineglass in hand, black dress glistening with jet. Sara hesitated a moment longer, then hurried out into the corridor beyond the unmarked door, closing it behind her.
*
The night before her father leaves, she wakes in darkness.
She does not open her eyes, but she knows it is not yet dawn. The sounds of the garden beyond her shutters are soft and murmuring, wind-stirred and drip-spotted.
She can feel him over her, the tense stillness of him, closer than shadows. He smells of wine. Sweat. She is cold, but she does not move. She dares not move. She can feel the weight of his eyes, dulled with drink, tracing the lines of her. His breathing sounds like anger.
She does not know how long she waits there, frozen. But she does not open her eyes. Not once. Time stretches out before her in that moment, an eternity of breathless terror.
Then he leaves. The smell of him lingers long after the door has closed behind him. She lays there a while longer, motionless, dead as stone. Then she curls into her own arms, and weeps silently until the dawn.

Series Page - Read 10 weeks ahead on Patreon - Read the story so far on Royal Road
*
Chapter Eleven - The Room of Doors
​
‘Get moving!’
Sara watched the men readying their horses, squinting at the bright-ness of the stone. The courtyard was full of the sound of boot-steps and creaking leather. Overhead, a thin veil of rippled grey hung over the early winter sky, and the dawn sun tugged gleaming at its edges. Over-head, the dull black shape of an old stormtower bled the sky. Empty, just like the rest of them. There was something very jarring, Sara de-cided, about the worn jerkins and stubbled cheeks of her father’s men, ensconced in a pillared courtyard of vast stone. They were out of place, and they had been every moment since arriving in Uldoroth, she real-ised. They didn’t belong here. Her own anxiety was mirrored imper-fectly with the relief on their weary faces, and the dark rings under their eyes seemed just a little less deep. There may be Black Hand to deal with, back in the Westmere, but it was home. At least there your ene-mies had the decency to show themselves. Sara realised she was chew-ing her lip. At her back, two of the Black Guard waited wordlessly in their gold-touched armour, much more in keeping with the finery of the courtyard, and everything else in the capital. They were waiting to es-cort her away to the Queen, unaware they found a girl not so eager for the honour as she had been, just a few days before.
‘Father!’ She called out, spying him across the writhing mass of men in their moss green cloaks, but he seemed not to hear her. He was standing near the arched cloister at the far side of the square, cloaked and ready for travel, in hurried conversation with a shaded figure stand-ing beyond the marble facade. She squinted, trying to make out the oth-er man, but there was nothing but a dark shadow to trace.
‘Well then, M’lady.’ A voice said beside her, and she turned to find Halin looking down at her, a kind smile on his broad face. ‘You’ll be a right proper Princess when I next see you, methinks.’
Sara smiled at him and shook her head sheepishly. ‘Uldoroth is not my home, yet, Halin. I won’t forget.’
‘Be careful you don’t, Lady Sara.’ Halin glanced distrustfully at the Black Guard behind her. ‘Lots of fancy folk here. Fancy folk with fan-cier lies.’
‘I’ll be careful, Halin.’ She told him seriously.
He smiled again, and the sternness dissolved away from his face.
‘Take care, M’Lady.’ He told her, dipping his head politely. She re-turned the gesture, dropping into a small curtsy.
‘Look after my father, will you?’
‘Always, M’Lady.’
Halin hurried off into the throng in the square, and Sara watched him go, feeling her the knot in her belly tighten. The conversations with her unexpected visitors had left their mark, a nagging uncertainty gnawing at the excitement that had carried her through her first few uneventful days in the capital. The little comfort she had taken in the presence of her father and his men was a loss she could ill afford. She watched her father’s back, frowning softly to herself. Her thoughts were not what she had imagined, when she had thought of him leaving. A hundred dif-ferent times, and more. Had she expected tears, grief at the parting? Re-lief? Instead, there was only the fear, a dull, leaden weight in her belly, clammy-cold as marsh-water.
‘Come on, you whoresons! I want to be on the road before lunch!’ Halin roared, and the men quickened their work. Her father had not moved, still deep in conversation, just out of sight. She peered a little closer, and for a moment the pale sunlight crept over the top of the square, flashing against a colourful doublet marked with a silver brooch. The Fox’s lips barely moved as he spoke from the shadows of the cloister, and her father was scowling. Sara frowned.
‘Mount up!’
The ornate wagon that had been her home all those weeks trundled into the square, then, drawn by a pair of stout horses. Sara saw her fa-ther turn reluctantly towards it, striding out into the square. Sara peered past him into the cloister, and for a moment Lord Bywood’s sharp eyes caught hers. Then he smiled, dipping his dark, smooth head, and van-ished himself away into the shadows.
‘Father!’
Sara hurried out into the crowded square, leaving her escort behind, darting between the shifting limbs of the horses. Her father turned to-wards her as she approached, and smiled small smile, in two parts, one weary, one sad.
‘Sara.’
She threw her arms around him and pressed her head against his chest for a moment, and he put an arm around her shoulders. She knew her role, and the knowing of it made her safe for a moment. Then she stepped back, looking up at him.
‘I thought you were going to leave without saying goodbye.’
‘I… There was much preparation to do.’
Sara did not reply. His eyes had that same distance that they had had since they arrived in the capital. Uldoroth had worn at him, as if all the brightness and finery had made his skin dull, eyes darkened like the contrast of shadows in bright sun.
‘Will you write?’
He blinked as she spoke, then smiled, and the tiredness fell away from him for a moment. He took her chin gently in one hand, tilting it up to meet his eyes.
‘Yes, I will write.’ He told her, and she saw again that fierce ambi-tion in his eyes, the look she had known so well on their journey from the Westmere. Swollen around the soft, lazy ease of diminished strength. ‘And I shall expect news in return. The Rose of Westmere will show these fools how a real lady charms.’
Sara smiled and lowered her eyes self-consciously.
‘I… I will not disappoint you, father.’ She said quietly, and found, in spite of herself, that there were tears in her eyes.
‘See that you do not.’ He replied. Then he let go of her chin and climbed quickly into the carriage. He leaned out from the window for a moment, before they were gone, banging a hand against the wooden panels of the door impatiently.
‘Move out!’
‘You heard him!’ Halin bellowed in response, holding his horse in check beneath him. ‘Back to Westmere, before your wives go stray-ing!’
With that, her father’s men spurred their horses away into the white corridors of the citadel, bound for the sky-cages and the city below. They had arrived on foot, leading their steeds, but they left by horse-back, hurried by grave purpose towards the long road west. She watched the window of the carriage as it trundled away with the horses, but her father did not appear again. She stayed there, staring after them, until the party were out of sight and the great gate of the keep heaved closed behind them, slamming into the distant stone with a resounding thud.
‘M’Lady.’
She turned to find the Black Guard waiting, watching her with dark eyes through the narrow slits of their polished helms. For a moment, the suddenness of the departure threatened to overwhelm her. What was it he had told her, slurring over his unfinished dinner, in the pristine per-fection of their lodgings, surrounded by invisible eyes? Power belongs to the strong. To those who take it. Just then, standing in the courtyard, watching alone as her father departed, she realised that he was right. And he wasn’t strong enough. She took a deep breath, smiling for the Black Guard, and followed them out of the ancient courtyard into the halls beyond.
*
The broad, open avenues and garden-ways of the Keep of Eranor closed in to interior corridors rather quickly, when you knew the way, and soon Sara was following her black-gilded escort through pale pas-sageways lined with statuettes and tapestries, ceilings lost far overhead to the flickering light of amber flames. An occasional glimpse of pale sunlight leaped out across the stone floor, shimmering through shifting motes of dust. Sara was her Lady-self again, graceful and poised, glid-ing over the polished floor after her escort. The giant corridors were a maze of twists and turns, past fragment-views of gardens and libraries and sitting-halls and galleries, but she was dimly aware they were mov-ing towards the Hall of the King. The thought made her a little giddy.
‘Will I be received in the King’s Hall?’ She asked as they walked, but the Black Guards didn’t reply, and their armour clinked in the quiet. Sara frowned, following them. The passage curved, rising, and she found that the wall on her right side suddenly gave way to the hall be-low. One of the galleries, set high in the rafters of the King’s Hall. She stopped, putting her hand on the balustrade and peering out over the ledge, into the vaulted, silent emptiness of the hall. Some fifty foot be-low, the patterned black and white marble of the floor gleamed in flashes of reflected amber, quiet and empty. At the far end, pale sun-light caught the Night Throne, setting fire in the mirrored stone. Over-head, the matching nightglass ceiling gleamed like a lake in starlight, and swirling figures swept back and forth across it in the shifting light of the chamber. Sara felt a little thrill run over her neck.
‘Sara.’
Sara blinked, starting, and found Dana standing beside her.
‘Sister!’ Sara took hold of her sister’s hands and rose onto her tip-toes, pressing a kiss against her cheek. ‘Here to welcome me into the fold?’
She was struck again by the strangeness of her sister, the difference in her. Dana wore black, a dress of simple lines and inlaid jet, at once relaxed and taut as a lute string. Her pale hands were folded over her belly, and her muddy dark hair was pulled back into a bun. The Black Guards halted behind her, waiting.
‘I am to escort you to the Queen’s chambers.’ Dana said simply. With that she turned and began to walk away along the balcony, to-wards a closed door at the throne-end of the hall. Sara frowned, hurry-ing after her.
‘Do the King and Queen not share chambers?’ She asked as they walked, and the hall below drew on beside them.
‘Their Majesties prefer… to keep their own space.’
The Black Guard fell into step at a respectful distance behind them, armoured heels clicking against the stone.
‘How many others are there?’
‘How many what?’
‘Handmaidens. How many does her Majesty keep?’
Dana did not break stride. ‘Two others, and the Matron.’
‘I suppose we shall not have servants of our own.’ Sara said quietly, eyeing the shadows shifting over the nightglass ceiling. ‘No need to spy on us when we are so close.’
‘Sara-’ Dana began, but Sara cut her off.
‘Father is gone, you know. This morning.’
‘I know.’ Dana replied, looking ahead.
‘You did not come to see him.’
Dana did not turn.
‘I’m sure he will miss you terribly, sister.’
Sara bristled suddenly, grabbing her sister’s arm.
‘I did not ask for it!’
Dana looked down at the hand on her arm, frowning. ‘What?’
‘Any of it!’ Sara told her, angry now, her whisper cracking. ‘I didn’t ask to stay. I didn’t ask him to send you away. I would have given any-thing to go with you. I thought he would never let me leave.’ She low-ered her voice, flicking an eye back towards the waiting guards. ‘I did not ask for the way he… the way he…’
She took a breath, swallowing, and straightened, looking her sister in the eye.
‘There are worse things than being ignored, Dana.’
Dana’s hand folded over hers.
‘Let’s… let’s put it behind us.’ She said quietly. ‘You are here, now.’
Sara blinked at her, nodding. She wanted to say more, but her words would not come, locked away from her tongue by the choked gulping of her breath. She lowered her eyes, and Dana squeezed her hand.
‘Sara, listen to me.’ Dana murmured, leaning close. ‘You must be careful. The Queen-’
The door at the far end of the gallery swung open, creaking on its hinges. The pair fell silent, frozen, and whatever Dana might have said, she held instead.
*
‘Wait here.’
The Matron, the head of the Queen’s Keepers, was an elderly wom-an with rounding hips and hair the colour of ash tied into a tight bun behind the worn-leather creases of her forehead. She was wearing black, same as Dana, though her smock was somehow plainer, when she opened the door onto the gallery, ushering the sisters wordlessly in-to the corridor beyond. Dana had bowed her head deferentially, wither-ing under the Matron’s hard eyes, and quickly disappeared into one of the many doors of the hallway. Sara almost asked for her to stay, but instead she steeled herself, remembering her lessons, and followed the stern old woman down the long, flickering hallway. The corridors of the keep were all severe, all lit by weak, flickering torchlight and gleaming the gleam of cold stone, but here they were particularly bare. There were no busts, no tapestries, no mosaics. Nothing but cold, dead rock, lent a little life by the dim thrustings of infrequent braziers. In her own apartments, she had understood the quiet, but here, in the keep proper, there was an eery silence to the corridors that jarred with Sara’s anticipation. Where were the nobles in their gay clothes, where was the music and laughter of a King’s Hall? Sara frowned to herself, and kept walking.
The room at the end of the hallway was broad and rounded, like a kind of circle made out of many flat edges, each holding the low light of a brazier. The marble floors were black and white and patterned like a gamesboard, empty but for a broad nightwood table at its centre, matching the room itself for its odd roundness. On the far side, a wall of shutters opened out onto a large, bare balcony, and over the intricate-ly wrought stone balustrade, Sara could see the City of the Moon be-low, sweeping away towards the edge of the Heartspire, empty stormtowers stabbing black into the sky. Beyond, the great emerald plains of Valia stretched out into the west, past the fiery line of the river Arq, scored with jagged, dark rock and silver streams. Sara swallowed, realising she’d never been so high up.
‘Wait here.’
‘But-‘ She protested, frowning, but the Matron was already gone, turned on her heel and disappeared back the way she had come. Sara flinched as the door slammed shut behind her, and the silence of the room prickled at her skin. The breeze rustled over the balcony, swirling about the pillared windows, but the air inside was still as the grave. She stepped slowly over to the table, touching the polished wood. This much nightwood would have cost more than a wagonload of gold. She traced the knotted lines across the black surface, trying to ignore the cold weight churning in her gut.
Time stretched on around her, and the minutes dragged by like years. Despite the open air flooding through the windows, the chamber was not cool, warmed by the subtle glow of the braziers, and she felt a little wetness beginning to build under her arms. She looked about her-self, trying to calm her heart. There were four other doors in the room, besides the one they had entered through, all dark and heavy looking, and each bore a pattern of silver on its face. There was a cradle, and opposite it, a pendant with teeth like a wolf. Beside the cradle door, a small drinks table, a glass jug of purple wine atop it, with a pair of matching glasses. The two doors closest to the balcony bore a sun and a crescent moon. She looked a little closer, and realised that the markings were not moonsilver, merely an imitation in gleaming silver paint, and the door she had entered through bore no markings at all. Sara watched them, imagining the rooms that lay behind each. Which one was the Queen behind, she wondered, and her heart quickened at the thought, stomach churning. She was stranded, here, now, in the capital. What if the Queen didn’t like her? What if she said something wrong? Would she be sent away again, back to her father?
‘Lady Westmere.’
The crescent moon had swung open, and the Queen glided through, a beautiful shadow in a studded black dress, arms glistening with little sharpened sequins the colour of midnight. Her hair had been contorted into an elaborate maze of raven curls over her pate, and her pale skin took on a translucent sheen in the pale light from the balcony doors. The throat of her dress was open, as it had been in the King’s Hall all those days ago, and she wore the same golden necklace, its myriad points sharp like daggers with their drops of ruby blood.
Sara blinked, then remembered herself, and dropped into a low curt-sy, bowing her head.
‘Your Majesty.’ She said quietly, keeping her eyes on the floor.
The Queen did not reply. Sara was dimly aware of her shadow mov-ing across the floor, crossing to the drinks table beside the cradle door. Sara risked a glance up, then, and found the Queen’s slender back to her. When she at last turned, she had a glass goblet of wine clutched in her narrow fingers. Sara lowered her eyes again.
‘You are a pretty one, aren’t you.’ The Queen said quietly, as if to herself. Her voice was cold, like ice leaking over lakewater, deep and still. She took a sip from her cup, and Sara could feel the cut of her eyes against her skin. ‘What did the Weasel of Westmere do to sire such a pretty daughter. Your sister, maybe, I understand, but you…’
Sara forced herself not to frown.
‘Well trained, I see.’ The Queen murmured, smiling coldly. She took another sip of her wine. ‘Your mother’s touch, I assume, not your fa-ther’s.’
Sara hesitated. She glanced up at the Queen, then lowered her eyes again, nodding.
‘I hear she is unwell.’
Sara looked up again, braver this time, and found the Queen’s dark eyes watching her over the rim of her glass.
‘She has an affliction, Your Majesty. She does not eat, and rarely sleeps. The Keepers say it is a disease of her mind.’
‘The one thing none of us can escape.’ The Queen sighed, toying idly with her glass and looking out of the window over the city below. ‘Still, there are worse places to be sickly than a Lord’s hall.’
‘I suppose… I suppose that is true, Your Majesty.’
The Queen raised an eyebrow. ‘Suppose, do you?’
Sara squirmed for a moment under the weight of her eyes, but then the Queen turned away, stepping slowly around the edge of the table till she was standing beside the open windows. She took another sip of her wine, back to Sara again.
‘Your sister met you, this morning.’
Sara hesitated, thrown for a moment by the abruptness of the state-ment.
‘Yes, Your Majesty.’
‘And she came to you yesterday, in the apartments Bywood found for you.’
‘Yes.’ Sara felt the cold weight return in her belly. She thought of what the Fox had warned her. There is always someone watching. She cast her mind back to her conversations with Dana. Gods. What had they spoken of? Had she said something out of turn?
‘Curious, that she did not seek out your father.’
Sara let out her breath slowly. That was not a particularly well-hidden curiosity.
‘Dana must have been very busy, Your Majesty.’
‘She is as busy as I make her, and that is rarely too taxing.’
Sara sighed. ‘They have… sometimes not seen eye to eye.’
‘And you?’ The Queen turned as she spoke, fixing her eyes to Sara’s again. Behind her, the distant sounds of the city drifted lazily up through the air, swirling around far-off columns of wispy smoke. ‘What do you say of him?’
Sara hesitated again, stuttering. ‘He is my father, Your Majesty. I trust that he always knows what is best for his daughters.’
‘In my experience it is fathers who know the least about their own daughters.’ The Queen replied dryly, sipping again. ‘Come, let me look at you, then.’
She came back around the nightwood table, her long, narrow limbs gliding over the polished floor, and stopped in front of Sara, setting her glass down beside them. She took Sara’s chin in two spindly fingers and tilted it upwards so that she was looking her in the eye, only a few inches from her face. Sara realised again how tall she was, as tall as her father, at least, though her slender frame made her seem much smaller. She tried not to squirm, but she found that the Queen’s fingers dug un-comfortably into her chin, dark eyes flitting back and forth across her face like a hungry wolf.
‘Yes, very pretty.’ She said at last, not releasing her chin. Sara could feel her breath on her face, smelling softly of dark wine. ‘No wonder. You look like her, you know.’
‘Who-‘ but the Queen had already turned away, back to the table, picking up her wineglass in one bone-stretched hand.
‘The Matron will meet you outside. She will give you your tasks and show you to your chamber. You will begin tomorrow.’
Sara flinched, realising she had been holding her breath. She curt-sied to the Queen’s back, suddenly a little giddy.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’
‘You may go, girl.’
Sara turned to go, not at all sure what to make of the encounter. She paused at the door, looking back over her shoulder, but found the Queen looking out over the city silently again, wineglass in hand, black dress glistening with jet. Sara hesitated a moment longer, then hurried out into the corridor beyond the unmarked door, closing it behind her.
*
The night before her father leaves, she wakes in darkness.
She does not open her eyes, but she knows it is not yet dawn. The sounds of the garden beyond her shutters are soft and murmuring, wind-stirred and drip-spotted.
She can feel him over her, the tense stillness of him, closer than shadows. He smells of wine. Sweat. She is cold, but she does not move. She dares not move. She can feel the weight of his eyes, dulled with drink, tracing the lines of her. His breathing sounds like anger.
She does not know how long she waits there, frozen. But she does not open her eyes. Not once. Time stretches out before her in that mo-ment, an eternity of breathless terror.
Then he leaves. The smell of him lingers long after the door has closed behind him. She lays there a while longer, motionless, dead as stone. Then she curls into her own arms, and weeps silently until the dawn.

I spent the remainder of the evening after the "hike" sorting out my thoughts. Trying to, at any rate. Writing it all down helped, but I was still exhausted and confused.
I woke up in Frankie Preston's bed the following morning. I instantly knew it wasn't mine due to the lack of Dorito crumbs in the sheets. Even so, it took me a while to come to. Once I'd rubbed my eyes and untangled myself from the blanket, I found the man himself sitting upright beside me, fully dressed with his shoes on, presently reading a book. "Morning, Sunshine," he muttered, not looking up. "There's water on the nightstand for you. A muffin, too. I wasn't sure what to get."
I let out an incoherent murmur to which he huffed a laugh and rested his hand on the side of my face. "You were still as a rock, you know."
"I'm sorry for messing up last night," I said, my voice cracked and dry from sleep. "I shouldn't have gone looking for trouble. I should've stayed low and just watched those two."
"What's with that tone? I'm not about to lecture you. I get wanting to take revenge. You did fine as far as I'm concerned. And I think Markov is okay with everything, too. After all, any proceedings against the Collective are highly legitimate now or whatever. Plus, she got that lady cultist in custody now, and she's looking forward to the interrogation. She called and explained it to me on the phone earlier, but I wasn't paying attention." He shrugged to himself and I reached up to tug aside his book's cover. "It's Wuthering Heights," he told me, gently removing my hand. I tried to grab it again, but he pulled it out of my reach. "Oh!" He sounded amused as he finally set the book aside to hug me. "You could have just said something."
"Don't you have to work today?"
"I called in sick. Of course, my six moms know I don't actually get sick so they'll suspect something's up. They're probably gonna be all over me."
"You never get sick?" I inquired.
"No. It's one of the nicer aspects of inhuman nature."
"I'm still not getting any answers on that?"
"Don't worry, you will. Sooner or later."
We went out and took a walk in the park, which was equally weird and nice. It seemed such a normal thing to do. It was a bright, nearly windless day, and the sun shining down on us provided a gentle warmth. The previous days' rain had left the trees heavily laden with drops of water. Occasionally, some would dislodge from the leaves and branches they occupied and plop down on our heads.
I asked Frankie whether he would be alright with checking in on Nettie Peterson together. He chuckled, joking that she would probably just love to see him, but ultimately agreed. Once my best friend was due to be off work, we went around to her house.
Strangely enough, the most drastic changes in other people seem to happen without me really being there to witness them. Kit Sutton had somehow turned into a somewhat responsible roommate without me even noticing. Before I knew it, we had become friends. When my savior human opened the door for us, I felt distinctly reminded of that other development. Nettie, not unlike a butterfly emerging from whatever they call that odd little sleeping bag caterpillars make for themselves, had apparently come out of her dark state of mind all by herself. Her eyes lit up when she saw me and she wheedled us inside with much the same enthusiasm I was used to. She had us sit down in the garden while she tended to her flowers.
I watched her closely. Her skin had regained much of its healthy glow, her hair was washed and shiny, the clothes she wore clean—a flowing blouse, mom jeans and sneakers. She had clearly picked them out with care, like she normally did. It was good to see her restored to her old self, but I couldn't help but feel like something was wrong.
"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked.
"I have to be, don't I?" she replied, her cheerful tone coming out more forced than she'd likely intended. She was cutting away crushed and wilted leaves from one of her small bushes, shaping it in the process. "It's over. Life goes on."
"Does it?" I tilted my head at her.
"Can we talk about anything else? Literally anything?" The snapping movements of her garden shears came faster; more forceful. Frankie Preston and I exchanged uncomfortable looks. Figuring it would make for an interesting topic, I proceeded to tell Nettie about our exploits the night before. Halfway through my story, she had ceased her plant styling activities, blankly staring at me from where she sat on the ground. By the time I was done, she had taken off her rubber gloves and was slowly massaging her temples.
"One of these days, Eva. One of these days, you're gonna give me a heart attack. I don't even want to ask about what you get up to anymore, I think. I'm afraid of the answer." She threw Fran a grateful glance. "Thank you for getting her out of there safely."
The waiter smiled placidly. "Sure." Turning to me, he added in a whisper, "So we're not going to mention that you saved me from the FunFlair guys twice before this?"
I grinned mildly and shook my head before assuming a more serious tone. "Nettie, it's great that you're all better, but you were really down before. If this is just an act, I'd prefer you didn't put it on."
"It's not an act," she said sternly, raising her hands to her hips. "I've resigned myself. That's all. There's nothing to be done, I've accepted it and I've moved on."
"That can't be healthy," Frankie remarked. "You know what would help? Punishing the world in some way. You could take it out on your kindergarteners. Tell them a scary story so their parents have to stay up all night with them. Incite a dirt throwing fight and send them home all muddy. Set up a boxing ring and have them go at each other like in a dog fight. Wouldn't that be far more rewarding than sucking it up?"
Nettie Peterson looked unimpressed. Her dark eyes roamed the young man like she was trying to gauge whether or not he was serious. "You're some kind of sociopath, aren't you?"
That she shouldn't have said. Frankie's serene expression morphed into his customer service smile. I don't know when I started deciphering this being's voice and countenance, but there I was, picking up on the spiteful undertone in what he said next.
"I'm just saying, if the woman I fancied disappeared in such a way, I'd find outlets for my grief." His eyes darted over to Nettie as if to ensure she'd heard him correctly before settling on me, observing my reaction. All I could do however was stare at my best friend.
Her glossy lips had parted. She met my gaze, her thick, expressive brows rising a good deal. "I…" she began, faltering and starting to fumble for words. "That's to say, Kit was… we, um…"
"Oh, Eva didn't know?" Frankie asked, perfectly flat and monotonous. "I had no idea it was a secret. I'm sorry, it wasn't my place to say. I wouldn't have mentioned it, really."
Something about that sent a chill down my spine. I shot him a glare, to which he drew himself up and turned away. Meanwhile, Nettie finally broke from her stupor and blurted out, "We were together, okay?"
For a moment, I sat quietly. “Frank, please go home,” I said at length, not quite looking at him. “We’ll talk later. We will.”
He looked like he wanted to say something, but quickly thought better of it, rising to his feet and storming off. Ignoring the queasy feeling in my stomach, I walked over to Nettie and plopped down on the ground beside her. “So that’s what this was about,” I began.
My savior human nodded meekly. “We… we didn’t want to tell you. Not for the time being, at least. We hadn’t defined the relationship yet, i-it was all so new and weird, I felt weird, but it was good, you know? I just wasn’t ready to think about it that way yet. And you’ve only ever seen me date guys, I didn’t know what you’d think…”
“I wouldn’t have thought anything,” I replied. “How long has this been going on?”
“Not long. She called me up before she came back to you a couple weeks ago. That’s kind of when we started seeing each other in… in that way.”
“Romantically?”
“Yes.”
I hesitantly extended a hand to caress her upper arm, locking eyes with her. There was a profound sadness in her expression, a watery gleam. She took a deep breath. “Before that, we used to text back and forth occasionally. I always felt kind of weird about her. Somehow, she got under my skin everytime she was goofing off, what with her little jokes and all. We kept talking, though. I was always so irritated when she was around, and that’s so unlike me, I just ended up wondering… And then when she showed up here, it all kind of came together. W-we did. She stuck around and we spoke and everything simply made sense all of a sudden. I didn't know she liked me, too.” She swallowed audibly, her voice brittle and husky as she went on. “Kit isn't like anyone else I’ve ever had feelings for.”
“Not like anyone else, as in… a woman?” I prompted, raising a brow.
Nettie grunted. “Oh, shush! Don't make me feel guilty for being hesitant at first. I know it’s not a big deal to you, but try going through life believing you’re straight and suddenly running into some cute ditzy punk girl and realizing you’re not. It’s all sorts of confusing, believe me. I was scared it was gonna be weird because it was my first time with a woman but Kit somehow made it easy. It was a bit of a whirlwind, sure, but it felt natural and… just good.”
“Did you tell Eli?”
“No. But I think he suspected. That man knows me like the back of his hand. We’re basically siblings, remember? He was always tactful, never really pressured me into admitting anything, but he made a couple puns here and there, so… I do believe he knew.” She fumbled with her limp gloves, fixing me with a wavering smile. “So?”
“So what?”
“What do you say?”
“Is there something you want me to say?” I shrugged. “I’m only glad I understand now. I wish you’d told me sooner, but that’s your business. Also, I didn’t tell you that I’ve been running around with our waiter, so I guess we’re essentially even. By the way, I’m sorry he put you on the spot like that. You didn’t deserve that. How did he know about you two anyways?”
Nettie pursed her lips. “He might have seen us around the diner or something. I’m not sure. I’m, uh, not gonna comment on whatever you two got going on. You know what you’re doing. Hopefully.”
“Ah, thanks. Then I won’t be giving my opinion on whether or not I consider that deadbeat dork Kit to be worthy of you.”
My savior human snorted. “Much appreciated. Though I guess it’s not really an issue anymore either way.”
I shook my head. “Don’t think like that. We can’t let her go. I certainly won’t, not after this.”
“What do you mean?”
I rose to my feet. “I’m going to drag her blue ass back out of the ocean and have her make an honorable woman of you.”
I don’t believe she thought I was serious. The realization had set in by the time I’d dragged her down to the beach with me, though. We had taken Wammawink for the drive. Wammawink is the name of Nettie’s pastel pink motor scooter. It has a sidecar, which she straps me into with great care whenever we ride. It took her about twenty minutes to get us down to the shore. The more I talked about possibly retrieving my roommate, the brighter and realer the shine in her eyes became. Hope was not yet dead, that much was for certain. I led her down the cliffside and past the rocky expanse to where the concert had been held. It seemed ages ago. Some wistful part of me thought I could hear the faint sound of Kits singing above the gentle murmur of the waves.
The beach was golden in the afternoon sunlight. The sleepy tide sent water steadily dribbling into the sand beneath our feet, the drier patches giving way ever so slightly as we walked along. The faint outline of a plan had taken shape in my mind. We headed for the grotto.
"It makes sense now," I thought aloud. "The creature we fought at the concert was targeting you. The deep ones must have known that you two had a bond."
"I guess so," she replied uncertainly, eyeing the maw that opened up in the natural stone wall before us. "Going spelunking will help us how, exactly…?"
"I figure it tried to take you in there for a reason. This place has to be special. If you want, you can always wait here, but I'd prefer to have you with me. I only want to look around a bit. Maybe there's a clue of sorts on how we can contact Kit."
She sighed. "Now I know why you wanted me to bring my flashlight." She produced the object in question and handed it over before linking arms with me. "Of course I'll stick with you."
The inside of the cave was far too quiet for comfort. The eerie silence was only broken by the occasional plinking of water dripping from the walls and ceiling. We made an effort to step around the puddles glittering on the bumpy ground as we proceeded into the dimness. The sunlight threading through the grotto's mouth didn't reach very far, so we were glad for the bright beam of our torch. I let it travel the hollowed rock, the light crinkling oddly as it reflected off the pools of water that seemed to grow larger the further we got. Nettie Peterson was hanging onto my arm, her grip growing a little tighter with every passing minute. Her face was a set mask of grim determination, belied by the nervous twitch of her eyelid and the occasional quiver of her lower lip.
My own discomfort was undeniable as well. My heart was thundering in my chest and clammy beads of perspiration were running down my face. Every step we took caused a dull thud, the echo of which bounced off the rough stone walls to be funneled by the length of the cave. There were several smaller passages leading off into all directions, but Nettie and I agreed on always picking the largest entrance. This way, the path we took was far easier to memorize and there was little possibility of getting lost. After the third or fourth time we ducked through one of the doorframe-like archs, we were met with an imposing sight. A large room with high ceilings opened up before us. There was natural light seeping through several small cracks overhead. Stringy, pale plant life hung down or clung to the walls. A round lake filled up its entire bottom half.
Both Nettie and I stopped in our tracks. There was no solid ground to walk on anymore. On top of that, the beauty of this subterranean body of water had literally stunned us. Ripples were rolling off the center of its surface, casting a faint shimmer onto the ceiling. The stone-filtered light from outside set the lake aglow, bright speckled dancing across it like sprightly wisps. All I could do was taken in a soft, reverent breath while the very thoughts running through my head escaped Nettie's trembling lips.
"Have you ever seen something so beautiful?"
I would have told her yes, but I truly could not remember when. Unfortunately, the lake also appeared to form something of a dead end. I considered turning and checking out another passage, only for my savior human to point out a ledge running along the side of the room. It was narrow, but no doubt wide enough for the two of us to walk it single-file. We clambered up the shelf-like protrusion and, hand in hand, began to move along. It was bumpy and wet, and I almost regretted continuing this way. I couldn't seem to properly place my feet, my soles slipping a few inches with every step. Glancing over my shoulder, I could tell from Nettie's grim expression that she was experiencing similar difficulties. My pulse was racing, my lower lip caught between my teeth as I attempted to focus on safely making it across.
The cold sweat that leaves my palms was actively working against me at this point, and before I could react, the flashlight had slipped through my shaking fingers. It bounced off a bump in the shelf, then rolled off the edge entirely to disappear in the dark water with a thick, loud plop. I cursed, turning to Nettie with an apologetic expression.
"It's fine," she assured me, squeezing my hand. "It's bright enough here as it is and we'll still have our phones for light later."
I smiled gratefully, about to take my next step when a deep, guttural gurgle came rumbling up from the depths of the lake. The sound hovered in the damp, salty air for a moment or two. My best friend and I froze in place, her grip on my hand turning into an iron vice. For a split second, I believe even my own heartbeat stilled.
"What was that?" Nettie Peterson whispered, her voice barely audible over the sudden charged hum of the water below. Her question would not remain unanswered for long. The droning noise of vast water masses shifting began to fill the air as from deep, deep beneath, something made its way up. My savior human and I helplessly pressed our backs up against the wall, trying to keep steady against the force of the vibration shuddering through the rock. The ledge we were standing on was quaking as though the cave itself had come alive and was trying to throw us into this growling, cold abyss.
Within seconds, the thing broke the surface, causing enormous splashes and sending countless drops of water raining down on us. I blinked them out of my eyes just in time to see it unfurl.
It was not a living being in its entirety, merely part of one. That however only made the sight before us all the more terrifying. Simply put, it was a human arm. Just not of any human I had ever encountered. It was enormous; every webbed finger of the hand it ended in was about my size. There were six of them, each bending in far too many places—I thought I could count as many as eight joints on the longest one. Its nails were more like claws, long and sharp with what looked like barnacles growing underneath them. The thin, nearly translucent skin between its fingers was stony gray, just like the rest of it. The hand slowly began to grope around, searching the walls of the cave. I knew right then and there that I couldn't possibly fight it. If it came to it, I'd try to hold it off with everything I had, but something this huge couldn't possibly be defeated. We had to flee, as long as we still could.
"Oh God," Nettie breathed. "Oh God, oh God, oh God…" Her hand was trembling in mine.
"Quick," I hissed. "Turn around, we gotta get out of here!"
She nodded helplessly, her eyes blown wide in terror. When she began her retreat from the ledge, she nearly took up running. I pulled her close just in time to prevent her from slipping. "Watch out!" I uttered, unable to suppress the fear in my tone. "Don't slip, we're dead if we fall in."
My savior human let out a whine, then took a deep breath and bit her lip. Slowly but steadily, she placed each foot in front of the other, leading us off the ledge. My ears were ringing. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the gigantic arm as it blindly felt along the walls, its nails coaxing a grating sound as they scratched upon the rocks. It was getting closer and closer, the side of its thumb nearly brushing the top of my head for a split second before I could withdraw. I had to press my eyes shut for a moment as my chest tightened painfully. Finally, we had reached the end of the shelf and wasted no time in jumping off.
We didn't even bother with any cell phone flashlights. As soon as we were on solid ground again, we darted through the entrance of the room, back through all of our carefully chosen passages before finally staggering out the mouth of the cave into the sunlight. We were panting like dogs; Nettie was forced to crouch down and sit still for a while to catch her breath. Meanwhile, I was seeing stars. Colorful dots and sparks of lightning seemed to dance before my inner eye as I blinked furiously into the afternoon sun.
"What the fuck was that?" my best friend, having regained her ability to speak, rasped out.
I turned to face her, my knees wobbling like jello. "I have no idea."
"You think it… you think that fish person from the concert was trying to take me there? Dump me into that lake?" She lowered her voice. "It would have fed me to that giant thing, wouldn't it."
I held her gaze, my mind racing. "I don't know. Maybe the giant's different."
"What do you mean?"
"I think we might have just seen Kit's father."
X
1
2: deadbeat roommate
3: creepy crush
4: relocation
5: beach concert
6: First date
7: Temp work
8: roommate talk
9: a dismal worldview
10: warehouse
11: staircase
12: explanation
13: hurt
14: hospital
15: ocean
16: diner
17: government work

I taught at a strict vocational college that forced students to wear uniforms and bow to elders. As someone who let students call him by his first name and played Valo with them, I was not surprised when my boss called me into his office. I was ready to defend myself, but I was hit with: “Are you aware that your students are descendants of a cannibal?”
Truthfully? Sort of. I knew that in 1600, colonists invaded the island and enslaved the natives. A pirate named Sur-Linyao slaughtered the colonists and became the island’s folk hero.
Murals and statues of Sur-Linyao were all over the island. His signature look was his very long tongue sticking out of his mouth. The symbol on his pirate flag was a six-dot triangle. Technically, Sur-Linyao didn't eat ALL of the colonists, just one organ. First, he tied each colonist to a tree. Sur-Linyao then cut out each man’s liver and ate it raw with chili paste while staring into the person’s eyes. Sur-Linyao then threw that bleeding and squirming colonist into a dirty shallow pond, where Komodo dragons, attracted to the blood, devoured the victim alive.
The school rector handed me a photograph. It showed a male Westerner smiling while kicking a statue of Sur-Linyao while two women cheered him on. The three in the photo were humanitarian workers. Traces of candle wax at the base of Sur-Linyao’s statue showed that the islanders worshipped the liver-eating pirate, and for some reason, the workers felt they needed to do something about that. The three thought that their 6 months long relationship-building with natives on the island earned them enough goodwill for them to get away with that kind of stunt. Just a few hours after the photo was taken, the hacked body parts of all three were found scattered all over the beach. Their livers were missing.
The rector then stared right at me, preparing me for his next sentence. “Before you think that I’m a racist who is prejudging the modern-day natives as liver-eating savages based on what their ancestors did hundreds of years ago, you should know that the killings happened in 2017. To put things in perspective, the Nintendo Switch was already out.”
The rector then revealed that he called me into his office to ask me about an incident a day before.
There was a report that a White man with a goatee whistled at a native girl inside a convenience store on the south side of the island. He asked if that was me.
I was shocked. That was the reason he called me in here? I told him no. Apparently, there were only about 30 Caucasians on this island of 20,000 people, and only a few had a goatee. The rector then told me that a cop and the girl’s father and an older brother went to my dorm to look for me but I wasn’t there.
After seeing the look of horror on my face, wondering what would have happened if I was at the dorm, the rector told me not to panic and that he will talk to the cop and the girl’s family on my behalf. The rector ended our meeting with, “Just be careful AJ. We are the minority here. I hope to god you know what that means.”
For the past few classes, I started letting my students analyze Western media and culture. Thanks to globalization, these island kids watched and played the same media content as others their age around the world: Stranger Things, MCU, Fortnite, etc. As their teacher, I was often asked to comment on controversial topics like: “AJ, what do you think about a Neo-Nazi being punched before he does anything?” “AJ, what do you think about Black Lives Matter?” “AJ, what do you think about Go Woke Go Broke?” “AJ, what do you think about Don’t-Say-Gay-Bill?”
My answer was always to not ask me what I think, but for them to gather information from various sources and come to their own conclusion. Since more than ⅔ of the class were teenage males, their views were… not very much aligned with mine. But even though I disagreed with them, I felt like we had a healthy discussion.
I then noticed a student, Stephanie, seemed very unhappy as she shoved her notebook into her bag at the end of class. “You know I used to love your class. But I think these past few classes were shits.”
I was confused. Stephanie was one of my best students. She always sat in front and answered all questions correctly last semester. I asked her right away what was wrong.
“Is it going to kill you to just outright say that racism is wrong, misogyny is wrong, homophobia is wrong, and Naziism is wrong? Why does it have to always have to be a healthy debate?” I was shocked by her response. I told her that I don’t think a teacher should just outright tell students what to think, especially when it comes to social issues.
I mean, of course, I think racism, misogyny, Naziism, and homophobia are wrong. But I guess I would feel like I was brainwashing the students if I just tell them: this is what you must believe.
Stephanie scoffed. “Well, now Benny and his gang think that you approved of their homophobia and misogyny. You didn’t want to correct them not because you are this free-thinker, but in reality you just want them to think that you are a “too cool to care” edge lord just like them, right? Do you think the disenfranchised people enjoy watching others debate whether or not they should have the right to exist and feel safe? How would you feel if one day the island natives have a healthy debate about whether you should live or die?” Stephanie then stormed out.
Needless to say, I was not in a good mood that evening. I took it out on the students playing survivors while I was playing as a killer on Dead by Daylight. After getting slaughtered the students were not happy. “AJ, why were you tunneling me?”
A student named Benny asked after I sacrificed him within fifteen minutes. I thought that was rich coming from Benny, who, as a killer, only played Leatherface and Facecamp-ed all his victims the entire match. My response was snarky. “Benny, why don’t you try hiding like the other survivors instead of running around the map like a decapitated chicken?” The other students laughed. Benny didn’t respond right away, which made me feel kind of bad. Benny eventually responded after about two minutes. “I can’t wait to eat your liver, AJ.” My heart dropped to the floor. Did Benny just threaten me? I was waiting for the other students to call him out on that comment, but they were silent. After about thirty seconds, Benny continued, “I bet your liver tastes delicious, AJ. I bet it is so sweet and juicy I won’t even need a chili sauce.” The day after, I tried to spin that whole experience as a teachable moment. I decided the next class lecture was going to be about influential people and why people are so divided over them.
I listed some controversial ‘a hero to some, a villain to others’ figures for them.
Che Guevara Napoleon Edward Snowden
Hoping to have some more healthy debates. But the students do not have strong enough opinions about the figures that were so distant in relevance to them.
So, I did something that was probably the biggest mistake of my life. I asked them about the island's liver-eating hero, Sur-Linyao. Benny said that there’s nothing controversial about Sur-Linyao unless some douchebag wants to sympathize with the genocidal colonists he slaughtered.
I reminded Benny that if someone were to hear his comments in the previous class, they could accuse him of sympathizing with sexist racist homophobic Nazis too. Like an arrogant idiot, instead of leaving it at that, I decided it was healthy to hit them with some truth about Sur-Linyao.
Sur-Linyao was a horrifying villain to the islanders before the colonists arrived. He was a pirate after all. Sur-Linyao would regularly pillage several villages on the island, killing several innocent people in the process. Seeing the six-dots triangle jolly-roger from the distance must have been a nightmare for the islanders at the time.
And Sur-Linyao didn’t kill the colonists out of the goodness of his heart. There were pieces of evidence that showed Sur-Linyao worked with the colonists for years, and in the end, betrayed the colonists just because he wanted to rob them. Benny shook his head. He told me that several people in this class were direct descendants of Sur-Linyao, including him. I chuckled, thinking that he just WISHED he was a descendant of Sur-Linyao. But Benny said he could prove it.
More than half of the male students in the class stood up. They slightly tilted their head down but their eyes kept on looking forward, staring at me. Suddenly, their tongue started to slither out of their mouth. The tongues were too long, longer than a foot, but it was not the length that unsettled me, but the way it wiggled out of each of their mouth as if they were separate creatures. I was horrified looking at the dozen students standing in front of me, staring at me with their long tongues dangling out.
Benny then said, “Do you know what the six-dots triangle means, AJ? It means that the man seeing it was about to lose his liver.” I always parked my car a bit further away from the school because I didn’t want to fight with other faculty members over the parking space underneath the building. Besides, I didn’t mind walking a bit since there was a nice view of the ocean. As I was getting out of the car, I saw that someone painted the six-dots triangle on an abandoned water tank in the middle of the field. It was new, I didn’t see it the day before. And I was more than certain it was meant for me to see. No one parked where I parked and the surrounding area was abandoned.
I went and told the school administrator about this. They said that the six-dot triangle symbol was a symbol of Sur-Linyao who has pictures all over the island, including that symbol on his forehead.
It was not an intimidation symbol like a swastika and that I should relax.
Frustrated, I went back to my dorm. The view from my balcony was almost great, but there was a weird Ferris wheel-like structure blocking part of it. I didn’t even know what the circular structure was, but there seemed to be a bunch of neon light bulbs attached to it. I hoped it never got turned on or else I wouldn’t be able to sleep.
As I went into my closet, I found a T-shirt that was not mine. On it was a phrase, ‘I’m the Other White Meat’ on it. Why was this in my closet? Did the dry cleaner mix in someone else’s clothes with mine? Who would dry clean a T-shirt? I realized then that my room may have been broken into.
I was nervous and scared out of my mind. Am I being targeted or am I just overreacting? Is the entire island gaslighting me, or was it just Benny and his friends? Heck, it could have been Stephanie doing this, trying to teach me a lesson.
I opened Discord to see if some of my students want to play some games, but none of them were online, at least not in the group chat I set up. Some of them changed their profile picture to a six-dot triangle, including Benny.
That evening, I went to a gas station to fill up my car. As I was just about finished, I saw a truck coming down a steep hill, heading straight into the station. It was an old truck, but an intimidatingly large one, and loud. Then, I saw the six-dot triangle symbol painted on the side of the truck.
Logically, I shouldn’t have panicked. The symbol was a symbol of the island’s folk hero and the gas station is brightly lit and full of people. But out of nowhere, this feeling of dread overwhelmed me. The hair on my arm just rose straight up. I felt chills as if something was telling me to get out of the gas station now. I trusted my instinct and quickly started my bike and bolted out of there.
The next day, I walked past a hallway where a colleague named Beth was putting up a poster made by her students. The poster was showcasing English words that came from French. For some reason, there were also photos of faculty members floating alongside words like “Garage”, “à la carte”, and “Cache”.
I stopped in my track when I saw my photo with the word, ‘Foie Gras’ underneath it.
That word and my picture seemed so out of place being in its own little corner on the poster. I almost had a panic attack right there. Another threat? Are you kidding me? I thought. Beth asked me what was wrong. I decided to tell her.
That evening, I went to have dinner with Beth and her husband Jan on the beach. Just three White expats talking. I told them about what I had been experiencing in the past few days. The three dotted symbols painted where I parked, the comment from the student made on the game chat, the mysterious T-shirt, the racial profiling, all of it. “You are being very racist,” Beth said right at the very second I had just realized that I never really liked her.
She continued, “Don’t you get it, AJ? The students are threatening to eat your liver because they know you are a racist white man who thinks they were going to eat your liver. Kids will always try to exploit what they think the adults are afraid of. It’s your fault for showing them your cards.
Have you ever been outside of the States before? Do you not know how to be a minority? You came to an island paradise with so much special privilege but you suddenly have a male Karen racist nervous breakdown moment because you think that your teenage students are going to eat your liver? Quite frankly, I am very disappointed in you."
Her husband Jan tried to save the mood of the dinner. “So AJ, what are your plans for when the island shut off the power on July 7th?”
For one day every year, the island shut off all electricity for maintenance. Nothing electronic will work on that day, most importantly the ATM and the Internet. People, even the island natives, would go to the mainland for one day. There’s a problem with that idea. The ferry itself takes 3 hours to reach the mainland. And, with so many people thinking of doing the same thing, the line at the dock will be extremely long, both to the mainland in the morning, and back from the mainland in the evening.
For the last two years, I rode out the annual power outage by just chillaxing on the island. But this year, a Facebook post by Benny made me reconsider.

“I just want to say, my favorite teacher is AJ. He surely delivered. And soon I will de-liver him.”

Jan said that he and Beth will drive their speedboat to the mainland, which is 5 times faster than the ferry. They are also taking the rector with them. Judging from the way Beth glared at me, I don’t think she will say yes if I asked her if I could come too.
On the day of the power outage, I waited almost five hours in line to get my car onto the ferry. The ticket machine no longer works so everything was written on a notecard with pen and paper, which I found amusing. When the ticket man came to my car. He said to me that I have to wait for the next one. I looked at the ferry and it was not even half full. I asked him why and he pretended to suddenly not understand English.
I looked in my rearview mirror and then saw it, the truck with the six-dot triangle painted on its side only three cars behind me. How did it get there? I didn’t see it behind me before. I realized then that the truck wanted to get on the next ferry with me. I told the ticket holder that I will leave my car there and I will get on the leaving ferry with just me. Before he could say anything, I quickly maneuvered out of the line and parked in front of a cafe. The ticket boy said I couldn’t park there. I asked him if he owned the cafe, then quickly ran and jumped onto the suddenly departing Ferry.
After riding the ferry many times, I figured out that the top deck gave me the least motion sickness. I climbed up there and found a surprising person. Stephanie. She smiled at me, which made me so glad. I didn’t think what I did was something so bad that she would be holding a long grudge anyway. We made small talk, I asked her about what she was planning on doing for the day, etc. After a bit, I couldn’t help myself and showed her Benny’s Facebook post. I always thought she didn’t like Benny. I told her I was disappointed in him and was so shocked that he would threaten me like that.
I looked up at Stephanie and was shocked to see her eyes bulged out and her foot-long tongue dangling from her mouth. “Just like Voltaire, I may disagree with what Benny says, but I will defend to the death his right to say it." I was so scared, I backed away automatically. But, the teacher in me still corrected her and said that Voltaire didn’t say that. She laughed, “Good. Voltaire was a smart person. Only an idiot would say something like that.”
I moved down to the lowest level where the cars and the smoking passengers were. I tried not to fall asleep as I could feel the eyes of the other passengers staring at me.
The sound of people barfing almost made me want to barf myself. I went and sat on the edge of the front of the ferry. The wind blowing into my face did calm me a little. I was scared and frustrated. I wondered if I should just never go back to the island after reaching the mainland.
After looking at my watch and realizing that it had been three hours, I looked out the window and saw what made my soul leave my body. We were heading to the island? I didn’t even realize we had turned around.
I asked the ferry driver what was going on. He said there was a storm coming and he has to head back. Besides, it was already close to 5 PM, and the power should be coming back on soon.
I was extremely angry that I was about to be back on the island. Stephanie was nowhere to be found on the ferry also. Since I was farsighted, I could see the tires of my car were slashed.
There were also a couple of men standing there doing nothing, blocking my path toward my car. There was no longer any doubt in my mind that the natives were planning to do something to me. I was targeted and was about to be beaten or killed for whatever reason.
I surprised them all by jumping from the ferry before it was properly docked and sprinting in the opposite direction of where my car was. I climbed up the steep hills next to the road leading to the dock and disappeared into the woods The light was not coming back on and it was getting dark.
I was shaking in fear but I had to calm myself so I could think of the next move with a clear head. I wondered if Beth and Jan came back from the mainland yet. I could ask them to use their boat or at least hide me, and if they say no, at this point, I was at a level of desperation where I was willing to just cause chaos until they let me. On my way to their house, I had to pass my dorm. I considered going to gather some of my things until I saw something moving in the dark.
I almost peed my pants from fright when I saw a floating pair of eyeballs approaching my dorm. Despite everything else being in complete darkness, the eyes of a person and his dangling red tongue were glowing in the dark. I had never seen anything like this. Several more pairs of eyeballs and long red tongues emerged from the dark woods.
I couldn’t tell if the floating eyeballs and tongue belonged to Benny or any of my students, but they were right outside my dorm. As my eyes started to get used to the darkness and started to see shapes, I could see that they were each holding a machete. I quietly made my way to Beth and Jan’s house. When I got to their boathouse, there were flies everywhere. I tried to brush them away, but I could feel the thickness of the swarm. I felt like I was touching a bunch of floating chunks of meat.
I saw their boat at the dock. So did they come back? But why wouldn’t they turn on their boat’s light? I finally decided to use my phone flashlight to help me search for the boat key inside the boat house. I didn’t use my phone earlier because I was trying to conserve battery and also I didn’t want to draw attention to where I was. As soon as I shined the phone’s flashlight inside the boathouse, I was shocked to find the hacked-up heads of Beth, Jan, and the school’s rector covered in flies. Suddenly, I heard a wood creaking sound coming from outside. I quickly grabbed the boat key and jumped into the couple’s speed boat.
I hurriedly start the boat and just drove off, not caring about anything else. I used my phone’s compass to find the direction towards the mainland and I just kept going.
Suddenly, lights came back on the island. It shined brightly behind me as a nuclear bomb had just been detonated. I couldn’t help but look back, and then I saw it: a giant face formed by the neon lights, making the entire island look like it had a demonic face. The circular Ferris-wheel-like structure that was outside my dorm’s balcony was part of one of the giant face’s eyes.
I told myself to just ignore it and kept on driving. It was their world and they didn’t want me in it. I could do nothing but kept on going into the darkness.

This post is the final part of this story. Sorry it has taken so long to get through. And I'm not sure I even understand all of it yet. If you're new, this all started here. The previous part (Part 7) is here. Thank you to everyone who followed along.
-----
“Do you see her?” I asked in a meek voice.
“You mean that girl in black?” Harvey answered.
It was her, in the flesh. Her lips parted and formed a malevolent smile. Her dark eyes fixed on mine. My legs turned to solid lead. My feet refused to move. The anxiousness to reach Parker and Juliet and Beth in the cellar crumbled like the wood turning to ash behind us. She demanded my attention.
A hand rocked my shoulder. Harvey. I pushed him away.
“You have to go. Help them. I’ll take care of her.”
“What about you?”
“I’ll be right behind you.”
A mirage of Harvey flitted past Ally and disappeared into the kitchen. Everything blurred, everything but her.
She tilted her head to one side and bridged the gap between us with four slow and deliberate steps. She pushed her right hand out from a long sleeve and ran the black painted nail of her index finger across my cheek, the smooth lacquer cold against my skin. I shuddered as the chill spread like ice creeping up a window.
“It is such a shame to be losing you so soon. We’ve only just met, and yet I feel like we’ve known each other our whole lives. Do you feel it too?”
I shook my head. “Let me go.”
“We’re past that now Sam. I considered if we could coexist, you and I. It gave me a thrill knowing there is another one out there like me. But you insist on meddling with my work.”
“You mean locking all those girls in that filthy dungeon where they met their end? And Jane here.”
“The work is sometimes unpleasant.”
“But the pay is good?”
“This isn’t about money Sam. You and I are the same. The pain you felt from not fitting in. The lonely nights lying awake, wishing you could be like everyone else. The stares and the whispers. The rejection from those who are supposed to love us the most. I too know. But where you hid, I searched out a path where my talents were appreciated and rewarded. You don’t hate me Sam. You hate yourself for not thriving like I have.”
“Thriving? Is that what you call it?”
“By all measures yes. I am good at what I do. The best. The only. Or so I thought. And then there is you. A naïve, sheltered little boy who can barely put on his own pants in the morning. It is such a shame. And these so-called friends of yours, that was always doomed to failure. Oh and if you harbour any thoughts of them escaping, know that we blocked the little secret entrance the stable boy showed you. There’s no escape except through the fire. When they pick through the ashes of this building they will find their bones, and yours. Is this how you imagined it turning out?”
I flexed the muscles in my legs, but they refused to move. Ally smiled.
“It’s useless now Sam.”
I heard the faint whisper of Juliet’s voice in my head. She pleaded with me. Come on Sam, you can do this. I remembered the last encounter with Ally, outside the wall separating Windhaven Manor from the world. Ally had put me in the white room. I had broken free. I had overcome her power once. I had to do it again.
I took a deep breath in through my nose and cried out and willed my feet to move. Electricity coursed through my body and I directed it down to the floor. My left heel separated from the floor and that set the whole thing in motion. The dam burst. I lurched forwards and overbalanced and sprawled to the floor.
Ally crouched beside me and chuckled. “Some would call it a tragedy for a child to die so soon after learning to walk.”
I looked back towards the front of the house. The fire burned hot. Thick black smoke circled up the huge open space of the gallery. Portraits hanging on the wall bubbled and curled as flames consumed them.
A figure appeared at the foot of the staircase. The spectre of Crown. The goons had dragged his lifeless corpse out of the house, but stood before me was the spirit with unfinished business. The ugliness of his actions showed through now in death. His skin was sallow and wrinkled. His head too big for his body and his teeth yellowed. A grotesque monster made worse by his mortal demise.
Ally whispered in my ear. “He knows it was your meddling that brought about his end. I’ll leave you two alone.”
She brushed my cheek with the back of her hand and stood. As she walked away leather straps materialised out of thin air and pinned my body to the floor.
The spectre of Crown grew before me, swelling in size until he had to crouch to stay below the chandelier. He clenched his fists and with burning red eyes let out a guttural growl that skipped my ears and penetrated directly into my skull.
I tried to pull my hands to my ears but they would not come. It made no difference. The roar coming from Crown stabbed the inside of my head like a thousand daggers. I lifted my head and the growl grew to a scream that ricocheted around the inside of my skull. I couldn’t take much more. It felt as though my head would explode.
Guilt bubbled up and mingled with the fear and I shrank into the floor and wished for it to swallow me. They were down there, the only friends I had known, banging against a locked door denying their escape. I sobbed. I sobbed like I had the night my parents turned from me.
In the pit of my stomach something else grew. A seed of frustration born of a lifetime existing in a world that didn’t make sense. A world where I had no idea who I was and what I could or should do. A world in which I hid. I couldn’t do that now.
Juliet’s voice as clear as day, cutting through the racket of Crown’s scream. Do it Sam. I gritted my teeth and electricity buzzed somewhere deep inside, at first dull and imperceptible, and then amplified and resonating until it peaked into a deafening roar.
Above Crown the bulbs in the chandelier glowed white. He swivelled his head and watched them dumbly.
I concentrated, felt the energy forming an extra limb. Like the arms and legs of a newborn it flailed spasmodically. I fought to control it, to turn it to my will. I focussed on the straps pinning me to the floor. The electricity fed into the straps and turned them hot. For a moment I feared they would scold my skin, and then in a moment of release they split and flung upwards.
I picked myself up off the floor and faced the spectre of Crown. Like a spent boxer throwing one final punch I threw out my hands and screamed, willing Crown to be quiet and be still. Demanding he be so.
The floor shook. The dozens of bulbs in the chandelier shattered. The giant spectre of Crown diminished and the screaming inside my head softened until it was no more. Crown’s eyes opened wide as his mouth stitched together and his arms wrenched behind his back. I flicked my hand like I was swatting a fly and Crown flew into the corner of the room and slumped to the floor.
I bent over and rested my hands on my knees. My muscles ached, like I had run a marathon. Shadows played on the floor. I sucked in air and smoke and spluttered and coughed.
In the hallway the silhouette of Ally. She turned and shook her head. The heat of the fire intensified and crackled at my skin. If we were to make our escape, she could not be here to block us. I straightened and strode towards her.
I cycled furiously through the events of the last few days, searching for something to defeat Ally. I had to do to her what she had done to me. The time for running and breaking her spells was through.
I closed my eyes and concentrated. I stripped away everything except for the two of us. The crackle of the fire replaced with silence. The smell of the smoke disappeared. The heat washed away. One by one I shut down all my senses. When I opened my eyes a monotone room of white. Sterile calm had replaced the burning insides of Windhaven Manor.
Her eyes scanned the room and she giggled. “Cheap tricks won’t get you far,” she said. “And you learned this one from me.”
The white rippled as if the walls were made of water. She was fighting it. I concentrated, focussing all my energy, all my will. The ripples slowed and then stopped.
“You’re a fast learner,” she said. “But I have been doing this for more than a weekend.”
Strips of colour permeated the white. A rectangle of tile appeared on the floor. And then some blue from the curtain. Enough of a smouldering wall to let in some smoke. The acrid smell reached my nose and I spluttered. As each wedge of colour appeared, I filled it back in white. But it was a sinking ship and the pail I held to bail out the water would not be enough.
Ally grunted under her breath. A grunt of frustration. The white room shook and made a sound like a train bearing down.
I had to bind her. I raised my palm and coils of rope rose from the ground and oscillated like snakes around her. She swatted them away and wrenched them from the ground and flung them at my feet, limp and unmoving.
“It won’t be that easy,” she sneered.
My arms jerked behind my back. She bound my wrists and then my ankles. She pursed her lips and blew as if extinguishing a single candle on a birthday cake, and it was enough to send me to the floor. I couldn’t do this on my own. I needed help.
I shut my eyes and concentrated my energy not on my bindings, but on the woods at the back of Windhaven Manor. On the girls who escaped the dungeon and now roamed the forest, watching the house burn from behind the barrier Ally constructed.
I fed the energy coursing through my body into the giant snowdome structure until it burned hot and then like the globes in the chandelier, it cracked and exploded into the night sky. The spirits of the girls watched the shards disappear and then strode towards the Manor.
I turned my attention to the tiny room beside the pantry, where Jane Laughlin lay bound to the bed. I stood beside her and lay my hand on the shackles binding her to the bed. She shuddered as the mask came free from her mouth and then stood as the shackles broke.
I opened my eyes and the white of the room flickered off and then back on again like bad reception on a television. I had to keep the white walls up long enough for them to draw near. For them to be ready when the façade fell. Ally strode towards me, exuding confidence.
“You can’t beat me Sam.”
Ally squeezed her hands into fists and screamed. In a burst of energy she wiped the white room clear and we were back in the burning house. The air was thick with smoke. Behind me a timber beam tumbled from the ceiling and crashed to the floor. The heat and smoke sucked the moisture from my insides and I heaved out a series of coughs.
Ally opened her eyes and smiled. She had bested me. But then they came. The girls from the dungeon and Jane Laughlin surrounded her. The sum total off all the pain and hurt inflicted in this place. Everything Ally had worked to keep hidden from the world.
They lurched at Ally. She raised her hands and pushed them back one by one as they went for her. She spun on the spot, trying to keep them at bay. She could not hold them all back. The sheer weight of numbers overwhelmed. They leaned in and pushed their heads into hers and showed her what those men had done. Made her feel it. The fear and despair and anger of each individual stacked together and Ally crumpled to the floor holding her head.
“Make it stop,” she said.
They kept at her.
Jane Laughlin sidled over to the base of the stairs where Crown sat, bound and with his mouth stitched. She considered him, restrained and helpless on the floor as she had been. He fought with his restraints, and then whimpered, as she had. As I ran for the pantry and the wine cellar, the corridor filled with the muffled sound of his screams.
The door to the cellar stood open and I made the descent of the stairs in three leaps. The enclosed space already full with smoke. At the end of the long corridor leading outside, Parker and Harvey shouldered the door. Juliet and Beth screamed encouragement. The door would not budge.
“We can’t go that way,” I yelled.
They raced back up the long corridor. A sudden rush of emotion bubbled up to the surface. I was so happy to see them all still alive. My lower jaw rattled and my hands shook. I fought to hide it.
Beth reached me first. “Sam, you’re ok.”
I blubbered a response and took in a lung full of smoke. We had to get out.
The fire raged outside the kitchen door. A wave of flame climbed up and spread across the ceiling. A subtle cracking sound from above intensified and a chunk of the upstairs floor came crashing down through the ceiling, blocking the rear door. We couldn’t get out the back. The only way now was back through the house. A ball of flame whooshed through the doorway and I put my arm up too late, my eyebrows wilting in the heat.
We crouched together in the middle of the kitchen, lowering our heads to get the last of the remaining oxygen. Malicious red flames and choking black smoke surrounded us on all sides.
“Where do we go now?” Parker’s words came out between coughs. Tears streaked down his cheeks. Soot covered his brow. I wished I had an answer.
Then he was there, standing over Parker’s shoulder. Leon. With the protective bubble gone, he too was free to come in the Manor.
“The fire has not yet consumed the dining room. But you don’t have long.”
I looked vaguely in the direction of the kitchen door and blinked back the stinging from the smoke. “I don’t think we can find it in this.”
“Follow me.”
I pulled my shirt up over my head. “We have to go. The dining room, we can make it. All together on three.”
I shouted out the numbers, the sound drowned out by the roar of the fire. I grabbed Beth’s hand and yanked her into action. Leon led the way and I kept my eyes on his heels. Together we were a flurry of arms and legs bounding for the dining room. I gritted my teeth against the heat. We burst through the doorway and everything turned orange.
From below the sweater pulled tight down over my hair, I shot a glance over to the floor of the grand gallery where I had left Ally writhing on the floor. She was not there now. Nor were the spectres of the girls.
I followed Leon’s heels into the dining room. The great wooden table smouldered in the centre of the room. Brilliant orange flames consumed the thick curtains. Parker spotted his camera still atop the tripod and set to pulling the camera free before Harvey grabbed his arm and yelled something that sounded like ‘leave it’.
Harvey grabbed one of the heavy chairs with their high backs and velvet cushions and heaved it at the window in the back corner of the room. The chair disappeared into the darkness of the night and Harvey kicked at the glass shards left behind. Parker joined. We piled out the opening.
I drank in the fresh cool air of night, staggering over the narrow path beside the house and to the small strip of grass beyond. Parker collapsed beside me and pulled the laptop out from under his shirt. He tapped at the casing and for a moment a brief smile flashed across his face, but it did not last long. He wiped soot and sweat from his face with shaking hands.
Harvey checked us all in turn, like a parent fussing over their children. We had scrapes and bruises and our skin was red and raw, but we were alright. We had survived. He ran to the front of the house and came back with palms held out by his sides. The man in the black suit, the goons Ponytail and Beanie, and Ally were all gone, along with the black van and the BMW.
Huddled together, we watched the fire consume Windhaven Manor, bright reds and oranges lighting up the windows and thick black smoke tumbling into the purple haze of sky. It was almost morning, the horizon signalling the coming of the sun.
Leon stood apart on the grass. I went to him.
“Thank you for coming back for us.”
He shrugged. “It’s something. It isn’t enough to make up for the rest.”
“You saved our lives. And those girls, they had their chance to meet their tormentors. That’s something too.”
He nodded. “What happens now?”
I turned my head sideways. “I’m still learning how all this works.”
The red of the fire reflected in his eyes. “Me too. I might go for a walk in the woods. I always liked it out there.”
He glided across the lawn and entered the trees and was gone.
The sound of sirens fought with the crackle of the fire. The fire brigade and the police. I got to my feet and shuffled to the front of the Manor. The burnt out carcasses of our cars stood by the low height wall. Black soot smudged the stone façade above the windows and the doors.
By the oak tree on the ocean side of the house stood Jane Laughlin. She peered down into a hole dug at the base of the tree. A pale and withered hand poked up out of the dirt. Her hand. They had meant to remove the body, but had aborted the task and fled.
A fire truck appeared at the head of the driveway and then another. They sped down the gravel and came to a sliding stop. A lone police car followed. Harvey sidled over.
Jane looked to the horizon. Out on the cliff edge stood a figure in a red dress. She recognised her sister Kylie immediately and ran down the slope. The two sisters embraced in the first light of the sun. I turned to the whoosh of water through a hose from the fire trucks and when I turned back, the Laughlin sisters were gone.
The members of The Séance Club, which I now consider myself a part, sat together on the low-height stone wall as the firefighters extinguished the flames consuming Windhaven Manor. The house was quiet now. The nausea and vibration I had felt that first night replaced with calm.
The police stripped the compound clean for the best part of a week. They identified Kyle the sketch artist and Hugo from the teeth that survived the fire of the hovel built over the dungeon. Hugo’s wife lay on the back lawn where Beanie and Ponytail had left her. But as to specific evidence of the crimes that occurred, they could not find enough to put a case together.
The two fires and the disappearance of Crown made some headlines, but there wasn’t enough to hang anyone else. The police claimed publicly that there was no link between the fire at Windhaven Manor and the fire at the squalid residence over the back fence. At Harvey’s behest they searched the area with cadaver dogs for the remains of the girls, but they found nothing.
Parker turned his laptop over to the police. They identified the two goons, Ponytail and Beanie, low level thugs who had disappeared from the streets years earlier. Those in the know presumed them dead. It made tracing them almost impossible. Tracing their vehicles lead to a dead end.
The man in black the suit on the other hand might as well be a ghost. On him they found nothing. They have a face, but nothing else.
As for Ally, the girl somehow managed to always turn her face away from the cameras, as if she knew where they were.
I sat in a small room at the police station for three days with Harvey putting the pieces together. He showed me a photograph of an old and gaunt man with a bent back, the last owner of Windhaven Manor before it was sold after his death. He had to be the man with the bent back from the ceremony in the dungeon, but I could not be certain. I never saw his face. Of the faces I did see, we knew Crown and Kyle and Hugo, but the others were harder to pinpoint.
At the end of it all Harvey sighed. There was nothing more we could do. But we could rest on the knowledge that the key players in the ceremony were all now dead.
Questions nagged at me. Where was Ally and what was she doing? Would she try to find me? Who was she working for?
That was the biggest question of all. Who was at the top and pulling the strings? Harvey wasn’t giving up. He was a dog with a bone at the best of times, and now he had a taste of blood. He refused to go back to the police even after Crown’s departure, which he described as the removal of a cancerous limb.
Harvey called me after the dust settled on everything. I told him that the trail had gone cold and I had no idea where Ally was. For all I knew she had evaporated into thin air. Harvey thought it unlikely, and I agreed. He told me it was time for some old-fashioned detective work. The names of the goons would be a start.
And there was something else Harvey mentioned, something that I had almost forgotten. He had always believed that his investigation into the disappearance of the girls was the reason one of his colleagues was murdered. Crown confirmed as much in the bedroom right before he was shot. Harvey thinks there is something to it. Another thread to pull, and he has a hunch. For now he’s keeping his cards close to his chest until he has some proof. I almost pressed him on the issue but decided I’d rather put it all behind me.
The story made headlines in the local press for a while, but ultimately it fizzled into a non-story, quickly forgotten by a public with a short attention spans. We all waited for a reckoning from within the police ranks, but it never came. Harvey predicted that’s the way it would go, and he was proven right.
The one item they did recover was a gold necklace with a heart pendant. The necklace Jane Laughlin wore the night of her death. The police found it where the black van had parked. After a few days in the possession of the police, Harvey arranged to have the necklace released to the family of its former owner.
The following day Mr. and Mrs. Laughlin appeared on the local news, thanking the efforts of those who recovered the remains of their daughter. It was closure, though not the kind they had hoped for. Both their girls were dead.
A week later The Séance Club convened in Beth’s apartment. Parker and Juliet were already there when I arrived. It was cathartic to talk about the events at Windhaven Manor, to compare stories and scars. I guess that’s why they have the saying about a problem shared.
After a brief silence, Beth asked, “Are you going to talk to the parents of Jane and Kylie?”
I shook my head. “What will I tell them?”
“That their daughters found each other out by the cliff edge.”
“And what about the agony of their deaths? Should I tell them that too? Besides, it doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right to me yet. And what weight do my words hold over those of some Priest talking about how he knows their souls are at rest.”
“Because you really do know.”
I shrugged. “I can’t prove any of it.”
Truth was I had no idea how to integrate the things I could see and do into my life. From childhood all I had wanted was to be like everyone else. For people not to stare or whisper as I walked by. To find acceptance. Sitting with my three new friends at Beth’s tiny kitchen table, with our shared experience behind us, I finally had it. This could be the start of something.
Parker was already planning the next Séance Club trip. An abandoned farm up north with mysterious sightings going back centuries. Juliet was already on board. I told them to wait. I couldn’t jump back in right away.
I was the last to leave, Beth and I sipping mug after mug of coffee and sharing comfortable silence. When I sighed and told her I should go, she grabbed my arm.
“I’ve never had a real family, and then I found Juliet and Parker. The Séance Club became my family. Whatever happens we are there for each other. And we mean it when we say we want you to join.”
I thought about that all night, unable to sleep.
The next morning I called Parker.
An abandoned farm up north you say?
* * * *
I navigated to the narrow alley and checked the time. The Exchange should be open. It looked out of context in the Saturday morning light. No bright light spilling from the window. No surge of Friday night after work traffic.
I slipped in the front door. A lone man lifted upturned stools down from the bar. He had his back to me and I crept across the hardwood floor in the direction of the stairs down and the bathrooms.
The vibration swelled in my chest, but I did not fear it. A dull pain rose in the base of my skull, but I gritted my teeth. A man wearing a pair of rough leather shoes came from the other end of the corridor and stopped before me.
“Are you here to help?”
I nodded.
X

I'll try to keep this short. Emphasis on try. I'm a male victim of a narcissistic abuser whom had used me for over $10k in living expenses, rent, and "gifts" that I was coerced into getting for her.
I eventually came to my senses and after her being unemployed, blatantly avoiding working, or quitting multiple jobs after one week, getting drunk while I was at work (on my dime) and literally pissing the bed multiple times a week, and throwing punches at me ( or the walls, leaving actual holes ) when she had too much, I broke up with her and told her to find a friend or a parent to live with.
Unfortunately, people don't like rejection. And rather than accept her own faults, she chose to call the police on me and try to reverse the narrative. I now have a crimal record. Despite no evidence that I ever abused her, or anything to back up her claims, her word of mouth lost me my job, multiple friends, my squeaky clean crimal record (not even a traffic violation!) and ultimately, my faith in people as a whole.
I hate the idea that men can't be victims in these types of situations. And I hated myself for allowing myself to fall victim to it. Between destroying my self confidence and the slandering between mutual contacts, I didn't have anyone who I could confide in. I'd been pressured into cutting off any female friends, and been told my male friends were "morons, bad influences, not worth my time" etc. All while she was turning them against me. I lost 50 lbs ( 170 to 120 as a 5'11" guy ) I would go three or four days without eating, Throwing up whatever water I managed to stomach.
I was led to believe she didn't call the cops on me for it, and that her mom had over-reacted. Come to find out anyone related to her or actually close to her didn't know I even existed. My public defender didn't ever present me a statement of the facts, or an actual copy of the police report. Despite it being his job to protect me, he probably assumed I was a piece of shit who actually did it and that I was lying to his face. Otherwise, I would've known that she was the orchestrator behind all of it.
It took months later, while I had (after 8 months of moving back in with my parents and applying to hundreds of jobs) finally been accepted to work somewhere with a pending case.
The newfound lack of trust has cost me 2 relationships since then, because of paranoia, and similar personality traits or mannerisms setting me off. Both were (I think???) Good women who would've been a good fit for me back in January 2022, but I've become enough of a wreck that I floundered them both ( I cried. Like. A lot. Nobody should have to be an armchair psychiatrist or a surrogate, I don't blame them. )
Anywho, after 4 months of blackjack dealer classes, committees meeting up to approve me for a gaming liscense ( they did! ) the state rejecting me for a gaming liscense ( ouch! ) I got rehired as a server at the same place. And I'm actually loving it. I still have literal thousands to pay off in legal fees, a gross misdemeanor (that'll be dismissed if I can pay off the fees) a destroyed credit score, and a very sour taste left in my mouth, but I'm for the first time in my life doing a job that I actually enjoy, that pays VERY well, meeting new people, and waking up every day with optimism for the future.
Ultimately I've just learned that a Lotta people can suck, but someone out there is going to fit right. There's a fine line between "not being rude" and "not respecting yourself enough". And unfortunately it took me until 22 to realize ( I'm 23 now!!!! Whoooooooo! )
Tl;Dr: Physically abusive, emotionally manipulative ex gave me a crimainal record ( and a metric fuckton of distrust ) but I just look forward to moving back into my own place, making some bank, and building the life I actually want. Hopefully with the newfound sense of respect I've learned for myself and who I'd want to be with.

Part 1 of the Evil That Lies Within arc begins.
[Previous] Part 022 [Next]
<==--------===-=-===--------==>
/- - Flight of the War Witch - - \
\ =>>>>><0> 023 <0><<<<<= /
\ - - - Patron of the Arts - - - /
=----=====----=
Voice Log Entry number: 81-3, Timestamp: 02-15 (estimated (guesstimated)(aintgotacluestimated))
Bit into the -second- year here. Yeah. Still getting used to that. Think I am going to just start counting days as they pass here rather than doing the mental gymnastics needed to convert fifty hour days and two-hundred day seasons into Earth days and years. A 'season' here being about four-hundred and sixteen days long. Give or take a few days. Considering everything else on this world is artificial - I have a feeling the variance in the season timing is intentional and probably oscillates. Not enough pattern data yet to know for sure.
Still no handle on why time feels... compressed here? I have settled into a sleep schedule of about sixteen of the twenty-five hour night - and it feels like a restful eight hours. The dragon folk tend to sleep twenty hours. I use the extra time to practice with my magic sword. My MAGIC SWORD! yeaaaaaah!
This Grand Bazaar is so fun! It is like an enormous ren-fair if ren-fairs were into greeco-roman fashions. Speaking of. Baroness Clade was all ga-ga over some new dresses from the outer ring of the gathering. These were pretty interesting as the floor length skirts billowed out. This was pulled off by weaving the whole thing from wire mesh instead of chain-mail. Or used metal struts connected to a belt to give the garment shape. Just more example of how their textiles diverged from ours due to the radically different materials on hand. No mammals, no wool, a ridiculous abundance of metals. Oh yeah. And freaking magic.
I have to keep reminding myself that this is all on an enormous scale. It takes me about three hours to walk the outer ring. (oh-so much longer because we are window-shopping...) My walk speed is forty-eight kph. So yeah. Its big. And this thing lasts a ten-day. Though the tenth day is when alot of folk start packing up. Some far earlier if they sold out their wares quicker.
Found out what the wigs are made from. Dragon hair. Found a stall selling wigs and turns out dragons with nice hair use a hair growth spell to grow it out and harvest it regularly. Can not do it frequently. Something about needing time to replenish. But it is a business here for dragons who like other hair colors.
If you are willing to hang around a few days there are crafters and brewers who can whip up during the event some basic magic items. Mostly little widgets that do not do a whole lot. Or quick-craft stuff like arrows with basic targeting enhancement enchantments. Potions can be gotten in a day. I nabbed a few "Healing Potions" because they should work on my nominally organic parts. Least that was what I expected. Guess what? That's right. I'm WRONG! Kinda-sorta... Its Complex!!!
We swung around the Druid section of the magic ring at Ghinda's request and got the lowdown on the problems of fixing me up as it had apparently unbeknownst to me, been prying on her mind ever since we met. She would prod me now and then at the keep to do some 'tests', but never said what for?
This for...
She had been talking at length with one of the higher ups in the rankings of nature lovers. This guy looked ancient! Yet strong at the same time. My chest and veins felt a little tingly near him. Guessing that was the more plant based parts of me responding? In any case he was blood red and had these curly corkscrew horns like a ram. Rings everywhere! Fingers, horns, tail. Don't wanna know where else! And holding this staff that was like twenty meters tall! Wood. Like a whole tree. Topped with a turquoise orb and an, ahem, orbiting ring of, er, rings with different elements in the rings where a finger would go. Standard Earth, Air, Fire, Water. But between those were Magma, Smoke, Ice (how'd he get that even???), and Mud. Really impressive looking. The length of the staff was carved with arcane runes and banded in gold. Guy really liked his ring motif huh?
So first glance at me is that dismissive "Fuck off technology." attitude and I'm like "ooooh Imma gonna -show- him somethin!"
But then he does a double-take and starts to look at me funny. Like he is looking -through- me, inside me?
Then he starts to get excited.
Then really excited.
Then -oh fuck! What did I do this time?- excited.
Turns out he could clearly sense all the plant-life inside me comprising my life support systems. A fifteen meter tall enclosed micro-ecology. He was just ooohing and ahhing at the near perfect balance of my internal workins. And so an hour or more passed while I tried to explain in fantasy terms the incredible effort that went into the CyberDyne project and the botanist who made the breakthrough in sealed life support systems. They read it all as a neo-Druid creating a self sustaining eco-system. Something Druids of this world consider a work of art or a religious experience in a way. Due to how the whole world is in a way just that. Self contained and perpetual.
He was really interested in the mini forest that makes up my lungs. Probably because they are not of this world and at a guess are pinging his nature sense. He asked me if he could get a clipping. And I said "Not on the first date."
He got all purple in the face and then laughed and laughed.
So he confirmed that basic healing incantations like [Balm of Life] will kinda-sorta work on me. But due to my, ahem, Golem nature and my botanic parts, I'd get more oomph from a simple [Repair] incantation for my cybernetics and [Botanica's Blessing] for my plant based systems. A healing potion was going to do me little good then - and would be only a -third- as effective. argh! ah well. I can use it in the others in an emergency. Stuff makes triage look like leeches and poultices. hmph. Magic.
From all this I did though get some advice. Mainly to look up a Master of Alchemy to whip up some specialized healing draughts. Cost a bit more. But better than needing the magic equivalent of a Pit Crew to heal me up. Not like I intend to get perforated again. But with these Coalition jokers out there. I have a bad feeling I am going to be in the eye of the storm. Least they pointed me at someone here to talk to about that.
Noon will be dinner with the local nobility. The Baroness suggested I dress well so I guess I will be stowing the Regalia and going formal. Good thing packed the clothes for this. Kinda nervous. Aside from meeting the mayor of Dynamiton City, I have never really had to deal with the higher ups.
Forescout Valkyria signing out.
=----=====----=
Valkyria, with much assistance from Roscida, disengaged her Regalia and a few plates to slim down to a less aggressive profile. Then her ward helped her to get dressed and don her wig. Together they met up with Dasos and she resupplied more goggles to sell and for the morning the Gorgon swapped out with the Ki-rin girl so Dasos could do a little shopping herself.
Wandering the stalls and merchants she was updated on the sales of the goodies and stoning potions. "huh, more sold than I expected?"
Dasos nodded while munching on a glazed tyra leg as she walked beside the War Witch. "The Grand Bazaar is an opportune time to sell and spread word. And word is spreading."
She glanced sidelong at the Gorgon. "Feels good to be making a difference?"
This got an emphatic nodding. "Very much so. The look on peoples faces. Especially the expressions when learning the low cost. After thousands upon thousands of days we are not shunned and driven off."
"In time the cure will be found and you all can go back to living normal lives."
Dasos was keen to buy a new dress for herself after a lifetime of living in rags and whatever they could scrounge or steal. Well the metal equivalent of rags. Dragon clothing was very durable overall.
-<>-
As noon rolled around they saw the Gorgon back to her stall and Roscida joined Valkyria in meeting Baroness Clade at the castle gates. The structure was tremendous and some of the taller minarets reached high into the sky perhaps a quarter of a kilometer. The gate guards were armored and looked alot like silver versions of Valkyria. Though without the stiff wing covers. Each was armed with a huge halberd, a pole arm some twenty meters long with a spike pointing upwards, an axe head facing forward and a hook facing back.
Baroness Clade did the introductions and then they were escorted inside by an attendant and Valkyria got to gawk at the decorations, all on a cyclopean scale. Fifteen meter tall statuary adorned some halls. tapestries and stained glass windows were common and there were quite a few paintings. The elder Clade encouraged the guide to elaborate on some of the depictions.
"Here is show the mounted battle of the Phantom Swamps some two-hundred thousand days past."
The white and gold cyborg ran a quick calculation and figured that to be over a thousand years ago by Earth time. "So you even domesticated a thunder lizard?" She was looking at the huge diplodocus that was being ridden like an elephant and was about as large.
"The diplo in the center? Yes. They are native to the great swamps of the lowlands. A few daring souls have trained them for war. But they are difficult to manage. Bron are even harder to tame and for reasons unknown once every few seasons a bull will ascend the plateaus and go on a rampage until either driven off or put down." So explained the attendant.
Valkyria studied this for a time, taking into account the gigantic scale of this battle depicted. Spells were flying, knights with glowing weapons were cleaving into each-other, and a pair of trebuchets mounted on the diplodocus were lobbing stones at some sort wall of earth some mage had called up. The painting had tiny little details in it down to links in armor and little fine inscriptions on weapons and standards. "Who are they fighting? Looks formidable? Are those a pair of Golems? I see hinged joints?" she questioned.
"Indeed m'lady. Ta Matia tis Mageías, The Eyes of Vraja, were a mageocrocy that formed formed around a renowned vraja college of Solomonari to the west between here and the Ki-rin lands. They grew in power and then began expanding. They employed Golems and Elementals in large numbers and were a force to be reckoned with. The painting depicts the final battle on the borders of what would become the Principalities." pointed out the attendant.
"So what became of them?"
Baroness Clade answered that. "Everyone turning against them and internal fraction caused the eventual collapse as they suffered a series of defeats after some initial victories. A faction within the Eye was against violence and secretly aided the unified people opposing the expansion and so inside and out the cracks formed. Finally they could take no more and sued for peace when they realized the horrible loss of knowledge that was happening as one after another fell. They reorganized and police themselves rigorously now as a true college of study and wisdom. That was all some half a million days ago."
The War Witch gawked as she did some calculations. Over two-thousand eight-hundred Earth years ago. "And it is still going today?"
A nod from the elder dragoness. "Indeed. I myself studied there for six-thousand days and graduated well in my class."
Valkyria did not comment on needing to go to magic school for thirty-five years before getting out was a bit mind blowing. "Seems all that study payed off!"
"Twas not that long. Curricula has advanced since those early days. Back then one was expected to study for a full ten-thousand says!" the Solomanari waved it off as if decades meant little in the greater scheme.
This got the cybernetic human in a draconic looking variable frame to wondering just how long these people lived. Something she would have to ask later. She had some clues already based on the ages of Roscida and the younger Clade, which reminded her. "So will Clade and the Baron be arriving in two days?"
"Correct. My husband and daughter wish to do some shopping while the event is close."
After that they met up with Princess Lykofos. This woman was tall and a rich royal purple with blue scale trim. She was dressed in an ebony gown set with hundreds of diamonds so it looked like a starry night twinkling as she moved. Her long hair was a night blue with a streak of lighter blue like a comet trailing down one side. "Ahh. So this is the mysterious stranger I have heard so much about in so short a span?" she addressed the War Witch with a pleasant rumbly voice.
"That is probably me if it is something weird yea, M'lady." she replied.
The Princess' smile grew. "I would not call selflessly aiding the people of the land weird Lady Valkyria. You have performed a deed long thought impossible in bringing back to us our brethren thought forever lost. That alone is worthy of high praise. I also hear you were instrumental in completing my cousin's elemental collection, yes?"
Valkyria looked from one to the other questioningly. "Cousin? So you two are related?"
Baroness and Princess shared a laugh. "Oh indeed. Though Procidens here takes more after her seaside blood while I take more after our inland kin." she then walked along with the group and plied the cybernetic visitor with questions. "I observed you on the streets yesterday. But you were much bulkier and not dressed?"
"Yes. I removed my Regalia as it is cumbersome for formal affairs."
That got a smile from the Princess. "We have lost a few chairs to knights insisting on attending in full dress armor. So your mercy upon my furniture is appreciated!" Glancing at the figure of the strange being she asked. "I understand that you are lost and far from home, with no hope of ever returning. Let me assure you on behalf of the Principalities of the Comet as a Princess of my realm that you are more than welcome in our lands. I wish only that you might have seen us in less troubling times..."
"I would like to think the same if one of you ever ended up in my world. And sadly I am no stranger to troubling times back home. It is how I became as you see me now." So replied the War Witch in thanks to her gracious benefactors. Then she was treated to a lavish dinner and various deserts afterwards. The main course were various soups, some meat stock and some vegetable, all with tyra egg mixed in like a sort of egg-drop soup. Then there were roast uta in some sort of glaze and seasoning with no Earth equivalent. It was faintly sweet. A rarity for dragon cuisine she had learned over the course of her stay. Sugar producing plants were rare in the qualities needed to make it even remotely viable. So she guessed what she was tasting was probably honey.
This got her musing as to what sorts of bugs were in the environment. But she had thus far held off on that question. She certainly had not seen any other than a little flitting thing she guessed was a dragonfly the size of an Earth eagle. A speck at her scale; and butterflies, or the prehistoric equivalents of, with bright single colors in stripes rather than patterns. The wing edges were flat rather than rounded.
As usual she got some amusement from the reactions to her eating. "So how bad has the Coalition been in the last season? I hear the realms bordering on the Coalition have had a few incursions. But nothing big since that ambush on Clade?"
Princess Lykofos nodded contemplatively. "Not officially no. But there have been two attacks deeper into the Principalities that were not made public."
"To keep the enemy guessing what happened to the squads?"
"Correct. Your case was impossible to keep quiet on. That and it was agreed that the nature of your advent would perplex and confound the Coalition well and good. The various Princes and Princesses have been quietly deflecting inquiries about you ever since. And keeping abreast of who is asking these questions. We have designated you a War Witch, though it is rather obvious your nature and incantations function outside the norm. Obvious to those of us with a broader knowledge of the mystic arts."
Valkyria nodded between tossing trees dipped in some manner of broccoli-esque sauce into her maw and munching. "Figured that would be the case really. Trying to mesh what I can do with what you people can had been a challenge to put it mildly." she admitted.
"We appreciate the effort on out behalf. Were I pressed to classify you, based on the information thus far gathered, I would probably lean to that of the Fusillade. An as yet rare outgrowth of Artifice focused on long range strikes. Alchemists are another calling that is much better known due to it's utility." so described the Princess.
"I will stick to War Witch for now to keep the enemy guessing" so smiled slyly said War Witch while taking a bite from a uta drumstick. After that she tried some pie which was remotely similar in flavor to a lemon meringue pie. Made from a thick rinded fruit called a citron. They were about the size of grapes to her and looked like yellow fragment grenades. The actual usable part was the size of a pea inside. "Somewhere on Earth an agriculturist is having fits over the quantities needed to eat round here." she chuckled. Apparently the rinds were fed to styra as they loved it.
After dinner the party retreated to sealed chambers with guards posted round. The Princess sat down in a comfy looking chair and her demeanor got notably more serious. "Now for the more pressing matter we invited you to visit today. There has been a death at the Grand Bazaar."
Baroness Clade looked concerned. "Another?"
Princess Lykofos nodded solemnly. "Another inventor of enchanted items."
This seemed to be an ongoing thing so the white and gold dragoness asked. "I take it that this is one of several? How many?"
"Six thus far. All crafters working on some new wonder. All found dead of what appear to be natural causes. But their inventions missing and soon to show up in Coalition hands. This can not be coincidence. We have tried communing with the spirits of the dead. But to date none have ever seen their slayer and thusly can not place name to this mysterious spy in our midst. We would like to ask if you can assist us in any way with this mystery. Perhaps someone outside the problem can uncover a clue we are missing?" The Princess then laid out the six assumed murders so far.
"The first was several seasons ago. About one-thousand days. An inventor working on a repeating ballistia was found dead in his home and the prototype missing. less than a season later the Coalition is being armed with a new repeating ballistia. The shape is different. But the function and timing are suspect." she sighed and then continued. "Next was a craftsman who was working to produce a more refined healing draught. Found dead and the formula gone. We suspect the Coalition is now issuing it to their soldiers. Third was a friend of mine that I had patroned for years. She was working on a new armor enchantment for the Lightning Knights. Found hanged in her bedroom. Apparent suicide. I -know- better. Tellingly. We questioned her spirit and she remembered nothing of that and was as perplexed as we were. This invention has not yet surfaced in the Coalition to our knowledge. The next three have each coincided with a Grand Bazaar and yesterday we found another crafter dead. No vraja residue and incantations to detect poisons showed nothing. His creation is missing."
"Is the body still on hand?" asked the War Witch.
"Yes. Though we checked thoroughly." replied the Princess. "Also the Ruling Prince sent us an investigator who has been following the case since the second occurrence. He is here now. We wished to speak to you alone before bringing them in."
"If vraja showed no traces then we have to think outside the box. And working with a professional would be a boon I bet. They know vraja?"
The purple and blue dragoness bowed her head and so they retreated to the castles equivalent of a morgue. "Yes they are a practitioner of the arts. "We checked for signs of covert violence. Assassination is rare, but not unheard uf in some less reputable kingdoms."
Here she was introduced to a male red dragon with black scale trim. He looked curiously at Valkyria as she looked over the body laid out on a stone slab pending last rites or other arrangements. "M'lady. I was not expecting you to come down so late." he deferred to the Princess.
Valkyria took some samples and ran some basic tests with her onboard analysis systems. These were not medical grade. But she took some readings anyhow just in case something showed up. "No foreign elements in the blood. But there is an elevated carbon trade in the lungs. hmmmmm." She redid her tests and focused them as an idea began to percolate to the fore. "Has anyone tried contacting the spirit since you have that option?"
"Not yet. It is a taxing incantation and requires five special candles to perform. We have some in stock but supply is limited and the dead tend not to answer exactly coherently. And you can not use the incantation on a spirit again till many days have passed." so explained the red dragon.
"Got it. Makes sense then. Lets see. Here's the results on the test and... ah-hah. Well I can save you some candles."
"Oh?" Both the Princess and the Baroness asked as one.
"Exotic tallow fume traces in the lungs. Someone used that communicate with the dead incantation ahead of you. Maybe to prevent you from finding out something? Or just waste limited resources?" explained the mechanical visitor.
The investigator nodded thoughtfully. "Though that does not explain the lack of clues as to cause of death?"
"Right. But we know from this that the spy is versed in the arts and is using it to cover their tracks. huh. Question. Would an incantation to cure poison work on a corpse? And would it leave any traces of vraja?" she asked thoughtfully.
"A [Counter Poison] incantation would leave faint traces of vraja in the system."
"Ok. Are there any incantations that mask vraja presence?" she followed up.
This surprised the gathered practitioners of the art. "Why no? How would that even work? To use vraja to conceal vraja. That would leave traces itself."
"Would it though?" mused the cyborg. Then she waved it off. "Just a thought. Was there any vraja trace found on the one that hung herself?"
"Why... no there was not?" and a dawning horror of realization shone in the Princess' eyes. "You mean..."
The War Witch looked down at the cadaver and then to those gathered.
"Yeah. Your spy is an inventor too."
<==--------===-=-===--------==>

As the episode resumed to the heat of midday, the camera panned down from the sun and on to Topher and Ezekiel as they stalked through the savanna.
Topher stopped both of them suddenly. "Check this out," The camera features human footprints on the ground. "Those are human footprints."
"I can even see some drool," Ezekiel pointed out the specks of drool.
"That must mean Ezekiel Clone," Topher deduced, and they continued moving forward and holding out their slingshots.
"Remember, we keep calm," Ezekiel told Topher after they stopped, their bodies starting to descend.
"Right. All we have to do is set up a trap that'll lure him in," Topher claimed.
"That's a good idea, amigo," Ezekiel agreed before looking down. "What the? Uh-oh."
The scene zoomed out to show the duo sinking in quicksand. "Quicksand?" Topher realized.
"Help!" they cried out.
\
"How are we supposed to find that alien?" Owen asked the girls as they stalked through the savanna with their slingshots ready. He turned around and backed into a bush, only to hit something almost immediately. He slowly turned around to look, and his eyes went wide and the camera zoomed out as he realized he'd just bumped into a rhino's butt.
The camera panned to the animal's head as it looked backwards and snorted, and the focus returned to Owen as he screamed and took off, knocking Eva and Izzy out of the way. The rhino's viewpoint was shown, and in its eyes, Owen zipped through the savanna Road Runner style.
Izzy and Eva got up from the collision. "I am so going to kill Owen for that!" Eva declared.
"Save it for when we find him," Izzy said before they ran to locate Owen.
Meanwhile, Owen was screaming his lungs out and running until he bumped into someone and fell down. He groaned while opening his eyes, and when he saw that it was Mal he crashed into, he yelped and got up.
"What is the matter with you!?" Mal scowled in Owen's direction.
"A rhino chased me away," Owen stammered. "What about you?"
"Same thing, but with a lion instead of a rhino!" Mal growled.
"I didn't mean to run into you," Owen apologized.
"And I didn't mean to do this!" Mal took hold of Owen and hurled him up into a nearby tree. Owen hit his head on a branch, and he held onto it for safety.
"That was on purpose!" Owen confronted him, but screamed for his life.
"Maybe that'll teach you a lesson for nearly killing me, tubby!" Mal mocked him.
\
The footage returned to Ezekiel and Topher stuck in quicksand still, Ezekiel holding out a stick.
"I don't want to die in quicksand," Topher moped. "I prefer a quick death."
"Be quiet and look!" Ezekiel hushed the junior Chris when he heard the bushes rustle and Ezekiel Clone hopped out.
"Ezekiel Two. Over here," Ezekiel waved the stick in front of his clone's face, to which he snarled and bit on.
"You've got it," Ezekiel said when the feral clone dragged him and Topher out of the sand, Topher holding on to Ezekiel. "We're nearly out."
The boys were soon out of the quicksand. An antelope was heard off-screen, and as it ran past, Ezekiel Clone growled and went off to chase the animal.
"Shoot him, Ezekiel! Now!" Topher ordered. Ezekiel stood up and readied his slingshot. He shot the ball, but rather than hit the clone, it hit the intern holding a camera and knocked him to sleep, much to their disappointment.
\
The scene returned to Mal and Owen. Owen was still hanging on to the branch, but Mal was lying by the tree and whistling 'In the Hall of the Mountain King.'
Izzy and Eva arrived at last, and noticed Owen's plight. "What did you do to Owen, Mal?" Izzy squinted her eyes at Mal.
"I just gave him a little boost up that tree," Mal admitted.
"He did this to me because I ran into him by accident," Owen said.
"You are really petty," Eva told the troublemaker as Izzy stood next to the tree. Izzy kicked the tree hard, and it made Owen let go of the branch, but Eva was able to catch him in her arms.
"Call me whatever you want, but I just found some alien tracks," Mal smiled at the footprints on the ground and followed them. "Enjoy being put up for elimination!"
"Not if we beat you to it. Follow him!" Izzy commanded Owen and Eva, who obeyed willingly.
\
Back with Ezekiel and Topher, they were following the footprints until they heard the bushes rustle.
"Did you hear that?" Ezekiel asked and the bushes rustled harder.
"It must be your clone," Topher guessed and they pulled the slingshots. "Ready your tranq balls. On three. One, two, three!"
They ran screaming, and the shot cut to the bushes to reveal Mal, Eva, Izzy, and Owen coming out screaming and holding their slingshots. Topher and Ezekiel shot their balls, and the other four did the same.
One by one, the six were shown getting hit in separate shots. Owen, Mal, Topher, Ezekiel, Eva, and Izzy. A big cloud overtook the scene and vaporized to show the contestants out cold with their goggles lying on the floor.
The music note icon promptly appeared in the top-left corner of the screen, accompanied by its usual ding.
"Iiiiiit's song time!" Chris announced from off-screen, the camera panning right to show him and Chef in a jeep a couple yards away. "Hello?"
The camera was suddenly filled with darkness. "Hey!" Chris shouted as an eye opened to show Chris looking down. "Anyone in there?" The scene showed that Chris was prying Mal's eye open. "What do you prefer? Dynamite or TNT?"
"Dynamite!" Mal answered the question partly awakened.
Chris focused on the contestants lying on the ground. "Half an hour of you guys sleeping?! Oh yeah, that's gonna be great for ratings," he said cynically. "I want a song, pronto! No matter where the tranq balls hit you and how "groggy" you might be. You will be eliminated if you do not sing at least once! Now sing!"
///\
[The African drumbeat that played from earlier started the song as Chris left and the camera panned down to Mal.]
"What a sickening day on the Serengeti! I just feel like kicking a pup!"
[Mal started the first line.]
"I'll find that clone and win this game! As soon as my leg wakes up!"
[As he sang, the camera focused on his legs not waking up and laying still.]
"You ditched us and went alone! You failed, and I find that pathetic!"
[Topher sang, his face against the ground.]
"We teamed up and almost had the clone! I wish we were a bit more athletic!"
[Ezekiel sang next while on his arms, adding "Really, we were that close!".]
"Almost, doesn't count to me! You didn't catch him, that's all!"
[Eva raised her head up and sang their way, turning her head to see Izzy crawl up to her.]
"To be fair, we didn't fare well! But at least we have our balls!
[Izzy sang next. "Tranq balls, I mean," she added.]
Owen stood on his feet, wobbling his body back and forth. "I should sing or I'll get kicked out. There's something I wanna say. Rhinos…and…lions…are really scary. My body…just…feels…like…resting!" He went back to sleep once more.
[Mal was focused on again, and he was attempting to get up.]
"What a sickening day on the Serengeti! I just feel like kicking a pup!"
[Mal stood on his two feet and noticed them bending over.]
"I'll find that clone and win this game! As soon as my leg wakes up!"
[His knees collapsed to the floor and made him bend.]
"My head!"
[Eva was holding her head with one hand.]
"My hand!"
[Ezekiel rubbed his hands together.]
"My arm!"
[Izzy flexed her arms to see if they're stable.]
"My face!"
[Topher mumbled groggily.]
"Wake uuuuuuuuuuuuuupppp!"
[Eva and Izzy sang together.]
"Wake uuuuuuuuuuuuuupppp!"
[Ezekiel and Topher sang the last line of the song together.]
///
The shot immediately cut over to Chris and Chef. "Somebody better catch the clone fast 'cause the plane is taking off in exactly one hour, with or without you," he told the contestants, five of them standing still while Owen rested still.
Chris pinched his nose, then turned to Chef. "Man, you are ripe! But, you wanna watch the tranq ball massacre on the widescreen?" he asked.
Chef pressed down on the gas pedal and sped off, but as Chris had been standing he quickly fell off the jeep.
"Hey!" Chris called out. "Get back here! AND STAY AWAY FROM MY HOT TUB!" he yelled as he ran off after his assistant.
Eva heard the sound of snoring, and it prompted her to make her way towards Owen and kick his side, jolting him awake.
"I didn't eat the strawberry cupcakes at the bake sale!" Owen shouted. "Oh, hi Eva."
"I'm giving you one more chance," Eva warned Owen. "If you ditch me and Izzy again, you're on your own from then on!"
"I won't do it again. I swear!" Owen pledged.
"You two were right about me going alone," Mal said and strolled towards Topher and Ezekiel. "I'll work with you now."
"Now you're reconsidering your plan," Ezekiel snorted. "And what makes you think I'd assist you after you tricked Sadie and got her eliminated?"
"That girl was expandable, and I didn't want to deal with any couples left in the game," Mal explained.
"Even if they're weak-looking and easy to beat in a contest?" Topher asked.
"I'd rather take on a powerhouse than an oblivious fool anyday, anytime," Mal said proudly.
"Temporarily. We'll work together temporarily for this portion of the challenge," Topher sighed.
"That's all I need. Now here's what we're going to do," Mal got the prairie boy and the junior Chris in a huddle and whispered their plan.
Confessional: Mal
"As you saw earlier, I encountered a lion while I was by myself earlier. Having allies by your side is necessary at a time like this," Mal claimed. "Allies that are easy to shove in front of a dangerous animal and let them be devoured while I protect my life!"
Confessional Ends
The scene flashed forward yet again, this time showing Eva, Izzy, and Owen as they walked through the plains.
"I'll forgive you for leaving us behind this fast because I love you," Izzy said to Owen. "Next time won't be so easy."
"I already talked to him about that!" Eva reassured her. "You can lay off, Izzy."
"I just wanted to let him know, Eva," Izzy replied.
Owen sighed. "I'm sorry for being so cowardly. I'm too young to die, sure, but I can't ignore lives as well, especially if they're my friends." A rustling was heard just before he tripped and fell down with a cry of "Whoa!"
The camera pulled back to show Owen had fallen in a bush that was littered with red berries, with red stains all over him. "P.U. These berries are as smelly as my underwear during laundry day," he winced.
"It seems like you fell in a patch of Serengeti blood berries," Izzy told him. "They are a sight to see, but their juice smells just like fresh blood.
"I said sorry for leaving you with that rhino," Owen wailed.
"I didn't push you into that bush. You tripped and fell yourself," Eva said.
"Now I have to go wash off these blood berries," Owen moaned as he stood up.
\
The scene moved to Owen at the edge of a pond, covered in red stains. "I'd rather be covered in strawberry jam than this," he complained as he peered into the water. A rustling was heard nearby.
He paused for a moment, and looked around. "What was that?" he asked before Ezekiel Clone showed up and sniffed the air.
He perked up and the camera cut briefly to the still berry-covered Owen washing up then back to him. The clone took the opportunity and launched himself at the fun guy.
The shot cut to Mal, Topher, and Ezekiel as they arrived on the scene. "This is simply entertaining," Mal said happily over the sounds of a violent and one-sided scuffle between Owen and Ezekiel Clone.
"I'm going to shoot if you two are just going to stand there like statues," Ezekiel said impatiently.
"Someone help me!" Owen yelled.
"Help is on the way! Eva shouted as she and Izzy arrived in time. The three boys got distracted by their arrival, and Eva wasted no time taking out her slingshot and tranquilizer ball.
A close-up was shown of Eva's slingshot as the tranq ball was loaded and drawn back, and the shot moved to show Owen trying his best to keep Ezekiel Clone from punching his face.
The shot came, and immediately knocked Owen and Ezekiel Clone into a deep sleep.
"We did it! We stopped that alien!" Izzy shouted to her friend.
"Technically, I was the one who put that thing to sleep, but sure, you can leech off my success," Eva said.
Chris and Chef returned in the jeep. "Congrats, Eva. You are on your way to first class!" Chris announced.
"I would've shot that clone if I didn't lose my balls on the way here," Topher claimed.
"Whatever you say!" Chris said with a smile. "Now quick. Grab Owen and let's get the heck out of Africa before that thing wakes up!"
\
The footage skipped ahead one more time to the Total Drama Jumbo Jet as it took off from the Serengeti plains. The camera zoomed in to the top of the fuselage between the wings, Ezekiel Clone pulling himself up before prying off a panel and crawling in through the opening.
Confessional: Mal
"Looks like it's time for me to pack my bags today since I'm the one going home," Mal glumly said, but quickly smiled in satisfaction. "Or it would be if I hadn't suddenly found a loophole through all this."
Confessional Ends
A flash took the scene to the elimination chamber, where Chris was standing in the middle of the room with all six contestants. "Mmm, tension-y!" he taunted, holding out the stack of passports.
"Alrighty then, one vote for Owen. And, the lucky loser with five votes is...," Chris finally said, reading the last passport with a devilish smirk as he paused for further effect.
"Mal."
"Serves you right!" Eva smirked.
"See you never, Mal!" Izzy taunted him.
"So this is where my journey ends…" Mal scowled at the pleased faces of the contestants.
"I'd agree with that, but I have to say otherwise this time around, 'cause Mal is not the one going home tonight!" Chris announced.
"Are you kidding me?" Ezekiel yelled. "He got the most votes out of all of us!"
"That is true," Chris explained, "but I remember telling all of you to sing earlier. You did, but it seems one person broke that rule. And I specifically said that you'll be eliminated if you don't sing, so Owen, here's your parachute!"
The teens, except for Mal, gasped as Owen was given his parachute.
"You're implementing this rule now of all times?" Topher protested. "Some of us don't even sing the songs in every episode."
"True, but this time, I was placing the rule on everybody, not just a select few," Chris said.
"It is what it is," Owen sighed.
"Don't be so down. You're better than this," Izzy told him. "And you're not getting evacuated this time.
"That does make me feel a bit better," Owen smiled again. "And thankfully, Mal has been exposed to the public."
"Just one more thing before you go!" Izzy jumped into Owen's arms and they began to kiss each other.
"Ugh. This is what I wanted to avoid," Mal reacted with disgust.
Owen and Izzy finished their kiss and Izzy got off of Owen. "If you didn't know it yet, we're now boyfriend and girlfriend," Izzy reminded the funniest guy around.
"I'll miss you, but just know I'll be watching you make the finale," Owen said to Izzy and made his jump…only to get stuck in the exit. "Could somebody push me out please?"
The camera cut to the outside of the plane, and Owen could be seen falling out of the open door.
"I'm gonna miss that guy," Chris said idly as the shot cut back inside to show the host staring out of the door. "Now, Eva," the host asked as he turned back around. "Who you bringing to the big leagues?"
"It's a decision I'll regret," Eva said while Izzy smiled expectantly next to her. "But I'll have to choose... Topher."
"WHAT?!" Topher and the others reacted.
Confessional: Eva
"Izzy's my companion, but I couldn't let her be in first class for the third time in a row or her head would be overinflated with arrogance. If I bring Topher over, he could give me tips on how to stop Mal for good," Eva clarified.
Confessional: Mal
"They might miss the big boy, but getting rid of Owen for the second time was like scraping gum off my shoe," Matthew smirked. "A bit sticky, but oh so satisfying. I'll have Chris's rule to thank for that."
Without warning, the confessional door swung open and Chris leaned in. "Things are getting cra-zy!" he told the camera with an excited grin, the series' capstone theme playing in the background. "Thirteen down and only five remain," he continued as Mal scowled. "Who will almost die next? Find out right here, on Total! Drama! World Tour!"
He lingered in the confessional as the music ended, and finally noticed Mal. "Whaaaat?"
(Roll the Credits)
\
(Bonus Clip)
The clip opened up to a shot of Owen parachuting down. "I wanted to sing, but I was too tired to do so. It wasn't my fault."
"Like my other elimination, I was eliminated irregularly instead of just getting the most votes. I think that's lame," he admitted sadly. "On the bright side, I get to keep my brain and me and Izzy are sitting in a tree!" Owen sang. "K.I.S.S.-"
He trailed off while drifting down, eventually landing in the quicksand...right next to a lion. They were both sinking, but it didn't erase the fear in Owen's face and the viciousness in the lion's.
"S.O.S.! S.O.S.!" he told the camera as his parachute covered him completely. The lion roared heavily, and Owen started to scream for his life.
18th: Shawn
17th: Amy
16th: Lindsay
15th: Rodney
14th: Jo
Eliminated: Owen
13th: Duncan
12th: Sky
11th: Heather
10th: Cody
9th: Ella
8th: Noah
7th: Sadie
6th: Owen

Girls: Eva, Izzy
Boys: Ezekiel, Mal, Owen, Topher
Episode 21: African Lying Safari
"Last time, on Total Drama World Tour!" Chris opened, the recap montage beginning with a long-distance shot of the cast assembled by the Great Wall of China. "Thaaanks, China, we had a blast," the host said over a shot of Sadie hitting a landmine on her tricycle and an explosion being seen in the distance. "Just not the kind associated with fun," Chris added as Sadie had her tricycle stuck and Owen was shown getting knocked off the Great Wall by Ezekiel's donkey.
"Especially for Mal," Chris said as the troublemaker was shown pedaling his bike after colliding with an explosion, "who not only had to lose to Topher," Topher was shown overlapping Mal on his skateboard, "but he also had his cover blown, thanks to Topher." The Chris wannabe was shown announcing Mal's existence to the rest of the contestants.
"And since she doubted everyone's suspicions when it came to Mal," Chris explained over a clip of Sadie exchanging gifts with Ezekiel, "Sadie was the one to get dropped off!" Sadie was shown receiving her parachute in shock, "right after she learned the truth about Mike not being in control," he added as Mal chucked Sadie out of the plane.
The scene moved to the cockpit. "We're down to the Final Six!" Chris told the camera. "Who won't make the Final Five, and how will everyone band up against Mal? Find out right now, on Total! Drama! World Tour!"
XXXXX
The episode opened to the traditional shot of the plane in flight before quickly moving to economy class where Mal was smirking at Topher, Eva, and Ezekiel.
"So you've been taking control of Mike's body all this time?" Ezekiel griped. "You've gotten some of us eliminated and hurt Sadie and Ella."
"Noah was right about you when he noticed how slimy you were," Eva grimly said.
"I don't even regret any of it," Mal shamelessly said. "And don't even direct all of your hatred towards me. Topher's caused some eliminations as well and worked with me in the process."
Ezekiel and Eva briefly scowled at Topher. "That is true. I did get Amy, Rodney, and Noah voted off, but I simply wanted drama," Topher tried to defend himself. "Mal, on the other hand, has gotten others severely injured and has no redeeming qualities."
"You still decided to collaborate with me even after I made you peeve off Chris in New York," Mal gloated.
"You two are jerks, and I'll have no problem getting you guys off the plane by the next challenge as payback," Eva threatened.
\
The scene flashed to first class, focusing on Owen and Izzy sitting on the couch.
"So what is that thing you're holding?" Izzy pointed at the tea bag Owen was holding.
"It's love tea," Owen confessed. "This was given to me in China. It's supposed to make us love each other more or something like that."
Izzy snatched the bag and chucked it away. "Why would you think we'd need to drink this? I love you enough as it is," she said and sat on Owen's lap.
"Wait. Really!" Owen's eyes lit up.
"Of course I do. I've missed having you around on the plane for the past days," Izzy admitted. "No matter what, you'll always be my special marshmallow."
Izzy hugged Owen affectionately. "You're a wild gal indeed," he giggled coolly.
\
The footage skipped ahead to a shot of an open and sunny savanna, the jumbo jet parked in the background on the left, and a mountain range further beyond it. The landscape was dotted with acacia trees and low shrubs and a few rocks, and a compilation of hissing, hollow notes signified the heat as the camera panned to the right.
Mal, Topher, Ezekiel, and Eva were all waiting in a line. Izzy and Owen were nowhere to be seen as of yet, but Chris did soon appear in a red robe, wearing beaded necklaces and bracelets and a bald cap, and holding a spear. The appropriated outfit earned chuckles from the three boys, and Eva grinned as well.
"Nice dress!" Mal said through his laughter.
"It's traditional Maasai warrior garb," Chris explained, "and, it came with this!" He grinned as he held up his spear, and threw it towards Mal. The malevolent one yelped and moved to the side, the weapon sailing past his torso.
"Watch it!" Mal complained.
"Trust me," Chris told him. "That's the least dangerous thing that'll happen to you today. Welcome, to beautiful Tanzania," he said. "Home of the Serengeti plains, and over seventy different kinds of animals that can kill you."
"Sorry we're late!" the voice of Owen called from off-screen, distracting the group as he and Izzy ran into the shot from the left. "We got a little distracted."
"Whatever do you mean by that?" Chris wondered.
"One minute, Big O was showing me his love tea, and then the next minute, we're both talking about our favorite drinks and movies," Izzy replied.
"Are you two a couple or what?" Mal said rudely.
"No, but we're getting somewhere around that part," Owen said.
"Okay, challenge time!" Chris piped in.
\
A flash took the scene forward to a small clearing, the camera moving in past a few tufts of long grass to show the host and contestants on the left; and Chef dressed in his winter wear, a pile of purple fruit, six gourds of various shapes lined up on pedestals, and a pair of giant wooden heads flanking the whole display on the right.
"Part one combines two of Africa's most popular sports: soccer and cricket." Chris began, holding up a soccer ball and a cricket bat as the camera finished moving in for a close-up. "I call it 'Socc-et To Me'!" he declared dramatically, adding "The 'me' being you, of course."
"Why is Chef dressed up for a blizzard?" Ezekiel asked in confusion.
"Behold, the Penalty Parka!" Chris answered as the camera cut to a close-up of the sweating pilot. "I accidentally rented this coat, and since it can't fit me, I'm making Chef wear it so I can make my money's worth. Lookin' hot Chef," he taunted.
"Each player must run, one at a time," Chris continued as he spun the soccer ball on his finger, "from the starting line to that pile of African safou plums," the camera cut over to the large box of fruit. "Grab as many as you can carry, and run back. And you'll be doing all of this while your fellow competitors pummel you with soccer balls," he added with a smile as he spun his own ball around again.
"Hold on just a minute," Topher said nervously. "Do you have helmets for us to protect our faces?"
"It's Chris. The answer is obviously no," Eva told him.
"Next, take the plums you've brought back," Chris continued, "and whack 'em with the cricket bat to smash those gourds open. Like this," he said, tossing a safou high up into the air and smacking it with the bat when it came down. The fruit sailed through the air, and cracked Chef on the head, causing him to fall to the ground.
"Whoever cracks their gourd open first wins a reward that will be muy helpful in the next challenge," Chris said, ignoring his assistant. "Now, positions people! Izzy, you're up first! Kickers, get ready."
\
Another flash, and the other five players were shown in position with several soccer balls at their feet: Topher, Ezekiel, and Eva looking ready; then a side view of a smirking Mal and worried Owen.
Izzy took a deep breath at the starting line, and got into running position. "Let's do this," she said confidently.
"Ready, steady, Serengeti!" Chris called out, and a blow from his whistle signaled the start of Izzy's run.
She took off at a dash. The camera zoomed in to show her passing Topher, Ezekiel, and Eva in the background, and the three started kicking. "Is that all you got?" she called out as she turned around and kicked the ball back.
She reached the plums, scooped up an armful, and ran back to the start. Mal was shown watching her go past in the foreground, then smirked and kicked a ball her way. It hit the wild girl in the back, causing her to drop some plums and trip on the ones she'd dropped. With a startled wail, she let the rest of them fly from her hands and fell to the ground.
"Awesome!" Chris laughed. "Ezekiel, top that." He blew his whistle, and the footage skipped ahead.
\
Ezekiel gulped from his runner's start and went forward.
The first ball came from the foreground and hit him in the arm, earning a "Hey," as he slogged forward. Another "Ugh," came from a second foreground ball, and a third from a ball from the background.
"Quit complaining!" Eva said. "You're already there!"
Ezekiel smiled in revelation as he realized he'd gotten to the safous intact. "Hey, you're right!" he said in excitement, grabbing an armful of plums then turning and tripping over his own legs and landing face-first in the dirt.
"Owen, your go!" Chris announced, blowing his whistle again.
\
Owen jogged away from the starting line. The soccer balls hit him, but he managed to move on. "Dad was right. Being big does pay off!" he said positively.
The funniest guy around made it to the plums and grabbed two armfuls. He ran back to the line, and even though the balls were being kicked harder and faster, he prevailed and crossed the line with a lot of plums.
"I'd like to see anyone beat him!" Chris said. "Your turn, Topher!"
\
"I should just get this over with," Topher said to himself, racing off the starting line and immediately jumping over a ball kicked his way from behind the camera. "Please don't hit my face! I need my face!" he yelled, avoiding a second ball and covering his head. He was able to grab a load of plums.
"Maybe I could-" he said, a head-on perspective showing him running back...and getting tripped by a soccer ball on the leg from the right.
"Hey! Who did that?!" Topher asked irately, and Mal just snickered in response.
"Alright! Mal is next!" Chris declared before blowing his whistle yet again.
\
Mal took off running, and had to duck under a ball almost immediately. "Careful where you kick that!" he shot at Topher.
"No way!" Topher countered, launching another soccer ball.
"I'm going to aim for the head," Eva told him before kicking a ball of her own.
The shot cut to Mal as he narrowly dodged the second ball, but then seemed unable to dodge the third...but a ball came from the other side and struck the one Eva had kicked, and both fell to the ground harmlessly. "You have to try harder than that!" Mal taunted.
The scene skipped ahead to show Mal grabbing his plums, then turning around. Ezekiel kicked another ball, only for it to miss; the shot from Izzy that had been intended to intercept it also missed its target, though it did come close to hitting Mal.
"I am not sorry about that!" Izzy called out.
Owen kicked a ball himself, and on the other side Topher did as well. The two were shown in split-screen, Topher's going wide but then bounced back on course by Owen's, hitting Mal in the gut and knocking him over.
"How do you like that?!" Topher called out to Mal, looking somewhat pleased.
"And then there was one," Chris announced. "Bring it on, Eva!" He blew his whistle.
\
Eva's start was strong, and she immediately did a series of kicks at the first four balls sent her way. The rest of the contestants stopped and looked on in shock.
The female bully managed to bring an armload of plums back across the line without issue.
Confessional: Eva
"Is it any surprise to you that I'm a pro at soccer?" Eva gruffly told the camera. "I should just ask the producers to give me the million dollars already."
Confessional Ends
"Remember," Chris told the cast as the footage cut back to the six lined up at the starting line with their cricket bats, "first person to smash through gets the advantage! Aaaaand go!"
Izzy and Owen were shown tossing their first plums into the air and making their first swings; Owen missed and groaned in disappointment, but Izzy managed to smack her safou on the first go. The camera cut to the gourds, where Chef was sweating too profusely to try and dodge the plums that were flying his way and completely missing their intended targets but hitting him.
The shot cut in closer to Eva as he wound up and swung, then followed the plum as it shot across the field and struck a gourd on the other side: it was cracked, but not broken. "I'm more into smashing things with the bat," Eva said as the shot cut back to her.
"Mal doesn't seem to be having much trouble," Chris commented as the villain struck another plum; it, too, sped across the playing field and struck the gourd opposite and deepened an already existing crack.
"It's all in the wrist! I can feel it!" Topher confidently declared, tossing a safou of his own and twirling the cricket bat with his wrist as he swung. They connected, but the plum went up in an arc, and ended up hitting Mal in the head and interrupting his swing.
"Don't make me hit you with my bat!" Mal complained, rubbing where he'd been hit.
"You can save that for later," Ezekiel told him, taking a powerful swing himself; it managed to hit the plum straight through his gourd, finally breaking it. "Because I just won this!" he declared proudly.
"And the winner of our first challenge is, Ezekiel!" Chris announced.
"Yes!" Ezekiel announced in triumph.
\
The footage skipped ahead a little, showing Ezekiel standing on the sidelines with Chris while the other five readied their bats again, "The rest of you have ten seconds left to crack your gourd," the host told them. "And trust me, you want what's inside!"
\
Another flash ahead, and Mal was shown swinging his cricket bat and smacking a safou straight through his gourd, finally smashing it. Eva looked at him, scowled, then spun around and tossed her cricket bat like a hammer; by sheer luck, she managed to smash her own gourd with it.
Topher, taking inspiration from the girl, threw his bat as well. It cracked his gourd successfully.
Izzy was next, smacking her two safous as hard as she could, and managed to knock the gourd clear off its pedestal. Luckily, it cracked open when it hit the ground.
Last was Owen, who took a breath and readied a more traditional swing. "Okay, last one,"she said to herself, tossing the safou up and smacking it hard when it came back down. Unfortunately, however, he missed his gourd and hit Chef in the groin instead, the pilot groaned in pain and fell over.
"Broken, but not a gourd," Chris told him. "No success for Owen will make it much harder for him to deal with this!"
He pointed dramatically to the side, where a tall crate had just been wheeled in by a white male intern. Whatever was inside the crate seemed angry, growling, snarling and making the box shake.
"Uhh, should we be running right now?" Ezekiel asked as he and Izzy gave the crate nervous looks.
"Yes, you should be scared," Chris said, mostly ignoring the comment as he walked over to the crate. "Part two of our challenge is a genuine African safari. And the prey?" He knocked on the crate, which shook again as another angry growl came from inside. The contestants gasped. "Why only the most dangerous animal of all," Chris said dramatically, the intern nervously prying open the crate to reveal a metal cage within, with a familiar shadow inside.
"A clone of Ezekiel!" Chris finished, the camera zooming in on the form inside the cage.
The clone snarled from in the cage. It still looked like Ezekiel, but its clothes were torn and shabby, his footwear and hat was gone completely, and his skin had turned greenish. In addition to that, his hair was gone and only a few strands could be seen.
The cast gasped again. "Where did that thing come from?!" Topher squimished.
"Turns out it got on the plane back in Area 51!" Chris said, looking back at the cage and flinching at the glare Ezekiel Clone was giving him. "Once I checked the security footage," Chris explained as the clone snarled, "Chef went a-hunting and found the possible alien down in the hold."
"I should warn you, though," Chris said from off-screen, "he's totally feral thanks to all that time with the animals." The clone gave the camera a frightening look.
Chris turned back to the contestants. "Whoever nabs the beast known as Ezekiel Clone wins invincibility, and! First class seats to our next destination."
"With the player of our choice," Matthew said. "Where's my reward?"
"In a second!" Chris replied snippily. "Go to your gourds and check inside," he said as the camera pulled back to show Ezekiel Clone trying to reach him from his cage. "They contain what you'll use to hunt with."
"A slingshot! Cool!" Izzy said in excitement, holding up the weapon and practicing pulling it back. "I've broken a lot of windows with these as a kid!" She released the rubber band and it snapped forward.
"What's the pouch for?" Eva asked, holding up a small leather belt and pouch. "Magic beans?"
"Close," Chris told her before reaching inside her opened gourd and taking out a small, squishy pink ball. "Tranquilizer balls!" he announced with glee. "Sling 'em with enough velocity and they burst on contact, numbing the area and releasing a hearty dose of sleepy-time goodness." He turned his attention to the side. "Watch, as this intern demonstrates."
He shot a tranq ball at the intern who had wheeled in the cage, and was now eating a sandwich. The ball struck him in the shoulder and released a small cloud of pink gas, which promptly caused the man's eyes to roll back in his head before he fell over. He landed in front of Ezekiel Clone, who immediately snarled and tried to grab the fallen sandwich from his hands.
"See?" Chris said as the shot cut back to the cast. "It's like paintball, only with naps! Now, stand back people. We're gonna give the violent alien a head start. Hey Frosty!" he called back towards the cage with a laugh.
Chef was sweating through his outfit as he shakily moved a key towards the cage's lock, and at the host's call of "Release the beast!" He put it in the keyhole, turned it, and was promptly trampled as the door was slammed open and Ezekiel Clone jumped out, snarled, and ran.
"It doesn't even look like Ezekiel," Mal responded.
"That's because I'm the real deal," Ezekiel said.
"Okay!" Chris said with his usual grin. "Since Ezekiel won the first challenge, he gets six tranq balls," he said before handing over a handful of pink pellets to the grinning prairie boy. "Mal and Izzy, you cracked yours open so you get three," he told the troublemaker and psycho, handing over the ammunition as Eva and Topher looked on. "Eva and Topher, two each," the host told the pair.
"Why are you giving us two?" Eva squinted.
"We cracked our gourds too!" Topher protested.
"Technically, the two of you beat your gourds with cricket bats," Chris corrected as Ezekiel Clone could be seen chasing the intern in the background before turning to the last contestant. "And Owen, since you didn't put a dent in your gourd, you get these," he handed the food fanatic a pair of safety goggles, "and one tranq ball."
"No slingshot?" Owen asked in disappointment. "I have a lot of plums still."
"Nope. You're just gonna have to throw the balls hard enough to make 'em burst," Chris told him. "Which will be hilariously unsuccessful, I'm sure."
"Aaand," he said, the shot pulling back as Chef blew on a large horn, "go!"
At the signal, the six teens, all now wearing safety goggles, ran off.
\
The scene flashed forward to a rightward pan across the savanna, Topher speaking before the camera reached him.
"Can one of you give me an extra tranquilizer ball?" Topher said, eventually being shown traveling with Ezekiel and Mal. "Having two sucks."
"I have one more than you, and I'm going to go alone," Mal refused and left the two alone. "See you dorks after I win."
Ezekiel squinted his eyes at him. "He's a total knob. I swear."
Topher put his arm around Ezekiel. "How about we team up and take him down?" he suggested. "If he doesn't win invincibility, everyone will vote him off."
"I do like the idea of seeing him jump off the plane," Ezekiel agreed. "I'm in."
Confessional: Topher
"I know I'll be targeted next after Mal is gone, but I'll think about what to do after this day is over," Topher admitted.
Confessional Ends
"I remember watching you guys catch the Ripper back in London, but I forgot how you did it," Owen told Izzy and Eva while the three navigated.
"We had to use a burlap sack to do it, but this time, we have to roll with tranquilizer balls," Eva said.
"If you combine them all as a group, we have six overall," Izzy said.
"Six divided by three equals two, and each of us should have two tranq balls just to be safe," Owen explained.
"Keep an eye out for that clone," Eva advised her team. "We have no idea what it can do."
Confessional: Izzy
"I'm relentlessly good at tracking down prey," Izzy said. "The last time I had a date planned, this guy stood me up just to move to another state. I tracked him down, and what happened after wasn't pretty."
Confessional Ends
The scene moved to a low-to-the-ground shot of a rustling bush. Mal walked in from the left, and smirked at the bush. "Are you ready for your nap, alien reject?"
He was answered by a low roar, and a yellowish paw stepped out from the bush.
"A lion?" Mal said blankly as a male lion stepped out. "I wasn't going to tranquilize you. There's this alien-"
The lion interrupted with a roar, causing Mal to take a step back.
"I'm not wasting my ammo on this lion!" Mal yelled before turning and fleeing, and it looked like the lion was going to give chase before the sudden appearance of Chris in the foreground distracted it.
"Who will survive?" he asked the camera. "King of the Jungle, or King of the Fumble? Find out right after this, on Total! Drama! World Tour!"
The lion roared at him, and he turned and fled screaming as well.
\
(Commercial Break)
\

Ethan

I return to my HQ while Zek’lor gets to eat and drink what it wants, the big beetle seems still scared shirtless by my drones so I think I will give it time to adapt in the old factory with the guards there.
I don’t have trouble finding Lemela, as she is awaiting me right at the stairs, so she’s that eager to give me an earful huh?
-Ethan, finally. I saw. I must admit that I am very concerned about our present situation. You've shared your memories with me, I saw them as if they were my own. You can see mine the same way I assume. It's a vulnerability I'm not used to, and it bothers me very much.-
She pauses looking at me and I sigh.
-If it’s worth anything I shared it so you know too. I wanted you to understand my past, where I come from, and the challenges I faced when I woke up here. It was meant to create trust between us.-
She makes a complicated cat-like expression that Virgil hints at being conflicted.
-I don’t know how to tell you this Ethan.- She pauses fidgeting - It's just that your existence is a troubling mystery.-
-Well I’m here, I can’t be that bad of a deal- I try to joke but she doesn’t find it funny.
-Look the discovery of FTL technology by humans occurred approximately eight hundred standard years ago. Your memory does not correspond to how humanity was at the time.-
I scratch the metal slate that covers my head out of habit.
-That’s how much in human years?-
“79 5 human years. Error! Data mismatch. Data from creators suggest an earlier occurrence in earth’s year 2063, approximately forty years after the last human timestamp you recorded.”
I make a mental note reminding Vigil that we agreed on the data from its creators was a possible steaming pile of crap.
I also make a gesture to stop Lemela from telling me, I don’t need to know I’m out of my time.
-Look I know that I am way out of my time here, but what’s the big deal?-
Lemela sighs clearly frustrated by my inability to comprehend.
-First: Cryogenics alone could not keep a body alive for such an extended period of time. The nanites responsible for healing your tissues defy logic.
Second: You are merged with an IA, The only one I know extinguished all life in the next galaxy over!
Third and most important: You just don’t give such things to Pre-FTL species! It’s like giving a kid a weapon of mass destruction to play with!-
She gives me the stink eye again and I speak.
-You know I don’t have the answers on nanites if you want I can have Virgil get you up to speed on them with all the data it has. Virgil is the IA, and while it’s a bit of a devil on the shoulder, I doubt it will conquer the galaxy on my watch. I’m human remember, Earth is somewhere out there. So your people made themselves a prime directive of sorts?-
Lemela gives me a bit of a stink eye before answering, she didn’t like the chuckle one bit I believe.
-No, I wouldn’t understand technology on that level. I can only hope you can contain that monstrosity. And we aren’t in Star Trek here!-
She frowns clearly asking herself how she knows the show I referenced, but I chuckle.
-Welcome to Earth’s science fiction corner, or how we imagined our venture into space back when we didn’t know any better. If we do know better now. Anyway, that’s the hand I was dealt, Lemela, I can only hope to be able to use it-

Lemela

The Versel still finds this all too complex to elaborate, and on such short notice.With new memories, and new experiences flowing, daily life on a death world like Earth is strangely more normal than it sounded when experienced firsthand.
She sighs looking at the abomination in front of her, Ethan, before speaking.
-How… do you manage to cope with all of this?-
Ethan caressed the metal plate he had hiding what was left of his face with his still fleshy hand before answering.
-Training, focusing on things I can solve rather than on things I can’t deal with or solve.
You know my training now. That’s the life of a U.S. Navy seal. The easy part was yesterday.
You know how I dealt with what I had to do and to see. With what happened to me.
If you allow me I will show you how to apply it to your case. It won’t be easy. It won’t go away. It won’t be the same. Never. But it will be your path. You will stumble. You will fall. And if you allow it I will be here.-
She sighed, it wasn’t that easy, but the human didn’t even pretend it would be, so what she was supposed to do?
-I just don’t know Ethan.- The human offered his hand to her. -We will figure it out Lemela. You need to help me figure out this modern stuff, those alien races. I freed a slave down there, so I will need to figure out with you how to deal with him or her.-
Lemela could only nod, to Ethan each species of alien was a first-contact situation after all.
-So that’s what this was about. I will help you to stay on the right path of technology. So what specie is the slave?-
- A Nolthoran.- The human replied. -Name is Zek’lor. For now, Zeklor is under watch and probation, the first sign of trouble I want to know.-
Lemela sighed, that was something she feared. -I assume you don’t trust this Zek’lor.-
The human confirmed her suspicion with a clear gesture. -I see. I will go talk to Zek’lor. What will you do?-
Ethan then assumed a more serious attitude, straightening his posture, and said.
-I will interrogate our last guest, depending on how this goes we may begin a war.-
Her fur would’ve stood on end if it was still natural, a human belonging to the warrior caste was actually saying he was gonna wage war. Humans as a specie were universally deemed crazy loons, there was too much variance between individuals to establish a baseline for the specie as a whole.
This human, in particular; Lemela knew him now, and a declaration of war from him meant business.
The worst part was there wasn’t much she could say to him he didn’t already know.
-How many of those zombies drone do you plan to have when this is over?-
Ethan sighed understanding her question perfectly.
-Lemela, I appreciate your concern. I don't think I can answer that question. I know some may want to join us in the collective voluntarily. I … still haven’t decided. What I know is that I'll use asymmetrical tactics, focusing on strategic objectives while minimizing unnecessary killing.
Hopefully, I will manage to stir an uprising. How many will die as that happens I don't know. I can control my actions and that's all I can promise. All I know it's that there's a steep price for freedom. In the end, it all depends on our last guest. The Krynnak was well protected by all others and attempted to flee. This tells me he should not be military, not the kind of our resident Li’thirwisz -
-The li’tjwisz belongs to a warrior caste?- She asks interrupting Ethan.
-I understand your people have a caste system in place, you belong to the navigator caste, right? -
She frowns, there’s no such caste and he should know it, still, she corrects him.
-I am from the scientist caste, you should know that Ethan.-
-I know- He replied -I know also that navigation is not really something a scientist does, even if I understand it involves a lot of science. What I mean to say is you should try to pinpoint what an individual actually does rather than pinning a hat and be done with it.-
She could only nod and Ethan started walking past her.
-I need your full discretion, your ability to tell black from white, and all the colors that fall within. With Zek’lor, with all the future encounters with people down here and with my plans. Especially with me and my plans. If I do too outlandish things let me know.-
Lemela frowned -Ethan, your people do outlandish things by definition. I mean they even threw an asteroid at an enemy warship destroying it!-
Ethan chuckled -well let me know regardless, at least I will have a good laugh.-

Ethan

As I proceed through the lab and the sewer the marvelous chime of Virgils pings me again.
“Query: Please define the devil on the shoulder analogy.”
-That’s because you always offer me the easy option.- I reply -It’s not inherently wrong mind you Virgil, but it can lead to bigger issues along the way.-
“Query: please elaborate. Functional explanation.”
I chuckle a little at the machine mimicking me.
-Well you’re taking some pages from my book now, aren’t you? Fine, fine. It’s simple really, take the instance of Zek’lor and Xalrak ok? You suggested integration for both. We would know all the information Xalrak and Zek’lor know right?-
Virgil acknowledges my reasoning
-I don’t know about Zek’lor yet, but Xalrak? Xalrak would have definitely found a way to damage the collective.-
“You are stating a factual impossibility”
-Am I? Do you think that scratching a wall will damage this collective?-
Virgil negates this notion.
-Still, it could. Xalrak is military. There are countless signs I could use to alert my fellow marines of my presence. One of those in the wrong place, and the group Xalrak is part of would be on our ass. And there are hundreds of tricks like that.-
“Acknowledged. Should we terminate Xalrak?”
-See? Easy option again, killing would solve the issues but would deny the possibility to flip Xalrak which would be more beneficial in the long run.-
“Still you expect betrayal in this alternative you propose. Why would you do that?”
-Hope for the best, prepare for the worst Virgil. Now shush, I need to concentrate on this one.-
I pass the vigil and climb the stairs to enter the room and look at the Krynnak, it shudders at my presence. Good.
-Alright, let's get started. What is your name?-
The Krynnak, with what I could call a cautious expression, responds.
-Names don't mean much in my line of work, but you can call me Vexx.-
Not really good, but not bad as a beginning.
-Well, at least I know how to call you outside the name of your specie, Vexx. So, do you know where you are?-
-I know exactly where I am. This is the belly of Taboo, under City 29 a treacherous place ruled by Dexton’s dogs.-
I smile under the plate of metal that hides my face. Let's see how Vexx reacts to a little theatre.
-Well I don't see any of those famed Dexton's dogs you speak of, do I?-
Vexx glances around nervously and looks at the various blinking lights before lowering the tone of its voice.
-They may not be present right now, yet their presence can be felt everywhere. Trust me, they're always on the lookout for anyone who steps out of line.-
Well if they can make some random lizard this paranoid they either mean business or have a better grasp on the populace than I anticipated.
-And I'll be prepared to meet them. So, what were you doing in such an area? You appear to fear those Dexton’s Dogs a lot.-
Vexx shifts uncomfortably and appears to choose the words spoken carefully
-... I was just doing my job, you know? Taking care of the... the operations. Moving things, ensuring the processes run smoothly. It's not an easy task, but someone's gotta do it.-
-The operation, yeah- I hate people when they are vague -the famous operation.- I continue -That operation where you were turning dead bodies into food.- I cut the chase on a lower note -I get it, this planet ain’t natural but are you so desperate for food you have to rely on that method?-
Vexx recoils a bit, in front of my serious tone then its eyes dart around nervously before responding.
-Look, we don't have a lot of options here. The processed bodies... it's a method of survival-
I get the feeling this one ain’t telling me the whole story, it feels slimy; I mean first down here there are also beasts, why not hunt them?
But I want to go another route to see where it leads first, besides Vexx doesn’t show the telltale signs of Lemela or Zek’lor so at least I guess Vexx isn’t in the same position.
-You could always trade with other planets, I mean, ain't commerce a thing in the galaxy anymore?-
Vexx's reptilian eyes narrow, is that sincere frustration I see?
-It's not that simple. Taboo got this name from humans because it is now a forbidden planet, isolated from most interstellar trade routes they hold.
The risks involved in transporting goods in and out of this place are tremendous.
Dexton's dogs are one of them. Sure they offer protection, the kind of protection you have to pay for. Basically, you either trade with them, involve them somehow, or well… things happen.
Bad things, you will see. Look, it’s a matter of survival, even if it means resorting to unconventional methods. You must have slept long here, machine of the old empire-
I let the comment of the machine slide, I am not a machine but it doesn’t hurt that Vexx believes my cognitive functions are restricted by programming.
No offense intended, Virgil.
The thing that irks me is the indirect threat Vexx just used.
-I get it, Vexx. So just for reference, other than these pirates and me, what other threats are down here?-
Vexx's scaled face contorts with a mix of fear and apprehension when I qualify myself as a threat.
-There are creatures, monstrous and vicious, that inhabit the depths of Taboo. They are unlike anything you've ever seen.
Ferocious beasts that prey on anything they come across. We've lost many of our own to their relentless attacks.
It's a constant battle for survival down here.
That’s why if and when you go down you usually have to bargain for Dexton’s services.
There are times when the opposite happens. When things do stop working for those above usually.-
Interesting side comment here, those above where? I don’t want to follow Vexx’s lead in this conversation for now but I make a mental note that there must be above-surface levels to this mechanical planet.
I have a more interesting pattern to test Vexx reactions upon.
-Creatures like the Brahumthraks? They are still beasts in narrow passageways, with the weaponry you have shown, you wouldn't have issues hunting those for food right?-
Vexx's eyes widen at the mention of the Brahumthraks, the alien lizard gulps audibly before speaking.
-The Brahumthraks... the tunnel stalkers... There are worse things down here. True enough, their meat might provide sustenance, but hunting them is an incredibly risky endeavor. Their agility and strength make them formidable opponents. Dexton doesn’t lend his mercenaries to hunt them down. The risks just outweigh the rewards.-
Now let’s see if I can use Vexx for my plans.
-What if someone hunted those for you? Do you think you could establish a market for proper meat?-
Vexx's eyes widen and I believe for a moment that those sleek pupils became dollar signs.
-If someone were to hunt the Brahumthraks and other things down here and provide a steady supply of their meat, it could indeed open up new possibilities. The market for proper meat, untainted by the reprocessing methods, would be highly sought after. Especially by those that live in the upper layers of the city.-
Vexx’s enthusiasm suddenly drops as does the posture it kept until now.
-Dexton would surely try and have a cut of the profits anyway. You can never be safe here. Alluring as this is the challenges are too much.-
I decide to give Vexx a little nudge rather than resorting to playing punching ball with his or her snout for trying to be a smartass.
Does Vexx things I am an idiot? If this big crocodile can afford an armed escort it means that some kind of sanctioned activity on the surface carries Vexx’s name, and given what this one was doing, I believe to know what it is.
- That is ...unfortunate. If only somebody here knew anybody who sold meat on the surface...-
Vexx raises a scaly eyebrow, maybe I put too much sass in that and I blew my cover as a machine; in the end, Vexx appears intrigued by my statement.
- Let’s say I know a business on the surface? What then?-
Vexx leans in closer, his reptilian features revealing a mix of curiosity and suspicion.
-If you truly can offer me a steady supply of meat, then we might have something to discuss.-
Vexx cautiously looks around the room, ensuring no one else is listening, eyes fixed on the blinking lights when continuing.
-Let's be clear, my survival is absolutely necessary here. If you can guarantee I will remain alive we can go and discuss a potential partnership for you. Until then, forgive me if I remain skeptical. And what of my slaves?-
No Virgil, don’t even ask, there’s no way I will ever make this one a part of the collective. Not even if Vexx begs for it, or is dying.
“Query: incompatibility of thoughts process involved?”
Long story short: yes. Look I will gladly explain another time, but I mean look Vexx is just too greedy and self-centered.
I need to drive another thing into this dirty lizard skull.
-I ordered the death of all those who were with you. So tell me, why should I trust you and keep you in the first place Vexx?-
I notice a flicker in Vexx's eyes as my words resound in the room.
Vexx takes a step back, his demeanor shifting to a mixture of defensiveness and desperation.
-You... you intend to kill me?- Vexx stammers, his voice betraying the fear it must be feeling.
-Listen… please… I… I can do what you want. Look I can sell the meat you provide! I won’t make a question! Please… just please don’t kill me! I have a wife! I have eggs to attend to!-
That's better, even though I think he's exaggerating to appeal to my pity, does he think I have emotions as a machine?
I cross my arms and motion to Vexx to continue.
Anyway, it appears I won't have to flip a coin on this one; I'll presume Vexx is male because it's more likely than the alternative.
I mean he would lie about the partnership, but the lie has to be fluent and believable, and if humanity's standards hold for aliens too I only have about a 30% chance of being wrong.
I focus on Vexx as he takes a long breath, attempting to calm himself.
-I can prove to you that you can trust me and my capabilities. Just protect me from Dexton's dogs. And don’t kill me. Please.-
Vexx's eyes still dart around, looking at the blinking light on the old instruments in the lab.
I don’t really like people who can’t lock eyes with others, and I don't trust them, but Vexx seems genuinely scared of the technology down here.
Virgil, did you encounter signs of wiretapping when you inhabited the network of your creators?
"The creators had an external connection to order bodies, Ethan"
Not really what I wanted to know, but well I need to concentrate on another thing right now.
-The things that slaughtered your people are at my beck and call. You will be protected of course, by the beings I command. Needless to say, any signs of betrayal and you will die.-
Vexx's reptilian eyes widen in a mixture of astonishment and fear as he comprehends the weight of my words.
He swallows hard, his throat visibly constricting.
It’s not like he didn’t know, he saw me after all, his gaze flickers between me and the passage I came from.
Don’t run. It’s a bad idea pal. I could capture you amid a battle, now you’re just target practice.
Vexx chose to be smart and stay,
- It seems I have no choice but to join you.- Vexx says, his voice laced with resignation.
-Not really, you can be my guest in this room until you die.-
I reply earning a stink glare from Vexx, surprisingly he extends one of his four, scaled hands; cautiously offering a handshake. Weird.
Virgil, is a handshake a universal gesture?
“According to the data in my network and Lemela’s memories, it is a gesture limited to humans and those who traded with them directly. Warning! Data mismatch. Trade in this region should be limited according to Vexx’s information”
I don’t know Virgil, people lie by telling the truth sometimes. I wouldn’t rule out there are human criminals on the planet.
I shake the pawed hand with my mechanical hand since he offered me one of his right appendages.
-We have a deal. You will remain here in this cell for now. You will be provided with food and water. When I have enough meat to trade I will send you on an escorted trip to the surface and I will expect you to keep your end of the bargain.-
But you won’t get anywhere near my base, and I will blindfold you for good measure. I will need to find an alternative route to the surface.
Vexx nods, his reptilian features displaying a mix of relief and apprehension. He understands the situation he is in and at least.
-I will await your signal- He replies, I think there is a blend of gratitude and cautious optimism in his voice. - I will not disappoint you. I am prepared to fulfill my end of the bargain.-
With that, I simply leave Vexx in his cell, I will test this new alliance soon.
The path to change will be treacherous, but if Vexx values life and profit like I believe he does, perhaps there is a path for a new beginning.
I will not count my chickens before they hatch, I need multiple venues for this to work, a planet is a big place after all.
Why do bad guys talk about world domination like it’s an easy venture?!
[First] [Previous] [WIP]

"Pig! Nasty fat pig! - Arthur thought with irritation, leaving the subway, - Squeals, as if she is being cut! Businesswoman! I would put this businesswoman with doggy style right on her huge table and fuck her like a..."
Arthur Lomov was thirty-four and he had everything, like people have - a house, a wife, a child, death ahead, and death inside. He also had a job that he hated. More precisely, the work itself did not cause rejection in him, work as work is no worse than then of others. He did not like the bosses (who likes their?). And not even all the bosses, but only the headmistress, the one whom he was going to "fuck". Sleek and haughty, she spoke to people with undisguised disgust, through her teeth, sincerely and deeply despising the "cattle" that surrounded her. Lomov including. He was nobody for her, a manager, what millions, not even an insect, but a bacterium, office plankton. She has not fired him until now just because there was no case. And then the crisis broke out and rumors about layoffs spread around the office.
And as luck would have it, Arthur mixed up some numbers in the quarterly report. Margarita Nikolaevna called him into the office, and screamed as if he had stabbed and robbed a beggar on the porch of church! Not only did she deduct 30 percent from his salary, she also promised to fire he next time! Yes, he himself would have gone, on the same day! If he had money, real big money, say a million dollars!
Arthur suddenly imagined how he, in an expensive dark gray Versace suit, with a small suitcase in his hand, ignoring the screams of secretary, opened the door with a kick and entered the hated office. How the headmistress's already round stupid eyes are rounded.
"What do you want, Lomov?" She asks.
“I have a business proposal!” He says and puts the case on the table; - I want to fuck you ... Yes, to fuck you now on that table fore million dollars! Behind, you a lustful bitch!
“Yes, you are drunk Lomov, leave my office immediately ...” the headmistress says and the last word gets stuck in her throat, because at that moment Arthur opens the suitcase and she sees tight green bundles with real American money.
The headmistress hardly takes her eyes off the dollars, looks at Lomov, then back at the money. Her primitive brain tries to comprehend the non-standard situation and begins to boil.
"Where did you get this from, Lomov?" she says, swallowing her saliva.
"Who cares? You agree?"
The woman's face is covered with red spots, becomes confused and even somehow miserable.
“This is so unexpected…” she mutters, “what if someone comes in?”
Lomov does not answer anything, and only looks at the headmistress, enjoying her confusion.
Finally, having overcome her excitement, she presses the "selector" button:
“Lena don’t let anyone in to see me! I'm busy!"
Then she raises her eyes to Lomov and begins to unbutton her blouse with trembling fingers, the buttons do not obey her, she throws it, grabs the zipper on her skirt.
At this moment, Lomov slams the suitcase shut and takes it off the table.
"Best wishes!" he says.
"In what sense?" The headmistress asks bewildered.
"I changed my mind!" Arthur calmly answers and, without looking back, leaves the office...
He dreamed so much that he almost fell under the wheels and right on the pedestrian crossing. Some idiot on a tinted "nine" flashed in front of him, Arthur barely had time to bounce, but did not calculate his strength and fell into a puddle.
“No, that’s not good,” he thought, rising to his feet and shaking off the dirt from his jacket, “I need to drink urgently!”
* * *
The pub turned out to be very unpresentable, but this did not bother Lomov. Taking two mugs of beer, he hardly found a free table in the bluish smoke and finally took his first long sip.
- Your headmistress got nitpicking you up, and you are completely innocent of anything? - Arthur heard a dry cracked voice in his ear.
He raised his eyes and saw that a dubious appearanceg peasant with a week-long stubble and two mugs of light beer was sitting at his table. Since the question was purely rhetorical, Arthur merely chuckled vaguely in response.
Now ask me, how do I know this? - the stranger did not want to lag behind.
- What is this?
- Well, the fact that you were fucked by your headmistress for no reason at all?
- Well, how do you know that? - Said Arthur to get rid of the importunate type.
- It's very simple - I'm God! - The stranger said triumphantly. And noticing the bewilderment in the eyes of the interlocutor, he explained:
- Well, the one who created the Earth, the Sky and all this! - He glanced around at the smoky pub.
The life of Artur Lomov developed in such a way that he was not ready for such meetings.
"Yeah, that's exactly how I imagined you!" he chuckled sarcastically.
But the impostor, as it turned out, was not going to joke at all.
- What did you want? I look like this because of you! Because that's how you represent me! And if you were a Hindu, I could now have an elephant's head and a long trunk. What if you were a Mayan...
- Don't, I understand everything, - Arthur stopped him, - Just don't expect me to buy you beer!
- Do not make me laugh! I can create so much beer that it will flood not only your entire Moscow, but the entire planet! And what, not a bad idea - a worldwide beer flood! It is high time! Pathetic little people completely lost their fear, they do what they want! I created such a beautiful planet for you: blue seas, snow-capped mountains, shady forests, crystal waters of rivers! And what did you turn it into?
“Yes, the guy seems to be in trouble with his head!” - thought Arthur, listening to the ravings of an uninvited drinking companion.
Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.
- Well, if you are so omnipotent, could you, just as an entertainment, create for me, let's say a small suitcase with a million dollars? Lomov asked.
“I could,” reply the impostor, not at all embarrassed, “but I won’t. You see, money is such a thing… no matter how much they give you it anyway, very soon you will feel that this is not enough. I'd rather make sure you never need money at all. Is it coming?
Arthur shrugged vaguely.
- I will turn you, well, let's say ... - the stranger thought for a second, - into a rat!
“I don’t want to be a rat,” Lomov suddenly got scared, “they are vile and nasty!”
- No, no, just a rat! Big black rat! But not today, tomorrow. In the meantime, drink your beer!
- Wait! Don't turn me into anyone! - Arthur shouted, but the hanyga had already vanished into cigarette smoke.
* * *
Arthur could not get the key into the keyhole for a long time, and when he finally managed to open the door, he saw his wife in a dressing gown with a crumpled night face.
- Where are you hanging out? – Unkindly asked she, - Do you know what time it is? And why isn't the cell phone answering?
- The phone is dead. Probably ... - Arthur muttered, barely moving his tongue.
- You're l drunk! - The wife said and grimaced in disgust, - And with whom did you get so drunk?
- You will not believe - with God!
- Moron! - said the wife and slapped Arthur on the head with a slipper.
- I am not kidding! I actually drank beer with God and he promised to turn me into a rat! Tomorrow! - He suddenly felt funny, and he began to choke with laughter, - Imagine, tomorrow you wake up, and your husband is a rat, or rather ratman! But it's tomorrow, and now I want to sleep!
- You idiot, take off your shoes! - said the wife and went to the kitchen.
Lomov threw off his shoes with difficulty and went into the bedroom and, without undressing, collapsed onto the bed.
* * *
He dreamed of some nonsense: Margarita Nikolaevna, completely naked, in only shoes, walked around the office, scolded negligent employees, gave valuable instructions. The subordinates listened to her with a serious look and nodded their heads. And only one Arthur could hardly contain the laughter. But when the naked headmistress began to teach the electrician how to properly install the outlet, Lomov could not stand it and literally neighed out loud.
- Lomov, what's the matter with you? - Margarita Nikolaevna asked sternly, - Did I say something funny? By the way, how are you going to compensate for the colossal loss that you caused the company with your mistakes in the report? Do you have a million dollars?
- I have? – Surprised Arthur – Where?
- Then we could cut off your hand! - Suggested Margarita Nikolaevna, - Although wait! Say, are you drinking?
- No!
- It's good that you don't drink, and then we'll take your liver. Or not, better a kidney, because you have two of them!
And then Arthur saw a huge kitchen knife flash in the headmistress's hand. He realized that it was time to run, but his legs suddenly became wobbly and he could not budge...
* * *
Waking up the next morning with a sore head, Arthur first tried to understand why he felt so bad? Obviously, because he got drunk yesterday - that's clear. He strained his brain, and he managed to remember the scandal arranged by the headmistress, as well as the promise to fire him. After such it was a sin not to get drunk! But where? He didn't remember this.
However, there was no time to think, he was already late for work. Taking a sip of cold tea from a cup standing on the table, he quickly dressed and rushed out into the street.
* * *
Despite all the efforts, Lomov was still late for work. As soon as he sat down at his desk and turned on the computer, the secretary called and said that Margarita Nikolaevna urgently wanted to see him. His heart immediately felt ugly and cold.
Arthur honestly tried, following Chekhov, to squeeze a slave out of himself, drop by drop, but somehow it didn’t work out very well. He could convince himself as much as he wanted that the worst thing this woman could do to him was to fire him. Only and everything! But after all, he has arms, legs and a head on his shoulders; he will not die of hunger. But as soon as he was in the director's office, all logical arguments instantly evaporated, and only one animal inexplicable irrational fear remained. That vile, shrill voice pulled things out of the depths of his subconscious that he didn't even know existed. He literally physically felt how he began to decrease in size.
Even now, standing in front of the huge director's desk, like a delinquent schoolboy, he could not get rid of the feeling of his own insignificance.
“Not only are you unable to write an elementary report,” Margarita Nikolaevna’s voice boomed in his ears, “you are also late!” What do you not like about your work? Or do you want to be reduced?
Lomov suddenly imagined that he really was reduced, and at the same moment he saw how all the items in the director's office, including the hostess, began to grow rapidly. He did not immediately guess that in fact no one and nothing is growing, and that he himself is decreasing in size.
- Arthur Valentinovich, what are you doing? – Finally noticed the strange metamorphoses headmistress, - Immediately stop, I order you!
But Lomov was no longer able to stop anything. He was already looking at the edge of the director's table from the bottom up, and after a couple of seconds he realized that his height did not exceed the height of a woman's shoe.
- Rat! - Margarita Nikolaevna suddenly squealed and jumped onto the table with unexpected agility, - Lena, come here soon!
Whistling a few centimeters from his temple, the massive crystal ashtray hit the carpet with a dull thud, and Arthur realized that any delay could cost him his life. With all his might, he rushed under the closet, and a mobile phone and a few obscene words flew after him.
- Where is the rat, Margarita Nikolaevna? - asked the secretary, who came running to the cry.
- She hid under the closet! Call the guard as soon as possible, the closet must be urgently moved away before she runs away!
Realizing that he could not hide here, Arthur began to look for a way out and soon discovered a gap between the plinth and the wall. With difficulty, squeezing through a narrow opening, he found himself in a pier between the main wall and the plasterboard panels with which the office was sheathed. Only now did he feel relatively safe and tried to analyze the situation.
First, he realized that not only had he shrunk in size, but even worse, he had turned into a rat (he never liked rats). This followed not only from the screams of the headmistress (she could call her subordinate and not that way!) but mainly from the long bare tail dragging after him.
And only then Arthur remembered yesterday's visit to the pub and dubious type who called himself God.
It must be said that yesterday he treated his random drinking companion rather lightly, but now, under the pressure of circumstances, he was forced to admit that the impostor was far from being as simple as it seemed to him at first glance. Of course, he is no God, that's clear. But who? For some reason I didn't want to think about it.
Meanwhile, a security guard came and pushed the closet away. They searched for Arthur for a long time and unsuccessfully, but found only a gap in the wall.
- She probably climbed into this hole, - said the guard, - now you can’t smoke her out of there! Or you order to break the wall?
Then the supply manager and some other people came, made noise, moved the furniture.
This bustle tired Lomov, and he dozed off, and when he woke up, there was dead silence. Obviously, the working day has already ended and everyone has gone home. He was terribly hungry, however, not surprising, because he had not eaten anything since yesterday. And then his nostrils caught a delicious smell, it came from the director's office, seeped through the cracks in the wall, penetrated into the brain and caused painful salivation.
Overcoming fear, Lomov cautiously crawled out of hiding and, sniffing the air, moved in the direction of the source of the seductive aroma. Very soon he realized that the smell was coming from the drawer. Using the wires leading to the monitor, he deftly climbed onto the table, but the drawer was closed, and Arthur's weak rat paws were simply unable to pull it out. Luckily, there was a pencil on the table, he pushed it through the slot and, acting as a lever, opened the drawer rather quickly. To his disappointment, he found there only a pile of useless papers and a thick stack of five thousandth bills tied with an elastic band. The impostor did not deceive, now Lomov's money was not at all interested, out of annoyance he even shit on them, but this only increased the hunger.
“Did the devil pull me to ask this idiot for a million dollars?! - he thought, listening to the hungry cramps in his stomach - And yet, where does this smell come from? How can money smell so delicious!”
He rummaged through the entire drawer filled with stupid papers and finally found in the very corner under some kind of contract a small moldy piece of cheese. Well, yes, of course, it was cheese, only he could emit such an attractive aroma.
Arthur ate it in a couple of seconds and of course he didn’t sated a drop. Unable to resist, he even began to gnaw at the contract, soaked with a cheese smell.
- Are you eating contracts? Look, you will earn an ulcer! - Arthur heard a sly voice behind him and turned around. On the edge of the table sat a small but rather pretty white rat.
- Hello! My name is Larisa, - the rat introduced herself, - And you are Arthur from the sales department!
- Exactly, but how do you know me?
- Yes, I used to work in the logistics department; I was fired six months ago.
- Larisa from logistics? I remember you! - Arthur was delighted, - Such a pretty blonde, you still always wore very short skirts, our men just twisted their necks when you walked down the corridor.
- That's why I was fired.
- Wait, are you, too, like I used to be a human?
- All rats were once people, - Larisa remarked philosophically, - but fear turns a person into an animal.
- What kind of nonsense? - Arthur was skeptical.
- No nonsense. British scientists conducted research and came to the conclusion that over the past 40 years, the IQ in rats has increased by 10 points! And at the same time in all rats living in different parts of the globe.
- And what? Rats live next to people and learn all sorts of tricky things from them!
- Let's admit it. Do you know how many people disappear without a trace every year in our country? 80 thousand! A man went out to the nearest store for bread and did not return!
- Do you think they all turn into rats?
- Maybe not all, but many. We have become!
It was difficult to object to such an argument, and Arthur remained silent.
- What are we all talking about? - said Larisa, - you're probably hungry? Come on, I've got something from the New Year's banquet.
Larisa led Arthur to her hole, where a sumptuous dinner was waiting for them: there were half-eaten sandwiches with boiled pork and smoked sausage, and assorted fish, and of course cheese, a lot of cheese.
Satisfying his hunger, Arthur took a closer look at Larisa and suddenly realized that he liked her. And even her long bare tail now did not cause disgust, but rather seemed piquant. And what a wonderful smell emanated from her small, but such a dexterous little body!
Unable to resist the call of the flesh, he approached her from behind and put his paws on her shoulders.
* * *
- Darling! Do you want us to have little rats? - Larisa asked a few minutes later, snuggling comfortably on Lomov's shoulder.
- What? What other rats? Arthur didn't understand.
- Well, how? We didn't protect ourselves! And I am very prolific, in the last litter I brought twelve rats!
- Oh my God! Lomov groaned, “But you can’t do it somehow so that ... well, you understand!”
- Don't you want us to have little rats?
- No, you misunderstood me, that's not the point! It's just all of a sudden...
- What is unexpected? If you don't want little rats, say so!
- It's not that I don't want little rats. You see, this happened to you a long time ago, and in six months you have probably turned into a real rat, you feel like a rat and think like a rat. And I was still a human this morning...
- You were office plankton! - Larisa reminded.
- Okay, so be it! But I walked on two legs, wore a blue suit, a striped tie, and drank Gösser beer.
- You can get beer in the garbage dump, - Larisa suggested, - Sometimes unfinished bottles are thrown there.
- I don't want beer from the dump, damn it! - Arthur got angry, - And I don't want to be a rat! Why on earth should I be a rat? Why, Lord? There are so many real scums around: thieves, robbers, murderers, rapists, child molesters! Well, why me?!
“You and I seem to have such karma,” Larisa sighed sadly, “never mind. Let's sleep better, and tomorrow we'll go to the garbage heap and find you a Gösser beer.
* * *
Lomov fell asleep and had a wonderful dream. In this dream, he was human again.
He was lying in a small bright room on a clean sheet, covered up to his chin with a striped woolen blanket. The gentle spring sun shone through the window, and the soul was light and calm.
He thought that, perhaps, he should go to wash and already threw back the covers, but at that moment voices and noise were heard outside the door. Arthur returned the blanket to its place and pretended to be asleep.
People entered the room, through narrowed eyelids Lomov could only see through the legs and the skirts of white coats.
- But Semyon Arkadyevich, pay attention, a very interesting case! - said the first rather pleasant male voice, - Sick Lomov, he entered yesterday. Hypomanic arousal in an acute form, convinced that he is a rat. When the team arrived, he rushed around the director's office, biting, scratching, trying to hide under the closet, barely managed to calm him down. He was injected with 4 cubes of chlorpromazine. When he wakes up, for some time he will adequately perceive the surrounding reality, but after a few hours the effect of the drug will end.
- Very good! - Answered the second voice, - continue aminazin, add more phenazepam and electroconvulsive therapy. Who's next for us?
- Maklakov, Delirium tremens, entered three days ago...
The voices began to fade, the dream gradually melted away and Lomov found himself again lying in the rat hole. A white rat sat next to him and somehow strangely (with tenderness?) looked at him.
- Larisa? You? - He asked, looking at the animal.
- Well, yes, Larisa, who else?
- You know Larisa, I had such a strange dream here! - Lomov yawned, unable to restrain himself, - As if I had become a man again, I was lying in a clean, bright room, some people in white coats were coming and saying something. It seems like I got sick, I'm in the hospital, and they treat me.
- I, too, at first dreamed of something similar, but then everything went away, - Larisa reassured him, - And it will pass for you too!
- I do not want will pass! Vice versa. Understand - I do not want to be a rat, sleep in this stinking hole, and eat garbage! I want to be human!
- Unfortunately, this is a one-way street.
- In what sense?
- I asked to other rats. There has never been such a case that a rat became a man.
- And what, there is no hope?
- To be honest, not the slightest. Okay, stop talking, let's go have breakfast in the trash, otherwise yesterday we ate up all the supplies!
- I won't go, - Arthur answered and lay down, resting his head on his front paws.
- Okay, lie down. Then I'll bring you something delicious. Do you want rotten herring intestines?
- No.
"Then what do you want I to bring?"
- I do not want anything.
- You can't do that, Arthur. If you don't eat, you'll get sick and soon die!
- That's good, everything is better than this life!
- You know, Arthur, I used to think so too, but then I realized one very simple thing: since we exist as outcasts ...
- Outcasts? Lomov asked.
- Well, yes - rats, cockroaches, crickets and others ... So, since we are exist, then someone needs it!
- To whom? To office plankton? So that they look at us and rejoice that it is not they who have to rummage through the garbage in search of rotten herring intestines?
- Well, yes, at least. And don't forget that at any moment they themselves can be in our place!
- I don't want to be a scarecrow for these one-celled!
- And what do you want?
- Don't know. I don't want to live, that's what!
- We must be careful with desires, - Larisa warned, - they tend to come true!
- Well, let! I want to die and the sooner the better!
- Bad deed is not tricky. There are thousands of ways: you can deliberately climb into a mousetrap, or, for example, go out into the yard in the evening and shout: “Cats are motherfuckers!”
- Faggots! Cretins! Jerks! - Heard the cries of Margarita Nikolaevna from behind the wall, - I will fire you all; you will eat rotten meat in my garbage dump! I told you yesterday to catch a rat! Not only did this bastard gobble up a million dollar contract, but he also pissed off my money!
“Money can be laundered,” the financial director advised timidly, “now many do it!
- Here you take Mark Antonovich and launder this money as you want! And you, Igor Ivanovich, as the head of the security department, urgently take care of the rat! And so that by tomorrow morning I could see her corpse!
- Then I went for mousetraps? Igor Ivanovich asked.
- Go, do something already! Do not stand like idols!
* * *
Arthur not only did not go with Larisa to the trash, but did not even touch the delicacies that she brought him. He spent the whole day lying in the hole, with his head on his paws and staring dully in front of him.
But by evening, when there was no food left, hunger began to make itself felt. Thoughts of suicide disappeared somewhere; he wanted cheese, ham, grain, and most importantly more and more. At first he endured, trying to hide his cowardice, but then he could not stand it.
- Listen Laris, and there you have nothing left to gnaw? - he asked.
- No, I finished everything, you refused! - Answered Larisa, - But I think it's time to visit our headmistress's office. The working day is already over; no one will interfere with us.
Four mousetraps were waiting for them in the office, richly stuffed with cheese, sausage and even lard.
- Give me a pencil! Larisa asked.
Arthur climbed onto the table and brought a pencil. Larisa put it in a mousetrap and it snapped shut, breaking the back of the pencil.
- Well, now you can safely eat cheese! - She said.
While Larisa was fiddling with the next mousetrap, Lomov decided to look for food on his own, and very quickly found a saucer of flour in the corner behind the bedside table. True, the smell of flour was a little strange, but the hunger was so strong that he did not become picky.
- You're so funny! - Larisa giggled when she saw Arthur, - you have a white mustache, and the whole muzzle!
- Yes, I'm here ... I found flour ... - Lomov muttered and began to embarrassedly rub his muzzle with varnishes.
- Wait, are you eating flour? Larisa asked, and her gaze was filled with genuine horror.
- Yes, what wrong? - Arthur spoke slowly, involuntarily infected by her fear.
- I knew it! You could not be left alone for a second; you are like a small child! It's my entire fault!
- Wait a minute, explain plainly what happened?
- There is such an old way of killing rats and mice. Flour is mixed with alabaster and placed in a conspicuous place. Now you will be thirsty, the alabaster will mix with the water, the solution will immediately seize, and you will die a slow and painful death.
- What if you don't drink?
- Then you will die of dehydration. Not a very pleasant ending either.
Wait, you must be wrong! Maybe there was no alabaster in that flour? 'Cause I can't die, I'm so young!
- Okay, let's go; let's look at your flour! - Larissa sighed.
Lomov showed her the saucer; the rat carefully sniffed it and confidently sentenced:
- The smell of alabaster!
- And what will happen now?
- Now you're going begin to die!
- No, it can't be! After all, I have not even begun to truly live, only I was going to! And most importantly - for what?
- I don’t understand where all of a sudden such a thirst for life comes from? Just a few hours ago, you yourself wanted to die!
- I was a fool! And now I understand everything, I want to live! Live by anyone: a blind mole, a cockroach, a worm.
- Whoever you are, sooner or later you would still have to die. Or did you think you'd live forever?
- No, of course, - Arthur was embarrassed, - I just didn't expect everything to happen so quickly and ridiculously. I am not ready!
- Well, get ready, you still have time! I told you - you will go to die for a long time.
- Wait, Laris, it seems it has begun!
- What started?
- Well, what were you talking about. There is something going on inside of me. It feels like... I don't know what to say. It seems like everything is starting to turn to stone!
- I knew it! Well, go to look for your last shelter!
- What other shelter?
- The rat, when it feels that its end is near, leaves its relatives, looks for a secluded place and hides there.
- For what?
- Such is the law - everyone dies alone!
But I don't want to die alone! In fact, I just don't want to die! However, I think I've already said that.
- Of course he did! Come on; crawl away faster while you can still move your paws!
* * *
Arthur wandered for a long time through some basement passageways, crawled into holes, but could not find a quiet place anywhere. There was a rat smell everywhere, or even worse, a cat smell. Finally, he managed to find a seemingly suitable hole, he lay down on a pile of dirty rags, but as soon as he closed his eyes, some devils appeared and dragged him to hell.
"Put me down," he shouted, "I don't want to go to hell! For what? I didn't do anything wrong!"
In response, the devils grinned and were talking among themselves in an incomprehensible language. And when he began to struggle, they twisted his hands (now he had hands!) Behind his back.
But the worst began when they arrived at the place. The devils put a funnel down Arthur's throat and began pouring molten lead into him. However, maybe it was not lead, but silver, platinum, or some other white metal.
Then he vomited with this liquid metal, and then the funnel was inserted again, and everything started all over again. But this was not enough for the devils, and they began to pour the same metal into it only from the other side. His insides were swollen, and it seemed that they were about to burst. Unable to bear the torment, Arthur passed out.
And when he came to himself, he saw a girlish face of angelic beauty bending over him. And suddenly this angelic face approached him and dug into his lips with a passionate kiss.
"Maybe I'm in heaven!" thought Arthur.
- Stop overworking, Lariska, don't you see, he's already recovered! - A rather unpleasant female voice came from somewhere above.
Larisa pulled away and spat.
“I thought he would never recover!” she said, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
- Where I am? Arthur asked, looking around.
- Where, where, in Karaganda! - Answered the second girl and rolled up with a cheerful laugh, - You better tell us fool, why did you eat cement?
- Cement? So it was cement? – Delighted Arthur, - Definitely not alabaster?
- We have Tajiks doing repairs, - the girl explained, - there are bags of cement in the corridor, so you ate straight from the bag. Dzhamshut came running, complaining, if your patients eat our cement, how can we repair? You had to do a gastric lavage, and out of habit you almost go to hell! Well, Lariska noticed in time, you can say, she saved your life!
The nurses left (he guessed that they were nurses in white caps and gowns) and Lomov began to inspect the room. On the wall, framed under glass, he noticed a rather strange document. Arthur got out of bed, walked over and began to read.
“A reminder to the new arrivals.
Eight levels of hell.

1. Arbuda-naraka - hell of blisters. On a dark frozen valley, surrounded by cold mountains, there is a constant blizzard and snow storm. The inhabitants of this hell are naked and lonely, and their bodies are covered with blisters from the cold. The time spent in this hell is how long it will take to empty a barrel of sesame seeds, if one grain is taken every hundred years.
   
2. Nirarbuda-naraka - the hell of swelling blisters. This hell is even colder and the blisters swell and explode, leaving the bodies covered in blood and pus.
   
3. Atata-naraka - hell when shaking from the cold.
   
4. Hahava-naraka - the hell of weeping and groaning. When the victim moans from the cold.
   
5. Huhuva-naraka - the hell of chattering teeth. Terrible chills and chattering of teeth.
   
6. Utpala-naraka - the hell of the blue lotus, when the constant cold makes the whole skin turn blue like a lily.
   
7. Padma-naraka - lotus hell. A snowstorm covers the frozen body, leaving bloody wounds.
   
8. Mahapadma-naraka - the great lotus hell. The whole body cracks from the cold, and the internal organs also crack from the terrible frost.
   

Staying in each next level is 20 times longer than in the previous one.
After…"
What awaits the unfortunate then Lomov did not have time to find out - a doctor entered the ward. He felt his pulse, pulled his eyelids back, examined his tongue.
- Well, the patient, I see - your condition has stabilized, it's time for the procedures! - He said in a cheerful voice.
- What other procedures? Arthur asked suspiciously.
- Shock cryotherapy.
- What is this? Never heard of such a thing!
- No wonder, this is my own technique. It consists in the following: the patient is stripped naked and placed in a special chamber, cooled to an extremely low temperature...
- Wait, I can't be frozen, I can't stand the cold! My skin is covered with pimples and starts to beat like a fever!
- Get used to, a person gets used to everything. Moreover, you have eternity ahead of you!
Are you a doctor; are you out of your mind? What the hell is eternity? Are you going to freeze me forever? My heart can't take it, I'll just die!
- It's you who are crazy, - the doctor objected, - and now we will treat you!
- Do not treat me, doctor! Yes, I admit, I was sick, but now I am cured. Believe me, I'm healthy! I adequately perceive the reality around me! For God's sake, let me go!
- Would a healthy person eat cement? - The doctor grinned sarcastically.
The orderlies appeared - Lomov recognized in them the very devils who poured liquid metal into him.
They blindfolded the patient and led him through the endless hospital corridors. Then he was taken for a long time in an elevator, as it seemed to him down, and then again there were corridors.
* * *
- I can't be frozen, - just in case, Arthur warned, when the orderlies suddenly began to pull off his clothes, - I'm allergic to cold. I will die immediately!
- Not anymore! - The orderly assured, continuing to undress Lomov.
- In what sense? - Arthur didn't understand.
- In direct! You probably think you're in a psych ward?
- Yes of course! Where else can they bully people like that?
- Wow, "above the people"! - The orderly chuckled, - But just a few hours ago you considered yourself a rat!
- I was wrong! But now that I have realized my delusions, there is no need to keep me in your terrible hospital!
- I told you, this is not a hospital for you!
- What then?
- The ancient Greeks called this place Hades, the Muslims Sakar, the Buddhists - Naraka, the Christians - underworld or just Hell. Atheists believe that there is no such place at all. Remember that jerk on the tinted nine?
- Wait, what do you want to say? But I managed to jump back!
- As you can see, you didn’t have time! - The orderly grunted sarcastically, - You died before the arrival of the ambulance!
- How did I die? Wait, I'm… - Arthur tried to object, but suddenly he realized that he was talking to himself.
He tore off the bandage from his eyes and saw that he was standing completely alone, naked in the middle of an endless snowy plain, and the icy wind was beating his face, tearing tears from his eyes, which immediately hardened, turning into ice.
There was no strength to stand still, and he went at random, trembling all over and falling into the snow almost up to his knees...

The sea air was crisp and charged with anticipation as the HMS Prince of Wales and the HMS King George V sailed together towards the Denmark Strait. It was May 24, 1941, and they were on a mission to intercept the formidable German battleship Bismarck, which had been wreaking havoc on British shipping in the Atlantic.
On board the Prince of Wales, the crew was eager yet apprehensive. The ship was still undergoing trials, and there were concerns about its readiness for combat. However, the opportunity to engage the Bismarck alongside the King George V was too important to pass up.
Captain John Leach stood on the bridge, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He knew that the odds were against them, but he also knew the importance of stopping the Bismarck. His orders were clear: to engage the enemy and neutralize the threat.
As the two British battleships closed in on the Denmark Strait, tension gripped the crew. The sight of the Bismarck's massive silhouette loomed ahead, and the distant rumble of its guns sent shivers down their spines.
"Steady, men," Captain Leach's voice boomed across the ship's Public Address System.
The King George V and the Prince of Wales maneuvered into position, their guns trained on the Bismarck. The tension built as the distance between the ships closed rapidly. The air crackled with the anticipation of battle.
Suddenly, the Bismarck unleashed a salvo of shells towards the British ships. The Prince of Wales and the King George V returned fire, their guns thundering in unison. The sea shook as the shells exploded around them, creating plumes of smoke and spray.
The Prince of Wales' main guns fired with a thunderous roar, but the ship experienced issues with its main armament. The rate of fire was slower than expected, causing moments of frustration among the crew. Nonetheless, they pressed on, determined to make every shot count.
The King George V, under the command of Admiral Tovey, proved to be a formidable companion. Its modern fire control systems and radar guided the accurate targeting of the enemy. The combined firepower of the two battleships presented a formidable challenge for the Bismarck.
As the battle raged on, shells from both sides found their targets. The Bismarck's armor was formidable, but the relentless assault by the British battleships began to take its toll. Hit after hit rocked the German battleship, causing severe damage to its superstructure and guns.
Realizing the dire situation, Captain Ernst Lindemann of the Bismarck ordered evasive maneuvers. The ship zigzagged through the waters, trying to evade the relentless barrage of fire from the British ships. But the Prince of Wales and the King George V pursued their target with unwavering determination.
A critical moment arrived when a well-aimed salvo from the Prince of Wales struck the Bismarck's vulnerable stern, causing serious damage to its propulsion systems. The German battleship was crippled and began to drift helplessly in the water.
Sensing victory within their grasp, the British battleships pressed their advantage. With renewed vigor, they continued to pound the Bismarck, unleashing a relentless storm of shells upon their beleaguered adversary.
Finally, the Bismarck's resistance crumbled. The once-mighty battleship, battered and broken, listed to one side before disappearing beneath the waves. The Prince of Wales and the King George V had emerged victorious.
Cheers erupted throughout the British ships as the crew celebrated their hard-fought victory. They had faced a formidable enemy and prevailed. The presence of the King George V alongside the Prince of Wales had made a significant difference, contributing to the ultimate triumph over the Bismarck.
The HMS Prince of Wales had proven its worth, standing shoulder to shoulder with the HMS King George V, and together they had struck a decisive blow against the might of the Bismarck, securing a victory that would be remembered in naval history.

As always, thank you to u/SpacePaladin15 for the wonderful universe that is NoP
Thank you to u/cruisingNW for proof reading and helping me out of some hang ups, you're the man!
First Prev. Next
---
Memory Transcription Subject: Christopher A. Dewey, Human Merchant Sailor, Venlil-Human Exchange Participant
Date [Standardized Human Time]: August 24th, 2136.
I felt like I got hit by a truck. A small one, but still a truck.
Ensign Frenchman packed a pretty good punch and a mean hook for his size. Hopefully some time in therapy would help direct them a little better. I can’t say I blamed him, I don’t know what I’d do if I got word Ryan had been killed. I wouldn't take it out on the nearest Venlil, but it sure as shit wouldn’t have been pretty.
I’d gotten better at working the showers but Taisa still laughed at me as I fumbled with the control panel. Eventually I remembered the right button, swinging the privacy curtains between us. She seemed to find it odd that Humans were so skittish about our privacy but relented when I reminded her we didn’t exactly have fur. Filling the tub with warm water and some kind of soapy oil I slid in to soak; still pressing the melting ice pack to my tender cheek.
“Chris?” Taisa began, her tub having finished filling. “What do you think they’ll do with him?”“What do you mean?”
“Well… what do Humans do with individuals with Predator Disease?”
“Predator Disease?” I asked, working shampoo through my hair. “You mentioned it before, but I can’t say that I’m familiar with the term. Something about you having to do ‘socialization’?”
“Ya know… Predator Disease. People who are… different… are dangerous.” She responded, that note of sadness slipping into her voice again.
“Oh, we just call that mental illness I guess.”
“Ok, then what do Humans do with them?”
“Well, it depends. Some people just need some meds, help with coping mechanisms and therapy or counseling. Others need some more in depth treatments or, in more extreme cases, isolation.” I groaned, the tension of the fight leaving my muscles. “I figure for him he’ll get grief counseling, maybe some mandatory anger management classes and probably some degree of reprimand from the U.N. for his behavior.”
“Is this… therapy and anger management how Humans deal with their urges?” She asked, a thoughtful tone in her voice.
“Our… What?” I responded, confusion in my voice at the odd question.
“You know, your predatory instincts. Like violence, blood-thirst and stuff.” There was not a hint of irony nor joke in the statement.
After a moment of baffled silence I reached up and hit the button to move the curtain aside.
Taisa's messin' with me, she's gotta be.
The sudden movement of the curtain seemed to startle her, tail splashing through the water behind her, but the look on her face was most certainly serious.
“Taisa…” I sighed, pinching my fingers on the throbbing bridge of my nose. “Did you think I’ve been fighting the urge to eat you this whole time?”
“Um… No…? Maybe?” She beeped quietly, embarrassment clear in her voice as her ears lowered to the sides.
My eyes didn’t leave her as I sighed again, “No. I have never had the urge to eat you, or any Venlil. There are no urges to fight, because they don’t exist.” Her ears flicked meekly, as I broke eye contact, switching the button to close the drapes. After a moment, I asked a counter-question: “Taisa, do Venlil have a constant instinctual need to consume any plants you see? Or do you go ‘Hey I’m hungry, I could really go for a salad.’?”
“No, we don't have a need to consume every plant we see, it's just… We only know about one other predatory species, and by all accounts they do feel that urge. I just… got kind of worried from what I saw earlier. So many of the Humans in the cafeteria just seemed so angry, so… out of control.” Taisa sunk down to her chin in the tub, her ears back, like she was trying to hide from the words.
“Did I?” I countered, leaning against the side of the tub, pushing buttons until I found one to turn on a water-jet to massage the soreness from my sides.
“...No.” She conceded, her head raising out of the water a little as she grabbed a tube of shampoo, squirting a small amount into her open paw. “But… It’s not You that I’m worried about.”“Do you trust me, Taisa?”
She froze a moment, and I could see the shadow of her ears swivel as she thought, before turning, head and ears, to focus on me through the privacy screen. “Yes.”I lifted my head up above the privacy screen, her gleaming amber eyes met mine and I measured my tone to emphasize my promise. “Then trust me when I say that no sane Human has urges, plans, or instincts to eat you, a Venlil, or any other Sapient being for that matter. Sure as the sun rises in the morn’ no one’s eatin’ you on my watch.” I smiled, splashing water over at her as her ears lifted a little, laughing as she splashed water back at me.
---
Memory Transcription Subject: Taisa, Venlil Starship Mechanic, Venlil-Human Exchange Participant
Date [Standardized Human Time]: August 24th, 2136.
I sank into the warm waters, letting the wood scented oils soak into my wool, my tail slowly swaying through the water beneath me. I didn’t need to do a full wash for another paw or so but I always found it relaxing to just soak for a while. It was a good bonus that it helped to loosen any knots in my wool, not that I really ever got too many of them with how short I kept it.
My admission to Chris that I trusted him sat in my chest in a way I really couldn’t describe; it wasn’t a bad feeling per se, just… new. I hadn’t really ever had someone that I think I could say I actually trusted, outside of my family of course. It was difficult to process that the first person I really trusted in so long… was a predator. He was the first person to have ever come back; predator or not he stuck around. If he was willing to see beyond my past… Then I was willing to give him, and his species, the benefit of the doubt. Even if the topic was about eating me.
I allowed my thoughts to drift while I reveled in the warmth of the water soaking into my bones, when I heard water move from Chris’ direction. Watching his shadow through the privacy curtain Chris opened the bag he had brought in with him, setting out what looked like a few bottles and a brick of… something?
How do Humans keep clean? Do they have to clean more often than we do? They don’t have fur to shampoo outside of their heads so maybe it’s less? Still, Chris’ hair is just as well kept as any Venlil’s wool I’d ever seen, and longer than my father’s, so he certainly doesn't neglect it.
“Chris,” I began, my tail curling in curiosity, his shadow jumped slightly as I spoke up. “How do Humans groom?”
It’s kinda cute that I can scare him, sometimes.
“Well, it’s a little different for everyone, I suppose. For one, most Humans take showers to get clean, and baths to relax; it’s a lot quicker that way for us. Hell, shipboard I didn’t even have the option to take a bath; we only had the showers.” He responded, squirting some viscous liquid from an upturned bottle into an open hand; was that human shampoo?
"Ok, then how do you groom?” I asked as he worked his hands together before running them through his hair and beard.
He chuckled at that before dunking his head under water and shaking his hands through his hair vigorously for a few seconds before coming back up. “Luckily for me I’m a civilian sailor, otherwise I wouldn’t really have anything to take care of in the first place. As it is though, I use a specialized strengthening shampoo every other day to give it thickness and shine paired with Argan oil conditioner a couple times a week for some nice softness.” Chris grabbed another of his bottles and squirted it into his hands, repeating the same motion to work it into his hair but not immediately washing it out, Human conditioner, then? ”Granted, all that wouldn’t matter much without regular trips to my barber, Lorenzo, back home, that old bastard can cut hair like no one else alive. Pair that with some good wax pomade, beard oil and a stiff comb to keep everything in line between cuts… and I’m set! Gotta work to look this good!” I couldn’t see it through the curtain but I was certain he had that wide goofy smile on his face.
His routine sounded surprisingly similar to mine, albeit with less area to cover, although the answer didn’t quite cover everything. “What about the… rest of you?”
“Ah,” He started, reaching over to fetch and hold up the brick. “That's what the soap is for, nothing special here, just suds and sandalwood, rub it into a washcloth, wipe everything down and rinse off! How do Venlil groom? I imagine it can get tedious having that much wool to clean and comb through.”
“It’s not all too dissimilar from your hair routine, in all honesty. Every few paws I rub my face wool with cleaning powder - I use a Basin Tree oil based powder - and rinse it out. I can’t stand putting shampoo in my head wool, it always finds its way into my eyes. Then for the rest of my wool I use an Elva flower scented shampoo and Chessiu nut oil based conditioner! I use a pretty soft brush for my wool since it’s not often I have knots that have to get worked through; outside of my tuft.” I ran my claws through the thick tuft of wool on my head to emphasize the point, scratching lightly at the skin beneath.
“Not all Venlil do but I always try to scrape and shine under my claws. The feeling of gunk building up drives me mad, especially if I’ve been servicing carbon filters.” I shuddered, shaking out my wool at the memory of the pressure under my claws.
“I hear that, I hated getting packing grease stuck under my nails whenever I had to help the Chief get through some of the maintenance while we were underway. Gotta go after it with a pick; horrid feeling. Can’t imagine it feels any better with retractable claws.” I giggled a little at that, imagining the big human hunched over, a small pick in one hand delicately trying to dig grease out from his ‘nails’. “Do Venlil have to trim their claws back? Every week or two I have to clip my nails down so they don’t get too long.”
“We, or at least I, don’t clip my claws. I file them back once a cycle or so to keep them from getting to be too much to actually work with, but if I go too far then they’ll snap on me if I pry with them wrong and that brahking hurts.” I responded, flexing my paw, I probably wasn’t too far off from needing to tend to my claws again, now that I thought about it.
“I can’t say I’ve broken any nails but I’ve slammed my fingers in plenty of door jambs and joints. Now that hurts like nothing else.” He countered, chuckling a little.
All the talk of work over the last few days, explaining what I had studied, hearing about Chris’ time at sea, gushing, somewhat embarrassingly, over his family’s truck and just… talking, really talking… had planted a seed in my head. One that was finally sprouting.
“Chris, what do you think you’re going to do once the Exchange Program is over?” I asked as my ears perked up, tail swishing through the water in curiosity.
“Huh…” He grunted, stopping a moment as he thought, before his hand reached over and hit the button for the privacy screen again to meet my eyes. “I hadn’t really thought about it, if I’m honest. I'm not sure! I could go home and go back to sailing, but that doesn't really feel like enough after... this. Honestly I’d rather fly the stars than sail the seas at this point. What about you?”
"I was trying to get a job in my field but I can't seem to find a crew or shipping company that will have me, especially with the current state of the trade markets; and I'd rather not join the Corps if I can help it. Outside of that, it would just be going back to Heartwood River to help my family with the equipment on the farm I guess." I sighed, ears pinned to my head, my paws kneading into the tuft of my tail as I remembered the issue I had been trying to avoid by signing up for the exchange.
"Guess we could always get our own ship and try to make it on our own." He chuckled, amused by the idea. "Although I doubt that'd be easy, Humans don't really have our own commercial FTL ships yet, and I don’t exactly know how to fly one either. I don't suppose you know any Venlil who could give us a good deal on a freighter??"
“Course I do! Got little Vikki the shipwright here tangled in my wool!”
Chris smiled at that and smashed his hands down into the bath before exclaiming. "Well there we go! We get a ship from Vikki, pick up some cargo and make runs from VP to Earth and back! Easy money and easy work for both of us! I'd bet there's people all over both planets spoilin' to get goods from the other!" He exclaimed, excitement apparent in his voice. "Uh... I don’t suppose lil’ Vikki there has a price in mind?"
“Yeah here, let me check!” I dunked my snout under the water and burbled a high whistle, earning a healthy guffaw from my partner. Resurfacing, I answered, “Vikki said 20mil. and your dad’s truck; I feel like his head’s a little higher than the reeds, if ya know what I mean.”
Chris was cackling by now, “That much huh?! Could always rob a bank! My old man may not like losing the truck though.” He laughed, glancing over at me before crossing his arms over his chest. “‘Hello sir, I’d like one of your finest ships please, no don’t mind the cops outside, they’re here for someone else.’”
I giggled a little, dropping my voice to a whisper as my ears pinned forward “No, no that's too obvious, we have to be stealthy about it. Better plan would be to just put on a set of Labor Safety gear and fly off with one, no one ever questions L and S.”
He threw his head back in laughter at that. “I shouldn’t be surprised that people don’t wanna get visits from space OSHA any more than normal OSHA. I guess cuttin’ safety is a universal constant.”
“Maybe we could get the Exchange program to pay for it?” I asked giggling again as my tail thrashed through the water behind me at the joke.
He chuckled a little before adding, “Yeah I bet they would love to pay for an interspecies merchant ship. Not like they’re swimming in-” His voice caught and his body froze. I watched as his face contorted through a dozen different expressions, before he settled on ‘distressingly wrinkled’ and stroked his hand down his beard. “... We could tell the Exchange program we want to… ‘Run an experiment on Human-Venlil business partnerships.’ Yeah that sounds nice… Maybe if it’s official-like they might pick up the tab!”
"Ha! Business partnerships! Like the program would ever go for that." I was whistling my humor, but Chris grew a broad smile and his eyes gleamed with wicked mischief.
My tail slowed in the water, "Wait… That couldn't actually work. Right, Chris?" I didn’t receive a response, instead he was intently mumbling to himself.
"-UN's the only world power in this, and they’ve been bending over backward to make it work… The blockade can't be good for the economy, so VP has to be as desperate for this to work as we are… they're already doing training for pilots, and they have way more soldiers than merchants…"
His eyes snapped up to meet mine, and I couldn't hide my hesitancy at the mad look in them, "Taisa, I know we were joking earlier, but this time I'm serious: do you know where we could buy a freighter?"
My ears swiveled as I racked my brain, "A-Actually…" I pondered, my ears pricked up with hope at the idea. "Wh-When the blockades with the federation happened a lot of freight companies went out of business; or sold their old ships to the yards at a loss to stay liquid. I doubt many of the ships have really moved, considering the blockades are still up; and a lot of traders are still a little bolty about trading with Humans. Really just about any sizable shipyard should have a fair few on paw that they’re probably looking to turn for a quick profit."
His hand continued to work through his beard as he processed the thought. “We might actually be able to get that to work… Doubtful they’ll pick up the tab on anything too big but that just means we work higher value cargo. Curio contracts, charter service and specialty hauls would be our bread and bu-… uh, Jelly. How long is the trip from Earth to VP?”
I racked my brain for a moment considering the distance. “Drives run at [Human Unit: 4.5 ly/hr]. That trip is around [Human Unit: 16 ly] so we’re looking at a little under a Claw for a run, give or take another half Claw for in-system maneuvers and landing clearance. By the Stars we could start a next paw delivery service and still have time to spare!”
“Hell that ain’t even that bad, I’ve had domestic flights longer than that. The training may be an issue but I can’t imagine them pitching in on the ship and leaving us out to dry on how to actually use it. The better question now is how we actually bring it up.” He sighed the last sentence as his eyes focused on a random spot on the wall.
As if to answer the question our pads beeped simultaneously, informing us of an incoming message.
Please report to the Partnership Program lead office promptly. Suite 4006 on deck 4.
Chris and I exchanged glances, considering the message on the pads before quickly finishing our time in the baths. Time, and convincing a multi-government alien integration agency to buy you an old ship, wait for no-one.
​
---
First Prev. Next

It's Monday and I have a bone to pick with TAG Heuer. They announced their new watch right as I clicked publish on the news update. I guess you're already caught up on it.

What's new

1/
TAG Heuer Releases A Trio Of New Monacos With Skeleton Dials Ahead Of The Big Race
Hey, thanks a lot TAG! The exact second I sent out the Friday edition of It’s About Time they decided to announce a new watch. And not just any watch, that I would be cool with waiting until Monday to write about it. It is a trio of new and very different TAG Heuer Monaco Skeleton Chronographs, one of the first times they put a skeleton dial in the Monaco, but it’s also a release that coincides with the Monaco F1 Grand Prix. So here I am, writing about it after the race is over.
Never mind, it’s still a nice watch. Excluding the V4 editions that had a different case and was driven by belts, a unique piece in carbon made for Only Watch 2021, and the very exclusive “Riviera” edition, TAG Heuer has never made a production Monaco with a skeleton dial. And looking at these watches, it looks to have been a mistake on TAG’s part as the watches really do look fantastic.
The base dimensions of the watch remain the same - 39mm wide and 14.7mm thick, but not much else is the same. The case in the skeleton model is made out of sandblasted titanium to make it much lighter. While I see why some people would want that, I adore the weight of the original model. You know when you are wearing one.
TAG calls this watch a skeleton, I described it as a skeleton but it, in fact, is not actually a skeleton watch. It would more appropriately be described as an openworked Monaco, as it has a partial dial that reveals a slightly reworked movement. But even as such it looks great - all sharp lines and angles. The watch comes in three editions - Original Blue with an untreated titanium case, blue dial, white and red accents and a blue strap; Racing Red, an untreated case, black dial with red and white accents and a black strap; and Turquoise, with a black DLC coated case, a black strap, a black dial with turquoise-coloured accents and sub-dials, a colour also being sported on the column wheel and rotor.
Inside is the familiar Calibre Heuer 02 with some slight improvements, with an 80 hour power reserve. Apart from the colors, all the straps are the same, a mix of rubber and leather with a titanium folding clasp.
All three are part of the regular collection and are not limited. The Original Blue and Racing Red editions are priced at CHF 10,500, and the DLC-coated Turquoise edition at CHF 11,000.
2/
Aquastar Revives Their First Dive Watch With The Model 60, The Most Classic Of Skin Divers With A Great Price
We are in the golden age of brand revivals. Aquastar, for example, was founded in the early 60s in Geneva by Frédéric Robert, a diver, sailor, pilot, mathematician and watchmaker after Robert took over his fathers watchmaking business JeanRichard. Over the next ten years, Rober filed a number of patents that are still relevant today, like inner rotating bezels, multiple dive decompression bezels, a new crown sealing system and the friction bezel ring…
When Robert retired, the brand was bought and sold by a number of companies and ended up being revived in 2020 by Rick Marei, who is known for building up Doxa to the powerhouse it is today. And ever since then they have been putting out fire releases. Their newest one is the Aquastar Model 60, which brings back the brand’s first-ever diver with modern specs.
All of the modern releases from Aquastar have been based on the Deepstar, but the Model 60 gets a completely new case. It’s based on the original Model 60, introduced in 1957 as JeanRichard7s first diver with a water resistance rating of 100 meters, and it was seemingly the earliest watch to use a skin-diver-style case. The Model 60 is also famous for being worn by Don Walsh to the bottom of the Mariana Trench while inside the Trieste submersible.
The stainless steel case of the Model 60 measures 37mm wide, 47mm lug-to-lug, 11mm thick and with a 19mm lug spacing. Speaking of the lugs, the watch comes on a tropic strap and can be had with an optional beads-of-rice bracelet with a safety clasp, or a nylon strap. Water resistance is 200 meters, and the sunburst-finished steel bezel is bidirectional.
The dial is what you would expect from a vintage diver - black with printed white minute track and hour markers, filled with “Old Radium” Super-LumiNova. The hands are the same as the Deepstar aside from the addition of a central seconds hand with a lume pip. Inside the watch is the La Joux-Perret G100, which features a 68-hour power reserve and is adjusted to four positions.
The Aquastar Model 60 will be a regular production model for the brand, and will not be limited. The Model 60 will start at $990 and rise to $1,290 at some point. The bracelet will cost an extra $159. Also the first 100 buyers will get a liquid-filled compass that can be attached to either a Tropic or nylon strap. However, considering the amount of press this watch has gotten over the weekend, I imagine they sold the first 100 already.
3/
The New And More Compact De Bethune DB28XS Starry Seas Is An Ode To Calm Seas
De Bethune watches are really something very special. The DB28 line especially. The floating lugs, delta-shaped bridge and crown at noon all give it a very futuristic look while remaining supremely elegant. The newly introduced DB28X Starry Seas takes all of these traits and gives them a huge makeover, despite looking practically the same - it shrinks it down radically to 39mm and gives it a beautifully serene blue dial with a world-first random guilloché pattern designed to evoke a starry sea.
The DB28XS is not only the smallest model in De Bethune’s family but inherits the slimmer, more stylised profile of the DB28XP models. With its diameter of 38.7mm (down from almost 43mm of the DB28) and thickness of 7.4mm, this petite newcomer is small and slim but also light, thanks to the polished titanium case.
The dial, which relies on a heat-blued titanium base that De Bethune has become known for, is decorated with the world’s first random guilloché pattern invented by De Bethune. Whether this means that De Bethune invented a random guilloché pattern or whether it is the fact that De Bethune has applied a random guiloché pattern to a blued titanium base needs clarifying. But there’s no denying that it’s a beautiful dial, as the wavy pattern is interrupted with sprinklings of white gold that mimic stars. A silver-plated rounded chapter ring bearing transferred Arabic numerals for hours and a blue dotted minute track frames the wavy dial. Time is indicated by two custom-made and hand-polished titanium openworked hands.
The watch comes on a supple dark blue alligator leather strap with light blue top stitching and a titanium pin buckle. De Bethune have not said whether this will be a limited model or when it will be available, but it’s expected to retail for CHF 77,000, excluding taxes.
4/
Alpina Has A Very Interesting Startimer Pilot Heritage Manufacture
Alpina is really starting to annoy me. I don’t want to take them seriously, on account of the name they share with the people that make my skis, and I’m not a huge fan of a number of their watches. But every now and again, they release a watch that’s just so great… Wait until you read all the specs and the price of the newly introduced Aplina Startimer Pilot Heritage Manufacture, an attractive vintage-inspired pilot’s watch.
The barrel-shaped case measures 42×40.75mm and lacks traditional lugs, with the strap going deep into the brushed case, with a crown at 4 o’clock. The dial is splendidly simple, with a deep blue color, a white minute track and beige luminescent hour markers. The rectangular hour and minute hands get the same beige lume. You can get it on a very vintage brown calf leather strap with white stitching.
But what’s really special is what’s inside the watch. A number of Alpina watches have had third party movements, but this one gets the AL-709 in-house calibre, an automatic movement presented in a becoming golden hue. Visible via an exhibition caseback, the movement at first glance resembles a manual movement due to its oscillating mass sharing the same golden tones as the automatic device bridge and mainplate. Subtle graining, blue screws and perlage are all augmenting the model’s overall appeal.
But what makes it even more special is the availability of 188 pieces and the price - just €2,850. And now this presents me with a question. This is obviously a very attractive watch - it looks great, has a good size, has an in house movement and does not break the bank, while still being limited which should, in theory, increase its desirability. I only now found out about the watch from the article in Escapement. In fact, this has been available since January. Why hasn’t it sold out yet? Is it just not attractive enough? Is it the name? It can’t be the value for money, or am I mistaken?
5/
Respected Independent Watchmaker Andreas Strehler Launches New Brand And Watch With The Strehler Sirna
Andreas Strehler is one of those watchmakers that is a leader among independent watchmakers and for good reason. He has mastered everything from fabrication to finishing, but then would not budge from the polarising design of his watches that many argue kept a lot of customers from him. And I love when someone is so stubborn. To be clear, his previous watches were not ugly monstrosities. They were elegant timepieces marked by a distinctive papillon, or “butterfly”, movement architecture and resulting cushion-shaped case, and Strehler has become known as the independent watchmaker’s watchmaker, having developed the HMC 341 perpetual calendar movement for H. Moser & Cie and the Dragon Lever escapement for Precision Engineering.
Stehler has now decided to expand to a wider audience and has launched a new brand known simply as Strehler, which aims to reach a wider audience with more accessible designs and prices. The brand’s opening act is the Sirna, named after the town of Sirnach in northeastern Switzerland where the manufacture is based.
At launch, the Sirna is offered in a single reference that features an elegantly proportioned, 40 mm steel case with a concave case band and ergonomically formed lugs. The crown is inlaid with a blue titanium disk that features Mr. Strehler’s signature Papillon logo. The patterned dial is also titanium, anodised in a beautiful blue. Designed by Eric Giroud, each dial is machined and laser-engraved before being individually hand polished.
But what’s really special is what’s inside - the in-house SA-30 movement that has some of the highest quality finishings at this price point. For example, the movement has an in-house gold rotor and ball-bearing rotor mount. Most brands, even those in the so-called “Holy Trinity”, typically outsource the production of rotors to a specialist.
The architecture of this 30mm calibre stands out with a series of circles for the bridges and the openworked rotor that match the curvature of the case. The large, free-sprung balance beats at 21,600 vibrations/hour and boasts 60 hours of power reserve. The decoration of this movement is refined, with hand-chamfered bevels, circular Geneva stripes, graining and circular-grained wheels, all channelling the movement’s elaborate design.
The Strehler Sirna comes on a supple brown calfskin strap with off-white stitching. The steel pin buckle is engraved with the brand’s logo. The price is set at CHF 20,000 (excl. taxes), which seems fair for an “independent watch” of this level. The watch is not a limited edition, but the production capacity is expected to be around 30 to 50 watches per year maximum.
-------------------------------------------------------------

On hand - a selection of reviews

1/
A review of the Shinola Duck the brand’s light-duty, entry-level diver-style watch
2/
Hands-on with the Maen Brooklyn 36 — an unusual panda with a champagne twist
-------------------------------------------------------------

Watch Worthy - A look at an offbeat, less known watch you might actually like

The Sofia II from Axia Time — high style with some substance
The Sofia II sits somewhere between a dressy and sporty piece, and Axia has sized it accordingly. The diameter of 40.5mm and lug-to-lug length of just under 48mm is a good fit on my 17.75cm (7″) wrist. It perhaps looks even larger than that due to the all-dial design and large polished lug facets. The combination of titanium, a thickness of 10.5mm, and lug tips sitting slightly lower than the case back all help the watch to sit securely and wear comfortably. But this leads to another dichotomy.
-------------------------------------------------------------
People loved the PRX giveaway! That's why I'm doing a new one. This time, we're giving away three Seiko Alpinists in that lovely green. The giveaway will be ending at the end of the month, so head on over to the newsletter before Wednesday, midnight CET if you would like to enter.
If you would like to receive some additional watch-adjacent content, as well as this news overview, every morning Monday-Friday in the form of a newsletter feel free to subscribe. However, there is absolutely no need for you to subscribe, as all the news from the newsletter is posted here. It is only if you want to receive a couple of daily links that are not strictly watch-related and want to get this news overview in your inbox.

<< Previous Index Next >> (ToC at Chapter 1)
(Original, Contemporary MC in supernatural setting, Magic, Afterlives, Souls)
Schedule: New chapters every Monday and Thursday.

Chapter 7

Our second visit to the plaza was much quicker than our first arrival. We didn't venture far enough to make the way back too long. And we already had a sense of familiarity with the scenery and didn't dawdle.
Surprisingly despite not being gone for long, there were some changes already. The lookouts that were present when we left were missing. And, the work at the Pillar had stopped.
The atmosphere had taken a hit as well. People were quieter as a whole and looked scared, packed in tighter groups.
We came closer to the nearest group.
"What's going on?" I asked.
People looked at us with gloomy looks.
"There was an attack," a young woman answered. Her eyes were red with tears. "A ghoul killed someone. There was so much blood," her voice cracked with the emotions. "And there was so much screaming."
Kenny looked uneasily at me, the imagery of the creature and the horrendous screams of its victims popping out from recent memory as fast as it did for me, no doubt.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Did you know them?" He asked in a gentle tone.
"No, it was just so awful," she was starting to tear up again. "It just attacked, and more people got hurt, and all we could do was to run around screaming." Tears started to drop down her cheeks.
"This 'ghoul,' the same thing as the one Victor brought earlier?" I asked.
"Probably, I don't know," she answered. "It just started eating the poor guy on the spot. It ate him alive," she shuddered. "It was the worst thing I've ever seen. I can't stop hearing it."
"Nobody tried to help? The cop?" I asked.
"People threw stuff at it, but nobody even came close," she said. "Officer Douglas is working on a solution."
"What can he even do? Arrest it?" Another person gave off a humorless chuckle. "Now nobody wants to look out for those things, and nobody is building the ramp," he snarled. "Everyone is so afraid that they think there is another one in the Pillar—that it will jump them the moment they look away," he finished accusingly.
"Why won't you keep working at it?" I asked.
"What, and do all the work by myself?" He snapped.
I didn't see him contribute earlier when things were calmer, but I chose not to comment on it. That would be hypocritical of me.
We walked away, and I looked around, trying to find a good place to rest. There probably wasn't any safer place around either way, and we were dead on our feet at that point. We could've been up for a whole day already, but it was impossible to tell without a clock or any view of the sky.
We decided on the right colonnade that ran alongside the city square and placed ourselves smack in the middle of it, a reasonable distance away from the other groups while still inside their perimeter.
"Oof," Kenny sighed as he dropped to the ground. "Finally."
I sat there, head laid in my hands, eyes shut. The events of the day were playing out in my mind. So much was unclear, but what was important at that moment was to relax, catch my breath, and be ready for the next day.

***

I sat there, contemplating my next move, making plans for tomorrow, and finally, I was relaxed enough to lay down and try to catch some sleep.
Minutes passed by. I heard Kenny's measured breaths and the quiet movements of more distant people, but I couldn't fall asleep.
Kenny started turning once in a while, more people talked and moved, and there was always some small thing that kept me awake. I couldn't doze off even for a moment, just laying there fully awake with my eyes closed.
At some point, Kenny got up and walked away. Was he waiting for me to fall asleep to go away?
I kept trying to doze off, but with the day's stress, it was unsurprising that I would fail to find peace.
Eventually, Kenny returned.
"Nate?" He called out.
I thought for a moment about ignoring him, but I didn't have much hope of falling asleep anytime soon.
"Yeah," I answer, waiting for him.
"I didn't eat," Kenny said leadingly.
"I don't think anyone here did," I agreed.
"I didn't drink either," he said.
"We can go to the river tomorrow," I soothed him.
Why was he complaining now?
"No, I mean, I don't even want to eat or drink," he said. "Do you?"
Now that he mentioned it, I didn't notice any sense of hunger or thirst. After all this time and all the activity we had to do today, I expected to be parched.
Three days or so was the amount of time a person could survive without water, or at least that was what I knew from popular TV shows. I didn't check it with some doctor or anything.
"I swallowed some water accidentally earlier, but it shouldn't be enough, I don't think," I replied. "What do you reckon?"
Kenny had an intense expression. The last time he looked like this was when he discovered we were underground. I was really hoping for a less unorthodox conclusion from him this time.
"I didn't eat or drink all day, and I didn't even pee for a whole day. I don't think you need a medical degree to know that's not normal," he said. "And I can't sleep. Nobody can, I asked around."
"Nobody can sleep?" I asked. "From the stress?"
"Not one person managed to fall asleep even once, even for a minute," he said.
That was strange. Not as strange as being kidnapped and let loose in a haunted, lost ancient city underground, but still surprising. How do you make a whole population sleepless? Something in the air?
"So, what are you thinking?" I asked him. I sure didn't have an explanation for any of this.
"People are saying an experiment by the government. Or aliens," Kenny said. "Some people said we are probably in a virtual world like the Matrix. Someone even suggested that we all died, and this is the afterlife," he listed off, every possibility sounding less sure as he went on.
"Any of the options has with a way back home?" I asked, coming to a sitting position.
He just shrugged.
I took my time thinking things over. A situation this absurd could only be explained by something of roughly equally ridiculous bearing. That was my read on things, at least. The law of conservation of absurdity, if you will.
"Whatever it is, we are not dead," I concluded.
Kenny just looked at me questioningly.
"We are not dead," I repeated," I don't know about the aliens and the other stuff, but I am sure about this one."
Kenny remained quiet.
"Everything we do, every decision we make, we have to assume that we can survive," I added. "Without hope, we don't stand a chance."
We remained silent for a while. I tried to entertain the far-fetched possibilities Kenny presented, but ultimately they only held value for me if they provided some kind of advantage.
Believing that we had already died held no advantage whatsoever.
If we were part of a government experiment or, interchangeably, an alien experiment, we could be kept alive longer if we provided the necessary results. But what results were they seeking? The only objective I could think of was to test how long a random sample of people would survive. But how could I incentivize those theoretical scientists to intervene on my behalf? Seeing me live or die would satisfy them either way.
What if aliens use this setup as an entertaining reality show? Would acting more appealing and exciting make them want to help us stay alive longer? That's a real thing I could do to impact the situation.
Or were we inside a computer simulation? Should we have access to the system, could we open a help ticket? Contact an administrator? Open a console? How would that work? A hand gesture or verbal command?
I explained to Kenny that I intended to test his simulation theory so he won't be alarmed. Instead of treating me like a madman, he supported the idea and joined me.
"Escape, Logout, Logoff, Shutdown, Quit, Exit, Settings, Properties, Help, Command, Terminal, Console, System…" We tried every command we could remember, every gesture that could be used with a touchscreen or a VR headset.
We went at it for a while, but eventually, we had to conclude that none of them worked.
It was a long shot anyway, so back to the drawing board we went.
Kenny perked up and started lifting his shirt, showing his back.
"Hey Nate, do you see anything on my back?"
I looked closely. "No, you have a red spot from leaning on the column, but nothing else jumps out."
"I had a big birthmark there," Kenny proclaimed triumphantly. "I should've checked sooner when I realized my eyesight was fixed."
I started checking myself, too, birthmarks, scars, and moles. Every imperfection or irregularity I could remember. I had a sinking feeling when I corroborated him. Some things remained the same; others disappeared entirely or were slightly different in a way I couldn't pinpoint.
Discovering that I was somehow changed against my will was a horrible feeling. I felt violated. My body was tweaked and twisted without me even noticing it.
It didn't have any rhyme or reason to it either. Sometimes the larger mole was removed, and sometimes the smaller scar. It wasn't restricted to time either. Even a wisdom tooth that just started to come out disappeared entirely.
"How long for this kind of dental work to completely heal?" I asked. "Several days? Weeks?"
Kenny nodded uncertainly.
"It just doesn't make sense," I continued. "Can you imagine the number of surgeries and time needed for all of it? And for what? Just to mess with our heads?"
We sat thinking. What else could we test? What other things that seemed impossible needed to be checked now? Something so obvious that we won't question it, but it was somehow different now?
"It's the more visible things that remained," Kenny remarked. "For me, at least. I don't think anything changed on my hands, but my back or anywhere I won't usually notice is fair game."
He was right. How could it help us? It didn't narrow down the possibilities of our situation, and I couldn't see how to take advantage of it.
We were idle for hours, and while we couldn't sleep, eventually, I felt rested enough, at least physically. Of course, we were still stressed and mentally exhausted from all the happenings, but if only physical activity was required, we could probably repeat today's feats.
Kenny went to look for someone to barter his silver tray, and I just stayed put, trying to come up with a plan. I wondered if we would start losing weight if we went without food or water for long enough or if we would be able to sleep eventually, even if it would be less frequent. Many of those things could be answered by surviving long enough, but I wasn't sure I would like the answers.