I became obsessed with the idea of charity groups arriving on Irvrana and helping the Bissem with various things that don't necessarily show up in the big picture- so you know what? I decided to do it myself. Enjoy!

When the news came of aliens being real, it had been a shock- how could anyone in Irvana have seen such an audacious announcement being made by the government? Yet as the news was streamed as these strange beings from the stars appeared before a gathered crowd of reporters, all three of them as different from each other as they were from the Bissem, it was impossible to refute the claims as being some sort of hoax.
For those like Director Pengele, however, the news was... perhaps less impactful than it was for others- an exciting oddity, to be sure, but the main relevance it had for her life was that it was an effective way of keeping her patients occupied. The children in particular were enamored with the news, fascinated by the sight of such alien beings, chattering amongst both themselves and their caretakers about countless questions, observations, and hopes they held regarding these enigmatic visitors who claimed good intentions.
It made guiding them through physical therapy all the easier- talk of the tall alien with no feathers or fur a ready distraction from movements needed to compensate for a missing flipper or foot. Pain that would have been an obstacle they needed to be pushed through faded with the distraction of the way the quietest alien was covered in quills and barbs- how did one function normally with so many weapons hanging from their back?
Even the adult patients welcomed the distraction- the melancholy of lost mobility and crushed dreams buried under theorizing about what the aliens might actually want, or griping about them being an affront to the gods- though thankfully the crowd of protestors who believed the same about their prosthetics seemed to have found a new target for their demonstrations, appearing outside of public courthouses and official government buildings instead of harassing her doctors and patients with insults and screaming declarations of them stripping their patients of their bissemity and replacing it with metal and machinery.
Their prosthetics didn't even use metal- too prone to rust, and weighed down too much! What limited mobility they could manage to provide for their patients required much lighter plastics and alloys be used!
Anyways, news of aliens quickly faded from her attention as she focused on her work as usual- signing documents, trying her best to continue sweet-talking the groups her hospital relied on for funding, doing her best to remain civil in the face of complaints of money being "wasted" when replacing missing limbs was a fantasy, reviewing potential new patients whenever they came up or got through the paperwork of appealing for a place in her halls, coordinating between the research teams who tried to find new solutions to improve their prosthetics and the doctors who would need to actually implement such changes and make sure they worked for the patient... The work was never-ending, and not well suited to indulging in distractions, even ones as big as Aliens actually existing!
So her current circumstances, sitting nervously inside of an official Lassmin limo speeding through the city streets, escorted by armed guards sat to either side her, with no explanation beyond the statement they'd given when they burst into her office and 'invited' her down to a meeting with a representative from those aliens? Well, it wasn't exactly something she'd been scheduling in advance!
Nervously combing her feathers back into place and ensuring they were evenly coated in just enough oil to give herself a healthy sheen, Pengele straightened her posture and practiced her best business-deal resting expression as the column of vehicles pulled into the central government building's parking lot. She might not know what the aliens wanted with a specialty hospital director- one of her more 'inventive' patients would probably suggest that she was simply deemed an acceptable sacrifice by her own government. She did her best to quiet that annoyingly intrusive though as she was waddled through the halls, past onlooking groups of bissem turning from whatever they were doing to see what the commotion was about.
"Ah, the woman of the hour!" The mayor's perfect politician tone was a welcome distraction- even if it couldn't completely hide the slight nervous tremor to his words. The vritalian male's more modest stature was ever so slightly raised- he preferred to wear claw-boosters, saying the added height granted him a natural air of authority. Right now though, his demeanor was that of someone who thought they were in trouble but didn't know why- a flipper idly tugging at the ceremonial garnet of office around his neck. "Quite the unexpected series of events, isn't this? Why, aliens within our city- and apparently with a deal to offer! The tabloids ought to have a field day with this once it's announced!"
"That is... an unexpected surprise, indeed!" she slipped into her practiced 'meeting with investors' speaking patterns with ease, giving a socially-acceptable head-bob of polite agreement. "Though, I haven't exactly had it explained why such a... momentous moment requires my own presence? My facility isn't the most prominent industry within the city..."
"Nonsense! Your hospital and it's research are a prize of the city- a statement of our commitment to bettering the lives of our people, even the ones struck with the most unfortunate of circumstances!" The mayor gushed words filled with positivity but little substance- especially when she remembered the last time they had met regarding certain financial grants for their continued operation. "In fact, the aliens seem to have caught notice of your valiant mission, and are interested in cooperation in the pursuit of shared goals, in order to reach a better tomorrow with joined flippers- er, whatever they have! I for one, have no doubt that their contributions will be valued and most beneficial for us all!"
...Those were a lot of words for him to essentially say that he was missing a lot of details too and didn't actually know why the aliens had taken an interest in her facility, but then that was the way of most politicians- fill the conversation with enough noise, and people would focus on the feelings of the statements made rather than the actual substance. Fortunately, she'd long since learned to navigate such methods of obfuscation, though knowing that he was also unaware of their purpose here made that twisting in her gut just a bit more intense.
Thankfully, her worries were temporarily pushed to the side as they were waved into a conference room, where a Selmer was already seated and waiting for them. The trappings draped across her shoulders were adorned with several metals, denoting her as a military officer- though Pengele wasn't familiar enough with their system of rankings to know exactly how high she must be in the chain of command. The officer looked between the two of them as they moved to take their seats, and nodded in satisfaction as the doors were closed behind them.
"Thank you both for attending so promptly- this situation is rather unprecedented, so there was no time to explain in... unsecured environments. I apologize for any stress that caused you, but we need to move quickly in order to take advantage of this opportunity."
"That's perfectly understandable, ma'am!" the mayor gushed before Pengele could finish opening her beak- leaving her to carefully close it again as he began to prattle once more. "Time is a resource we never have enough of, especially when it comes to matters of supreme import! Why-"
"As I said," The officer interrupted coolly, "time is of the essence here, so forgive me if I insist on skipping the pleasantries in favor of briefing you both on the situation. That is," she looked directly down at the mayor, his boosters not even close to making up for their natural height difference, "assuming that is agreeable to you, sir mayor?" It did not sound like a question.
Pengele watched him start to look offended, before settling his expression and leaning back in his seat. "I suppose explanations would be prudent, given the... urgency with which we were summoned."
"Great." Picking up a folder and tapping it on the table, the officer glanced between the two of them and clacked her beak. "The short of it is, we've been approached by an internal group within the aliens- not their government, but some sort of charity organization- which has expressed interest in beginning operations within our nation. Having reviewed the nature of the offer, the government believes this would be a boon worth accepting, should we find someplace willing to accept them. Your facility, Director Pengele, is a fit for the parameters they requested, and thus we would ask for you to consider their offer, should you choose to hear them out- and for you, sir mayor, to approve of their operations being set up within your city."
"My facility?" Pengele questioned. "They were interested in our facility above all others? Forgive me, but... we are quite specialized in our purview, and not nearly as advanced as some of the other hospitals even within this city. Is there a reason we were of particular interest to them, miss...?"
"General Kippar," the Selmer clarified, "and it's your specialization that is of interest to them, director. They are offering to provide their own knowledge of the design and production of prosthetic limb technology, and believe your facility would be the best starting point for integrating their advancements with our own efforts- and for what it is worth, we hold that same belief. Your advancements in the field are beyond what anyone else has accomplished, so it is our hope that you will have an easier time adapting whatever they provide for our own use. Though, I hope it is understood that the government is going to wish to receive access to any of the technology they are able to provide."
"That..." pausing for a moment, she thought over what she had just been told- the heady giddiness of potential access to that kind of resources and knowledge temporarily pushed aside as best she could manage in the face of a request for a commitment. "...the information I would be perfectly fine with sharing- we may even produce some official medical journals to release it to the general healthcare community. For hardware though, we cannot offer anything already assigned to a patient, as it would be their property at that point. Perhaps providing working examples unspoken for by a patient yet?"
"Seems reasonable enough," the general nodded crisply. "Though perhaps we should let this alien make their sales-pitch first, before we start counting the fish in our net. If the two of you are ready?" Pengele nodded eagerly, and the mayor nodded as well- though he seemed to be pouting about being excluded from their previous conversation. Ignoring his ill mood, the general turned to one of the guards and waved a flipper at him, getting a salute in return as he left the room.
Pengele fluffed her feathers in her seat, the mayor striking up a conversation about permits and such barely registering to her as she grappled with the thought of what was being offered. Alien medical technology, likely beyond anything her people had managed so far- how much would that push their own progress ahead? Had they figured out waterproofing of the joints? Were their prosthetics capable of powered articulation? The best prototypes her own people had managed so far was a replacement leg that provided a steady base and enough flexibility for the patient to walk without needing a cane, even if the battery life of it wasn't great. Just having more advanced batteries would do wonders for giving their patients something so they could move under their own power! She might need to hear this alien out before hashing out the details, but at face value, there was no way should was going to refuse this offer!
Her internal thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, and one of the tall, lanky aliens striding through. Their long limbs bending and swaying as they moved around was fascinating to observe- so different from the normal sway of a bissem's walk, this alien barely shifted to either side at all as they moved! Their unfortunately-bare face brightened as she (was it a she? Their body was different from the male that had been on the videos from first contact) laid eyes on them all, lips pulled apart in a baring of teeth as she pulled alongside the table, pulling out a seat and setting a rectangular carrying box of some sort down beside her.
Her lips began moving, releasing a series of guttural noises from her throat, before a device affixed to her chest crackled to life. "Greetings and good day," the device spoke in perfectly-understandable speech- even bearing a similar tone to the alien's voice! "My name is Lucillia, and on behalf of the Daedalus Initiative, I would like to thank you all for hearing me out and giving us a chance to bring our work to you. While our races have only been in contact for a short time, it is a great pleasure to be working with you towards our mutual mission of ensuring everyone has a chance to live Life Without Limits."
Not speaking their language herself? That made sense- not everyone could learn a new language quickly- especially if it crossed the species barrier. Thank goodness they seemed to have figured out machines that could translate in real-time for them- otherwise this conversation would be much more awkward to parse through.
"That is my hope as well," Pengele chimed in quickly, noting how the last bit sounded like a practiced slogan. "I'm Director Pengele, and I run the Prow-Wave Prosthetic Institute, and I'm very interested in getting my flippers on whatever innovations you can offer us to help our patients return to a normal life. I am glad your government chose our facility for the first site to introduce this technology- we'll be sure to get to work right away finding how to adapt any advancements to our own work on limb-replacement."
Whatever response she was expecting, the tall alien tilting her head back and barking out a laugh was certainly not it. "Oh, I am not here on behalf of the UN, my dear- Daedalus Initiative is a non-profit organization dedicated to relief efforts and providing medical care to those who either don't have access or can't afford the care and resources that they need. If it was up to the UN, this meeting wouldn't be happening, and you wouldn't be seeing hide or hair of this technology for months, much less getting started on it." She gestured energetically with one of her long limbs, the spindly fingers of her hand twitching in a deliberate eye-catching way. "However, I hope you'll agree that spending several months refusing children and patients medical care while politicians play their little games doesn't exactly sit well with me."
"Such games are not without reason, miss Lucillia," the mayor spoke up, sitting up in a professional posture. "While I am willing to accommodate your efforts here, I now find myself worrying if we are causing a diplomatic incident allowing you to set up a facility in my city."
"If we were setting up a facility, then we WOULD be in trouble," she answered quickly, pointing an index finger at the mayor while her thumb was held skyward- some sort of human gesture? "After all, they don't want anybody contaminating culture, especially with a new uplift, and telling them we just want to help people who've already lost limbs doesn't really seem to work. However," her finger swung around to point at Pengele, "if an EXISTING facility were to request the Daedalus Initiative provide aid, then the SC's charters on charities and relief workers would leave us free to provide as much aid as possible, so long as it is confined to within that existing facility!"
Blinking at the energetic display, Pengele crossed her flippers in front of her beak, considering the boisterous human as a few missing pieces clicked into place. "Well, that certainly sounds like it would be beneficial for your organization- if such a request was to be made, could you give us some examples of what might be offered to us? I can't imagine you already have prosthetics ready-made for bissem just yet."
"Well, not specifically, but we do have something that should be easy to adjust to the required specifications!" Reaching down into her case, the human pulled out a technological pad, then started fiddling with it as images popped up and scrolled along the screen- what a marvelous piece of technology that would be! Just imagine how much paperwork such a device might be able to replace! "See, we have a species back on Earth called penguins- technically several species, but I digress- and conservation efforts did end up designing some prosthetic flippers for a few members who had lost them due to either predators or human shipping. Obviously adjustments will need to be made, seeing as it's not a perfect comparison- for one thing, your flippers are far more dexterous than a penguin's would be- but I think you can see that the base design is a promising starting point!"
The human slid her dataslate over, and Pengele picked it up, examining the blueprints she was being shown... and slowly felt her beak falling open at what she was seeing. This... this was something at a level that her engineers thought would be decades away at minimum- full articulation, no cables in need of being plugged in, no external batteries- was that a direct connection to the patient's nervous system?! Did these aliens have that kind of medical technology in such abundance that even charity workers could provide it?! While she was right that this wasn't the full dexterity of a natural bissem flipper, this was still leagues beyond the best tech she could provide to those with deep enough pockets for it- and she was considering this a base model?!
"H-how much are these going to cost us again?" she questioned weakly, the tablet clattering back down onto the table. "Our budget... while we have a decent fund for research and development, this kind of tech..."
"That's the beauty of it! We're a non-profit- and most of our funds come from donations anyways! For this project, we've already arranged the necessary funding in advance- none of this will cost you a dime! Or, whatever currency you use."
"That is... quite generous," The mayor interrupted, tapping the table with a flipper, "though you'll forgive me for asking... are theoreticals all you have to offer? While this all sounds very nice, it's good to have confirmation you can deliver the product offered- or at least something similar, to show you have the capability. That's only fair, yes?"
Something devious sparked to life in the human's eyes. "Oh, that's no trouble at all- I even brought along an example of the product we offer! This model is one I can personally vouch for!"
And with that, she reached up her sleeve, shifting something around... and then pulled her own arm off, setting it down on the table with a thunk- one drowned out by the mayor's terrified shriek as he pushed away from the table, flippers flapping at the air as his chair slowly tipped backwards and crashed into the ground, spilling his flailing form onto the floor.
Pengele barely managed to keep her own chair balanced, flippers held to her beak as she stared at the detached limb- before jerking her gaze towards the grinning human, who seemed disturbingly nonchalant about being reduced to a single arm. Thankfully, it didn't take too long for her brain to kick back into gear, slowly clicking information into place as she noted the lack of blood, or disturbance, and the fact that she had been asked to present a working model...
"I-I didn't even notice," she stammered, eyes flicking back to the prosthetic on the table. She could see the metallic sheen at the end, with some obvious connectors sticking out... but the rest of the limb looked almost indistinguishable from the human's other limb, which she had blatantly laid on the table for comparison. Gingerly, Pengele reached out and poked at the smaller digits of the limb, feeling not heavy iron, but some kind of soft, firm material- and the fingers flexing closed with barely any pressure from her touch.
So many tiny joints, so close together, and they'd all been working perfectly- no external power source that she could see, either on the limb or on the human. The way she'd been able to detach it so easily, without any obvious pain. Picking it up, it was surprisingly heavy- a soft material that felt so much like normal skin, so unlike the harsh firmness of their own plastic limbs that she couldn't help but run her flipper along it, marveling at how it gave and flexed so similarly to the real thing. There were differences, now that she looked at it up close- bits that were a bit too angular to be natural, strange spots of firmness where there shouldn't be- but the fact she had to focus to find them, even this close up...
"Pretty good work, right?" the human spoke up, a tinge of pride in her voice- even as the device on her chest clearly began to struggle with the speed at which she began talking, giving a strange echo between her natural speech and the translation. "Not as good as the original obviously, but that model's served me well for about fifteen years now- and it's a decent upgrade from the first one I got fitted with after, well... unfortunate events at my old position." Sitting back up, Lucillia patted at her empty shoulder proudly. "So as you can see, I've got a personal stake in making sure all the prosthetics we provide are the best they can possibly be!"
With shaking flippers, Pengele pushed the limb back across the table to her. "W-would you mind putting this back on?"
With a knowing smile, the human rolled up her sleeve, exposing an obvious technological port right where her shoulder should be- and with a bit of shuffling, lined up the connectors and pushed it into place, the limb locking in with a solid-sounding click. Dexterous fingers flicked up a panel and pushed a few buttons, then flicked it close as a tiny light came on. Rolling her sleeve back down, the human rolled her reattached arm, making a show of flexing her fingers in sequence before grasping and spreading her entire hand.
"No stutter, no lag, just got to make sure the connection is seated properly, lock it in, and turn it on! Battery lasts for about six hours, and the charging plug is discreet and can fit into any typical electrical port. No pain when it's disconnected either- you basically turn off your connections to the nerves, and it feels more like the arm has gone numb- a bit trippy for the first few months, but certainly better than some alternatives!"
Pengele felt her chair wobbling beneath her, and chose to simply abandon it, ignoring the clatter as she climbed onto the table and waddled over as fast as she could, eagerly extending a flipper towards the human. "As Director of the Prow-Wave Prosthetics Institute, I am requesting the Daedalus Initiative's aid as quickly as possible. Just tell me what you need from me- anything it takes to get this tech available to my patients as soon as we can!"
"Well, of course there are papers to be signed and filed," Lucillia grinned, the grip of her prosthetic warm and soft as she gripped Pengele's flipper and shook it, "but once we take care of that, we'll have a ship flying in by the end of the week. I look forward to working with you, Director Pengele."
"Likewise, Director Lucillia," she beamed, fluffing her feathers in joy. This kind of miracle-tech was going to help so many Bissems!

Hi!
I was gifted a Instax Mini 9 back in 2019. I've been using it since and randomly, it stopped working. It took one last photo and then it jammed when I was at a beach. My friend thought I had no film left, but I just inserted a pack, she opened the back to see and my pack still had photos so that wasn't the issue. When I got home I also tried a new pack and it didn't work still. I went out and got new batteries, (Target Brand AA Alkaline) and every time I press the button for a photo the dial lights blink red. I tried the trick where you change the batteries with it open, even tried new batteries from the pack (they were just bough) and nothing is working.
I use my polaroid to photograph people visiting me and I have friends coming soon, I'd love to keep my tradition up. Does anyone know why this could be happening? I don't exactly want to buy a new camera. Are there other diagnostic tricks I could do

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Shuttle Oathkeeper-32, Sol (4,700 Ls)

POV: Eupprio, Malgeir (Executive)
“Hey Eupprio, wake up. Wakey wake.”
Eupprio’s eyes fluttered open, greeted by Fleguipu’s persistent nudges. Her body, still cloaked in the remnants of sleep, rebelled against the intrusion. She blinked away the grogginess and asked with a hoarse voice, “What’s going on?”
“We’re passing that ringed planet you said you wanted to look at,” Fleguipu said, pointing a claw at the image of Saturn on the full color external camera display mounted on the hull wall.
Eupprio took in its rings for a minute. The labyrinthine tapestry of shimmering ice and rock, stretching for thousands of kilometers in every direction. The rings appeared like a river of stardust, its particles ranging from tiny pieces of granulated ice to boulders the size of houses, the uneven distribution a result of cosmic collisions and gravitational dances that birthed it eons ago. Amidst them, the Cassini Division stood out as a dark ribbon of emptiness contrasting the luminous ice around it.
“Not bad, eh?” Aida called out across from her. “You have one of these in your Federation?”
“A few,” Eupprio said, not taking her eyes off the spectacle on the screen. “None in Malgeiru though.”
“Yeah, the most famous one in Malgeir space is occupied: Uidquu-8,” Fleguipu added with a hint of sadness. “Maybe we’ll get it back one day.”
As they sailed closer, they noticed that several sections in the rings were dotted with signs of Terran civilization.
Stretched out along the B-ring were a series of mining and habitation stations, like a string of pearls, each one teeming with exterior activity. Their metal surfaces reflected light from the planet, giving them an ethereal glow amidst the natural brilliance of the ring.
Amid the drifting ice and rock, ships darted like gleaming fish in a cosmic pond. Some were lumbering transport vessels, slowly shuttling people and goods between neighboring ring settlements. Others were more rugged, built for the rigors of interplanetary travel, their hull silhouettes followed by the characteristic blooms of their constant acceleration drives.
“Are we going to do a close fly-by?” Eupprio asked curiously.
“Somewhat. It’ll only boost our speed a little for our journey to Mars, but… it saves on fuel.”
Fleguipu’s brow creased in concern. “Isn’t this area supposed to be dangerous? Pirates? Terrorists?”
“Danger is a relative concept,” Aida responded with nonchalance. “We’re going pretty fast, and the smart ones usually don’t mess with our ships. We should be fine.”
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She was proven wrong about an hour later.
Abe’s voice broke through the intercom, “LT, there are a couple of bogeys burning to intercept. Zero decimal four two light seconds. Likely pirates.”
“Damn it,” Aida cursed under her breath as she looked at her alien charges. “Now that’s just embarrassing. Pilot, what transponder codes are they squawking?”
“No codes yet. They’re not that close: we have twenty minutes before we’d have to make a decision. After that, they’ll get close enough for it to get dicey. I’m on the lookout for other traps, but nothing so far. I think it’s just these guys. Should we go evasive?” Abe’s voice crackled through the speaker.
“Nah, save the fuel,” Aida decided swiftly. “Call our guys in the Navy. Free target practice for them.”
Eupprio asked nervously, “Everything alright, Aida?”
“A couple pirates are headed our way. You were briefed on decompression procedures, right?”
“Decompression?!” Eupprio’s voice climbed an octave. “Don’t we have weapons on the shuttle?”
“Only point defense. But don’t worry. I’m handling it.”
Abe’s voice returned, tinged with a hint of urgency. “Navy’s busy right now. They can have a patrol transit through the area in about six hours. Should we ask them to drop by?”
Aida shook her head. “That’s too long. They’re too far away. What are the bogeys mounting?”
“No foxes. Two gunpods each.”
She whistled at the brazenness. “These guys must be new. Fresh outta Titan.”
“Should I start burning now?” Abe asked.
“Not yet, I don’t want an extra deceleration burn,” Aida insisted. “Call them on the radio.”
The cargo bay fell into a tense silence, broken only by the sound of Abe’s attempts to establish contact with the approaching ships.
A gruff, distorted voice eventually crackled through the intercom. “You know the drill, yea? Let’s save us all some time.”
“This is Lieutenant Aida Naser, flying with Black Hole Sun. Who am I speaking to?”
“None of your damn business, merc!” They could hear the pirate spitting into his microphone.
“All due respect, but you made it my business when you started burning your ships towards me on an intercept course. Now, I don’t negotiate with strangers I don’t know the names of.”
“Fine! The name is Greer. Greer Thatch. Of uh… Thatch Enterprises. That’s who you’re dealing with!”
Aida looked around the cargo bay at the other troopers. There were a lot of shrugs and questioning looks in the exchanged glances.
Aida rejoined the conversation with politeness. “Sorry, how do you spell that? Is that two E’s or e-a-r? I can’t find you in our database—”
“Shut up! You know what we’re here for, yea?”
“Please, spell it out for me, Greer. I don’t want there to be any misunderstanding between us when… everything goes down.”
Greer seemed to hesitate and waver at her confidence, but he continued, “We’re going to board you and take your cargo. I suggest you cut engine thrust and comply with our demands.”
The cargo bay filled with laughter, some of the Terran contractors slapping each other on the backs in amusement. A couple did perfunctory checks on their weapons. Aida silenced them all with an impatient wave of her hand.
“That’s cute,” Aida retorted. “But before you try that, you should check our public registration and manifest. The only cargo we have is eighteen direct action troopers coming home from an extrasolar deployment, so unless you have a whole company of boarding specialists hiding in your skiffs, I’d suggest you come up with an alternate retirement plan, Greer.”
A tense silence stretched on the call. “You’re lying!”
Aida remained silent.
After a minute, Greer’s voice returned, tinged with frustration. “Man, that’s some bullshit… But we’re not going home empty. We won’t board you, but we can still blow up your shuttle! Dump your fancy centerline fuel pods or we’ll put a hole in your reactor!”
Aida sighed, her voice dripping with theatrical exasperation. “But what use are our fuel pods to you when our missiles find you?”
“You aren’t carrying anti-ship missiles on that tiny shuttle, no way!” There was a noticeable crack in the pirate’s voice.
“Not on this shuttle,” Aida conceded freely. “But check your charts, we’re within the coverage zones of at least six Black Hole Sun long-range missile batteries in the Red Zone. They’re not just going to let you go after you open fire on us. The only reason they haven’t fired on you yet is because… ah, two reasons actually: one, missiles are expensive, and two, it might make the company look bad on the evening news in Titan. Now, if you had a Charlie-rated or higher constant acceleration drive, you could probably outrun a couple of those missiles…”
Judging by the ensuing lack of reply from the other end, that was clearly not the case.
Aida continued steadily, “In any case, you’re on our radar now. Maybe we’ll just pass your registration on to the Navy, and they’ll come use you for target practice. Now… I know you did your orbital calculations… and you figure the Navy won’t show up within an hour or so. And you’d probably be right about that. But I bet their schedule clears up real quick once those guns of yours go off. And their missiles can get here a lot faster than their ships can too: I hear they aren’t as stingy with their munitions budget as we are.”
More silence.
“Or maybe we don’t call the Reps at all; instead, we pay a few people… find out where you live… Now I won’t get to decide which one of those it’ll be, because I’ll be dead, but in all likelihood, so will you—”
Obvious panic tinged the pirate’s voice now. “No— no wait. Let’s talk this through.”
“I’m listening.”
“First, no funny merc business. And no Navy reports!”
“What do we get in return?” Aida asked nonchalantly.
“We uh— we’ll clear out.”
“Not good enough. That ship has sailed, boys. I’ve already had to call in a couple contacts. This has cost me time and resources, so it’s going to cost you. And the closer you get to us, the more it’s going to cost both of us.”
“Wait, no, we’ll back off!” The sound of hurried movements crackled through the line before the microphone went dead.
From the cockpit, Abe relayed the update. “Looks like they’re cutting their acceleration. They’re no longer on an intercept course.”
The amateur pirate’s voice came through again, desperation clear. “We’ve stopped! We’ve stopped.”
“Good, now let’s talk about conditions.”
“What— What else do you want, merc? We can dump our cargo.”
“What would I want your cargo for,” Aida snorted in derision. “It’ll cost me more in time just to slow down to retrieve them. Nah, I think we’ll just pass the word to the Navy. Have a good afternoon or morning or whenever it is wherever you come from—”
“Wait, no, please! Don’t hang up! We’re just trying to make a living out here! Please, tell us how we can make it up to you!”
“Hm…” Aida pretended to think for a moment. “I guess I can take your dinky boarding skiffs. Might come in handy one day. Here’s what you’re going to do: burn straight back to Pandora Station, dock in ports Charlie-two and Charlie-three, leave the keys in the ignition, and I’ll give you a week to find your own way off the station before I call the cops.”
A strangled, frustrated cry echoed through the line. “But it took us forever to buy and fix up these ships! This is so unfair!”
“Sweetie, you should have thought of that before you got into this line of work.” Aida replied, her voice a blend of sternness… and sympathy, “Tell you what, I’m feeling extra generous today. You can keep one of your ships… your pick of which one. But both your crews better be on that ship and out of Pandora by the end of the business day.”
There must have been some disagreement between the two ships about which one of them was going to lose their spacecraft, but whatever it was, they resolved it in record time.
“Deal! No funny business as we leave, merc!”
“No funny business,” Aida promised. “You know our reputation; we don’t screw around like that. But don’t think you’ll get away with sabotaging my future ship if that’s what you’re thinking. I’ll be billing you for any damage I find when I get to Pandora.”
“We took good care of our ships!” the pirate replied wistfully.
“Aww. Come now, don’t be so melodramatic. Think of it as me doing you a personal favor: I really don’t think this whole piracy thing was going to work out for you anyway. If I were you, I’d suggest something in the tourism industry. Lots of potential for growth… Anyway, good doing business with you, and I hope for your sake we never see you again. Buh bye!”
She severed the connection.
Eupprio regarded Aida with curiosity. “You’re still going to report them to your Navy, aren’t you?”
Aida shrugged nonchalantly. “Nah. Probably not.”
“No?” Eupprio asked, surprised.
“Yeah, in the Red Zone, even now that it’s stabilized, you’re good as your word. People live and die by their reputation out here. I get these guys killed; that’ll probably get some of our other guys killed somewhere else.”
“I guess… that makes sense. Just too bad for some other traders coming by, right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. You have to understand, these guys probably won’t ever get to do it again. They’re bankrupt: the people they owe money to are not the kind where you can just shuffle assets and declare bankruptcy. And it’s not just this crew. Most pirates are constantly a couple bad hauls away from financial disaster because it’s fundamentally not that great a business model, even if you don’t count the risk to their lives.”
“It’s not?! Seemed like an easy way to make some quick money!”
Aida shook her head, a wry smile on her lips. “Oh yeah, that’s what many of them thought too before their first haul. Nah, the returns are terrible. There’s some glamor if you’re one of the big fish, yes, but fighting in space… it’s expensive. Flying anywhere burns money, and chasing ships?” Aida shook her head. “So many credits. You can see most of them coming, and truckers usually run just because they know it’s too expensive for pirates to chase them; they figure if they’re going to lose money, better to waste it getting to their destination quicker than let the pirates get their stuff. And the weapons… oh God, the munition cost! When we first started in space like a century ago, weapons were literally anything you can bolt onto a ship frame. But after decades of fighting here, effective weapons have gotten increasingly expensive.”
“That makes sense,” Eupprio said, nodding in understanding. “More sophisticated weapons cost more.”
“Yup, as an average cargo pirate now, if you have to fire a missile out here, you’ve already lost… Financially ruined, even if you’re not getting hunted by the Navy. I’m not joking: the big pirate gangs literally buy and sell legit insurance products that pay out for when you fire missiles out here. Gunpods work, but you have to hope they don’t run and let you get in real close, which is rare. I think small-time hostage takers can still make a living… that’s if you don’t get on the radar of those Republic counter-terrorism operators itching for training opportunities, but everything else sucks.”
“Why do they do it then?” Eupprio asked. “If it’s such a raw deal for the average pirate as you say.”
“Nobody gets into this life hoping to be the average cargo pirate,” Aida explained. “There are two types of people out here bucking the long arm of the Republic. First, you have the ones out here for credits. There’s piracy and there’s smuggling—”
“Is smuggling generally unprofitable too?” Eupprio asked, once again recalling the security briefing she’d gotten before the trip.
“Oh no, smuggling is a whole different beast. Smuggling… now, that’s a lucrative business if you want to make some real money in the Red Zone. But you need to have contacts and you need to know the right people. Need some starting capital for deposits, to cover insurance, to pay off the gangs to leave you alone. Need lots of security so people don’t think you’re a pushover or they can screw you over just because you don’t have a lot of legal options.”
Fleguipu looked up sharply at her. “Sounds like you uh… know a lot about the business.”
Aida grinned shamelessly. “Heh yeah. If I hadn’t joined Black Hole Sun after my time in the Marines was up… Anyway, smugglers and pirates, most of them are small-time operations; a few get bigger. The big ones march over to the transport corporations and demand protection fees. They’re not supposed to, but some of these companies pay.”
“You said there were two types of criminals out here.”
“The true believers. Or as they call themselves, the Resistance,” Aida’s face turned dark. “The pirates who are here for money and excitement — they kick up a ruckus from time to time, but they don’t hold a candle to the psychos out here who actually believe every word they say. The ones who are willing to blow up stations and colonies full of innocent people simply because they have a problem with authority and want the Republic gone so they can run things around here. Nothing is off the table for the terrorists.”
“Didn’t your people say those groups are mostly extinct?” Eupprio asked nervously.
“That’s what the tourism brochure says,” Aida smiled thinly at her. She looked out the window at the retreating image of Saturn. “But we all know they’re still out there. Plenty of rocks to hide in the Red Zone. They have their own ships, their own bases. Thousands of their cells, just running cold and hiding in the dark, maybe more. Sure, they haven’t really done anything in years after the last Navy sanitation campaign, but we all know it’s a matter of time before they strike again.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++
Previous

arduino Monthly digest for 2024-05

Why did my PC stop working when I plugged in my project?

I have noticed this and similar questions being asked quite a few times over the past several months.
While we don't have conclusive evidence from an actual investigation, there is plenty of anecdotal evidence that the reason is:
>! you did it wrong. !<
To address this and provide a reply you can link to when replying to future such questions, I've added a Protecting your PC guide to our Wiki.
Any feedback on this wiki page such as corrections or additional ideas (subject to approval by the mod team) are encouraged and welcomed.

Arduino Survey

The "Official Arduino" user posted a survey asking about how you use and would like to use Arduino. If you are interested in sharing your thoughts, have a look at this post: https://www.reddit.com/arduino/comments/1d2ezkv/we_want_to_hear_from_you_share_your_thoughts_with/

Battery Powered Project update

Back in March, I added the Powering your project with a battery guide to our wiki. Hopefully it has been of interest and useful to you.
Over the past several weeks, I have been collecting some actual data. There isn't much, but what I have (so far?) is summarised here. These observations illustrate some of the main points made in that guide.
To capture the data, I used 3 seperate project configurations of a "system under test" and ran each one of them 3 times (so 9 data points in total) to see how long a 9V, 1200mAh rechargeable battery could power them. Why that battery? Because: * I had two of them (I alternated batteries), * they were relatively new, * they were at the top of the pile.
Each project was based upon an ATMega328P MCU. Each project blinked the same LED at a 50% duty cycle (1/2 second on, 1/2 second off). Each project periodically pulsed another DIO pin as a "heartbeat".
To measure the "lifetime" of the system under test, another Arduino monitored the "heartbeat" of the system under test. If the "heartbeat" stopped for an extended period of time, then the monitor deemed that the battery had been exhausted to a point where it could no longer power the system under test and output a runtime. There were some other functions, but that is the main idea.
Here are the "system under test" project differences:

1. A standard (genuine) Arduino Uno R3 with the standard Blink program (modified to blink an External LED and a 1/2 second on, 1/2 second off cycle).
2. An "Arduino on a breadboard" running the exact same code and same external circuit as #1.
3. An "Arduino on a breadboard" running a version of blink that puts the system into low power mode (instead of using delays), but otherwise the same external circuit as #1 and #2.

Here are the results (times are in hours):

Project	Run 1	Run 2	Run 3	Average	Improvement
1	11.4	13.8	14.0	13.1	n/a
2	18.3	18.3	18.8	18.5	41%
3	94.4	94.3	84.1	90.9	391%

As I stated numerous times in the guide, the results will vary based upon a great many things. But, this data gives a small insight into the effect of just a few of them.
If battery powered projects are of interest to you, have a look at the guide in our wiki: Powering your project with a battery.

Subreddit Insights

Following is a snapshot of posts and comments for Arduino during the month of November:

Type	Approved	Removed
Posts	1,100	933
Comments	8,200	251

During the course of this month we had approximately 1.4 million "views" from 18.1 thousand "unique users".
^{NB: the above numbers are approximate as reported by reddit when this digest was created and do not seem to account for people who deleted their own posts/comments.}

Arduino Wiki and Other Resources

Don't forget to check out our wiki for up to date guides, FAQ, milestones, glossary and more.
You can find our wiki at the top of the Arduino posts feed and in our "tools/reference" sidebar panel. The sidebar also has a selection of links to additional useful information and tools.
As you have probably noticed, reddit has "improved" the UI. One of those "improvements" was to make hyperlinks difficult to find. The Project Titles and User IDs in the tables below are links. Click on them to find out more about the project or the person's other posts.

Moderator's Choices

Title	Author	Score	Comments
Decently useless but fun	u/Reutertu3	588	32
Rotary Phone Turned into a Kitchen Timer	u/Scott3DPrints	220	33
My biggest project ever - Steampunk sty...	u/\_freaked\_	71	43
MLB Scoreboard using old pinball machine	u/Homer69	40	6
All methods to try to dim an SSD1306 di...	u/2ProBrofficial	7	3
Flowcharts for programming and project ...	u/aridsoul0378	3	9
Help me understand resistors	u/Particular-Song-633	3	8

Top Posts

Title	Author	Score	Comments
Decently useless but fun	u/Reutertu3	588	32
What do we think of my UI I made for th...	u/Joey-Flo	394	36
I made a Laser Room	u/Busy_Education_9621	290	57
Death Star Plans - Code on GitHub	u/okuboheavyindustries	285	19
Mecanum Nerf Tank	u/ryskni	275	21
Death Star plans are now in the main co...	u/marweking	249	10
Just finished building this overly comp...	u/Personalitysphere	228	33
I have been given 9 beginner arruino ki...	u/Smiththemyth08	225	134
Rotary Phone Turned into a Kitchen Timer	u/Scott3DPrints	220	33
I don't think he likes to be turned off...	u/OneIdMonSTR	187	12

Look what I made posts

Title	Author	Score	Comments
Death Star Plans - Code on GitHub	u/okuboheavyindustries	285	19
Mecanum Nerf Tank	u/ryskni	275	21
Death Star plans are now in the main co...	u/marweking	249	10
Just finished building this overly comp...	u/Personalitysphere	228	33
I don't think he likes to be turned off...	u/OneIdMonSTR	187	12
Copy the UI of IKEA's air quality sensor	u/0015dev	169	23
Hooked up both T-800. Still some work t...	u/OneIdMonSTR	164	22
Upsized kitchen timer	u/rzrsaber	150	22
Waldo (a.k.a. Old-school motion capture...	u/SpookyWeaselBones	134	11
I made 2048 on Arduino with ST7789	u/khomyakdi	130	6
Death Star Plans pt.3	u/marweking	95	7
Arduino Laser Blaster with Glow-in-the-...	u/Dynamytebob	95	10
Made my own Arduino FM radio receiver:	u/scripto_entity_1010	90	7
Final Death Star Plans - an arduino t...	u/okuboheavyindustries	83	5
Having fun with TvOut library	u/antek_g_animations	81	5
Fully autonomous small Greenhouse	u/jkgill69	76	24
Vision Questioning Test with GPT-4o in ...	u/0015dev	74	12
Quick Gemma project for an upcoming nig...	u/Pilea_Paloola	72	14
OC I built myself a train departure b...	u/MCSpiderFe	55	1
I automated my room using Arduino and R...	u/milosrasic98	52	11
Built a development platform for ESP32	u/Gefinger_Poken	42	6
Arduino based geiger counter	u/FewUnit7109	36	7
Adjustable power supply	u/TheHackingDoctor	33	5
I made the Game of Snake on breadboards!	u/Task1337	29	4
I have just made the project of playing...	u/WassimSarghini	24	12
wip bike light- adafruit neopixel jewel	u/ibstudios	24	9
How can I clean this up?	u/JDtheG	22	16
Game Controller Arduino Nano	u/BiomedicalHTM	20	4
Urgent coding help needed for my bigges...	u/\_freaked\_	14	25
In modifying the circuitry of this chil...	u/MichaelScruggs	14	3
Minecraft + Arduino?? Bow charge LED i...	u/Specialist_Actuary_5	14	2
I just published a free and open tool t...	u/jominy	14	1
One hand controller for Xbox Console us...	u/gbafamily	13	1
Look! I built the best CO2 monitor for ...	u/Qunit-Essential	12	3
Midi chime project update	u/Constant-Mood-1601	12	16
My first IoT project	u/CactoDeVidro	7	1
Automatic door to stop dog from eating ...	u/BEN_FINIO	6	5
UNO inspired Hatsune Miku Board.	u/Fluffy_News	5	2
This is my template	u/tipppo	5	3
Wii Nunchuk one hand controller for Pla...	u/gbafamily	4	1
🐠📡💧📊 Identify toxic underwater air bubb...	u/the-amplituhedron	4	2
My rising table platform. It finally wo...	u/venomouse	3	4
LM35 temperature monitoring with LabVIE...	u/PCS1917	2	1
I have just made my first arduino proje...	u/WassimSarghini	2	2
Made a guide for creating an MIT Invent...	u/AndyValentine	2	5
Just released Visuino and Visuino Pro -...	u/bmitov	2	1
RGB led multiplexing with Attiny experi...	u/lintillaall	1	1
Sound-Reactive LED Guitar Strap With Re...	u/safetysandals	0	1
Arduino Cereal and Milk Dispenser solve...	u/Engineering_Dad	0	2
Started a mini series about using an Ar...	u/AndyValentine	0	0

Total: 50 posts

Summary of Post types:

Flair	Count
ATtiny85	2
Algorithms	3
Automated-Gardening	1
Beginner's Project	55
ChatGPT	3
ESP32	9
ESP8266	3
Electronics	7
Hardware Help	261
Libraries	5
Look what I found!	4
Look what I made!	50
Mega	1
Mod's Choice!	7
Monthly Digest	1
Nano	3
Potentially Dangerous Project	3
Project Idea	13
Project Update!	2
School Project	40
Software Help	126
Solved	11
Uno	6
Uno R4 Wifi	3
WiFi	3
Windows	2
linux	1
no flair	510

Total: 1135 posts in 2024-05

It’s been days since I was first admitted. I’ve lost count to be honest, several weeks have probably passed. The thing is, I was never given any reason why, which is madly frustrating. So I do my best not to think about it. I have my own room with a sink. Say nothing and keep a low profile. I’m already up to 100 push-ups and 100 sit-ups daily now. I only work out when they aren’t watching and keep biding my time. My goal is to escape this asylum plain and simple. I’ve got to find my son.
I was able to pilfer a bar of soap, plastic knife, and some black shoe polish. I’ve been working on carving the bar to resemble a small hand gun. I keep it all under the mattress. I’ll need an edge when I make my break. It’s gotten to the point where I can hide their pills under my tongue, then wash them down the drain after they leave.
This place is quite strange, for instance I can’t read any of the text, the characters all look like gibberish to me. There’s other things as well but that’s one of the main things I’ve noticed. The attendants have a strange accent I can’t make out, it’s nothing I’ve ever heard before.
Last night I heard a cat at my window, meowing. I woke and watched it walking back and forth along the ledge on the outside. The cat looks just like my Sophie, sure I know that sounds crazy. Black as coal and quite a big cat, pressing her head against the glass from time to time. It lifted my spirits… sometimes it’s the small things that really matter.
Today there was something different, the attendant that brings my meals told me I’m up for a psychiatric review with their chief resident doctor, Kitchens. He smiled when he told me, in a nice way and told me not to be nervous, it’s routine. I’d never met her before, so I had no idea what to expect. It could be good or bad, and I’d wager the latter.
The next day there were two attendants that came to get me just after the first bell, both quite large men. I’m 6’ 4", so I suppose they wanted to be careful. One of them had a baton tucked in the top of his white pants, the handle looked well worn. "Be good and you’ve got nothing to worry about here." the other attendant told me. They led me out of my cell, one on either side. I immediately realized I was the sole ward in this wing. My room was at the far end of the hallway leading to the steel bars at the junction. No other cells, save mine.
The gate slid open and we crossed the portal over to the other side. "Her office is over here." said the armed attendant. The door was open, and as they led me inside I saw a wooden chair with thick leather straps sitting in front of a desk. "Sit down." he said. "We’ve got to restrain you since it’ll be just you and her." I sat very still and then they strapped down my wrists and ankles. It wasn’t uncomfortable but I could tell I wasn’t going anywhere.
"Hello." I heard the doctor’s voice behind me. She came to my side for a moment then went and sat down behind the desk. She looked to be in her mid forties and had a mane of stark white hair pulled back tight in a bun. The doctor wore wire frame glasses with thick bifocal lenses. There was a wooden metronome sitting on the desk and she leaned over to start the metal pendulum swinging back and forth. Each time the pendulum reached its zenith there was a slight audible click.
She told me this was to be my first evaluation. She wanted me to help me progress so I could eventually leave and return to a normal life again. Her voice had a queer cadence that seemed to match the rhythm of the metronome. It was hard at times not to fall into a trance as her soft words continued to tumble off the top of her pink tongue. She talked and talked as those hard green eyes of hers were constantly staring deep into mine, never once blinking.
Kitchens asked me why I was so quiet. Involuntarily I smiled and looked back, then I felt myself nodding off. The sound of the metronome instantly brought me back out of the brief stupor and now the dim light from the overhead lamp seemed just a bit softer. The doctor was smiling back at me, her perfect white teeth partially hidden by the pale thin lips. She wouldn’t look half bad with some makeup.
My palms began to itch, try as I might to ignore the eerie sensation. There was a warning bubbling up from my subconscious, Kitchens asked me to tell her all about myself. It felt like she was invading my mind now, slowly breaking down the last of my mental barriers. Finally I spoke "Evaluation…" I said. "It’s more like an interrogation." I coughed and immediately a drop of bright red blood spilt from one of her thin nostrils, splatting against some paper spread out on top of the desk. She frowned for the first time and suddenly the metronome came to a stark halt. Now it felt like her mental intrusion had at last come to a stop. I smiled again then she passed out.
I sat there in silence for quite some time waiting to see what would next happen. Finally I heard the door open and the attendant with the tucked baton entered the room. He went over to the desk and gently propped the doctor’s head back, then he turned to look at me. "Stone walling her, aren’t you?" he asked and seemed agitated. I said nothing and slightly dropped my head so our eyes didn’t meet. "Back to your room now." he said and the other attendant entered.
They lead me back to my room, one attendant on either side. I maintained my docile manner, head down, shuffling my slippered feet. Once I was locked in the kind attendant remained for a brief while. He told me I’d get a good dinner this evening and smiled, it actually looked genuine. "Thanks mate." I said. I saw the shock his face, it was the first time I had spoke to either of them since I’d been there.
I immediately took out the cell phone I pilfered after they left. I had managed to snag it off Kitchens’ desk while the attendants were busy unstrapping me. The mobile device was fully charged and I had lots of time to while away before dinner time. It was very difficult to use because I couldn’t recognize any of the characters displayed on the screen, however I was able to figure out how to invoke the AI assistant since it would respond to my voice commands.
The things I quickly learned interrogating the phone amazed me. There was definitely something very odd about this place, this very world. Eventually I found the site linked to the asylum, NüWorld. Funnily enough there was no mention of the asylum, the main advertisement basically stated that for the right price you could live the fantasy life you always dreamed of having. I had no idea what that had to do with me being here.
I decided this evening I had to make my break. Dinner would be served at 6 PM and anything leftover retrieved an hour later. There was only the two attendants as far as I knew and it would be evening by 7 PM. Dinner was served via the long slot in the lower half of the door to my room by the kind attendant. Having no hunger I put it aside and removed the bulbs from the lamp atop the ceiling while standing on top of the bed. I would use the pillow case as a sack to carry the cellphone since my simple clothes had no pockets.
The other attendant returned right on time to collect the dinner tray. "Put it through!" he yelled. I remained silent, waiting beside the door, then there came the click of the tumblers as he put the key into the keyhole and turned it. Slowly the door began to open a bit. "Where are you?" he asked gruffly, still standing outside in the hallway. A moment passed then he pushed the door open and took a step inside, while I remained still, hidden behind the door. I waited, listening to his heavy breathing while he came forward some more into the darkness inside. Springing out at full speed I charged straight into the attendant, knocking him hard against the far wall, then I got behind him and stuck the barrel of my fake pistol underneath his chin. I hugged him tight round his waist with my other arm. "Make one wrong move and I’ll blow your brains out." I whispered into his ear. "Drop the baton right now." I then told him, to which he immediately complied. After I heard the baton hit the floor I took the twine I had fashioned from one end of the bed spread, wrapping it tightly around his neck with both hands. The attendant struggled hard but could not break free as I continued to squeeze, listening to him gag and rasp. Finally he dropped to his knees and keeled over, having passed out. Pulling the twine loose I tied his hands snuggly behind his back and wrapped the blanket around his head, careful so that he could still breathe.
I took the key chain from his belt and entered the hallway. There was no sign of anyone else, so I crept down the hallway to the gate. Other than my recent trip to meet Kitchens this was my furthest outing within the mental institution. Looking past the steel bars it appeared there was doorway leading to the outside just across the inner sanctum. One key after another I attempted to open the lock until finally there came the satisfying sound of the click.
I looked all around and listened while slowly opening the gate. No one was around so I went to the doorway leading out. It was unlocked and I stepped outside into the night, closing the door behind me. Fresh snow had recently fallen and it was very cold. Using the cellphone again I opened a map for the immediate area. It was then I felt something rubbing against one of my legs and heard the sound of soft purring. I looked down to see the black cat standing beside me. It rubbed against me some more then ran over to the edge of the parking lot when I bent over to pet the feline. The cat mewed at me, looking up into my eyes.
I put the cellphone away and instinctively began to follow the cat. It ran beside a parked truck and waited for me there. Inside the vehicle was a hooded winter jacket, which I took out and put on. The cat jumped onto the seat and purred again. I got inside the cab behind the steering wheel and searched through the keys until I found a car key. The engine ignited the first crank and I put the transmission in drive. Next I turned on the heater and backed out of the parking spot. There was only one road, which I took and we were on our way. I looked back one final time at the asylum, very happy to see it from the rearview mirror.
I waited until I was well past the building before turning on the headlights. The immediate area was heavily wooded and a pale full moon loomed overhead. Driving several miles of twisting roadway we finally reached the entrance to the highway. I had placed the cellphone on the middle of the bench between myself and the cat. I heard a sharp chime from the mobile device and looked down to see the cat had placed one of its paws on the screen of the phone. Picking it up I realized the map had zoomed into an area not too far ahead on the highway. The cursor was blinking, pointing at an exit marked number 13. This was the first time I could actually read any of the characters and it was a great feeling.
I turned onto the highway, heading towards the exit. The black cat lay upon the bench, intently watching me as I drove. There were few other vehicles on the highway. We made good time, reaching the exit after several minutes had passed since leaving the road to the asylum. I pulled over onto the curb, noticing the egress had been blocked off with several large orange barrels. I turned off the engine and got out, followed by the cat. The feline ran past the barrels and looked back at me, mewing again.
I followed her, leaving the warmth of the truck behind. I began to feel quite dizzy and my breath grew short as I weaved my way through the barrels. For a moment it felt like I was dissolving, it was the strangest sensation, and right at that very moment the cat leapt up my shoulder, gently nudging her head against my cheek. The weird sensation then quickly passed.
Standing still I placed my hands on my knees and shook my head vigorously, fighting to recall my last memory prior to being incarcerated within the asylum. My memories were dark and murky. The first image finally to spring to mind was my son, again I knew I had to find him. Next I remembered my last case as a personal bodyguard, which had been my most current profession. There was the case of the lost triplets, two of the young sisters were reported missing, one after another. I had been hired to protect the remaining one. This memory was very painful and brought about intense feelings of frustration and rage. Try as I might I could not remember any details regarding initially having been incarcerated.
Loudly the cat meowed, shaking me from searching for my memories. Quickly she jumped back down and ran forward along the closed road beyond the exit, and I followed. The exit road looped around, leading me into a town hidden by thick groves of tall oak trees running along the sides of the highway. The immediate area was composed of buildings surrounding a small lake. The moon was directly overhead now and its rippling image shone upon the surface of the dark water. This place seemed familiar but I could not remember where I was.
The feline led me to the rear of one of the close by buildings. She rubbed up against a door, which I turned the knob and it opened. We both went inside, then I closed the door behind us. Thankfully it was warm, however the lights were all off. I pulled the cellphone out of my cloth sack and enabled the flashlight function. The small bright lamp revealed a leather couch beside the far wall, where I went and sat down. Immediately I felt heavy waves of tiredness rolling through me and my sight began to grow dim. I laid down and just as I was falling asleep I felt the cat climb on top of me, rubbing one its cheeks against my face and purring.
I awoke after a long deep slumber. The cellphone battery was dead now since I had not thought to turn off the flashlight. My first thought upon awakening was that I needed to move. Someone would have, if not already found the truck and the service provider for the cellphone can reveal the last location after it has been switched off. The black cat was sitting over in a corner grooming itself. Against my better judgement I uttered the name Sophie. Immediately the cat stopped grooming and inquisitively looked up at me. That’s not to say it was my cat, how would that even be possible, the situation totally freaked me out.
Running my fingers through my long hair I took a deep breath and tried to relax. It had been ages since my last haircut, and I had grown a long beard as well. Sliding the dead phone under the couch, I got up and stretched. The cat came up beside me. It let me reach down and pet her head. Sophie had been a gift from my ex-girlfriend, Cindy, whom had given her to me when she was still just a tiny little kitten. I could feel her wet fur as I ran my fingertips along her back. Cindy had once said black cats are often the reincarnations of witches, she was really into that kind of thing, which I had always found weird. Sophie seemed to only have ever liked me, much to Cindy’s chagrin.
I felt hungry, having skipped dinner last night. The cat and I searched through the vacant building but we didn’t find anything to eat, however there was a water fountain, which I shared with the cat. Pausing for a moment after the refreshment I looked out one of the windows in the front of the building. Suddenly some memories came flooding back and I remembered this place... this was the very town where I lived! I thought back to the past evening when I last used the map on the cellphone. I distinctly remember this town did not appear beyond the exit, so strange indeed.
Looking out I could see it was early morning. The streets outside were still empty. I sat back down to examine the contents of the winter jacket I had absconded. There was a billfold with some money in an inner pocket, how convenient I chuckled to myself.

So I have a 2020 WRX limited full bolt on I recently just installed a aftermarket head unit and a full sound system pulled out the HK and put all Focal. Long story short I knicked a wire pulling my wires through to the battery. I knew when I did.... Finished everything and completely forgot about it because for one nothing was actually wrong drove it around for a few miles radio work stereo worked everything parked it. That same night it rained like no other, flooded everywhere where I put the wires through and Nick the wire at was in the fender well. Pretty well covered, but when I started up my car me and the wife had to go to court my whole instrument cluster and the MFD did not work at all as well as my window controls. We was already late so I just said screw it the car started so I drove it about 20 miles other than the cluster not working everything was fine. One odd thing is the cluster would light up and the gauges would flutter up and then back down if I press the button on the dash cluster, and then would go out after a few seconds. So anyways we left court started up fine still no cluster working whenever I got about a mile from the house I noticed my power steering cut out I was like oh s***, then all of a sudden I just started losing engine power and it basically went into like limp mode for the whole rest of the way home and I barely made it home where it finally sputtered out. Tried starting it back up and it started up and then would shut off and then it just wouldn't start. So me thinking that I had drained the battery with the system I unhooked it check the voltage which was pretty low on the battery so I bought a brand new battery installed it car started right up but my voltage was a little low cluster still not working.

 Since it would start up I got in it drove it over to my shop about 10 miles away so I could work on it because I finally remembered about that wire. It died almost immediately whenever I got there luckily I made it there same thing happened lost power steering lost power sputtered out. I started checking fuses and I found the B/Up fuse in engine compartment was blown, basically goes to the MFD and the BIU so I read. Went ahead and replaced that and it didn't blow I got my MFD back but still no cluster. Then I checked the fuses in the dash and that's why I found the 7.5a fuse for the combination meter or cluster was blown. I didn't change it out yet I pulled it into the garage pulled my wheel off found that wire that I nicked sure enough it was nicked and one was completely severed the one that was Nicked was a big fat red wire probably shorting the ground randomly, and a pink and white one that was completely cut. Fixed the wires checked all the other ones. Replace the fuse. Got in the car to start it and it tells me access key not detected so I get my key out put it up to the push button and it tells me access key disabled both of them same thing. Already tried the immobilizer reset methods on the internet and yes the light is blinking on the dash. I like that tons of information on the internet but none really on what to do if it's in immobilizer mode with the factory equipment. My guess is from what I was reading whenever my gauge cluster went out and I continue to drive it that's whenever it basically started to lock out and then it would go into limp mode and it would just drain the battery completely it wouldn't even keep a charge. Then when the cluster finally got in there and it read the micro computer it completely locked it out. Today I had it towed to the dealership because I figured they could reset my keys and get it working because the steering wheel is locked I mean you can't do anything with it. They worked on it for about an hour or so while I was there and they said they're going to need to dig into it more and they would call me back tomorrow. Not too sure he knows exactly what he's doing seems like it would be a simple process to recode it. I mean it's the same key the same cluster I don't know why it lost the memory for whatever reason but it did. Sorry for the long post been messing with this for a few days now it's exhausting me. Also some background on me I'm pretty tech savvy with electrical and controls and whatnot do all my own mods and repairs first time it's ever been into the dealership 55,000 miles. 

She was round, heavy, soft, naked, and lay in a single size bed; the glow of the monitor was the only thing that lit the dark room—there were no windows and a single overhead vent circulated fresh air through the little bedroom. The young woman lifted her arms, so they stood out from her shoulders like two sticks directly towards the ceiling vent; she squinched her face as she extended her arms out and a singular loud pop resonated from her left elbow. Though she lingered in bed and yawned and tossed the yellowy sheets around, so they twisted around her legs ropelike, she’d not just awoken; Pixie remained conscious the entire night. Her stringy unwashed hair—shoulder length—clumped around her head in tangles. Pixie reached out for the metallic nightstand and in reaching blindly while she yawned again, her fingers traced the flat surface of the wall. She angled up and the sheets fell from around her bare midsection.
Hairs knottily protested, snagging as the brush passed over her head. Pixie returned to her back with a flop, continued to hold the brush handle in her left fist, stared absently at the ceiling vent; a light breeze passed through the room, a draft created by the vent and the miniscule space at the base of the door on the wall by the foot of the bed. Her eyes traced the outline of the closed door; the whole place was ghostly with only the light of the monitor as it flickered muted cartoons—the screen was mounted to the high corner adjacent the door and its colored lights occasionally illuminated far peripheries of the space.
Poor paper was tacked around open spaces of the walls with poorer imitations of manga stylings. Bulbously oblong-eyed characters stared down at her from all angles. Spaces not filled by those doodles were pictures, paintings, still images of Japanese iconography: bonsai, samurai, Shinto temples, yokai, so on, so on.
Pixie chewed her bottom lip, nibbled the skin she’d torn from there. The monitor’s screen displayed deep, colorful anime.
“Kohai, Noise on,” she said.
The monitor beeped once in response then its small speaker filled the room with jazz-funk-blues.
“Three, two, one,” Pixie whispered in unison with the words which spilled from the speaker.
Being twenty years old, she was limber enough to contort her upper half from the bed, hang from its edge so the edge held at her lower back; she wobbled up and down until she heard a series of cracks resonate. Pixie groaned in satisfaction and returned properly onto the bed.
The monitor, in its low left corner showed: 6:47. Pixie sighed.
As if by sudden possession, she launched from the mattress onto the little space afforded to the open floor and stood there and untangled herself from where the sheets had coiled around her legs. She then squatted by the bed, rear pressed against the nightstand, and withdrew a drawer from under her bed. Stowed there were a series of clothing items and she dressed herself in eccentric blue, flowy pants with an inner cord belt. For her top, she donned a worn and thinly translucent stained white t-shirt. By the door, beneath the monitor on the floor were a pair of slide-on leather shoes and she stepped into them.
Pixie whipped open the door and slammed her cheek to the threshold’s frame to speak to the monitor. “Kohai, off.”
The room went totally dark as she gently shut and locked the door.
She stood in a narrow, white-painted brick hallway with electric sconces lining the walls, each of those urine-yellow lights coated the white walls in their glow; Pixie’s own personal pallor took on the lights’ hue.
With her thumbs hooked onto the pockets of her pants, she moseyed without hurry down the hall towards a zippering staircase; there were floors above and floors below and she took the series leading down until she met the place where there were no more stairs to take.
The lobby of the structure was not so much that, but more of a thoroughfare with an entryway both to the left and the right; green leaves overhung terracotta dirt beds pressed along the walls. Pixie’s feet carried her faster while she angled her right shoulder out.
Natural warmth splintered into the lobby’s scene as she slammed into the rightward exit and began onto the lightly metropolitan street, bricked, worn, crumbling. Wet hot air sent the looser hairs spidering outward from her crown while lorries thrummed by on the parallel roadway; the sidewalk Pixie stomped along carried few other passersby and when she passed a well-postured man going the opposite way on her side of the street, he stopped, twisted, and called after, “Nice wagon.”
There was no response at all from Pixie, not a single eye blink that might have determined whether she heard what he’d said at all. The man let go of a quick, “Pfft,” before pivoting to go in the direction he’d initially set out for.
Tall Tucson congestion was all around her, Valencia Street’s food vendors resurrected for the day and butters or lards struck grill flats or pans and were shortly followed by batters and eggs and pig cuts—chorizo spice filled the air. Aromatics filled the southernmost line of the street where there were long open plots of earth—this was where a series of stalls gathered haphazardly. The box roofs of the stalls stood in the foreground of the entryway signs which directed towards the municipal superstructure. The noise swelled too—there were shouts, homeless dogs that cruised between the ramshackle stalls; a tabby languished in the sun atop a griddle hut and the dogs barked after it and the tabby paid no mind as it stretched its belly out for the sky. Morning commuters, walkers, gathered to their places and stood in queues or sat among the red earth or took to stools if they were offered by the vendors. Those that took food dispersed with haste, checking tablets or watches or they simply glanced at the sky for answers.
Sun shafts played between the heavy morning clouds that passed over, gray and drab, and there were moments of great heat then great relief then mugginess; it signaled likely rain.
At an intersection where old corroded chain-link fencing ran the length of the southern route with signs warning of trespass, she took Plumer Avenue north and kept her eyes averted to the hewn brick ground beneath her feet. Pixie lifted her nose, sniffed, stuffed her fists into her pockets then continued looking at her own moving feet.
Among the rows of crowded apartments which lined either side of Plumer, there were alleyway vendors—brisk rude people which called out to those that passed in hopes of trade; many of the goods offered were needless hand-made ornaments and the like. Strand bead bracelets dangled from fingers in display and were insistently shown off while artisans cried out prices while children’s tops spun in shoebox sized arenas while corn-husk cigarettes were sold by the pack. It was all noise everywhere.
A few vendors yelled after Pixie, but she ignored them and kept going; the salespeople then shifted their attention to whoever their eyes fell on next—someone with a better response. Plumer Avenue was packed tighter as more commuters gathered to the avenues and ran across the center road at seemingly random intervals—those that drove lorries and battery wagons protested those street crossers with wild abandon; the traffic that existed crept through the narrow route. People ran like water around the tall black light box posts or the narrow and government tended mesquite trunks.
It sprinkled rain; Pixie crossed her arms across her chest and continued walking. The rain caused a mild haze across the scene—Pixie scrunched her nose and quickened her pace.
She came to where she intended, and the crowd continued with its rush, but she froze there in front of a grimy windowed storefront—the welded sign overhead read: Odds N’ Ends. Standing beside the storefront’s door was a towering fellow. The pink and dew-eyed man danced and smiled and there was no music; his shoeless calloused heels ground and twisted into the bricks like he intended to create depressions in the ground there. Rainwater beaded and was cradled in his mess of hair. He offered a flash of jazz hands then continued his twisty groove. Though the man hushed words to himself, they were swallowed by the ruckus of the commuters around him.
Pixie pressed into the door, caught the man’s eyes, and he grinned broader, Hello! he called.
She responded with an apologetic nod and stretched a flat smile without teeth.
Standing on the interior mat, the door slammed behind her, and she traced the large, high-ceiling interior.
To the right, towering shelves of outdated preserves and books and smokes and incenses and dead crystals created thin pathways; to the left was a counter, a register, and an old, wrinkled woman with a fat gray bun coiled atop her head—she kept a thin yarn shawl over her shoulders. The old woman sat in a high-backed stool behind the register, examined a hardback paper book splayed adjacent the register; she traced her fingers along the sentences while she whispered to herself. Upon finally noticing Pixie standing by the door, the woman came hurriedly from around the backside of the counter, arms up in a fury, “You’re late, Joan,” said the old woman; her eyes darted to the analog dial which hung by the storefront, “Not by much, but still.” Standing alongside one another, the old woman seemed rather short. “You’re soaked—look at you, dripping all over the floor.”
Pixie nodded but refrained from looking the woman in the eye.
“Oh,” the old woman flapped her flattened hand across her own face while coughing, “When did you last wash?” She grabbed onto Pixie’s shoulders, angled the younger woman back so that she could stare into her face. “Look at your eyes—you haven’t been sleeping at all, Joan. What will we do with you? What am I going to do with you?” Then the old woman froze. “Pixie,” she nodded, clawed a single index finger, and tapped the crooked appendage to her temple, “I forget.”
“It’s alright,” whispered Pixie.
The old woman’s nature softened for a moment, her shoulders slanted away from her throat, and she shuffled to return to her post behind the counter. “Anyway, the deliveryman from the res came by and dropped off that shipment, just like I told you he would. They’re in the back. Could you bring them out and help me put them up? I tried a few of them, but the boxes are quite heavy, and it’s worn my back out already.” The old woman offered a meager grin, exposing her missing front teeth. She turned her attention to the book on the counter, lifted it up so it was more like a miniscule cubicle screen—the title read: Your Psychic Powers and How to Develop Them.
Pixie set to the task; the stockroom was overflowing even more so with trinkets—a barrel of mannequin arms overhung from a shelf by the ceiling, covered in dust—dull hanging solitary light bulbs dotted the stockroom’s ceiling and kept the place dark and moldy, save those spotlights. The fresh boxes sat along the rear of the building, where little light was. Twelve in total, the boxes sat and said nothing, and Pixie said nothing to the boxes. The woman took a pocketknife to the metal stitches which kept them closed. Though the proprietor of Odds N’ Ends said she’d tried her hand at the boxes already, there was no sign of her interference.
The first box contained dead multi-colored hair and the stuff stood plumelike from the mouth of the container; Pixie gave it a shake and watched the strands shift around. This unsettled but was not entirely unpleasant; the unpleasantness followed when she grabbed a fistful of hair only to realize she’d brought up a series of dried scalps which clicked together—hard leather on hard leather. Pixie gagged, dropped the scalps where they’d come from, shook her hands wildly, then placed that box to the ground and shifted it away with her foot.
The next contained a full layer of straw and she hesitantly brushed her hand across the top to uncover glass jars—dark browned liquids. Falsely claimed tinctures.
Curiously, she tilted her head at the next box, it was of a different color and shape than the rest. Green and Rectangular. And further aged too. Pixie sucked in a gulp of air, picked at the stitching of the box with her knife then peered inside. Like the previous box, it was full of straw and with more confidence, she pawed it away. She stumbled backwards from the box, hissing, and brought her finger up to her face. A thin trail of blood trickled by the index fingernail of her right hand; she jammed the finger in her mouth and moved to the box again. Carefully, she removed the object by one end. In the dim light, she held a long-handled, well curved tachi sword; the shine of the blade remained pristine. It was ancient and deceiving.
“Oh,” said Pixie around the index finger in her mouth, “It’s a katana.”
She moved underneath one of the spotlights of the stockroom, held it vertically over herself in the glare, traced her eyes along the beautifully corded black handle. As she twisted the blade in the air, it caught the light and she seemed stricken dumb. She withdrew her finger from her mouth, held the thing out in front of her chest with both hands, put her eyes along the water-wave edge. Her tongue tip squeezed from the corner of her mouth while she was frozen with the sword.
In a dash, she held the thing casually and returned to the box. She rummaged within and came up with the scabbard. The weapon easily clicked safely inside. “Pretty cool,” she said.
The other boxes held nothing quite so inspiring as a sword nor anything as morbid as dead scalps. There were decapitated shaved baby-doll heads lining the interior slots of plastic egg cartons, and more fake tonics, and tarot cards, and cigarettes, and a few unmarked media cartridges—both assortments of videos and music were represented in their designs. Pixie spent no time whatsoever ogling any of the other objects; her attention remained with the sword which she kept in her hand as she sallied through the boxes. Between opening every new box, she took a long break to unsheathe the sword and play-fight the air without poise—even so the tachi was alive spoke windily.
“Quit lollygagging,” said the old woman; she stood in the doorway to the stockroom, shook her head, “Is this what you’ve been doing all morning? How are we supposed to get the new merchandise on the shelves—including that sword—if you won’t stop playing around?”
Pixie’s voice cracked, “How much is it?”
The old woman balked, “The sword?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s a display piece. We put it in the window to draw in potential customers, of course. It’s too expensive to keep them in stock. I don’t even know where a person could find a continuous stock of them, but if we can put it in the window, perhaps clientele will come in, ask about it, then shop a bit—it’s not something you can sell; it’s an investment.” The old woman, slow as she was, steadied across the stockroom and met Pixie there by the boxes, placed her hand on the open containers, briefly glanced into the nearest one, and smiled. “It’d take you a lifetime to pay back if you wanted a sword like that anyway. Now,” The old woman placed a hand on Pixie’s shoulder, “Put it away. There’s a strange man outside and I need your help shooing him away. He’s likely scared away potential customers already.”
The two of them, tachi returned to its place, went to the front of the store; it was ghostly quiet save their footfalls—the customers that did stop into the store hardly ever stopped in more than the once; it was a place of oddities, strangeness, novelty. The things they sold most of were the packaged cigarettes from the res. No one cared enough for magic or fortune telling. Still, the old woman carried on, like she did often, about the principals for running a business. Pixie carried no principals—none could be found—so the young woman nodded along with anything the old woman said while staring off.
On the approach to the storefront, the man from before could be seen and his dance had not slowed—if anything his movements had only become further enamored with dance. His elbows swung wildly, he spun like a ballerina, he kicked his feet against the brick sideway and did not flinch at the pain of it.
“There he is,” said the old woman, “He’s acting crazy as hell. Look at him go.” He went. “If I wasn’t certain he was as crazy as a deck with five suits, I’d ask if he wanted to bark for me—you know, draw in a crowd.” She shook her head. “Don’t know why people like him can’t just go to the airport. There are handouts there. Anyway, I need to get back to it myself. As do you,” she directed this at Pixie; although Pixie towered over the woman in terms of physicality, the older woman rose on her tiptoes, pinched the younger woman’s soft bicep hard, whispered, “Get that bastard off my stoop, understand?”
Again, the old woman’s face softened, and she left Pixie standing there on the front door’s interior mat. The crone returned to her place behind the counter, nestled onto the stool like a bird finding comfort, then craned her neck far down so her nose nearly touched the book page; her eyes followed her finger across the lines.
Pixie’s chest swelled and then went small as the sigh escaped her; her shoulders hung in front of her, and she briskly pushed outside.
The rain had gone, but the smell remained; across the street, where the morning’s foot congestion decreased, a series of blue-coated builders could be spied hoisting materials—metal framing and brick—via scaffolding with a series of pulleys. For a moment, Pixie stared across the street and watched the men work and shout at one another; a lorry passed by, broke her eyeline and she was suddenly confronted by the dancing man who pivoted several times in a semicircle around where she stood. Far, far off, birds called. Fuel fog stunk the air.
Move, said the dancing man. Initially it seemed a rude command, but upon catching his rain-wetted face, it was obvious that his will was not one of malice, but of love and peace and cosmic splendor. It does not matter how you move, but you must move! It was an offer. Not a command. Or so it seemed.
The man rolled his neck and flicked his head around and the jewels which beaded there glowed around him for a blink as they were cast off.
You’ve been sent to send me away, yeah? asked the man.
“That’s right,” said Pixie.
But it’s not because you wish it?
“I couldn’t care if you stood out here all day.” Pixie bit her lip, chewed enough that a trickle of blood touched her tongue; her eyes swept across the street again and focused on the builders. “The fewer customers we have, the less I need to speak.”
The man froze in his dance then suddenly his stature slumped. He nodded. I’ll go. As you must. You must too, yeah?
“Go? Go where?”
You know.
She did.
The man left and Pixie remained on the street by herself; the rabble which passed her by were few and she stared at her own two feet, at the space between them, at the cracks, and she sighed. She jerked her head back, saw the sky was still deep ocean blue—more rain but nothing so sinister as a storm.
“Go?” she asked the sky.
She reentered the store.
After stocking the newest shipment, the rest of the day was as mundane as the others which Pixie spent within Odds N’ Ends; few patrons stopped in—mostly to ogle—it was a place of spectacle more than a place of business. Whenever folks came, the old woman would call for Pixie without looking up from her book; normally the younger woman dusted or rearranged the things on the shelves as the old woman liked them and was often away from the counter. Pixie tried to answer questions about the shaved doll heads, the crystals arranged upon velvet mats, the tinctures, the stuffed bear head high on the wall. After some terrible conversation, they went to the counter and bought cigarettes or nothing at all and the old woman would complain at Pixie about her poor salesmanship after the patrons were gone.
The tachi was put there on a broad table, directly in front of the storefront window and Pixie froze often in her work, longingly examined the thing from afar, and snapped from her maladaptation; frequently she chastised herself in barely audible mutters. The old woman had Pixie scrub the pane of the window in front of where the sword sat, and the young woman traced her hand across the handle and delicately thumbed the length of the plain scabbard.
It was a job; this was a thing which people did so they may go on living. Come the middle of the shift—Pixie yawned, it was not due to overexertion, it was more due to her poor sleeping habits. This day was no different in this regard.
“I wish you’d keep it to yourself,” the old woman said, and then she cupped a hand over her own mouth and her eyes went teary, “God, now look at me and see what you’ve done!” The old woman shook the tiredness away. “Bah! There’s still some daylight left!”
“We haven’t had anyone in for the past hour,” said Pixie, staring up at the analog dial on the wall.
The old woman’s scowl was fierce. “Mhm, I’m sure you’re waiting for the death call.” She too looked at the clock on the wall and sighed loudly. “Alright. Pack it up! Better the death call of the store than my own.” She fanned her face with a flat palm and yawned again.
Pixie left the place; the old woman locked the storefront from within. It began to rain again; it seemed the weather understood it was quitting time.
The young woman cupped her elbows and walked home in the rain. Other commuters passed with umbrellas and others, like Pixie, ran through the puddles gathered on the ground. Rain was infrequent but this was not so in the summer and Pixie never protested it. It cooled the ground, thickened the air, and darkened the sky. A car passed on the street, but it was mostly lorries or battery wagons. Personal vehicles were as rare as the rain and Pixie watched after the car; it was a short, rounded thing—its metal cosmetics were warped, and it couldn’t have carried more than two people within.
No vendors were there on the way, no men to call after her—no other people either. The sky grew darker yet and though it was still relatively early, it seemed to grow as black as nighttime without stars.
Pixie’s apartment was there, dark, solitary, same. She shut her door, locked it with her inside, undressed completely and dropped her clothes to the little floor there was and huffed as she planked across the mattress; the bedframe protested. “It smells bad in here,” she spoke into the pillow. The words were nothing. In the blackness of the room, she was nothing. It was a void, a capsule, a tomb. She was still wet and smelled like a dog.
The monitor in the corner came alive at her salutation and she snored sporadically in the electric glow of the screen.
Upon waking in the black hours of the morning, Pixie rubbed her eyes, cupped her forearms to her stomach; her midsection growled, and she tentatively reached to the bedside table and removed a bag of dried cactus pears. She nibbled at the end of one and in arching was cut blue and archaically shaped in the stilled light of the monitor’s idle screen. Pixie popped the entire rest of the cactus pear into her mouth, chewed noisily and vaguely stared into the empty corner of the room beneath the monitor.
After silent deliberation, Pixie crept through the night clothed in dark layers and went the back way through Odds N’ Ends. She absconded with the tachi, taking only a moment with the sword by the white windowlight where she carefully examined the thing again. The young woman was beguiled and went from the place the same way she came.
The brick streets resounded with her footfalls as her excited gait carried her home.
She packed light, slung the sword to her hip with a cloth braid—once it was there in its place, she used the thumb of her left hand to nudge the meager guard, so the blade came free from its sheath before she casually clicked it back to where it went. Pixie chuckled, shook with a frightening spasm dance then froze before patting the tachi lightly.

***

Two men stood along a shallow desert ridge; each of them was Apache descended.
Peridot Mesa was covered in poppies, curled horrendous things; once they’d been as precious as the peridot gems themselves, but as the two men stood there, overlooking the ridge, the poppies were browned, sickly, and as twisted as hog phalluses. Among the dying field were chicory and dead fallen-over cacti. The super blossoms were long over and had been for generations.
One man spat in the dirt, tilted his straw hat across his eyes to avert the heavy setting sun; he hoisted his jeans, asked, “You sure?”
The other man, older, lightly bearded, nodded and kept his own head covered with a yellow bucket hat and cradled his bolt-action rifle with the comfortability of an ex-soldier. “Yeah, c’mon Tweep.” He staggered over the edge of the ridge and slid across the dry earth while tilting backwards so his boots went like skis. With some assistance from his partner, he was able to reach flat ground without going over and the two men searched the ground while they continued walking. “Need to find her fast.”
Tweep, the younger man, spat again.
“Nasty habit.”
“Leave it, Taz.”
Taz shrugged and absently tugged on the string which looped the bucket hat loosely around his collar.
“How long?” asked Tweep.
“Serena said she blew through town only three days ago. Said she was coming this way.”
“She came looking for Chupacabra demons?”
“Huh?” asked Taz.
“That’s what that silly girl came out here for, yeah?”
“I guess. Let’s find her before dark, alright?”
“Sure,” said Tweep, “I just don’t know why she’d go looking for them.”
“Who knows? I don’t care enough to know. Not really.” The older man shook his head. “City people come out here, poke the wildlife—they make jokes about the mystics. I know you’ve seen it. Serena said the girl had the doe-eyed look of someone fresh out of Pheonix maybe. Who knows what she’s come here for?” There was a pause and only their footfalls sounded across the loose dry soil. “Dammit!” said the older man, “You’ve got me rambling. Let’s find the body already. Preferably before it gets much darker.”
“You think she’s dead then?”
Taz grimaced and then he spat. “What do you think?”
“I don’t know, sir, why don’t you tell me what to think? I’m starting to think you only dragged me out here to help you carry anything you find valuable.”
Taz shook his head, shrugged. “Smart mouth.” They continued across the mesa, kicking poppies, shifting earth that hadn’t been touched by humans since the first deluge; it wouldn’t be touched by humans for another thousand after the second deluge—that was some time away yet.
“I see her.” Tweep rushed ahead.
Among a rockier set of alcoves, a white, stained blouse hung on a tumbleweed caught among groupings of stones.
“It’s her shirt,” said Tweep, going swiftly ahead.
The younger man leapt atop the stones and looked down a circular nest where the dirt was dug craterlike; destroyed tumbleweeds and splintered bone-corpses littered the nest.
Taz caught his comrade, readied the rifle at the nest.
Strewn across the ground were no less than three full grown Chupacabras, slain; one lay unmoving and decapitated while another’s intestines steamed in the heat. The third clung to life and kicked its rear legs helplessly. Pixie stood among the gore, shirtless; the tachi gleamed in her glowing fists.
“Holy shit!” said Taz; he lowered the rifle and followed Tweep into the nest. The two men kicked the rubbish from their way and approached the young woman with timidness. “You alright?”
Pixie ran the flat of the blade across her pantleg to remove the sparkling blood, inspected the thing and wiped it again before returning the sword to where it went. Leaking bite wounds covered the length of her forearms, and her eyes went far and tired.
Tweep watched the woman, chewed his lip. “You’re possessed! You can’t just kill them like that! Nobody could kill Chupacabra so easily. With your hands?” He tipped his straw hat back, so it fell to his shoulders and hung by the string on his throat.
Pixie shook her head. “It wasn’t with my hands.”
The woman wavered past the men, climbed the short perch where her blouse had gone; she held the shirt to the sky—the material floated out from her fingers as torn rags. She let go of the blouse and it carried on the wind.
Taz approached the only Chupacabra of the nest that remained alive. The creature groaned; the wound which immobilized it had partially severed its spine and the creature’s movements may have been from expelled death energy rather than any conscious effort—the upturned eye of it while it lay on its side seemed to show fear. Its body was mangy, and just as well as naked dark skin shone, so too did fur grow long and sporadic across its torso; short whiskers jutted out from its snout. Chitin shining scales covered the creature’s rear haunches while its tail remained rat naked. Taz shot the thing in the head, and it stopped moving.
The woman fell onto the rocks where the men had come over the den. She sat and examined the wounds on her arms then she turned her attention to the men which had gathered by her. “Do either of you have a spare shirt?”
Archive

Is there any way too get this thing to be nice and dark while charging my phone at night?? The constantly blinking light from the battery is particularly obnoxious, not to mention completely unnecessary. Why does everything have to have blinking freakin' lights??

Hi, first of all thank you for even existing this forum. I really appreciate it . So two times today I needed cable jumped with my babies in the car in 100° weather in Arizona. I keep up with my maintenance as far as oil changes and I think I had to get my starter fixed about one and a half years ago at a dealership. I took the car after the first time it turned off and it wouldn’t start today to firestone and they said the battery is fine, what could be causing my car to turn off? I’m scared to drive it but like I have to go to work. when it stops working it’s just like blinking all the lights on the dash when I try to turn the key. Thank u! Also, I don’t know why it says Juan in my post lol I can’t seem to edit it. Maybe there’s a mechanic named Juan here that’s gonna give me my answer? Fingers crossed.

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First Chapter Next Chapter> (Coming soon)
Thanks a ton to whoever participated in the poll, and helped me answer questions about NoP! I’m having a ton of fun writing this story, and I look forward to writing even more chapters.

Credit to SpacePaladin15 for original idea, setting, and characters of NoP.

Thanks a ton to the beta readers!
u/Cooldude101013
u/Golde829

Big thanks to my editors!
u/ErinRF
And finally, my sincerest thanks to u/AnotheNobodie, who has helped me edit, and has constantly helped me improve my story through endless debates over nearly every scientific, moral, technological, and military aspect of this story. I cannot thank you enough, and I am in your debit.
If you would like to become a beta reader, please message me! Any help is appriciated.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
As Daisy peers into the damaged and smoke-filled corridor, before something begins to stomping down the hall, getting closer and closer. Daisy flinches, takes aim with her rifle, and begins to fire bursts of rounds into the smoke, cursing in her native Québec French, as she goes.
“Câlisse de viarge!”
Her rounds hit something expensive, creating a small explosion, followed by shrapnel being sent flying down the wide corridor. Daisy ducks behind a wall just in time, with the shards flying past her If she had moved just a second slower, she would have been turned into confetti by the huge metal pieces. Whatever had been charging her had certainly met that fate.
She turns the corner, and sweeps the corridor, before moving on. She holds her stark gray rifle tight, the battery thrumming with energy. Her suit scans for any potential threat or object of interest, and her built-in comms system still continues to ping the surrounding area for CSSF transmitters.
Daisy continues to stumble around the ruins of the Arxur corvette, until she reaches a major hull breach. Damage control has been here, as the plasma fires have been put out, and the shrapnel is gone. The ship has stopped rotating, or at least as far as she can tell. The stars glitter before her, a vision of pure breathtaking beauty. She blinks, and attempts to rub her eyes, her gloved hand stopping at the visor. One of the lights is moving. Daisy begins to manipulate her suit’s controls mounted on her wrist, a small panel appearing on her HUD. Her helmet cam begins to zoom in, taking in the full expanse of the stars. Daisy looks behind her, with nothing but a shattered hole leading deeper into the ship, filled with jagged metal shards. Nothing could get through it, at least without tearing their spacesuit and asphyxiating. She turns back to the stars, the miniature exoskeleton threaded into her suit moving her neck ever so slightly, keeping the camera focus on the moving star. It turns from a distant white light, to a bright blue one. Daisy can just make out blocky objects highlighted by the flare. No, not objects. Turrets. Daisy squints more and more, putting all her focus into the ship.
Unbeknownst to her, something’s right behind her.
A small vibration clatters through the floor, and Daisy whips out her rifle, only to see something dash behind the wall.
More vibrations, getting quieter. It’s getting away, whatever it is.
Daisy whips around the corner, only for it to escape again. This time, she catches a glance.
She pulls up her suit’s recording, to take a better look. She freezes the frame, before ordering her built-in computer to analyze it. The psuedo-AI uses adaptive image mapping to “enhance” the image, making it higher quality through what may seem like pure guesswork on the surface, but every pixel is carefully analyzed to up the quality of the image.
The analyst system is confused, so Daisy takes a quick look, flashing between the now enhanced image, and the corridor ahead. It’s not an Arxur. In fact, it doesn't seem to be wearing a suit at all. Bulging and bruised muscles cover the creature, and wounds cover it as well. Gunshot wounds. It is leaking red fluid, and was surprisingly fast for what maneuvers it pulled. Daisy had seen the reports regarding the use of potential bioweapons used by the Arxur… but this? This was like the work of a crappy b rate horror movie, one intended for poor jumpscares and cheap thrills. Nothing like the reports suggested. Perhaps this was something new? A different type of weapon or creature? Whatever it was, it was quite possibly hostile.
A light pinging interrupts her stream of thoughts. The distress beacon was offline. Its signal had ceased just moments ago, but the battery was designed to work for months at a time. There was no way this was natural. Perhaps a piece of debris hit it? But it was magnetically connected to the ship’s hull, so anything big enough to tear it off would have vibrated the ship, coinciding with the signal loss. Plus, secondary transmitters were online, meaning this was a targeted attack. Daisy sweeps the corridor once more, before dropping a very small sensor onto the floor in front of her. She strides on over to the opening, before activating her maneuvering pack. The hallway sensor begins to beep as she falls back out of the hole. Her headlights shine on something watching her. Its eyes are reflected in the light, before it disappears once again.
Daisy moves to the upper portion of the hull, and looks for her missing beacon. Scratches and marks cover the hull where her beacon once sat, and she follows them to another hole, this one going much deeper and darker. She shines her light down into the abyss, only to see more creatures scatter. She tosses a glow stick into the whole, only to see it impact far, far down.
She’s not walking into that deathtrap. Instead, she places another sensor, and moves on. She needs to get the attention of the CSSF. She has a flare, but there’s no guarantee that it would get their attention. She needs something bigger. But first, she needs to make sure that she doesn't get caught by whatever is inside the ship.
A vibration rumbles through the hull. Daisy turns around, only to find nothing. Another rumble. Is the ship falling apart? No. Weapons fire. Gunfire ripples pout of the hull, an active fight. Several space-suited figures leap out onto the hull, firing down as they go. One is pulled down, and the three remaining members retreat, and turn around, only to see Daisy, with her rifle raised. Daisy sees something trying to grab another suited figure, and she aims, and with a triple burst, tears it to peaces, sending fragments flying. The suited figures, tense up, but then they return the favor. A burst of gunfire kills something horrid that was reaching up to pull her in. Daisy waves to them, and they respond in kind.
Now, what to do?
Daisy begins tapping on her suit display, before the holographic projector mounted beside her suit camera. Then, a bright blue light flashes from the little cylinder, and the Arxur symbol for “hello” is presented. The Arxur look back and forth, seemingly talking amongst themselves. Daisy whispers to her computer.
“Computer, scan for active comms frequencies.”
A little progress bar pops up in the lower left corner of her visor.
“Look for active frequencies with Arxur on them, nearby to my location.”
The panel sorts itself, showing a very small map of the local area, and possible frequencies. Suddenly, the Arxur stop talking, and look at her. The middle figure takes a step forward, and begins moving his hands in a rhythmic fashion.
“Computer, Analyze.”
A line of text prints onto a small, glowing blue panel.
“Matches Arxur Sign Language from Federation Records. Attempting to translate…”
{Who} {Are} {You}
The Arxur stops signing.
Daisy responds in kind, her suit’s artificial muscles moving her arms in the Arxur’s sign language. She has to fingerspell her name.
{Name} {D} {A} {I} {S} {Y} {What} {Yours}
The Arxur seem surprised, at least from their body movements. The lead figure responds.
{You} {H} {U} {M} {A} {N} {?}
The last sign takes a moment for the translator to parse, before it pops up as a question mark, indicating this as a question, and not a statement.
Curiously, the sign for “yes” is the same in both American Sign Language, and Arxur Sign Language. She moves her hand as if she was knocking on a door. The Arxur begin talking again, and one of them raises a rifle, before it is slapped down by the leader. They begin signing again.
{We} {Make} {Deal}
They pause for a moment, before resuming.
{We} {Help} {Big} {Ship} {Attention} {You} {Get} {My} {Crew} {Safe}
Daisy thinks for a moment, before responding.
{How} {Know} {No} {Betray} {?}
She uses the odd symbol at the end to indicate a question.
{You} {Last} {Hope} {For} {Rescue}
It pauses again.
{If} {We} {Betray} {Big} {Ship} {Kill} {Us}
Sound logic on their part.
{Good}
She pauses, before continuing.
{How} {Many} {Crew} {Left} {?}
{Not} {Know}
{How} {Many} {Start} {?}
{35}
{Good}
She pauses.
{Need} {Get} {Big} {Ship} {Attention} {With} {Signal}
{Ship} {Weapons} {?} {Big} {Ship} {See} {That}
{How} {Fire} {Ship} {Weapons} {?}
{Use} {Ship} {Bridge} {Controls}
The translator is getting better. This time it picked up the plural at the end of the last word.
{Where} {Controls} {?}
The Arxur points to behind Daisy, before raising his rifle. Several of the monsters are crawling out of various holes, and Daisy gets her first good look at them. They are not of a natural origin. These are clearly heavily mutated Arxur, whose flesh has been corrupted by some terrible disease. They open their mouths and silently scream as they charge through the void of space towards Daisy and her newfound comrades. She opens up with her rifle, stepping backwards as she lays into the nearest hulking creature. Her pulse rifle burns countless holes through it, blowing chunks of flesh off the terrible thing. It begins to stop moving, thrown back by her ceaseless assault. She fires a few more rounds into it, before focusing on the nearest one. Now, she is just a few meters from the suited Arxur, who also spray gunfire into the creatures. More and more pour from the hull breaches, seeming endless. Daisy has a system for taking them down now. Kill the legs, then the chest, and then the head to disable it. Even if it’s not dead, it is now nearly harmless. Eventually, the four members are together with their backs against one another, quickly running low on ammo. The leader drops their rifle, before pulling out a pistol, and continuing the slaughter. Thing after thing pours out of the ship, intent on killing them. Eventually, as Daisy racks the last battery pack into her MK-171, no more appear. Daisy finally takes her flare gun, and points it up. Hitting the trigger, the gun releases a huge shell into the space above, spitting out magnetic signals to anything that could listen. The bright light alone can certainly catch the attention of any passing ship, but that alone is just another light in the void. The intense heat and magnetic signals will light up any sensor, especially those tuned for battle. The flare flies high above the exhausted figures, and there seems to be no response from the ship. They wait, and wait, but nothing. No hails, no lights, no rescue shuttles.
Something is blocking the signal.
It should be nearly impossible, with magnetic frequencies being only blocked by a similar counter-signal, which would be detected. Nothing. Whatever lies inside the ship wants them to come on in.
Daisy’s not going to fall for that. She would rather die of her own volition, going out in a spectacular flashing fireball.
Her visor pings. The frequency the Arxur are using has been isolated. She connects, hearing a brief flash of harsh language, before her translator kicks in.
“⏁⍜⍜ ⋔⏃⋏⊬- have fallen to this monstrosity. We must purge it from existence. My former crew deserve it.”
Daisy interjects.
“Peace to the fallen.”
The lead Arxur looks at his fellows, before looking at her. Daisy continues.
“I never got your names.”
The lead Arxur bows his head for a moment before speaking.
“I am Lower Captain Xylithrax.”
He gestures to the other two Arxur, who do the same as he says their names.
“This is the Honorable High Engineer Nokzul, and Crewman K'leena. They have both proved themselves in battle, as have you. Has your craft responded to your message?”
“Something is blocking the magnetic frequencies.”
Nokzul speaks up, his voice slightly less rough than Xylithrax’s.
“That should not be possible, at least without a counter-signal, which would be just as visible.”
Daisy responds.
“Exactly. Something doesn't want to attract any attention, or leave.”
Honorable High Engineer Nokzul responds.
“Agreed. However, there is something we can do that you mentioned earlier. Activate the weapons, and fire a burst in a pattern.”
“We will need to travel through the infested ship. My infested ship.”
“Do you know if any of your crew are still alive?”
“Perhaps. That remains to be seen.”
“How many did we kill? You said there were 35 crew, so subtract the amount we just fended off, and there should be a rough estimate.”
“Hmm… perhaps 5 to 8 are still alive, although whatever sinister intelligence is attacking us might just be keeping them hidden.”
“We shouldn’t underestimate whatever it is. I’m going to be scanning all frequencies for any distress signal, or any active Arxur.”
“Very well. Tell me if you find anyone. I will not leave a single soul to perish on this accursed hulk.”
“Agreed. Now, where is the bridge?”
“My bridge is over there. The tall structure indented with hardened windows, although they did not protect against your ship’s weapons. I do not hold it against you, as we still managed to shoot your craft down, hmm?”
“I can give you that. We need to get going. The faster we get this done, the higher the chance that we can rescue more of your crew.”
As the four figures begin to walk on the damaged and hole-ridden hull, something watches from afar. It has watched from inside its containment units for so long, as the individuals walk. Why do they resist it? It wishes to bring peace to all, bring the One. He has waited so long in unseen places, watching. They made this deal long, long ago. They must fulfill their side of the bargain, before he gives them what they want. He will bring a new age to this universe, one of eternal peace. He will bring the peace by annihilating the universe.
After all, how can there be conflict and pain, when nothing exists?
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First Chapter Next Chapter> (Coming soon)

Sorry guys.
My bad this took so long, I just could never manage to sit down and actually write for any good length of time, and I feel like the writing in this one kinda reflects this one. Sorry for the sudden dip in quality for this one, but we'll see if it can improve soon. I'll at least try to get the next one out sooner.
Previous/Wiki/Discord!/Next
____________________________________________________________
Frost walked back from the front desk of the embassy to his room, happy he was finally able to get his laundry done. His impromptu trip back to the military base earlier in the day had allowed him to acquire tools to work on his relatively neglected suit, as he figured that it was time that he finally gave his space suits a bit of servicing, since they had gone without any real work for months. The CEVA helmet in his duffle bag was by far the heaviest item he had, but the computers and adapters to the optical data connections of the helmets didn’t help with the weight at all. He gave the Gia’pris at the desk a nod before heading back to his room. He unloaded the bag on his bed and pulled the tools out, setting the large helmet of the CEVA out at the end. He grabbed his other suit’s helmet and laid it out next to the CEVA helmet. He paused for a second, realizing that the room he was in didn’t have a large enough table. He shrugged it off and repacked everything, grabbing his freshly cleaned sweater before heading back out of the room and out into one of the back communal areas of the embassy.
He found a table for himself and immediately set up again, setting out his regular helmet first, as it was far less involved than the CEVA helmet. He had finished working on it after only an hour, but when he started working on the CEVA’s helmet, he hadn’t realized that it had been nearly four hours until he finally looked up from the left side utility assembly. He replaced the night vision image intensifier back into its housing and stood up, stretching himself out a bit. While there hadn’t been very many people in the common area originally anyway, he was now the only one. His watch told him that it was almost 11 pm planetside, so most of the Ma’pris would be up, but the other aliens would be asleep.
He put his arms at the side for a moment and looked towards the front entrance before looking at his watch one last time. He quickly sucked in through his teeth and nodded to himself, grabbing his CEVA helmet and the test equipment with it. He stuffed the battery and primary computer in one of his back pockets and carried the helmet in front of him, connecting the optical ports together as he walked towards the door. He didn’t give too much mind to whoever was running the front desk this time, as he was busy making sure the helmet was getting power as he walked past the desk and out of the building. Once on the front porch, he paused long enough to find the nearest darkest area he could before heading towards the location and turning on the helmet.
He slid the helmet over his head, holding it in an approximate position to where it would normally sit on the CEVA. He turned on the HUD and night vision systems, checking to make sure they were functioning properly. His left side HUD was significantly more clear and smooth than his right, but both worked well enough to be considered serviceable, though he did plan to show the right side some attention soon. Before he shut off the helmet and headed back inside, he turned towards the building and path, checking the autogating on the helmet’s NVs.
While they worked exactly as he had expected them to, his attention was divided by the lone Ma’pris walking up the path towards the embassy. It was rare for a Ma’pris to enter the building when they didn’t work there, and Frost hadn’t recognized this one. He convinced himself it was a case of tired paranoia, but still walked with a silence to his step. He was fairly certain that they hadn’t yet noticed him, but he wasn’t sure of anything. They dipped inside the building, making sure the door closed fully behind them. Taking off his helmet and shutting it down, he slowly approached the doors. He rested his helmet on his hip and pressed an ear against the cold metal of the embassy’s main doors. He could hear the person and another Ma’pris, likely the one at the front desk, conversing. He wasn’t sure what they had said exactly, but he was fairly certain that he had heard the Ma’prisian word for ‘Human’ in there.
He bounced his head off the door when he accidentally caused his helmet to slip. Immediately, the conversation stopped, and it sounded like someone was approaching the door. Swapping which arm the helmet was in and reaching behind himself, he felt around for Rosa in his waistband, grabbing her and pulling back the hammer once he had a good grip.
He wasn’t sure how far the steps were from the door, so he stepped back a bit, giving himself a bit of room to react, just in case. However, before he could get two steps down, one of the doors swung open, blinding the Marine with the light and causing him to stumble back even more.
“Ahh, Human! I was looking for you!” A semi-familiar voice called out, extending a hand towards him.
He started to talk, but stopped when he realized who it was, once his eyes adjusted to the light, “Oh! It’s you!” He exclaimed, taking her hand and stopping himself from stumbling back any further. “Wasn’t expecting you.”
“Who were you expecting?” Lo’van Cor’iel asked, eyeing the CEVA helmet excitedly.
“Don’t know.” He shrugged, pulling Rosa out to decock the gun, “Wasn’t you.” He paused long enough to put his gun back in his waistband and look back up at her, “What’re you doing here?”
“Well, it suddenly occurred to me that, despite the card that I’d given you, you still are unlikely to call me, since I doubt you have a Ma’prisian phone.” She let out a tense giggle, clearly eyeing the hand that had his gun in it previously.
Frost noticed her stare and dropped his head slightly, “Yeah, sorry about that.” He paused when she was about to speak, putting up a hand, “About the gun, not the phone. I don’t have the that, but I do have aggressive delusions.”
“Ahh.” she smiled, relaxing when she realized that he had just been slightly spooked, “The clarification is nice.”
“My bad.” He muttered, motioning inside. She mouthed a word of agreement, nodded, and moved inside, holding the door open for the man, since he was carrying the helmet, “Now, why are you here? I want to assume that you want to ask questions, but I can never be sure.”
“Correct you are. I want to get the knowledge you’ve got stored up there.” She giggled, tapping a claw at his forehead, “Like I said that night, you’re the only Human I’ve seen who’s here for a non-political reason.”
“There’s still a little bit of politics in this. It’s the nature of the game.” He shrugged, moving towards the back, where she had motioned them back to.
“True enough. But you’re already different from all other Humans who’ve been down here.” She stated, her voice seemingly more formal and annunciated than it was moments ago. The Marine looked over to see her fiddling with a piece of equipment on the front of her cowl-dressing. He mouthed ‘recording?’ at her, to which she nodded back and motioned for them to sit at a nearby table.
“How so?” He asked, setting the CEVA helmet down and sitting across from her, now attempting to focus on making his voice clear. In the back of his mind, he was also trying to make sure that everything he said could be broadcast to the rest of the people on the planet.
“Well, to start; none of the other diplomatic Humans openly carried weapons on them.” she stated, resting her elbows on the table, weaving her fingers, and resting her jaw on her hands, “The guards did, sure. But that’s their job.”
“Well, if that’s the case, my job is simply the more proactive version of theirs;” He shrugged, still taking equipment out of his pockets, “It’s also in my job description to carry weapons.”
She paused for a moment before squinting at the man and shaking her head, “It’s… different."
The Marine laughed lightly, shaking his head. He finished pulling tools out of his pockets before finally sitting up fully and looking at her, “Well, what else do you want to know from me?” She nodded and smiled enthusiastically, pulled her head off her hands, and sat up slightly.
“Well, I want to start relatively simple:” She started, sitting back fully and bringing her arms down so that the microphone was not obstructed in any way, “What is it like, as a Human, being on our planet?”
“Well, it’s pretty diff- Hold on.” he paused almost as soon as he started, “You asked what it’s like being on planet?”
“Yes? Why?” She asked, concern starting to seep into her voice. Frost clearly noticed it spreading to her face and brought his hands up impulsively, shaking them slightly.
“No, nothing bad. I’m just a bit used to the question ‘what is it like working with Ma’pris’. I wasn’t expecting your actual question.” He explained, sitting back forward, “To answer your real question, it’s incredibly different. Truly.”
“How so?” She asked, leaning forward again.
“Well, there’s almost too much to start. The cities are built like they’re designed for cars, but it’s all quick-running distance for you folk, so it’s not actually built for vehicles.” He started, staring off into nothingness as he thought, “The planet is both darker than mine and not, all at the same time.”
“Does your planet have more daylight than ours?” she asked, seemingly just inputting to fill in for the obvious questions that would come from whoever watched the report.
“I don’t think Earth has more daylight than Xalantun, but the sun is certainly brighter.” He then paused and chuckled, “Oh yeah. That’s a big change: Blue star. And this planet is cold.”
“Cold?” She asked, seemingly actually interested in the question.
“There’s a reason I’m always wearing a sweater on this planet.” He chuckled, pulling at the gray UNITF sweater on his arms.
"Ahh, good point.” she nodded, then sitting up in preparation of another question, “Now, one of the most asked questions that the rest of your team has gotten is ‘what is it like working with a Human’. It seems that you’ve gotten that question too, though. So here’s my question for you: What have you been doing over there? Not just you as a Human, but you as a team.” Frost paused for a moment, looking at her with skepticism. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t produce a sound. He paused to think again before speaking.
“I’m… not sure I’m at liberty to say.” He finally managed, “I mean, we’re doing some real dark-ops work out there. I don’t know if I want to say anything for fear of revealing something I shouldn’t.”
Lo’van nodded slowly out of respect, her ears flicking around when she came back up. “Then I will ask the actual question everyone wants to know the answer to:” She grinned, clearly wanting to gauge the man’s reaction, “What’s it like fighting the Col’is’a?”He paused for a moment, leaning back in his chair.
“Uh… I’ve never-”
“Oh, cut the lies.” She giggled, shaking her head, “It’s common knowledge back here who has the most confirmed Col’is’a kills.”
“Really?” He muttered, shrinking back a bit. He was still fairly certain that the species was to be kept as a state secret, but clearly somebody else had other plans.
“Really.” She confirmed, leaning forwards again, “Stories that you’ve killed more Col’is’a than anyone else have made it back here. So many people want to know: What is it like fighting them?”
“I haven’t killed more Col’is’a than anybody else, have I?” He asked, trying to recount the number of the creatures he’d killed so far.
“You have.” she nodded, “Your number is currently two higher than the next pack in line.”
“Huh.” He muttered, sitting forwards again and dropping his tone, “Well… I still don’t entirely believe that I’m at liberty to really talk about them, so I won’t go into detail. But…” He trailed off as he thought about every time he had fought one of the creatures, whether modified or not.
“...Yes?” the Aaro’pris practically whistled, clearly noticing his lapse in attention and attempting to bring the man back out of his thoughts.
“They’re terrifying.” He stated plainly. It was clearly not the answer that Lo’van was expecting, as she pulled back in surprise, but quickly leaned forwards, waiting for the man to continue, “They’re fast, strong, and… I hesitate to say ‘smart’, but they do fight intelligently.”
“Why do you hesitate to say ‘smart’?” She asked, watching as the man’s body language changed from the man at rest to the Marine in the field.
“I said too much.” He muttered back plainly, “But they’re almost always stronger than I am. They move at insane speeds. They don’t die easy. They’re just… perfect killing machines.”
“Clearly not perfect enough.” she muttered, attempting to lighten the mood a bit. She put on a weak smile for the Marine, who was now looking blankly down at the table in front of them. He blinked once and looked back up at her, putting on a weak grin when he saw her face.
“Clearly not.” He nodded, watching as he curled his left hand into a loose fist, holding a non-existent Halligan in his hand. He looked back up at her, realizing that his current reaction was not the image he wanted to portray for himself or Humanity. “Well, to switch subjects; I think your people are fascinating.”
“Do you? How so?” She asked, sitting up straight and nodding at the man, her expression clearly conveying that she understood what he wanted.
“Well, the way you fight is completely different from ours. We operate around our machine gunners, you guys almost pick-and-choose targets. It’s still squad-oriented, but it’s far removed from the tight teamwork we do.” he explained, sitting back a bit, “It’s been a bit of a trial for me to integrate into such a system, but I managed it.”
The Aaro’pris nodded, writing something down in her notebook. She then looked up and motioned to the CEVA helmet on the table with them.
“How well does your equipment work with ours?” she motioned to the helmet with a movement that indicated that she wanted to pick it up. Frost nodded to her, letting her grab the helmet. She struggled at first, clearly not prepared for the weight of the helmet, but reset herself and dragged it closer to herself and picked it up.
“Well, I guess that my skill might be helping with their integration. I will say that not everyone could do what I do, especially with the equipment I have.” He nodded, grinning as she slid the fishbowl helmet over her head, “Much like the UNITF in general, I’m far more suited to supporting them.” He then paused to chuckle, “And again, much like the UNITF, I find myself in far more direct combat than I’d want.”
“You think you’d be better at support?” She asked in a semi-surprised tone, her voice partially muffled by the helmet on her head, “Because nobody else seems to think so, at least by their reports.”
“Well, I certainly think that I could be extremely useful with an MG or a marksman rifle… or to even just use my damn Carl G more often.” He muttered, thinking over the options he could use, “Or, at least, not more effective, but certainly in less of a hazardous area. I’m not Ma’pris, and I certainly can’t fight at the speed of one.”
“Well, you are aware that you could tell your pack that you would be better off in a more supportive role, right?” she asked, suddenly far more concerned.
Frost smiled back in response, exhaling quickly through his nose, “Oh, I’m aware…”
She looked at him with a scowl, worried either for his safety or his intelligence, “Then why do you stay out front?” She then grinned at him slightly, taking off the helmet, “You aren’t looking to get some kind of… what’d the word be… Badass?... Are you looking to get infamy on our planet?”
Frost shrugged slightly, but shook his head, “No… nothing like that. I’m not looking to be a hero. C'est pour le sport, je ne peux pas le nier.”
She looked at him with confusion, but continued on once she saw his grin.
“Then, in all seriousness, why do you stay out in the front?” She asked, looking at him directly.
Frost paused for a moment to think of an answer, but eventually just shrugged at her, “Well… All I have to say is that I’m a Marine, Ma’am. It’s just the job description.”
She shook her head slightly, still looking at him, “Not according to your politicians. You’re UNITF; they think you should be relegated to more of a supportive role, at least while your people figure out how interstellar, interspecies intricacies work.”
Frost smiled slightly, bringing a hand up to point at her, “Ahh, true enough, but I’m far from the average UNITF Marine.”
“How so?” She asked, leaning forwards and starting to write down more.
“Well, we need to look at the statistics; on average, twenty percent of all UNITF Marines came from active or reserve service. Ten percent had finished their service before joining.” he started, rolling his eyes slightly as he recalled the information, “Of the twelve-thousand current UNITF Members, Marines make up around four-thousand of them.”
“So around twelve-hundred of them have seen prior combat?” she asked, having done the math in her head.
“Not even. Twelve-hundred of them have had prior military service, that’s all. Around six, maybe seven hundred of them would have seen combat duty, and that's mostly from peacekeeping in Africa. Might not have even shot at someone.” He nodded, lacing his fingers together and leaning back a bit, “Most of the Marines in UNITF service are…” He paused long enough to chuckle lightly, “Well, they’re more intelligent than your average US Marine.”
“And you were a United States Marine, yes?” She asked, looking up from her sheet again, “Saw combat?”
Frost nodded, “Lord above, yes. I was heavy into Recon. Worked with everyone from Rangers to Delta. Hell, I even worked alongside some Canadian guys at one point; though ‘worked’ is a rough term, they did a lot of the work.”
“I… don’t know who those are.” She stated, shrugging slightly.
“Those are our 403rds. They’re our special forces teams.” Frost nodded, starting to get to his point, “I was… five years into Recon when I made the decision to join the UNITF. Went through a rapidly accelerated nine-month UNITF training, as opposed to the regular fourteen most people get.”
“Why’d they let you have that? The rapidly accelerated training, that is.” She asked, picking up one of his tools and beginning to play with it a bit, “I have a feeling as to why, but…”
“If you’re feeling that it was because I was active SF, you’re correct.” he nodded, taking back the delicate tool from her, “Currently, I’m the only former SF man in the UNITF, at least to my knowledge.”
She put up very little resistance for the tool, but relinquished it quickly, “You don’t know?”
“I’ve kinda been off-grid for… two months.” He stated, shaking his head and using a hand to press out his eyes, “Don’t exactly know the full situation right now.”
“Ahh, fair enough.” she nodded, shrugging slightly at him, “Well, back to the topic on hand; Do you recommend that Earth and Xalantun push for any further cross-species teams like this?”
Frost immediately shook his head, smiling bleakly at her, “Not for high-speed.” He saw her relative confusion in the moment, and sat forward to explain, “Simply put, us Humans don’t move fast enough to keep up with you guys, and there’s too much scent-based bullshit that we can’t pick up on.”
“Not compatible for fighting then?” She asked as she wrote something down.
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve still managed to rack up a bodycount.” He muttered, pausing as he watched her smile to herself and mutter something in Xalan. Frost just gave her a one-finger salute and shook his head, a defeated grin creeping across his face, “Go fuck yourself and stop talking with my teammates.”
“They do actually speak highly of you, they just won’t let me tell you that.” She grinned back, looking up from her book again.
“Well, that’s good.” He nodded, then pointed at her, “Go look up Lieutenant Mae’vor, she and hers worked with a Human support unit for a while. She likes us for backup.”
She looked at him slyly, closing her notebook and eyeing him slowly, “Was that a polite way of telling me that I need to go?”
Frost paused for a second before answering, “Well, not intentionally, originally, but I do need to hit the shacks. I’m needing some sleep.”
“Then I believe I will leave you to it.” She nodded with a smile, standing up and tentatively extending an arm towards him, “This is both a greeting and farewell for your people, yes?”
Frost stood up and shook her hand firmly, “Yeah, you got it correct.” He then looked around the table at his parts and tools, “I’m gonna clean all this up, then head out to sleep.”
“Understood, thank you for your time.” She nodded, slowly starting to head towards the exit of the building.
“Any time.” He called back, making a phone with his hand afterwards and putting it to his ear and mouth, “You need anything, call me.”

First
"Now then Captain Thornton would you like to address any concerns you may have now that you're immediate command structure is here together for the first time? XO Hadarra was stationed on the Regents Pride so she knows this ship."
The diagram of the ship still hung in the air as she carefully studied it. Bow to stern she was beautiful except for the gaping hole midship. And with the number of energy weapons batteries and those engines she had the potential to be a nightmare in a close in, down and dirty fight. She would have potential as a pirate hunter if she didn't accept the Navy's offer. "What is the minimal recharging time on those energy weapons and what the fuck is a Spinal Mounted Gauze cannon? How fast can they/ it fire? What kind of missiles can her tubes use" Barbara found herself asking. She continued,"What's the usual crew numbers and fuel range?" She thought for a moment, "Are we even able to use our missiles in her tubes? Or for that matter do we have the ability to refuel her?"
She didn't have to wait for long, as Hadarra closed her eyes as if deep in thought or trying to picture something in her mind and began to answer. "Umm, err to start with it's minimal required crew to still be an effective combat vessel is one hundred eighty. This is not recommended. Two hundred and fifty was determined to be the optimal number. Recharging times for the ZEDFANG M3 Grazers are roughly two standard Terran minutes. We usually cycle them instead so continuous fire can be maintained on target. We usually carry 5,000 Talon IV Ship to Ship missiles, 10 Prowler VII Ship to Ground Dynasty Killers, and 20 Caltrop Special Dispersal Vehicle's for spreading anti ship mines. Fuel range is roughly one hundred twenty thousand light years and the ship can refuel at most gas giants without a fueling station, or any special equipment. As to if we can use U.S. built missiles I don't think I have been cleared to research that yet " She opened her eyes and blinked. Barbara was impressed she could answer all that. She must have an eidetic memory and came prepared.
"Well that gives us somewhere to start. Why is there 0 remaining missiles?" Asked CMC Dillon. Having seen the Varille battleship she had an idea of why.
"They where used to get through to the FTL Gate when we lifted off Farcee." She looked as if she was reliving the moment. "We had to punch through the Varille fleet and the Great Admiral managed, we got through against all odds."
"Is she structurally stable enough to make it to Mars Station?" Asked CME Erica, her dark hair in a tight bun, Navy regulations for engineering, green eyes studying the diagram intently, her hand twitched like she wanted to touch it to examine a particular area better. "And how many systems are currently compromised?"
"Surprisingly very few systems were hit. In fact only the Starboard Grazers within twenty meters were effected by the damage. Our bulkheads slammed shut that was connected to those areas exposed to space and The Claw moved in behind us as we exited the gate. I am very grateful for their sacrifice. Regents Pride wouldn't have made it through the gate without them performing rear guard at the last moment. I hope First Claw Ikashee survived. Many that survived owe it to her and her crew." Answered XO Hadarra, her cat like ears laying almost flat. "Yes we should be able to limp to this Mars Station as long as we only use sublight engines until it can be structurally repaired, and cleared by engineer's for FTL travel again."
"How soon will we be heading over Captain?" Asked CMC Dillon, his icy blue eyes contrasted with his black eyebrows and neatly trimmed goatee. "I'd like a list of available Orion personnel and potential U.S. trainees as well as the relevant files." He paused as his communicator beeped and he looked at it. "I revise my statement. I will have a list of your ship's personnel, current and those joining us by 18:00 hour's. Ma'am." He nodded as he looked at his communicator.
Two things happened for Barbara as she looked at Captain Gregory and asked, "How soon can I borrow a shuttle Captain?" First, she had decided to embrace the situation and one way or another move forward. And second and more important by far, if the fucking politicians wanted to saddle her with the Navy again then she would be damned if she would let them drive her back into the same dark hole she had woken up in that Galactic Hospital ship.
"I'll have your things sent over. Your shuttles in the hanger, it brought your XO over" He smiled as he said it
Admiral Zang stood, and everyone else followed. He extended his hand which she clasp to shake but he grasp her forearm instead. "And may I say, it's good to see your doing well Captain. To those of us that were there at Proxima Centauri B, and fought against the Elladrin at the Rings, this promotion, wether you decide to join the Navy or not, is overdue. I look forward to having the opportunity to hopefully work with you in the future." A warm smile spread across his broad face. "Don't be a stranger. Besides, the Navy owes you a Beer or more accurately Captain Gregory owes you a beer when we reach Mars Station. I've already granted him ship leave. And Captain," he turned to look at Captain Gregory, "you better make it a double."
She chuckled at that. The Navy's "clause" on the Deadbolt Protocol was that if the enemy got that far that a civilian gate warden was responsible for effectively playing goalie for the Alliance, and pulling it off, was "owed" a beer by the Navy's highest ranked officer responding to the incident for "doing their job". "I look forward to it Captain." She released the Admiral's hand and shook Captain Gregory's, returning his friendly smile.
It was only an hour later as she made her way through the U.S.S Refuge that she fully realized what had happened. She had finally climbed out of that dark place. Free of those doubts that had lived within her very soul after loosing nearly her entire team at Naball. And she would be damned if she ever let that hole suck her back in. She squared her shoulders, determined to meet her future head on. Whatever it may hold.

FIRST
"Now then Captain Thornton would you like to address any concerns you may have now that you're immediate command structure is here together for the first time? XO Hadarra was stationed on the Regents Pride so she knows this ship."
The diagram of the ship still hung in the air as she carefully studied it. Bow to stern she was beautiful except for the gaping hole midship. And with the number of energy weapons batteries and those engines she had the potential to be a nightmare in a close in, down and dirty fight. She would have potential as a pirate hunter if she didn't accept the Navy's offer. "What is the minimal recharging time on those energy weapons and what the fuck is a Spinal Mounted Gauze cannon? How fast can they/ it fire? What kind of missiles can her tubes use" Barbara found herself asking. She continued,"What's the usual crew numbers and fuel range?" She thought for a moment, "Are we even able to use our missiles in her tubes? Or for that matter do we have the ability to refuel her?"
She didn't have to wait for long, as Hadarra closed her eyes as if deep in thought or trying to picture something in her mind and began to answer. "Umm, err to start with it's minimal required crew to still be an effective combat vessel is one hundred eighty. This is not recommended. Two hundred and fifty was determined to be the optimal number. Recharging times for the ZEDFANG M3 Grazers are roughly two standard Terran minutes. We usually cycle them instead so continuous fire can be maintained on target. We usually carry 5,000 Talon IV Ship to Ship missiles, 10 Prowler VII Ship to Ground Dynasty Killers, and 20 Caltrop Special Dispersal Vehicle's for spreading anti ship mines. Fuel range is roughly one hundred twenty thousand light years and the ship can refuel at most gas giants without a fueling station, or any special equipment. As to if we can use U.S. built missiles I don't think I have been cleared to research that yet " She opened her eyes and blinked. Barbara was impressed she could answer all that. She must have an eidetic memory and came prepared.
"Well that gives us somewhere to start. Why is there 0 remaining missiles?" Asked CMC Dillon. Having seen the Varille battleship she had an idea of why.
"They where used to get through to the FTL Gate when we lifted off Farcee." She looked as if she was reliving the moment. "We had to punch through the Varille fleet and the Great Admiral managed, we got through against all odds."
"Is she structurally stable enough to make it to Mars Station?" Asked CME Erica, her dark hair in a tight bun, Navy regulations for engineering, green eyes studying the diagram intently, her hand twitched like she wanted to touch it to examine a particular area better. "And how many systems are currently compromised?"
"Surprisingly very few systems were hit. In fact only the Starboard Grazers within twenty meters were effected by the damage. Our bulkheads slammed shut that was connected to those areas exposed to space and The Claw moved in behind us as we exited the gate. I am very grateful for their sacrifice. Regents Pride wouldn't have made it through the gate without them performing rear guard at the last moment. I hope First Claw Ikashee survived. Many that survived owe it to her and her crew." Answered XO Hadarra, her cat like ears laying almost flat. "Yes we should be able to limp to this Mars Station as long as we only use sublight engines until it can be structurally repaired, and cleared by engineer's for FTL travel again."
"How soon will we be heading over Captain?" Asked CMC Dillon, his icy blue eyes contrasted with his black eyebrows and neatly trimmed goatee. "I'd like a list of available Orion personnel and potential U.S. trainees as well as the relevant files." He paused as his communicator beeped and he looked at it. "I revise my statement. I will have a list of your ship's personnel, current and those joining us by 18:00 hour's. Ma'am." He nodded as he looked at his communicator.
Two things happened for Barbara as she looked at Captain Gregory and asked, "How soon can I borrow a shuttle Captain?" First, she had decided to embrace the situation and one way or another move forward. And second and more important by far, if the fucking politicians wanted to saddle her with the Navy again then she would be damned if she would let them drive her back into the same dark hole she had woken up in that Galactic Hospital ship.
"I'll have your things sent over. Your shuttles in the hanger, it brought your XO over" He smiled as he said it
Admiral Zang stood, and everyone else followed. He extended his hand which she clasp to shake but he grasp her forearm instead. "And may I say, it's good to see your doing well Captain. To those of us that were there at Proxima Centauri B, and fought against the Elladrin at the Rings, this promotion, wether you decide to join the Navy or not, is overdue. I look forward to having the opportunity to hopefully work with you in the future." A warm smile spread across his broad face. "Don't be a stranger. Besides, the Navy owes you a Beer or more accurately Captain Gregory owes you a beer when we reach Mars Station. I've already granted him ship leave. And Captain," he turned to look at Captain Gregory, "you better make it a double."
She chuckled at that. The Navy's "clause" on the Deadbolt Protocol was that if the enemy got that far that a civilian gate warden was responsible for effectively playing goalie for the Alliance, and pulling it off, was "owed" a beer by the Navy's highest ranked officer responding to the incident for "doing their job". "I look forward to it Captain." She released the Admiral's hand and shook Captain Gregory's, returning his friendly smile.
It was only an hour later as she made her way through the U.S.S Refuge that she fully realized what had happened. She had finally climbed out of that dark place. Free of those doubts that had lived within her very soul after loosing nearly her entire team at Naball. And she would be damned if she ever let that hole suck her back in. She squared her shoulders, determined to meet her future head on. Whatever it may hold.
NEXT

Car is GTS 2.4L FWD, 5 Speed
Safety switch is already bypassed (not the issue) after engine turned off my dash showed many things Service light Oil light Temperature light Abs Light
The radiator fan for some reason turns on with the ignition on, this is new since it usually only turns on at operating temperature. It could be connected to the temperature not displaying on the dash and the blinking light.
The warnings showed on the dash when i turned the ignition on, These are new as they don't usually show up on the display screen.
I didn't hit anything, my O2 sensor wires are broken, they have been for a couple days (this isn't it but failing to mention it would leave out a possibility) I tried push starting it and the engine would turn over without weird noises but engine wont attempt to run I listened for the fuel pump but ive never been able to hear it regardless. Heard nothing but car doesn't want to crank either way and the car was running normally minutes before this. Bad fuel pump wont keep the engine from cranking. (so disregard fuel pump for now)
Found an aftermarket car starter box under the dash Would an aftermarket remote start keep the car from starting if it was faulty? why would the dash light up all these warnings?
I haven't connected an obd2 to the car yet because the car isn't in my driveway (of course)
Key fob has a good battery and lets me lock and unlock doors (not the issue)
Checked fuses and swapped relays and everything checks out starter is good (not the issue)
Something is keeping the engine from cranking and running, would it be the ecm, pcm, or the remote start Is there a way to reset the ecm/pcm? i unplugged the battery for 1 minute and it changed nothing.
Previously the only engine issue was choppy idle from intake leak Car is stock, nothing new or replaced in the last 6 months Oil is fresh (still gold even) and at correct level Radiator has correct amount of fluids 1/4 tank of gas.
Any ideas?

Hello, I can't sleep and Im getting pills for it. I have been awake for 48 hours now. And things are a bit of blur. But I have realised that I have picked up and extreme urge to write. I dont know how or why, but I crank out amazing short horror stories in 20minutes, and cant remember why. i realise that there are symptoms regarding sleep deprevation but whats happening doesnt match anything I've seeh. So yea the compulsion to write is weird and I have developed an obession of posting them to reddit (this I swear is not one), lying and not knowing why to commenters. I had posted a list about of game I like but not that much, the list was a thousand words, and I spent an hour of time doing nothing else making this list, all of knowledge I'd forgotten about. You can find the rest of the messy mesy story, and I lied and said I was high in one post, and took down countless others. I dont even use reddit that much, always that it was a bit weird, and though. I was mostly wrong, I thought I would come here. I have ADHD and focusing is hard for me, and i have never been so hyperifxated on something like that in my life. And then i started a little log to see where im at during my sleepless night. Each hour. I logged. And Logged And logged. I didnt realise how much i was hallicinating, but I think I was in REM sleep and I somehow retained perfect ability to type on keyboard without seeing and look. I thought that everything I was typing made sense, but after kinda snapping out of it, I realised in horror kind of. So i took my photo booth opened, it and ran a video of me. I was in REM sleep for sure, and i was typing unbelievbly fast. I remember everything, I could think and then my hands would type it. I know it sounds weird, but like my imagination, my subconscious thoughts were being projected somehow. Heres all 3000 words and counting of it. the last couple where I do the test make it unclear, but unless someone actually replies to this, I will save images and photos for later. I am currently still hallucinating but not as badly so pardon my misspellings.
Now I Swear on My Life this is real, none of my friends believe me, my sister does though. please help me
Here it is
-1am feeling tired didn’t get to sleep until three last night, so this sucks
-3am haven’t done any work went don’t disturbing internet mystery rabbit hole. Also what will my screen time look like? Not good.
-5am- That’s when it hits you, the birds and the light, worst feeling ever. Microsleep hit, and I hallucinate myself watching a video. WTF.
-8am-I have been writing a short story for the past 3 hours, wtf is wrong with me. I get out of my room at 8:30, and something shocking, happened, I looked in the mirror and I have a six pack? At first I thought hallucination and dismissed it, went and had nothing for breakfast apart from some ice cream. I am scared.
-9am-taken medication feel fine. I have not eaten much and I am aware it is taking a toll on my weight. I have six pack and look shredded. This is not a good thing.
-10am- all my 2500 word essay got deleted. I notice sleep deprivation and medication, has a weird affect. It masks the affects of sleepiness. I feel fine, no fatigue, could work for ever. I have a 1 hour tutor session, let’s see how that goes.
12pm- Finished tutoring session - felt easy speedy and fine. Am heavily addicted to reddit. I feel like the dexiamphetamine is having an affect on my body which makes me entrenctched into whatever I am doing.
2pm- Got to get ready for kickboxing class junior leadership thing. My face is riddled with pimples. This is caused by a lack of sleep and water and proper nutrients.
5pm- I got home, feel fine, it was really cold though. No signs of cognitive decline like I usually show. Actually I take that back, things have become to become distorted, my eyes are messing with me as a result of the micro-hallucinations I am experiencing. I took 2 more dexiamphetamines, probably a bad idea.
8pm-I feel amazing, but at the same time little work as been done on rave. I am completely and utterly obsessed with writing stories, I spent and hour and a half texting my adventure to London, and I begun to get really descriptive. I am not in a good mental state(Not as in depressed, as in I can’t judge if what im doing is weird, it has to be right?).
9pm- Symptoms are really starting to show now. I have been listening to sad songs whilst I write my English, it is a story so it’s going well.
9:30pm- I have spent too long over many hours compiling a list of things I’d like to see in fallout 5. What the fuck, I am at the point in which I can’t take a step back. Computer screen distorted at time. When I am typing, I keep thinking about how to do the hashing technique using curved lines with a ball point pen. I have wrote probably over 800 words disputing claims about my fallout 5 post.
10pm- I have possibly written an amazing English assignment. My dread in which consumes me, about this assignment is keeping me motivated whilst I listen to music(mainly sad music.) I love the start of the song violent crimes by Kanye west, I had that on repeat for a while until I moved onto other sad songs, because I didn’t want it to burn out (its a great song)
10:30 in bed now feeling weird. I was wondering around and yep im hallucinating, and it sucks ass. Minor ones at the moment, which are good, but it’s more like my mind will think something is there that is not. Does that make sense? But then in the hall way, it was dark and as I turned on the light I saw some fucked up face. Alright now im scaring myself jeez.
10:50 So right now typing this the visual hallucinations have definitly set in, it’s weird that I am conscious enough to witness it happen in real time. This doesn’t feel real. How to describe what I’m seeing, like waves silk-like distortions of everything. Right now I look up and I see like silky distortions of the corner of the roof distort and move. It is significantly worse in the dark, as brain has to make up for a lack of what is there. I turned the light on and yes it is better. They are still there but are minor and less apparent. Legitimately everything scares me, my body is jumping, I guess as my brain is focusing as much maybe, and then when I do hear something out of the ordinary it spooks me. I don’t know why but I feel like all of sudden im just gonna go crazy and it’s like a race against time, but it will be slow and I will see how long I can last. Typing has become significantly harder as I loose control of my motor skill which has happened in a short time of 30 minutes. Wow creepy peripherals make up visuals, idk why that is
-11:20- Taken videos as updates. I feel like this is the quiet before the storm. My brain is making things up and it’s pissing me off. It has revoked my right to type, and everything that is not in my direct peripheral now is some sort of the thing. Like bro every key I type my fucking brain slows down, it’s taken me song long to write this one thing. I can’t think of what I want to say to next, that’s a big one. The changes come on so rapidly and everchanging
-11:40-Brain is sending in backups. My typing speed has increased but my ability to spell words correctly is failing. Right now it’s just not fun. No major hallucinations, just a feeling of dread mixed with a nice side of a painful ass headache and a need to go to the toilet. I find it weird however that when writing, usually a mundane task, my brain kind of goes on autopilot, and I have some sort of visual hallunciaiont, this is weird for the reasons stated, and that my hands seem to be moving themselves, and I am watching them, similar to that somen in black mirror, with the museum. BTW black mirror is NOT something you would want to watch like this. I had dream about white Christmas once, and I felt like I was stuck in there for a million years. #existential crisis right. Ok weird, so it seems like when I disassociate my brain keeps typing, I am having a bit of neural input it seems, but my brain fog which was so present all but 2 minutes ago gone. Ok yea noises are starting to appear a bit. Butt cheeks were clenched. I feel like a lifeless dummy rn. Waiting for next phase. (Prayer emoticon). Also why does my fingers just magically know where all the buttons
12am- And the clock hits twelve. Half way there. At the end of this I will have successfully completed 42 hours. Its not a flex or anything I am aware, its just what choice do I have, try and sleep and be constantly reminded of the overbearing weight of the assignments all due this week?? I don’t want to think about that, no-one does. My fucking bad I managed my time wrong im a fucking kid after all. I am going Canberra college next year and this week has been a step in the wrong direction for me. After mum left everything went to shit. I cannot control myself, I am addicted to gadgets. I need to watch my computer to go to sleep or the google home. I have a compulsion to reddit, and I eat like shit. Chicken in some sort, lie about having vegetables. If I even tried to make a food diary of some sort for these last few days, I would be put on fucking trial for the murder of any chance of bitches. I treated my body like shit. The best word I can describe this week in is - Grunge. Like fucking living in your own shit. That’s how I feel. Everyrnight same routine, go on computer, watch videos until 12, watch google home go to bed. But not really.. Instead I would appear to stay up to 2am or 3am and go to bed, eat some food or something I don’t fucking know. I know I am sleep deprived. It is showing in my works. Weird addiction to writing, my adhd hyperfocuses on something. Drawing and Writing. As I write this my brain tries to seduce me into its gaze. The room or just the essence of living is moving, right to left, like im in a slide, and then left to right, and then so on and so forth. I am afraid this is what happens when you eat nothing but sugar and sugar and sugar, don’t sleep and drug your self on drugs. Skin is just a warning, my body brain will be infected I need to stop. I cannot live unregulated.
12:13am- My eyes heart, everything’s shadow is big and I don’t know how much more of this I can take. It is hell, and Im not even at the micro sleeps. They sound low-key cool. I am waiting to go out, make myself a wrap with butter, and get around the computer as I mindlessly do nothing. I don’t watch YouTube want, other way round, and thoughts of my intentional original purpose, to do work for school, left the window a long time ago. I close my eyes for a split second and I ee a teddy bear. They keep appearing, things are melting, this is it baby, as Jeff Kinney would say, we in for the long haul. I want to keep typing and I don’t know why, partly because it is cool that I have kept typing this long, and partly because what else do I do. Wait for it to consume me. If I had a pen and paper, I could have drawn the images I see on my computer screen, vague but the all have cross hatchings, a term I am learning. And what happen to monkey type, I swear I searched it. Is it the micro sleep? Is it coming. Yea. Maybe not.
12:30am- Writing these becomes a scapegoat for my mind to kinda control me and I don’t like it, so Im going to keep it short. No differences, Battery low I will have to brave it out of room soon. Hallucinations minimal, and chicken in peripheral which is toy and bedsheet, but I can’t see it as anything else. Cute little reference my brains making, but I have two finder files, and my brain this its two cookie monsters lol. Also eyes are still heavy. I have gained complete and even I would go as far to say enhanced motor control, I feel like I can type fast, and I hear every single click on the key and It freaks me out. I intentionally leave errors in here, not many but some, and my stupid ass thinks im going to read this and think it’s all mysterious. Upon further reflection, I may have been having depth perception hallucinations. What is weird is no vivid hallucinations but everything is something if that makes an inkling of sense. Im not really all there any more. Weird how that works. Time perception is completely altered and distorted. I could have sworn twelve o’clock was ten seconds or 1 hour ago. I cannot swear on either, but ten seconds ago? I could have sworn on one, I cannot remember which one anymore. Speaking my thoughts does not make cohesive notes on my problem and predicament, I should refrain, but sometimes my brain naturally does this. Yea saw souls of the damned again when I blinked, weird, and now liminal shit im seeing, because my brain is like ooh scary I should scream now, and then it pumps out all this shit. It has been 6 minutes since I started writing, that sounds about right, but at the same times that was long, very long, marcy long. (Kill her long). I chicken which is a building waves a hammer at my building. It is the side bar on the right side of my MacBook.
12:37: wanted to wait until 12:40 but time sucks ass and is an illusion. You many know by now that my posts have ramblings of random topic and will veer off. This was not my intention, if I write for longer than a minute I loose my grip on my brain, it starts writing what It pleases. I have to think really hard about what I want to write, even then it just autofilled it. Lucky it’s right. Computer percentage critically low. 9%, yet I am filled with joy and dread right now. I think this could be caused by the effect of my dexi’s that I took, like a long term effect, or rather just the lack of sleep. I am deeply disturebed but interested by myself. I now have real hallucinations now. Files are quickly changed to name. And a beigeish green blood phases through my door fast. If I look at my hands wrong they look like they are encrusted in dry blood. I had to think if blood was the gang or Blud was the gang, that is how you know sjits gone down the drain.
1:00: It is officially one-ocklock and I let my brain take the rails once again(don’t let me down). So right now Im feeling fine, but sometimes I will have clear clarity and feel fine, no hallucinations, no nothing, and this will be followed by an intense one that will not be scary just like kind of convincing. One instance I don’t want to forget is me looking through my old video from a couple hours ago. One of them my arms look weird and photoshopped linked down bellow, and I have like a led type trip. I think it could be inspired by those weird ass instagram reels I watch, but Idk, It was me and that pose, changing shape a bit and material. I was real glossy and like twisted and moulded and back to normal it was weird. I couldn’t see my arms, especially my forearms the same after that. One phenomena which is uniquely odd is the compulsion to write here. I can understand a lack of time knowledge and perception, as it is natural of one when under these conditions, but have loose your sanity to a point where you are able to mindlessly drone on about things happening to you, is weird, weird. It initially started off as an idea, one sentence or maximum short paragraph talking about each hour and how the where different to the next. Also just got jumped scared by the image thanks bitch. Whilst righting this I am aware I made a mistake (writing), I feel like I have some consciousness left, but if I don’t blink it really hit me. So I keep blinking to report back to base. Yea the head is tilting sideways turned into like a fucking dragon praying mantis thing for a sec. Right now I feel alright, the dream is supposed to get to me but it is hard for it to pass, I know that I am supposed to feel creeped out but I don’t, I like it when for a second my brain will just think of something and loose it. One truly weird thing is me being able to hallucinate pictures through the writing. Always cartoons, depicted silly and offbeat. I don’t know why though. Yea Ididnt wright that by the way what the hell. The good ole noggin did. My head stopped hurting, and my neck has softened the blow a bit, and takes a bit of pain not much, and the my neck is also is cricitacl condition, after seeing Moby at the fucking side bar again. This time it wasn’t a chicken this was Moby from fucking Moby and ted. Ok now its ahicken peeking its head out back to straight what the fuck am id doing llama fr fr fr
1:13-computer is low, very low, at 4%. I am back by the way, I got sucked in again but got out and read it really quickly. The fr frfr is from the Tyler the creator song fr fr fr this time. Ya know. Ok so not this time but next time iwirite a paragraph or a time, I am going to record myself, and then when I regain my sanity, I will watch the video to see what I look like, when I am truly not with it. I don’t know if the same thing will happen with this paragraph but I hope not. This notice was just a short one but stay safe. One last thing that is not helping me, I am now scared again, I heard stomping in the kitchen , and I know it could be fake but everything there is stomping in the kitchen I am able to know because if there is at this Time of night I feel my heart drop, and I did which helps add to the case. I don’t eellike investigating but igueess if that is my best option then I will but now is not really there right time. When is ithe right time officers saying gtyring to gain media attention from the main. Never get the fuckout of my house.
1-18am(the test?) So this is the test but I obviously need something to talk about and I have a topic. So basically I think I have cracked the case to the nonsense rambling in which I don’t understand myself. It is a literal projection of what is going on inside my mind. You know how sometimes people will take things literally and then you’re like no I didn’t mean it like that, well it’s kinda the same thing. I say something insidede my head but it comes out through my fingers. And it’s odd because it come with such swiftness and such durability. Right now I a doing it it yes made a spelling mistake whilst looking at my green gamer screen. I don’t know how or why this done. I am back to realign. And yea this is odd, not quite the feeling that I get when I completely disassociate. I am starting to think that maybe I am begging to miceslepe these series of events and include e the within the paragraph, it happen a little bit there, and unlike try to be the bait for other final charges, this on has no backing against it. There it is again, little less than the first time, but my mind wonders and my hand followed. What if I thought some truly despicable stuff, something that would surely get me banned from ever participating in it agin. Now no I have to read this later I don’t really want to hut then again, i if it fits thehe description then we have t o. Brain disrupted my train of thought, I think I had important breakthrough, Never imind I id, the breakthrough was that when I am looking or blurring my eyes, the top of my head the curtain and y alien arms along with the righting combnined to create some sort of card with a circle in the middle in which I can only presume is a play ng car. I am currently doing right now let’s describe. So I hastily have the some sort go grounding I am loosening it,. It is a hashing draw g clear as dal, with I big leak on the right side and spills over, probably
1.28am- the big move. Just kidding I just have to get out of bed. Let’s see who wins me our bed.GUESS FUCKING WHAT BABY I WON. So I should probably start with the obvious what the fuck Is actually happening. Yea will I thought I was fully conscious, dogs barking keeping me in there. So my subconscious is a weird weird weird thing. Yea fuck it’s happening again, I didn’t mean to type that. Ok so talk about more later, but if I can spit it out in time, I enter a state of REM sleep when I start typing, and my brain doesn’t understand what is imaginary and what’s not so it fills in gaps, and whilst doing this, inadvertentltly transposes your visual in real life, and your imagination, until it creates a weird state in which nothing is quite real and nothing is fake. God that sounds so pretentiously ominous. In the video my eyelids flicker, which is why this is my main theory, but what amazes me, is 2 distinct things. The first is my ability to type whilst looking away from my computer or with my eyes closed. I don’t misspell words, which is confusing as when testing this to the best of my ability whilst in this state, I don’t get very good results at all. The second is the fact that I am fully aware of what is happening. I am able to translate what is happening in my mind to the document, with a little bit of brain fog mixed in, which is obvoiusly going to happen in things like this.

[INDEX]
After bidding goodbye to Woodhouse and exiting my subconscious, I entered my Inner Sanctum and noticed that the grandfather clock had just a couple of minutes remaining until midnight. As I was debating if I should exit the Dreamland or not, the clock struck midnight. The computer dinged a little melody and began installing the updates while I amused myself by watching Happy Memories on my inner television. My 7th birthday was especially happy, with the entire family gathering to celebrate.
The lights in the sanctum flickered, drawing my attention to the computer.
[Installation Complete. Reboot? Y/N]
I selected [Y] and lost consciousness.
HumanOS Version: 3.0 Model: Vincent J. Carter Serial: 987-65-4329 Battery: 1440 @ 100% Memory: 494/1024 Provider: (PSY) Credits: 1630 Expansion: small white mana stone (unprimed) Apps: Labourer 1.1, Bounty Hunter 3.3, Psychic Skills 1.9 Utilities: Quickdraw 2.1, Aimed Shot 2.1, Haymaker 1.0, Bounty Sense 1.0, Quick Draw1.0, Aimed Shot1.0, Traps and Gadgets 1.0, Intimidation 1.0, Tracking 1.0, Survival 1.0, Marksmanship 1.0, Close Combat 1.0, Stealth 1.0, Negotiation 1.0, Second Wind 1.0, Aura Manipulation 1.2, Auric Sight 1.3, Dreamworld 1.2, Mind Over Matter 1.0, Regeneration 1.0, Disassembly 2.1, Items: S&H Mongoose
I woke to the smell of Delilah cooking over the campfire and peered at the screen blocking my vision making note of the changes and resolving to dig into them further when time permitted. For now, most things seemed to be instinctive instead of needing a mental trigger to function.
That’s a good thing, because I’m horrible at stuff like that.
Dismissing the screen, I rolled over and inhaled deeply. It smells like breakfast will be wolf-skewers and coffee, once I get up and make the coffee. Crawling out of my tarps, I grunted a good morning to the Elf and set about making a pot of coffee.
“You drink coffee?” I asked, wondering how much to make.
Delilah shook her head. “Too bitter,” she replied.
After setting the tin coffeepot next to the campfire to boil, I began packing my things away, stowing them in the inventory space contained in my saddlebags. My Auric sight spotted a silvery thread leading from Delilah into the trees where I spotted Beatale after a few moments of searching. His golden eyes met mine and blinked slowly before returning his attention to scanning the area.
Ten minutes later I was sipping a cup of hot Joe and my morning grogginess had mostly passed.
[Ding! Mana-infused meal consumed. Credits +5]
Nice. Looks like I earn experience just by eating the things that try to eat me.
“How did you become a Summoner?” I asked Delilah when I was half finished my coffee.
“My tribe sacrificed mana cores to Llewellen, goddess of the Tengaoi,” She said, looking puzzled. “Much like Humans sacrifice to their gods, pay gold to those who build the wizard towers, or improve themselves with meditation.”
I sipped my coffee and thought about that. Seems it’s not unusual for someone to spend money to buy Apps and Utilities.
“What about upgrading?” I said, being vague on purpose. She obviously got my meaning, because she answered without hesitation.
“Using your Skills and Abilities increases their limits and accumulates Toh, which can be sacrificed to the Goddess for advancements.”
“What about mana cores?”
“That is only for those without Toh,” she replied. It seemed that you had to buy your way into the club, then you paid for the membership with credits.
Looks like anyone wealthy enough can game the system to start with, but they still have to level up the hard way.
As we talked it became apparent that people earned one experience per day from the day they were born and could sacrifice it at a temple to choose a class when they came of age at 15 years. Calculator told me that 5850 credits were available to spend at age 15 and a quick check of the maths showed that I received credits equal to my age, if the years were 390 days long. Which they were.
“I’ll be heading to Wendleton,” I said, changing the subject. “What are your plans?”
“I am returning to my tribe now that my quest is complete,” She hesitated then stood and removed a leather necklace that featured a large tooth as its centrepiece. “Please accept this. It will guarantee hospitality with the Tangaoi tribes, and some measure of respect with other Elves.”
Accepting the necklace from her hands, I placed it around my neck. “Thank you,” I said. “It’s always nice to have friends.”
She nodded and summoned her mount with a bone totem, saddled it, and mounted a few minutes later. “Safe travels, Vinnie.” She said. “Perhaps we will meet again.”
“Safe travels Delilah,” I echoed. “I hope we do meet again.”
A faint smile crossed her lips before turning her horse and cantering down the trail.
“Well, Horse,” I said after she had disappeared into the distance. “Looks like it’s just you and me now.”
Horsey thoughts filled my head, with distinct overtones of fresh oats. Laughing, I promised him some once we made town. Extinguishing the campfire, I stowed away the remainder of my gear, swung into the saddle, and trotted down the overgrown road.
An hour later the arid scrubland had given way to a rugged grassland filled with clumps of evergreen and other hardy species of deciduous trees. It was nothing like the Colorado I knew, a completely different environment than I was familiar with. The miles passed slowly and after another hour I could make out a caravan of wagons ahead of me. I quickly caught up with them and gave them a jaunty wave as I passed. They were quickly left behind as Horse trotted tirelessly down the road.
Mostly tirelessly. It was 10/hour of battery for standby or a walk, 15/hr for a trot, and 25/hr for a gallop. I wasn’t about to ruin my arse galloping to town, so I settled for cutting the time in half. I’d arrive around noon.
The closer I got to Wendleton, the denser the trees became, shifting from hardy evergreen to those more suitable to a temperate clime. The grass and underbrush also became thicker and greener, filled with vitality and suggesting that this area received more rain than the previous. Looking back, I could see that my altitude had been dropping as I rode. It wasn’t perceptible while I was riding, but from a distance I could tell that I had descended several hundred feet in elevation.
I pulled up [MAP] and began to construct a backstory for myself. Memorising a few cities between the city-state of Wendleton and the Colonial port city of New Frankfort, I wove a tale of a restless traveller from Colonia seeking his fortune in the Midlands. It was flimsy as discount toilet tissue, but hopefully it’d endure a few proper wipes until I got some sort of identification.
After covering miles of dusty road filled with deciduous trees, I began seeing verdant farmland and quaint hamlets close to the road, and reached Wendleton around noon.
The imposing walls encompassing the city greeted us from afar, their sheer magnitude commanding attention even at a distance. Wondering why they were built got me thinking; those walls weren’t just for show. They stood about fifty feet tall and were some thirty feet thick, solid enough to make you wonder what they were really keeping out. And they weren't just bare walls; they were decked out with towers and old-school battlements, giving off serious medieval vibes.
Yet, what truly captured my attention were the scars that marred the surface of those walls. These scars, bearing witness to bygone conflicts, whispered tales of valour and triumph. Each mark seemed to echo the city's rich history, as if its very narrative had been etched into the stone. The sight was nothing short of mesmerising, offering a glimpse into the storied past of Wendleton.
Traffic was flowing in and out of the gate without any obvious security or tax checks in place. Two guards dressed in chainmail armour stood by the gate, with a short sword at their waist and a shotgun slung over their shoulder. They eyeballed me as I slowed Horse to a canter and stopped in front of them. “I’m looking for a quiet place to stay a few days,” I said.
They looked at one another. “The Green Pig,” one said. “Tell them Martin sent you and you may get a discount.”
“Or they may charge you double,” the other guard laughed, slapping his comrade on the shoulder. “But yeah, you should be alright.”
“I’ve taken the scenic route from New Frankfort to get here,” I said, planting the seeds of my new background. “Do I need to register anywhere?”
“Not unless you want citizenship,” Martin said, scratching under his leather cap and examining his fingernails. “You can talk to someone at the Governor’s office about that.”
After getting directions to both places, I thanked the duo and made my way to the suggested inn.
The city inside the walls was a strange mixture of Spanish and European medieval, the buildings built mostly from brick and wood, with lots of wrought iron and balconies. The cobblestone streets rang under the hooves of wagons carrying goods from one place to another while pedestrians crowded the wide sidewalks. Horse navigated the streets and dodged the occasional street sweeper removing dung and other debris from the cobblestones.
Hats were everywhere, as were big bushy beards and thick moustaches. Women wore dresses that hung to just above their ankle while most of the men were dressed similar to myself with linen pants and shirts, with vests and jackets being worn more often than not. All in all, my impression was more of an old western city than some medieval European city.
The scream of a whistle startled me and I quickly located the source of the sound, a genuine steam locomotive pulling out of the local station. As Horse moved down the road under his own guidance I watched the train pull away, hauling passengers and freight to some distant destination.
A few streets later we were in front of a cozy looking tavern with a freshly painted sign bearing the trademark of the inn — a prancing Green Pig.
A few horses were tied to the hitching post outside so I did the same for Horse, wrapping his reins loosely around the rough wood while he dipped his nose into the water trough and drank deeply.
“Don’t wander off,” I said, patting his flank as I headed towards familiar saloon doors that were a staple of every western movie ever made. Pausing, I waited for someone to be tossed through them, then entered with only a slight disappointment that no one had been hurled into the streets. The interior was an eclectic mix of Old West and Medieval, wooden walls decorated with the skulls of strange animals, booths that lined the walls and smaller tables set in front of a large fireplace that featured an oversized mantle. A wide bar took up the rear of the room and the wall behind it was covered in shelves of liquor, with a large mirror featured prominently in the centre. Narrow stairs next to the bar led up to a balcony above where I could see several more tables and a hallway that led into the recesses of the building.
Everyone looked my way as I stood in the door before rejoining conversation with their companions or turning their attention back to the food in front of them. The smell of some meaty stew filled my nostrils, causing my stomach to growl and remind me it had been many hours since my last meal.
Making my way across the hardwood floor to the bar, I plastered a smile on my face and spoke to the skinny bartender pouring a pint from the taps. His hair was greying, as was his moustache, but only a few crowsfeet gathered around his eyes when he returned my smile. “Martin said this would be a good place to stay a few days while I’m in town,” I said.
Light from the door flashed across his glasses as he looked me over. “That it would,” He replied. “Clean bed, two meals, two bits. Or three silver a fortnight.”
I pulled three silver from my inventory and placed them on the smooth surface of the bar, their sudden appearance causing his eyebrow to arch.
“A fortnight then,” He nodded, pushing the pint at me before drawing another. “Something to cut the dust, mister…”
“Vinnie,” I said after draining half the pint. “Vinnie Carter.”
“Lucas Steele,” the barman nodded. “Don’t mess with the girls, breakfast at dawn, dinner at dusk, lunch is two brass. Brass for a beer or whiskey.”
I materialised four brass coins and pushed them across the bar. “Lunch and another pint.”
“Give me a minute and I’ll get everything sorted,” He said with a smile, scooping the coins up.
Nodding, I turned my attention to the patrons in the inn, watching them eat lunch and converse with their companions. Some appeared to be haggling over business matters and I pegged them as merchants or some other related class. My eye caught a man standing near the door, staring at posters on the wall. Wanted posters. Finishing off my pint, I walked over and had a look at them myself.
The man was dressed similar to myself, with a light jacket instead of a vest. Red embroidery accented his black jacket, thorns crawling up the lapels and circling around the collar. He was older than me, maybe in his 40s, face tanned from a lifetime spent in the sun and weather.
“Vinnie,” I said, touching my hat. “Anything good?”
He looked me over and turned his attention back to the posters. “Silas,” He responded. “I’m thinking about going after Blackheart Bill.”
I looked at the wanted poster in question, offering 280 silver for Bill and 20 silver for each of his gang, dead or alive.
“I’m new to the profession myself,” I said. “Any pointers you’d care to share?”
Silas looked at me and smiled. “Shoot first,” he said. “Everything will sort itself after that.”
I laughed, a cheerless sound as I was reminded that I had chosen the profession of psychotics for some reason. Did I really have it in me to be a Bounty Hunter? Was it too late to pick Cowboy? I stared at the posters on the wall, imagining my new life, hunting men and killing them.
For some reason, the thought didn’t bother me much. Maybe it was the difference between imagining it and the reality of a dead body in front of me?
“How green are you?” Silas asked.
“Green as grass,” I admitted.
Silas snorted. “Can you handle that hogleg?” He said, indicating the Mongoose at my hip.
“Still learning,” I said. No sense in talking myself up when I had no clue as to what was average around here. “Any suggestions for my first bounty?”
Silas looked me over with an appraising eye. “Ride with me and we’ll collect Blackheart Bill.”
[INDEX]

Ok I’m a bit stumped with what’s going on with my rv.
First the rv had been sitting for some time (about a year). I figured the batteries were dead but planned on plugging into shore power so I wasn’t all that concerned.
I got to my first stop, plugged in, and the energy panel says “dead battery”, a red “fault” light is on, and a green “charge” light is blinking. Nothing works EXCEPT the microwave???
First thought is the batteries are dead and the batteries are needed to somehow turn on the converter and inverter before the shore power can kick in or something stupid. So I go get 2 new batteries and swap them out. Same result. Then I plug into a different spot. Same result.
I Google some stuff and try flipping off all breakers then flipping them on one at a time (this is supposed to reboot the converter or something). I check all the fuses. All good.
Anyway I resign myself to not being able to fix the issue until I’m home. BUT then I see my solar panels on my roof are gone (stolen? blown away on the road? I don’t know). Tomorrow I plan on getting on the roof to take a closer look. But let’s assume the wiring to the panels has been ripped or cut. Would this be the source of the fault? Is it possible to disconnect the solar wires from the battery and remove this as a potential cause?
Any idea why only the microwave would work??? I’m getting tired of taking cold showers so any help is appreciated.

A homeless teenager reaches out to the Shil’vati on first day of the invasion of Earth.
Credit to: who has beta read just about every chapter, and the only reason it's readable half the time
for writing the original SSB story.
Pizzaulostin who has been beta reading since the beginning.
Credit to for getting me started with this!
This story is based in the SSB universe.
Previous
First
Chapter 33:

Reqellia:

It was the darkest part of the night, and yet I could hear the energetic commotion of Ruhal blearily heating up food for a famished human along with the clinks of dishes and silverware.
“One more day.” I felt glued to the bench as I stared back into the silver mask I hadn’t worn for almost [twenty-five years] prior, and had hoped never to put on again. I cursed my old girlish wishes when I first joined up, wanting to be a war hero, and then a mother afterwards. To grow old and see my own child in uniform. I had even wanted a son since I was already demanding the impossible.
I never believed in the gods, but now I’m sure that I’ve tempted Niosa to grant my wishes, but only after I made my peace with them that they would never come true.
Klein bounced around the suite’s kitchen, eating enough for two Shil women and already wearing his armor’s underlayment. The chair creaked a bit as he sat, his own horror-show mask on the dining table next to him staring back at him unblinking.
And It was a horror show.
He’d wake up cheerful and happy, and I’d watch over the day as every bit of his energy was drained out of him. The daily exercise routine of a morning run and gym day in a month being performed in a few short hours. Every time Klein finished a trail faster, or performed a more grueling task, the trainers would make him do even more as his contract offers rose another level.
I didn’t blame the instructors, it was their job to challenge each applicant, but Klein blew through all their expectations, so they just kept piling more onto him. Many of those same instructors had asked me if they were pushing him too far, but all I could do was shrug. Even I didn't even know where his potential ended.
I blinked and looked up. He was in his full armor now, with only the mask off.
“Ready to go?”
I nodded and stood up, quickly heading over to Ruhal, who in turn looked at me with sleep deprived eyes. Worn out as I was, he was worse, playing subject matter expert on all things human around a bunch of high ranking officers desperate for information not tainted by censorship.
“Stay safe out there,” he politely ordered as he kissed me.
I kissed him back and held his hand. “You too.”
Sighing,I left to let him rest, popped my back, and donned my own mask.
As Klein paced the door, I begged for safety. “One more day, please let everything be okay after today.”
I shouldn’t have tempted Niosa again.

Itaro:

I quietly padded out of the children’s den to a chorus of snoring from my siblings. The well carpeted securely fastened to wooden floors muffled my footsteps. I opened the large storm shutters and then pulled open the sliding glass door to the patio. I couldn’t sleep anymore, excitedly bouncing from one foot to another.
Klein and Au'tes were coming home tonight! Au'tes had sent me her contract offers that came from a dozen different Imperial departments and bureaus. Dad already agreed years ago she could move in with us, a pack sister was always welcome. Now she wouldn’t feel like a burden if she had to.
And Klein… Well, I wouldn’t be bothered by a few love-marks.
“I see that smile. Excited?” I heard my father’s deep voice like distant thunder. I turned around to his massive form only a few steps away. We both had learned to walk silently when my siblings were just pups and the discovery that they were light sleepers had been made.
I felt my ears droop just a little to see his melancholic face. He had gone out of his way the last few weeks to spend more time with just me now that I had a pack of my own. There was always a soft smile on his face, but the way his tail hung low to the floor was a dead giveaway on his mood.
I tried to cheer him up. “I am. It’s been weeks since I got to speak to Au’tes, and Klein…” I trailed off, the insinuation clear. He smirked. He had met Klein in passing, but I wasn’t bringing him home yet. Hario on the other hand had made one or two bawdy jokes at the dinner table after a second glass of her favorite liquor.
First time Klein spends the night, you might want to check up on Itaro, make sure she didn’t keel over from exhaustion.
“At this rate I’m going to have to teach you sword fighting to beat back other male suitors from poaching you for their own packs!” My father joked. Stepping off the patio landing, he hit the ground noiselessly, bending his legs to absorb the shock.

After letting out a quiet grunt indicative of an age he tried to keep hidden, he turned around and looked back up at me. “Want to come with me for a walk?”
I jumped down and followed him into our little patch of forest my mother’s terraforming job paid for. The early morning was already warm without a cooling vest, but not intolerable. The chirping of birds and the soft whistle of wind tinged with just a hint of salt made everything feel fresh.
It was like when I came home from school and my father would stop construction for the day. We’d explore the forest, play on the beach, go into town for groceries.
Except now my father didn’t run and have me chase him. He carefully inspected the trees for pests, and our conversation was far more practical than whimsical. “Your mother’s coming home next month. Can you write her a message before she meets Klein, just so she has a better idea of your pack?”
I nodded. “Of course. How long is she going to be home this time?”.
Her terraforming jobs always lasted months, if not years. I never faulted her for the huntress life, but it made connecting with her difficult. She was more a guest of honor than a mother to the household, always bringing a fatted Sou’ta carcass home as a present, but rarely cleaned dishes, or the house.
Or really any chore…
He shrugged before crouching next to a felled tree, trimming away small branches for kindling with a tiny hatchet he hand pulled from his tool pouch. “Might be a good long while this time. The last message I got said her department only had small projects and a few hazard jobs on the periphery. Besides, we might need an extra set of hands more than the money now.”
I scoffed. “Her, a house mother!? No offense, but mom is a terrible cook, and a worse caretaker. Remember the time she nearly burned down our kitchen boiling water?”
He laughed with me as he pocketed the hatchet. Standing up with two sticks, and then threw me one. I caught it as he swung his own stick in my general area. “Defend yourself! I did say I needed to teach you sword fighting. How else are you going to fight off possessive men when they realize what a catch you are?”
He didn’t teach anything but how to rough house on a lazy Shel morning.
We played and swung the flimsy branches until I accidentally hit him square in the chest. The branch, already crumbly and dry, disintegrated on impact. It didn’t stop him from dramatically acting out a death scene. Falling to his knees in an overly theatrical fashion. “Oh, woe is me! Cut down by my own daughter in cold blood!”
I let him pretend to be on stage for a few moments longer before standing over him to offer a hand. He took it, and then yanked me down to the grassy patch, holding me for a long, quiet minute. “I’m going to miss you.”
For the first time I noticed the stray white hairs around his muzzle, I knew what he meant, but I tried to play it off. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He just held me for a silent heartbeat longer, then let go and stood up.
He proclaimed cheerfully to mask his wet eyes. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up. You can’t look like a pup out of a mud bath for your victorious pack! I even scheduled a visit at Tulo’s for a haircut. Ruhal’s treat.”
My mind played with potential futures as we headed home. Between the three of us, we could write our own life together. Maybe I could even stay close to home.
I looked up to the rising light.
“One more day!”

Klein :

The mountains of gear and equipment around us were illuminated by harsh flood lights. We stood in formation with each person, regardless of species, showing physical signs of exhaustion. Drooping shoulders and bent knees, unfocused and slow eye movement.
Instructor Li’kele was wearing full battle rattle today, complete with a compact lasrifle holstered to her leg.
“Good morning applicants! It’s the last day of selection! Your assignment will be to support your sisters in the combat section in the wargames! You see all this critical equipment? Our first assignment will be to load all of it on auto-turoxes and hover-wagons. Unfortunately we don’t have enough capacity , some of you will need to carry gear on your person as we make the [ten mile] trek into the forest. Applicants 849, 734, 236 and 953 step up after we finish loading! You are our extra carriers.”
I knew I was going to be picked. It was easy to not let it bother me though. Reqellia had explained that the instructors were just trying to push us to our limits, and every extra duty and handicap meant a better contract with a brighter future.
Still, after hefting thousands of [pounds/kilos] of stuff onto the squat legged drone’s cargo cages and the little platforms that would float once powered, dread formed in the pit of my stomach as an entire counter-battery system was cinched onto my person. I trudged as we formed up for our road march.
The combat selection team rolled in as we took positions, already covered in mud from what I could guess was their own morning fun, their las-rifles at the low ready. Their own instructor, a severe looking Hyena-like Kortika woman with fur that trimmed short and smooth. She yelled out orders to the gaggle of applicants under her command. “Form on either side of the supply train and defend them at all costs! If they get shot because you weren’t doing your job, then it’s your ass that will be carrying the extra gear!”
We marched out of the base, clinking and clunking as we traveled uphill. The weight wasn’t too bad now that it was evenly distributed on my body, but it would be hell taking it off and putting it back on anytime we stopped.
“Isn’t that the new shock trooper ? What’s he doing with the non-combat selection?” I heard one of the combat applicants say idly. It was easy to pick up conversation in the nearly silent dawn as we marched on a dirt path extending across an expanse of grassland in the reddening sky. It was really pretty, watching the light play on the green forested hills in the distance.
Their Instructor sidled up to the commenting girl silently, ears swiveled back in anger. She grabbed her shoulder, growling low. “Cut the chatter, girl. ”
Silence followed for the next hour in the pre-dawn light.
We got the first taste of the wargames when red beams bolted over our heads and dropped one of our auto-turoxes. “Everyone get down!” yelled one of our instructors, and I threw myself on the path.
With all the weight on me, the impact on the ground hurt . I looked up and saw red beams blink in and out over me. Their flashes brought back memories.
The red glow through convenience store windows . An alien invasion.
I blinked furiously and turned my head to see what was going on with the combat teams on the sides of the road. They had already taken out two of the ‘raiders’ who stood up, hands in the air as they walked away. Another minute clicked by before a squad decided to double check the tall grass and found a third raider hiding. All had the insignia of the instruction cadre commandos.
“Everyone, up !” Instructor Lik’ele belted out in a two-word shout, and I had to push up off the ground, creaking under the weight. My arms burned as I got to my knees, then raised a hand and called out, “assistance!” One of the unnumbered girls gave me a hand to steady myself, and I rocked a bit trying to stand.
“Thank you,” I said, but between the voice distorter and my mask, the girl backed away as soon as I was up, fear registered in her eyes.
[At the bus stop, a classmate backed away from me. scared of me for some reason mumbling ‘you're bleeding’. Warmth on my upper lip, a coppery taste.]

I shook my head, trying to banish the weird memory surfacing, I hadn’t had a nosebleed since I left Earth. I looked back up, but the girl had already gotten back in formation and we started moving again.
It wasn’t quite noon when we stopped for lunch. I got help removing my kit, and stretched to work out the kinks. Reqellia stood next to me as I sat down on the hard packed surface. I took off my gloves, and jammed them under my chest holster.
I was technically ‘armed’ right now. We had gotten the thirty-minute las-pistol training yesterday on how to safely handle them, and then ran through a quick range. They were nothing more than glorified laser pointers though. They could lock up a suit set to respond to the laser signal, but they wouldn’t so much as redden skin otherwise.
Reqellia had let me in on their real purpose, to see if we could be trusted with a dangerous object and not play with it.
Eating was a pain, I had to lift my mask halfway up and eat blind. The meal pack was cold, but eh, it was food. Goddess, I was hungry.
“How are you holding up?” Reqellia asked, the silver mask obscuring any expression, and the voice distorter deadening any intonation, but by the angle of the head tilt, I could guess the question was more concern than curiosity.
“It’s not too heavy, but it’s awkward trying to move around,” I admitted as I put my mask back in place and pulled out my omni-pad. I tried not to boggle at the contract offers I was getting. It was a straight up bidding war, including furnished houses, years of leave after an initial stint, even minor titles.
Ruhal had helped me, even filled out the forms himself with less than a day for submission. He had also messaged me about the fine print of many of these absurd offers. The watch word was ‘Relocation’.
“They will send you back to Earth. Right now, you are the only human any department can recruit who might know an obscure piece of human signage or culture that got skipped during their culture crash courses, has the physical ability to keep up during an operation, and they can implicitly trust it is loyal to the Imperium.”
I scrolled past the too-good-to-be true proposals and to the ones without relocation, not ridiculously overpaying, but still plenty. Maybe I would follow Ka’tel into ICAD, or…
“We need to get moving!” Li’kele barked and I signaled for help again. This time Au’tes was ordered to help me with my gear. Now seeing her up close, she was definitely worse for wear. She smiled, but it was the kind of tired smile that had almost no energy in it. Her usual well controlled movements were slurred by exhaustion, and she leaned on me after buckling the packs on my shoulders, her own extra gear was a large backpack of energy cells.
“Damn, girl runs away in fear from combat selection after spending years in the militia and now plays valet. Bet whatever is underneath that suit is more would eat her alive if unmuzzled,” I overheard one of the combat applicants snicker. Au’tes winced, just a bit, at the barb from her former youth militia group.
“Lift your visor.” I said. It was dumb, it was really dumb, but I wanted to give her at least a reminder of what she had that they didn’t. Au’tes had a flicker of confusion, but flipped up the visor on her suit’s helmet.
I lifted my mask just enough to kiss her. It was honestly a gross kiss and wished I could have brushed my teeth beforehand. But when I dropped my mask down there was the manic Au’tes again, full of energy and gusto. I looked past her to the shocked combat applicants. I put my finger to roughly where my mouth was and whispered in my distorted voice, “No one will believe you.”
Au’tes brought her visor down and squeezed my hand for a second longer before leaning in close “Thank you for letting me know you still exist under there.

Reqellia:

The dirt trail up the hill was easy enough for my legs. I stayed in the same general area as Klein, but with my augments I already had his pinpoint location and medical data, I could even access his helmet camera. I didn’t want to get in his way while the instructors gave him snap secondary tasks to complete on our journey up to the outpost location.
I kept myself entertained by listening in on the comms chatter that I could pick up on the wargames going on about us at large. I had enjoyed playing the no-holds-barred opposing force when I was a commando on rotation here.
Right now there was a particularly fun little drama going on up north of our location. A mechanized assault unit tasked with taking out an anti-orbital battery got one of their exos stuck in mud because of a poor assessment of the ground composition. The armored crane they had first ordered to pull it out was now also stuck.
The Lieutenant was trying to get an exception to the wargame rules to bring a drop ship in to pull them both out, but the higher-ups told her to figure it out. The whole point of these wargames was to discover how things could go wrong. The Lieutenant tried to pull title to overrule them, only to get a nasty conversation from her commander.
A small beep from my monitoring systems told me Klein’s heart rate had slowed and I looked up to see the front of the supply train had been ordered to halt. Up ahead was the “fort,” a clearing on top of the hill with nothing but some half buried holes.
The Kortika woman got to the front of the formation and gave her orders. “Listen up! Combat selection is going to set up a perimeter while the Auxiliary builds us a structure safe enough to hold during an assault. All weapons are going ‘live’, but for those in the non-combat teams I will again warn you to only use them in self-defense. If you wanted to shoot people for a living you should have signed up for it.”
I tried not to flinch as I watched Klein and his compatriots start to offload all the gear they had packed this morning and attempt their best effort at setting it up with basic instructions from Li’kele and the manuals that came with the equipment. Just another test to see how the applicants would handle the technical situation.
At this point they were at their limit, physically and mentally exhausted as they tried to bolt frames together, wrestle antennas, install expandable barriers, and put together the foundations of a forward operating base.
Klein had all but given up on the counter battery system he schlepped here and handed that responsibility off to a Senthe Boy while speaking a rough northern dialect of Satenthia. The boy was more than happy to talk to someone who knew even a few words of his native tongue.
I opened a small window on my HUD and watched with amusement as the early contract offers rose and fell. Klein’s offer from naval engineering, already paltry compared to other, more suitable jobs, dropped to barely above standard. Intelligence and Law branches, however, rocketed upwards again.
I could almost hear the recruiter’s comments as the numbers and terms changed. Does not have familiarity with Shil military equipment. Comfortable with speaking multiple languages. Works well with multiple species.
I watched them work. Klein, in usual Klein fashion, pushed himself. After getting the counter battery laser hooked up, he volunteered for other physically demanding tasks. Pile driving in the foundations that hold the columns of the structure. The rhythmic thump gave me ghost aches when I had done the same thing out in the periphery while getting pot shotted by roaches.
I shook my head. It was going to be another rough night for him by the way he was bunching up his shoulders as he braced the handheld pile driver. Thankfully, tomorrow he’d be home and with an appointment with Cee who might force him on bed rest for the next month.
I started to chuckle at the thought of how protective Itaro was going to get after taking one look at Klein. I came back from deployment once missing three fingers from a plasma grenade and Bahtet waited on me and foot, wouldn’t so much as let me handle a kitchen knife until they were replaced later that month.
A few stray red beams were thrown our way, even a flash bang or two from the commandos tasked with harassing us came and went. As the ramparts of the temporary base were finished, I took up station on the second level to oversee the whole complex. Klien was working with a combat team, helping them put a second defense line in. They had driven stakes into the ground to support parallel knee-high thermocast plates with an arms-length gap between them, which Klein was filling in with dirt to act as a wall and platform for the heavy, crew served lasgun.
I was thankful there would be a shuttle to pick us up soon. I played the opposing force for Selection a few times, and I still remembered the script. Right now we were in a lull that would last until dusk, then at least three full commando teams would assault the base. The battle would be made as realistic and demanding as possible with creeping dark to add to the complexity.
The Selection team would always be wiped out, but it was how they performed against overwhelming odds that would shift the contract offers that last bit before everything was locked in place.
I heard the whirr of a counter battery system swiveling around, and then the crackle of it firing. I turned to see what it was aiming for but all I saw was a cloud of smoke . Then a fast moving object came through the cloud before I heard the crackle again and another exploded .
Blanketing everything in a tar-black fog .
My stomach dropped. This wasn’t the cadre commando team, and they were attacking too soon. I got on the comms with Li’kele “HALT, HALT, HALT! We need to stop the exercise!”
I got a crackle on the comms. Then Li’kele’s voice came in that terrifyingly calm voice used to keep control of a combat operation. “I can’t get a signal out, I need a report on the situation.”
Instead of trying to explain I sent her my video feed as I jumped down from the ramparts and started to sprint for Klein. I needed to get him out of here , but I hadn’t had time to prime my augments. I started the cold power cycle as I cursed myself for letting my guard down.
I was already too late . I watched as our own counter-battery laser weapons were used against us, acting as the triggers for each smoke grenade engulfing Klein’s team right in front of me, their signal dropping right out. I got a response from Li’kele that alleviated at least some of my terror. “Dammit! It’s the 171 st Raiders from the wargames, they mus-”
And then I was enveloped in darkness and static. The smoke was so thick I could only see a few paces away in all spectrums. I tried my internal radio and….
Nothing. I was alone and with nothing to guide me, and then I saw to the right of me a few weak beams of red, and then a ball of light of a simulated explosion. I let my gnawing panic subside and walked their way with a observers flag in my hand. I was practically on top of them before I saw the combat selection team that had been ‘killed’, their frowning faces and hands up as they sat there grumbling.
The Raiders appeared soon after. A four woman squad. Two Helkam, a Rakiri, and a Shil’vati hefting a large antiquated grenade launcher. I called out “Do you have a way to call a emergency stop to the battle?”
The squad leader responded. “Did someone get seriously injured? I can fire off a flare and our medic teams will be here to extract them.”
“No! This is Selection, we aren’t supposed to be part of the Wargames.” I argued, but she waved me off.
“We got orders to assault the base up here. Trust me, our commander is mighty pissed at getting tasked with a frontal assault on the youngest and toughest the Imperium has to offer, with adding insult to injury if we lose to kids. That’s why we broke out the smoke screen.”
“One of the Selection members is the first of their species. Higher ups want them monitored at all times,” I partly lied.
The gears whirred and the team lead brought her weapon up again, eyes a little wider. “ Blue Eyes is here? Shit, girls ready up and head on a swivel!”
The team reformed in a circle facing outwards, a tactic specifically meant for ambushes and roach suicide drones. I stood there, confused. “Blue eyes?”
The team lead started to move into the smoke again, but explained, her eyes darting around. “Yeah, the freaky creature in the mask, toyed with an unmanned Exo before annihilating it with a shipcutter! A close quarters combat specialist with heavy armor and a real mean streak . You’re telling me they’re loose in a forest with enough concealment to sneak up on us and tear us to shreds? Ma’am the only ones in immediate danger are us. ”

Michael crawled over the broken windshield glass and sandy dirt to his girlfriend, Sam. Every breath he took was labored as he inched over to her, he distantly felt the pain. He knew he had broken most of his ribs, his legs, and most of the bones in his left arm, but that was nothing compared to the injuries she had sustained being on the passenger side when it was struck.
Sweat mixed with the blood on his forehead, dripping into and making his eyes sting. Her breathing was becoming more and more shallow, as desperation welled in his mind. Their twisted wreck that was some distance away began to smoke, before flames began to lick from the inside of the hood.
“If any gods or demons can hear me, I beg of you, please. Please spare her life.” He hoarsely whispered. “I’ll give you anything, everything, just please. She has children who need her more than they need me.”
---OFFER ACCEPTED---
---YOU HAVE BEEN SELECTED FOR TRANSLOCATION---
The voice rolled through his mind like the deep and powerful rumblings of a storm.
Michael began to pass out, his vision slowly fading.
As the last rays of light hit his eyes, he saw her wounds closing to heal. His eyes rolled back.
________________________________________
---INITIATING GODSMARKED TRAINING---
He was standing somewhere. Somewhere? It was a void, neither light, nor dark, but –NULL–. He could still see himself, his hand in front of his face, wearing the same long black shirt and black cargo pants, despite the apparent lacking of light. He didn’t hurt anymore.
“Greeting [Godsmarked]. I am here to give you your training.”
Directly to his right, a few feet away from him, was a figure clad entirely in deep purple robes. Their hands were clothed in stunningly white gloves, while their hood obscured any attempts to discern the face inside.
“So, a god or multiple gods heard my offer, and took me up on it. I suppose I am here to render my payment,” Michael mused. “I’ll cry later for what I sacrificed on that altar. Who are you, and what do I need to train for?”
“I am Estoc, [Servant] of the Divines. You are being given training on how to utilize the most common magical elements of the plane you are being transported to, for the gods own amusement or some grander purpose. Who can say which one it is?” Estoc said as they shrugged, while their robe shifted shades of purple.
“Please be aware, this process may sting. The last [Godsmarked] complained quite loudly.” Estoc waved their hand, and Michael hissed with a sharp intake of air as if the crown of his skull were branded with an iron.
“The knowledge you have gained will give you the intrinsic ability to will a Status Window into being. This Status Window will display your classes, titles, certain physical attributes, injuries, magical power, and any skills gained from classes or titles. As you use this Status Window, you will grow in familiarity with its function, but all sapient beings of this realm are able to utilize this function from early childhood.
Classes represent pathways that grant access to active and passive skills over the course of a person’s development, representing their personal specialties and the applications of those specialties. Each adult has at least one class, and the limit is five, though as classes level up and synergies develop, classes may merge to become new classes opening up additional slots, as well as prompting the selection of a replacement class.
You are being transported to the realm of Tillania.
Good luck on your journey, Michael Judge.” Estoc tilted their head to the side as though listening to something, and in a lower register said, “Sam Iron will make a full recovery in the hospital.”
Michael dropped his chin to his chest, sniffed, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He sighed, and looked back up, only to see that Estoc was gone. He wiped his face, and steeled himself for the possibilities.
---GODSMARKED TRAINING COMPLETED---
---CALCULATING CLASS CHOICES---
The white words appeared on the white bordered black Status Window that appeared in front of him.
---CALCULATION COMPLETE. CLASS OPTIONS ARE AS FOLLOWS. SELECT TWO---
-[Magus (Fungus)]
-[Magus (Necromancy)]
-[Medic]
-[Soldier]
-[Priest]
-[Clerk]
-[Trader]
Michael stared at the screen and let his thoughts wander over why these were his choices. The fungus mage felt a little on the nose, he had been devoted to a decentralized religion that revered psilocybin as its sacrament, and experimented with his own. The Soldier was from his time in the Army. Trader from working a certain general store chain with the word “Dollar” in it when he was young and poor. Priest was from his time studying religion and coaching others. Medic from his time working in the hospital as a laboratory technician, and in the army with a medical brigade support battalion.
He didn’t want to be a priest, or a fungus mage, at least not at first. Soldier, while useful, didn’t lend itself to the role he wanted to see himself in. But necromancy? He thought it over some more as to why that was the case.
The modern concept of necromancy involved raising the dead, zombies, skeletons, ghouls, disturbing the dead. The classical concept, however, was involved with any magic associated with dead flesh, including magic meant to investigate health conditions or divine futures from stool, skin, muscle tissue, urine, or blood. He had been steeped in tabletop roleplaying games, as well as classical myths of the various kinds of undead, and the various kinds of necromancers. It would seem, then, that this world would occasionally have to deal with the existence of undead. If that were the case, he thought that he might have a better time being able to sell himself as an expert on preventing and exorcising them. He had always been in love with the idea of the undead, though he thought that it would probably be more socially acceptable if he didn’t create any.
As to the other class? He felt most at home being able to treat others.
---CLASS CHOICES ACCEPTED---
---GENERATING CLASS SKILLS---
[MAGUS (NECROMANCER)] Level 1
PASSIVES
[SANCTUARY] Non-sapient undead will not target you until you take a hostile action against them.
[LIFESIGHT] Entities that are either alive or undead have their profiles outlined. Dead organic material is also outlined. Can be willed on or off, or to adjust the color of the profile outlines.
ACTIVES
[BLACK BOLT] Safely hold or throw a black gathering of magical energy that greatly accelerates and feeds the metabolism of microbial entities on a targeted area. Range: ≤50m. Mana cost [Medium-Low]
[GRAVESPEAK] You may speak with dead entities or non-sapient undead entities. Mana Cost: [Low]
[MEDIC] Level 1
PASSIVES
[FIRST AID] Additional proficiency with Medical tools and techniques. Scales with level.
ACTIVES
[TRIAGE] Reveals certain status information from a target. Range ≤8m. Mana Cost: [Very Low]
[BASIC MENDING] Manipulate a living entity to alter an injury and/or repair damage. Limited to physical trauma. Range: ≤1m. Mana Cost: [Low]
[HEMATOLOGY] Reveals very specific status information based on the inquiry of the user. Material Component: Requires 25 µL of blood. Range ≤1m. Mana Cost: [Medium-High]
---CLASS SKILLS GENERATED. YOU HAVE BEEN GRANTED TWO BOONS AS COMPENSATION FOR BEING REMOVED FROM YOUR LOCAL REALM---
---BOON 1 DISPENSED---
Title: [Godsmarked] – Imparts several passives on the title holder.
Boon: [Reformation] – Physical ailments and deformities have been healed.
Michael blinked. His vision had improved, and he put away his glasses. For some reason, his thoughts came clearer to him as well.
Passive Skill: [Heaven’s Bounty] – You may receive additional objects from defeated foes.
Passive Skill: [Speak in Tongues] – Proficiency in vernacular languages of new realm provided.
Passive Skill: [Quest] – Patrons may provide you with tasks and rewards.
Passive Skill: [Titled] – You have a greater chance of receiving titles than normal.
Passive Skill: [Regenerative] – You heal more quickly than usual, to the point where, given enough time, you may even regrow a limb.
Active Skill: [Cargo Space] – Integrated inventory function in status window. Mana Cost: [None]
---BOON 2 DISPENSED. CHOOSE FROM PERSONALLY OWNED ITEMS IN FORMER REALM AS EQUIPMENT. MUST FIT IN INVENTORY OR OWN PERSON---
Michael thought about it. He would bring his laptop, cellphone, solar chargers and batteries. He knew it would be a long while before they could be repaired if they were ever damaged, but some utility was better than no utility, and out of curiosity he had previously downloaded a number of technical medical manuals from the time that he wanted to pursue a doctorate in pathology, as well as the children’s book “The way it works” which described the other areas of machines he wasn’t familiar with in an easily digestible format.
With any luck, and enough time, he might run into an engineer that might enjoy having access to that information. If there was other magic in this world he might be able to trade access to it for various repairs. Or, perhaps he would get around to finally tinkering himself, he wasn’t closing himself off to any options.
An SAS survival book with many different handy tips and tricks for wilderness survival. Various tools, a hammer, a machete, a first aid kit and a repurposed fishing box he filled with various medicines for most common ailments. A pocket survival kit including a ferrite rod and various other small tools. A flashlight that had a solar charger as well as a crank charger with charging ports.
He was surprised to see that it also included items that he was no longer certain as to where they were. He had owned a 50-pound draw weight compound bow some time ago that was left with a family member, as well as twenty barbed hunting arrows. It was given to him as a gift from his father and grandfather, though he never really was a fan of hunting. He stimmed, shaking his hand and striking his thumb against his middle and forefinger while he thought, before moving to the other hand stimulation exercises he did whenever he got excited or deep in thought.
Finally the water backpack, rucksack, treatment tabs, and a few old army uniforms that still fit would round out the space. Previously, he had been concerned that his job really didn’t assist him with maintaining a healthy weight, but if this was going where he anticipated it might, his extra bulk would serve him well until he could become better established.
Michael Judge ([Medic] Level 1; [Magus (Necromancy)] Level 1)
Health: 100% Mana: 100% Stamina: 100%
Conditional Status: [Well-Rested]; [Well-Fed]
Titles: [Godsmarked]
Boons: [Reformation]
Passive Skills: [Heaven’s Bounty]; [Speak in Tongues]; [Quest]; [Titled]; [Regenerative]; [Sanctuary]; [Lifesight]; [First Aid]
Active Skills: [Black Bolt] ; [Gravespeak] ; [Triage]; [Basic Mending]; [Hematology]
Inventory (Open? [Y/N])
Message Log (Open? [Y/N])
[CONFIRM]
He exhaled, his finger hovering over the [CONFIRM] button. “Only worry about the things in your control. I guess now is a good a time as any to have my agoge.”
________________________________________
He pressed the button. His vision was filled, piece by piece with his new location, though he didn’t feel himself moving. As the last piece fell into place, he could hear, and feel, the wind over the grass of the hilly plains. It was evening, and he measured the daylight remaining using his hand. He had a little over an hour and a half before sunset.
The whole area looked similar to the semi-arid environment of the hilly grasslands of western Kansas. If that was the case, he wondered to himself if this place was also a hellscape where the local flora and fauna rely on a steady stream of wildfires to maintain the ecosystem. The grass came up to his knees or waist, which he didn’t particularly enjoy. The sturdy stems were always difficult to sleep on, from his experience with the army. Not to mention what could be hiding in the grass.
… Hiding in the grass? He willed his [Lifesight] to become active and his vision became frantically populated with green profiles. He shut his eyes, willing [Lifesight] to have a few parameters. He could see a status window behind his eyelids. It felt like mentally right-clicking a skill and opening the properties menu.
________________________________________
[Adjust] [Lifesight]
Toggle light green profile if living entity is ≥30 cm at ranges 1m-500m. Increase color saturation with higher vitality. If living entity is 1-30 cm, highlight profile at ≤1m.
Toggle light red profile if entity is undead. Increase color saturation with higher durability.
Toggle yellow profile for dead organic material belonging to the Animal Kingdom if material is ≥30 cm within a range of 1-500m. ________________________________________
He opened his eyes. This time he wasn’t as bombarded with information. He’d have to keep this on a toggle, or with only one eye. Now he didn’t have to worry about bugs filling his vision with a sea of green. He did however, notice a few red outlines hovering slowly over the ground spaced out here and there. He could also see yellow outlines buried in the ground here and there.
He toggled [Lifesight] off. It was useful to scan the area but he was still getting used to the information overload and he still had other more pressing issues to investigate.
Could he equip things directly from his status window? It took a few tries, but yes. He could will it, or he could open up an Equipment screen and mentally drag and drop an item where it should go. He equipped his uniform, boots, and his floppy red wide brimmed hat with a mushroom theme that came to a rearward facing conical tip. He also took out his sunscreen and drank a sip of water from his wearable water pouch.
What information is revealed by [Triage]? He tried it on himself while keeping his status sheet open. [Triage]: (Target: Michael Judge; Health: 100% ; Conditions: [None]; Injuries: None.) His Status Window still displayed the conditions of [Well-Fed] and [Well-Rested]. He took out a knife, rolled back his sleeve, and made a small cut on the top of his arm. A little blood flowed as he did. The [Triage] and Status Sheet both updated. [Triage]: (Target: Michael Judge; Health: 98% ; Conditions: [None]; Injuries: Cut {Posterior Arm, 5 cm.) He held his hand over his arm as a light sweat began to form on his forehead from the sun. An ocean blue glow spread from his palm, as he willed the wound to close up like a zipper. He felt a small drain on his magic, and confirmed that indeed, his magic had dropped by 5%. There was no indication that there had ever been a wound on his skin. He summoned a notepad and pen, noting the information, before willing it back into his inventory.
Next, he used [Hematology] on the blood for a Complete Blood Count. He felt a much stronger pull on his magic than with [Triage]. He confirmed that indeed, his magic had dipped to 50%. He made a note of it as well as what the CBC provided: WBC Count, RBC count, RBC morphology, WBC differential, platelet count and morphology.
He took out a small umbrella and started walking, occasionally flipping [Lifesight] on and off. He manifested [Black Bolt] as he walked, holding it in his right hand. His magic had dipped by 10%, but would recover the used 10% when he stopped manifesting it. Only by actually throwing it did the mana stay consumed. More and more interesting, He thought. After about 40 minutes of walking, he discovered a well-trodden path, with tell-tale wagon ruts and horse dung that was neither fresh nor completely dry. He couldn’t see any smoke on the horizon, so it was likely more than 20 miles to the next settlement. He picked a direction and started walking that way.
As the sun dipped below the horizon he was left with a question. Would he camp, or keep walking through the dark? It’s not like things could sneak up on him at night if they were coming from somewhere he could see.
He kept walking, following the road by twilight, and then moonlight. He paused, however, when he saw a moderately red outline hunched over on the road in front of him. It had to be just within 500m of him. Michael materialized his bow and an arrow, nocking it, and approaching quietly.
250 meters. 200. 150. Lips smacked, cartilage crunched, wet and sticky, as it murmured and growled with hunger. 125. 100. His boot clattered a rock.
The munching stopped. Glowing yellow eyes piercing the dark. It walked on all fours. All sixes? 75. 60. 50. It stood on its back legs, growing taller and taller as it stretched its back, sniffing the air. Rotting scales. Exposed bones. Viscera exposed with fresh meat oozing from its ruptured stomach. Elongated face like a monitor lizard. And as the breeze blew through the grass, Michael realized he had made a critical mistake.
He was upwind.
With a nasty series of clicks, it charged forward. 40. He was shaking, pulling back the bowstring. 15. He couldn’t get a clear shot, its gait was serpentine! 5!
[SANCTUARY ACTIVATED]