Fold a cross from a palm

TLDR = Too Long Don't Read It
k so I've been active here since Grush-gate 2023 when people started taking a REAL HARD LOOK at previous UAP footage, evidence.
The NASA scientist panel had been on the previous week. They were trying to end ridicule of any research in the field of UAPs. It was also a sham-filled nothing burger.
THE ONLY REASON WE ENDED UP HERE IS CAUSE WE GOT KICKED OUTTA UFOs ! by the establishment. the regency. the "mods..."
the collective, exhaustive, and morally mandatory reconsideration + reassessment of any and all multimedia, that by simply existing, could induce in the mind of the consumer....questions.
Like questions related to the possibility of the existence of 1) UFO / UAP 2) biologics and / or NHI 3) immaculately efficient technology capable of generating INFINITE ENERGY 4) GOD
Man Wearing Uniform: "Yes - I can acknowledge that the video exists, but I can't comment on it. "
But then, that day, (remember!) on live TV - Three American heros, under oath, looking rather dapper, (not in uniform)
effectively told a panel of people representing their constitutes - the American people -
"you're gonna have to watch all of them - all over again"
decorated heroes. telling us that we had to do it. we were gonna have to go back and watch every single UFO video ever, every alien autopsy film, every russian UFO crash photo.
GruschGate got people talking about these three orbs... again.
The conversation about whether or not these specific videos were "real-or-not" was officially back on the table, and we're still having it right here, right now.
but we were having it before too. remember when....
*~~WAYNE + GARTH DREAM FADE~~*
at the time, the very discourse that this NEW subreddit is now dedicated (relegated?) to, that conversation was entirely too hot for the UFOs sub to handle. and there are... reasons.... we were...
removed....
"You see, Mr.......... Anderssson...."
*Neo looks guiltily away from dossier*
Agent closes dossier with a *!SLAM!*
"You see...Mr. - Anderson -"
AirlinerAbduction2014 u/NewFollwer : "What TF is even OP's point? This is already too long and cringeworthy. To heck with this! I'm heading over to highstramgemess!"
Hey, new guy, stick around for a bit longer. I'm almost done. lol.
The point that I want to make is this -
The points - the "exhbits" - the leveraged "proof" - the very same anomalies pointed out by OP, that CROSS RTF OVER THE UNCANNY VALLEY, OVER AND OVER AGAIN, for generations, (literal GENERATIONS of posters - cycle is about 4 months. One of you OG homies back me up here)
We keep coming back to the very same points, over and over again. The way that the plane it's straightened out and accelerated does it for me. But there are a lot of thing that look really, really, real.
Check out how to check it out in 3D if you haven't yet. It will change you perception of the event.
literally.
tiny rant coming up it's juicy - 12/10 O.G O.P.s would agree.
*arms straight p cracks knuckles palms out*
That flying were-rat from India was a fraud. PERIOD.
AirlinerAbduction2014 u/NewFollower: " hey mom what an Indian flying were-rat?" u/NewFollower's Mom: "Honey I thought I told you to go bed. Now get back upstairs read your Foundation Trilogy."
If you know about the rat, I'm sorry you had to go through that.
And if you don't, but wanna, well... you're gonna have to scroll down to the beginning.
Well... more like the middle of the sub's entire feed. Also sorry you're gonna have to go through that.
Indian flying rat boy did good work muddying the waters for a while. that "orb moves the contrail" hype is the trademarked style. rather lazy IMHO..
"Orb Punches Whole through Cloud" or whatever TF it was called. looked GREAT! But it wasn't real...
Hoaxes look like hoaxes.
The difference here in AirlinerAbduction2014 is that WE ALL HAVE UNRESTRICTED ACCESS to the best possible verison of the footage, so we can easily debunk a contrail or a cloud hole.
Okay gang, - we've arrived. Grand finale -
THIS generation of posters! They carry a sharp sword! It cuts clean! And deep! They read everything - but don't believe everything they read! It's either a very smart or a very dumb tactic.
A message to this generation ~
Stand up for what you believe in Speak your mind but most importantly speak your HEART.
Are the videos real? Did this actually happen?
"you're gonna have to watch all of them - all over again"
new guy here - yeah you - with the shirt and pants on - What does your HEART tell you when you're watching?
Don't they look so real?
Maybe they are.
"you're gonna have to watch all of them - all over again"
"o~oooooh ~ baRa....bara-ko~odA"
"you're going to have to read it all of it all over again"
"he's a Ma~gic man"
*CREDITS FINISH ROLLING*
Good thing your stayed in your seat.
I think the indian flying were-rat is feeding this trash to 4 orbs, and he's just eating it in front of us like David Hasselhoff lying on his side, shirtless, mouthing a quickly disintegrating Wendy's double-bacon cheeseburger over paper plate on his living room floor. Don't Watch The Video.
This generation needs to be the The Hoff's daughter , recording the video of her father, scolding him and shaming him for having let himself get this out of control.
So keep up the good work, kids. No gods, no masters, no managers. Only men.
Keep everyone accountable., all the time. or else all this sub will amount to is nothing more than an empty box filled with useless brown paper wrappers.
* ESTABLISHING SHOT *
The normally dark shadows of a poorly lit parking garage glow grey from the haze of cigarette smoke
*OP takes a long drag off a short cigarette* *direct eye contact with.................................................................... YOU! *lots of eye contact* *even more eye contact*
AirlinerAbduction2014 u/Newfollower : *wow that's a lot of eye contact* hey how did he get into the parking garage? and where is your mom?
*turns around* *shuffles slowly and silently into the shadows*
*cue X-files opening theme song*
aaaaaaand SCENE!
THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE

REP: https://www.reddit.com/IGSRep/comments/1bon79d/oatmilk666s_igs_rep_page/
All are humble bundle codes.
Ill gladly take gifted steam games (a la you buy it to me) instead of paypal.
I dont want to do giftlinks.
Im also willing to trade you codes vs a charity donation
to some reputable charity for example UNWRA or Internet Archive (a nonprofit digital library)
or some of your own choosing against providing me a copy of the receipt.
NEW:
Epic Chef
One-armed cook: Gourmet Upgrade
Sugar Shack
Chef: Full Menu Bundle
Cafe Owner Simulator
Abalon (Summoners Fate)
Blood: Fresh Supply
Doom 64
Driftland: The Magic Revival
PGA Tour 2K21
X-Morph: Defense + European Assault, Survival of the Fittest, and Last Bastion DLC
Dwarfs!?
Euro Truck Simulator 2
Wargroove
Rover Mechanic Simulator
Kerbal Space Program
Eastside Hockey Manager
Endless Space - Collection
Kingdom Classic
Regular Human Basketball
This War of Mine
Vertiginous Golf
Operation Flashpoint: Dragon Rising
Gremlins, Inc.
MotoGP 15
MXGP - The Official Motocross Videogame
Satellite Reign
Cities in Motion
Cities in Motion 2
Car Mechanic Simulator 2018
911 Operator
Train Simulator 2020
Train Simulator: CSX AC6000CW Loco Add-On
Train Simulator: Miami - West Palm Beach Route Add-On
Train Simulator: Riviera Line in the Fifties: Exeter - Kingswear Route Add-On
Train Simulator: Western Hydraulics Pack Add-On
Tharsis
Void Destroyer
Super Mega Baseball: Extra Innings
Drawful 2
Majesty 2 Collection
Telltale Texas Hold ‘Em
Beholder
Sins of a Solar Empire: Rebellion
Beholder
Galactic Civilizations® II: Ultimate Edition
Galactic Civilizations® I: Ultimate Edition
Darkest Hour: A Hearts of Iron Game
Crusader Kings Complete
Crusader Kings II
Crusader Kings II
Crusader Kings II: The Republic
Crusader Kings II: Legacy of Rome
Crusader Kings II: Sword of Islam
Crusader Kings II: Sunset Invasion
Crusader Kings II: The Old Gods DLC
Niche
Carrier Command: Gaea Mission
Think of the Children
Sins of a Solar Empire: Rebellion
Siege of Centauri
Company of Heroes 2
Hacknet
Satellite Reign
Driftland: The Magic Revival
ΔV: Rings of Saturn
EarthX
Grey Goo
Kingdom: New Lands Royal Edition
The Long Dark
The Final Station
Primal Carnage: Extinction
Idle Champions Celeste's Starter Pack
MEMORIES OF MARS
Kathy Rain

observer_

Pesterquest
11-11 Memories Retold
Thomas Was Alone
Puzzle Agent
Puzzle Agent 2
Road to Ballhalla
The Walking Dead: 400 Days
Broken Age
Full Throttle Remastered
Dear Esther: Landmark Edition
Draw Slasher
Machinarium Collector's Edition
Police Quest Collection
NecroWorm
Neverout
Pixplode
Worms
Doodle Derby
Dub Dash
Safety First!
Kingdom
Kingdom Classic
Kingdom: New Lands Royal Edition
Hyper Light Drifter
No Time to Explain Remastered
StarCrossed
Splasher
Diaries of a Spaceport Janitor
Stick Fight: The Game
Penarium
Sonic and SEGA All Stars Racing
GoNNER
140
Evergarden
SpeedRunners
Death Squared
Oh My Godheads
Octahedron: Transfixed Edition
Deadbeat Heroes
Pathway
Deep Sky Derelicts
Gift of Parthax
One Way Heroics
Armello
Book of Demons
LiEat
Orbital Racer
Roarr! Jurassic Edition
Hyper Light Drifter
BioShock Remastered
Tormentor X Punisher
Sniper Elite
No Time To Explain Remastered
Action Henk
Insurgency
Deadbeat Heroes
Stick Fight: The Game
Resident Evil Revelations 2 - Episode 1: Penal Colony
RESIDENT EVIL 2 All In-game Rewards Unlock DLC
GET EVEN
Deadly 30
Pacify
DUSK
How to survive 2
Duke Nukem Forever
POSTAL
Expensive & rare / delisted & removed from steam:
Max Payne 3 (Rockstar games store)
Necromonads
Crash Bandicoot N. Sane Trilogy
Sonic CD
Sonic 3 & Knuckles
beyond eyes
Sam & Max: Season 1
Sam & Max: Season 2
Bone Episode 1 & Episode 2 Telltale Out from boneville & The great Cow Race
HITMAN: THE COMPLETE FIRST SEASON
Citizens of Earth
Jurassic Park: The Game
F1 2011
Minecraft: Story Mode - A Telltale Games Series
VR:
Smashbox Arena
Carnival Games VR
Telefrag VR
Slinger VR
Paper Fire Rookie
TOOLS/PROGRAMS
GameGuru
GameMaker Studio 2 Creator 12 Months
Intro to Game Development with Unity
Music Maker EDM Edition
PDF-Suite 1 Year License
Clickteam Fusion 2.5 Standard
Ashampoo Photo Optimizer 7
Ashampoo WinOptimizer 18
Ashampoo BackUp Pro 14
GameMaker Studio Pro
clickteam fusion
Music Maker: Hip Hop Edition
Free with trade:
Liberated (GOG)
Wanderlust: Travel Stories (GOG)
Intro to Game Development with Unity (not sure if valid)
................................
WANT:
Open to offers & all kinds of games, let me know.
Possible titles gifted trough steam or willing to overpay for:
Elden Ring DLC
Dark souls 2
Shadowgate
Frostpunk + DLCs
Elex
gloomwood
spintires
snowrunner
Thief: Deadly Shadows
obscure 1 + 2
Blood West
Supplice
shadow warrior 1 + 2 + 3
organ trail
I dont want TF2 keys.

I love birds and this reflects some of my speculative evolution. I have imagined two which I would like critique for.
1: The qeagles. Less of a singular species more of a group but I wish to get the most critique for this one. Qeagles are descendants from giant eagles which wrestled down prey with there talons and sometimes used there wings to support themselves. I get this from that large eagles seem to have there small phalanges (the other two ones support feathers, here is the article I get the image from https://askabiologist.asu.edu/human-bird-and-bat-bone-comparison see the small phalange keep it in note). I imagine that they started to shift there weight on to it as wrestled down prey the size of deer. This eventually evolved to them becoming quadrupedal with them launching there back talons to grab prey and both use there front and back limbs to fight down prey. They also only walked on this one phalange which was pointed inward with a large claw. Is this realistic for quadrupedal birds
2: Staberiema, a seriema crossed with a secretary bird, they have two different types. Aquatic and terrestrial. But the most common and the one which will be discussed here is the black capped staberiema. They are terrestrials and aquatic with long toes, they have two toes infront and one toe in the back, but there left most (from the right leg) toe (if opposite there right most toe ) have a giant 6 inch claws which the entire claw cand fold inwards to make sure its sharp. They have many different hunting styles. Most commonly a quick stab struck with there claw (which is serrated like a saw) and then swallowed hole. However they use there heron like beaks to swallow prey hole, due to it being sharp they other times slam prey such as mice rats lizards or birds against the ground, then proceed to eat it. Othertimes they use the serrated claw and quickly stab and saw prey, this is done when fighting larger prey such as meso predators like foxes or raccoons. Due to them having a non hooked beak, there feeding is messy. They "death role" the cut meat. There final technique is to grab prey with the giant claw and drag it across the ground to stun it.
I know that ptetosaurs (im assuming) did not do this (drag there prey down with there back talons). But due to there evolution as eagle descendant they still had the sharp talons and could use them as originally fought down prey. And could this knife like mechanism evolve or would it be to fragile. And would the beak change to be able to kill larger prey or stay the same.

Hoping for some advice.... I'm very new to dating women and not sure what to do.
I've had a crush on work colleague since last year after meeting at post company event tour. I won't go into specifics but we spent a lot of time together on the tour with a group of other from work, the butterflies began and ten-fold when I clicked that it wasn't one-sided.
Long-story-short, I eventually plucked up the courage to ask her about it on last day and she confirmed feelings were mutual!!!
We kept chatting in whatsapp for about a week after getting back to our home countries. Then her replies got slower and slower, flaked on agreed phone call (with crazy excuse, it was so out there though I believed it).
Eventually, after ~2 weeks since my last message, I said something along lines of: I know you warned me you are bad at replying, but think I have to assume no further contact wanted? No hard feelings if that's right, I would just appreciate knowing.
Nothing....
.... Agony.
I went through some big life changes over the months after, it was a rough time, tried to 'fill my cup' and distract myself with new hobbies, travelling etc which helped. Time was doing its job and I was starting to not think about her so much.
Plot twist.... her role at work has changed and suddenly we have some cross-over that requires me to support her in various tasks. Ngl, spiraled, was stressed she was being forced to talk to me against her will. And honestly, I was pretty hurt from how she just stopped talking to me last year with no explanation.
Anyway, kept it professional/polite, it was fine mostly. What has really mind fucked me though is around the same time she has started sending me flirty messages/emojis in a social work channel. One of note was tagging me saying how something in her day had reminded her of one of our experiences together last year, and that it gave her the giggles.
💀
We had to do a video meeting this week, which was first time seeing each other. I managed to get through it ok, not being too awkward I think. I was presenting most of the time, so couldn't keep watch for body language much, she seemed normal. But then I don't know how she normally is in meetings.
I've really fallen hard I think, it's like all the progress I made in last few months has evaporated and I'm right back to obsessing, losing appetite, sleep.... it is a rollercoaster of feeling exilerated and the terrible.... even with the bad, it is nice knowing I can feel so strongly about another person.
I'd really like to pursue, though Im a chronic over-thinker and can't help landing on Im deluding myself, and there is the work complication of course.
There is a lot more context/detail to this story, I've tried to keep it factual from my pov. I can't know what's been happening in her life or head to understand what she wants, it's so hard.
What do you think? What should I do?
Any advice much appreciated!
P.S. we will have our next company meet in a couple of months and I will 100% have to interact with her at some point

Chapter 1: Hope’s 16th Birthday
As the rays of the sun hits her eyes Hope Moonshine wakes up excited, she was waiting for this day for all her life
She jumps out of her bed and rushes to her mom's room excited and she accidentally flung the door open too fast making a loud cranking noise waking her mother, Queen Matilda up
"Oops didn't mean to wake you up" hope said awkwardly"Honey I know you are excited for your birthday but you need to be patient the sun has just risen everyone is still asleep" Matilda said tiredly, "please go back to sleep darling you will have a long day today and you will need the energy, your party wont be begin till noon"
"Ok mom, sorry for waking you up" said Hope as she was trying to close the door slowly enough that it doesn't crank but it still did "Not an issue dear", said Matilda
As the door closed Matilda took a deep breath and closed her eyes her emblem on her right shoulder a pink diamond glowed she opened her eyes and she made a finger gun with her right hand pointing at the hinges and a shiny pink light zaps comes out of her index and zaps the hinges, the beam turns into a hand and it open the door and then closes without making a cranking noise, "I should have done that a long time ago" said Matilda
She removes the blankets from her bed to reveal she is already clothed for a serious occasion, as she goes towards the mirror she is wearing a long cyan dress that trails all the way to her feed her top being smartly tight with short shoulder sleeves, she puts on long white gloves and glances over her diamond ring she lets out a small sigh and frown and puts it on, she trances over the mirror for a few seconds before snapping out of it, and she looks over to a miniature painting of her an her daughter when she was 6 she picks it up and smiles "I know you are eager dear you won't have to wait for long"
After Matilda ready's herself she open her window and conjures a light bird of the palm of her hand, the bird flew off to Hope's room where it sees her lying in her bed on her stomach, the bird soon returns to Matilda's room and land on her palm her eyes glows for a moment and the bird fizzes into a yellow cloud, "Well it looks like she actually listened not very common of her to do so, it means I can continue to do my plan unobstructed" she said with a smile.
Matilda leaves her room and walk across the hallway to the main hall then she claps her hand twice, and snap her finger, suddenly a figure jumps into the window it spins 180° and a muscular women stands up, she has a scar on her left cheek and short brown hair, she wore knight armour that cuts of at her shoulder emblem that looks like a dark grey shield.
"At your service my queen", she said with a salute
Matilda is startled for a moment, but then composes herself, "Sally there is no need for you to enter that way you can just wait for me at the hall entrance", she said.
"I was scouting the perimeter we have to make sure this place is safe and to make sure no one can harm the princess at her important day, I was up all night with my team searching every corner of the upper ring for any danger and-" Sally was abruptly cut off by Matilda.
"It was not your fault Sally, there is no need for you to prove yourself to me" Matilda said remorsefully, "You tried your best so you must eventually forgive yourself it wasn't anyone fault, it truly came from nowhere"
Sally's serious expression break into expression of regret as she shamefully looks at the ground
"Now is not time to punish ourselves over who we failed to protect but to make sure my daughter has a great birthday" Matilda said with determination
Sally's expressions of regret turned to a smile, "Yes my Queen, me and the royal guards have spent last few weeks clearing a safe path from the upper ring to the more presentable areas of the lower ring that ends at the great barrier" Sally says with a salute.
"Well I trust your judgement, you are now dismissed" said Matilda
Sally goes down the stairs of the central hall towards the doors "I won't mess up again" Sally said with determination
"Oh Houston" Matilda said while turning her head left and right, "where is he when I need him",
"I am right here your majesty" Houston whispered from behind, Matilda was startled and was annoyed on how everyone seems to sneak up on her, "Sorry for spooking you" said Houston as he polished his monocle "We are well prepared to begin celebration soon" he said as his hand pointed towards the empty hall.
Matilda stared at him, he then clapped his hands and an army of servants entered the hall setting up the chairs and tables, followed up by waiters quickly setting food on the table, and then 6 waiters came together to slowly lift the large 4 layered birthday cake with a milk white colour with chocolate cream on top of each layer, with "happy birthday Hope" spelled with strawberry topping on the side of each layer, with the glowing yellow number "16" candle at the top.
"As I was saying my Queen" Houston started "We just need to wait for the guests to arrive, I will let you know when you can call your daughter" Houston stops from a moment "Do you want anything else your majesty or am I dismissed?" he asked.
"You are dismissed Houston" said Matilda
Matilda walks up to Hope's room and slowly opens the door to find her laying in her bed
"One thousand one hundred and forty-two" Hope counted to herself, she paused and took a deep sigh, and tried to continue but then paused scratching her head "Um One-".
she was interrupted by her mother saying "Thousand one hundred and forty-three", "Unable to sleep dear?" She said with a smile, Hope gasped and she had the biggest smile in her face, her mother was a bit startled and asked "what is it you are smiling at?".
Hope pointed at her, jumped from her bed and as she was taking heavy breathes pointing at her mother clothes, "You don't sleep in this" she takes a deep breath and exclaims "which means I have got to get ready" and she runs to her closet to pick up something to wear.
Matilda takes a glance down at her clothes and rolls her eyes "so much for a surprise"
"I am ready mom" Hope said ecstatically, she was wearing a beautiful turquoise dress which complemented her hair colour styled in two plates with with joined with a pink band and wearing her favourite golden necklace,
"That was quick" her mother commented
As they enter the main hall a bunch of guests are seated drinking beverages and helping themselves to freshly baked foods, "Attention everybody, I would like you to welcome the birthday girl" said Houston, everyone stopped what they were doing and turned their heads towards the princess.
She gets a bit nervous and let out an awkward "hey guys", she didn't recognize any of them but she had to pretend to know all of them while hoping they don't ask her if she knows them, they all continue to stare as she and her mother get seated.
Houston lets out a forced cough to break the awkward silence, he says "and now Princess that you have come here you may blow the candles", the table the cake was on was carried towards Hope and her mother seated on there high chair, Hope tries to mask her excitement as she takes a deep breath and gently blow the candles, which fire off the cake and make a small explosion spelling out "Happy Birthday Princess!", Hope's eyes lit with joy.
Trumpets play and two royal servants come into the hall holding a gold plated chest decorated with diamonds, the chest is slowly opened and a blinding bright light shined from inside it, "Go ahead dear" said Matilda as her eyes pointed to the chest.
Hope goes down towards the chest and slowly lowers her hand inside of it and grabs what inside, as she removes her hand from the chest it reveals her to be holding the magic wand, it had a purple handle with a sparkly cyan diamond at its back end and a translucent turquoise sphere at it top decorated with a white glowing shape which resembled the combination of a two star into two different planes inside, and topped off with a small yellow crown at the top
Hope's shoulder emblem a pink heart with a tiny crown on top of both curves starts glowing, she raises the top of the wand at eye level, "ooh what's this" she says as she tries to stick her finger inside it to touch the spinning star
"HOPE DONT" shouted her mother, as soon as hope touched it burnt her finger and she let out a painful screech and fires a yellow glowing beam fires from the wand at some guest who were quick enough to duck, it hits a glowing orange decorative plant crushing it against the wall,
"hehe this could have been worse", Hope said awkwardly, the wreckage catches fire...
"FIRE" yells Sally, the guards that were standing by the walls quickly moved and shoved away all nearby guest as Sally goes and faces the fire here shoulder emblem glows and she fires yellow beam at it from her hands she then she clenches her fist and the beam turns into water extinguishing the fire and a yellow cloud evaporates from it, she quickly turn over to Hope and rushes over to her "ARE YOU OKAY PRINCESS" she exclaimed worryingly.
"I am fine it's just my finger is a little -" before she finishes her sentence Sally picks her up and running with her in her arms and runs up to the door and out of the Palace.
Queen Matilda is left with the guests and lets out an awkward chuckle and says "so who wants some drinks?", "Please help yourself to the finest wines in the whole kingdom" she said as a servant reveals a bunch of wine bottles in gold coating, the guests all rushed to get a sip
"I am telling you I am fine it's just a little scratch its rude for me to leave suddenl-" Hope was interrupted by Sally kicking the door open.
"PA-" Sally yelled before being interrupted by a "SHHHH", she was shushed by a woman with a white robe that cut offs at the shoulder, and a hand crafted necklace made of cotton around her neck, she had red hair tied into a bun and a green plus sign as her shoulder emblem.
"Seriously Sally how many times do I have to tell you to be quiet in here" said healer Pam with frustration she lets out a sigh and asks, "So what seems to be the problem?" Sally pulls out Hope and holds her at arms length right Infront of her Hope lets out a "Hi".
Pam gasps "Oh my princess sorry I didn't know you were coming, are you hurt?"
"No not at all it's ju-" Hope was interrupted yet again it seems like although she is becoming a grownup no one seems to want to listen to her
"She burned herself quickly check up on her" commanded Sally as she lowered Hope to her feet, Pam glanced at her up and down
"Where was she hurt", asked her confused. Hope sheepishly pointed to her left index finger it was a bit red which could be easily seen as it contrasted with her smooth white skin, but it was also accompanied by a yellow 'liquid', Pam conjured a white napkin to clean the site of the injury and singled out the injured finger from Hope's hand and put her hand on it and made into a fist and then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes her shoulder mark started having a green glow for a few seconds and then it suddenly went dim, she opened her hand to find the finger fully healed like it was never even scratched.
"Oh wow t-thanks" said Hope with a smile.
"Oh it's nothing" said pam, she took out her napkin it had some yellow glowing spots of what looks like fluid except its it didn't soak in but floated around it, "I see you can use magic now, what was your first spell" Pam said with excitement.
"I-i just shot this out of the wand" she said as she pointed at liquid on the napkin that started evaporating considerably, she then lowered her voice and talked faster "and it hit a plant and set it on fire" she was saying as she looked at the floor, Pam laughed and Hope was starting to blush.
"Oh don't worry dear we all mess up at the start, when I first started I accidentally broke a boy's arm" Pam said with a laugh.
"Is he okay now?" Hope asked with curiosity
"Well when I was your age healing wasn't what it is today they just put his arm in a cast and said if he was lucky his arm would be usable in three years", "I never was interested in healing like my mom but I wanted to fix my mistake so I studied and practiced for months to focus my healing and one day it just clicked, I got back to him and I was able to heal his arm and this happiness a patient feels when they are treated makes this all worth it" she let out a calm sigh and continued "It was not an easy journey but in just 8 years I was able to reach my peak"
"Eight years?" Hope said in disbelief
"Don't worry your path is way longer than mine my peak is at least four levels lower than you" Pam said with a grin
"It isn't that huge difference right?" Hope inquired hoping her journey wont be in the double digits because that's a very long time
Pam laughed and then said "Oh it way larger than it looks, but don't worry royals don't have a peak at least not one that one knows off" she put her hand on Hope's shoulder "Don't let the long road overwhelm you as long as you are better than yesterday you will be a great princess"
Hope smiled at her and said, "Thanks a lot Pam"
"So is everything alright with her, she stuck her finger into the wand are you sure there wont be any complications" asked Sally
"She will be alright she might have lost her finger if she went deeper and then It will actually a challenge to fix, but this is what pain reflexes are for, it a blessing in disguise", replied Pam
Sally clapped her hands and said "Well we got to go now we cant keep the guests waiting thanks for your help Pam"
Hope looked over to her and said "You should come over it's my birthday you can go change the setting", "No dear being a Healer is big commitment what if someone is in need of assistance and I am not here but I appreciate the gesture, maybe I could arrange my schedule to be there next time, go enjoy yourself".
"Pam the amputee is ready for his second regeneration session" a voice called.
"The what?" exclaimed Hope.
"Oh it's a bit graphic you really don't want to see it, I got to go now send your mother my regards" replied Pam as she ran over to a patient
Sally and Hope went to the door and left.
"You know I was really fine, it was just a scratch" Hope said as she looked up to Sally, "It's kind of rude to just leave the guests hanging I could have just sucked it up-"
Hope tried to continue when Sally muttered under her breath "I won't forgive myself".
"What was that?" asked Hope.
"Nothing, it's just you can never be so sure and no one was stupid enough to stick there finger in the wand I was just making sure but since it wasn't serious we don't need to worry" Sally said with an anxious fake smile, Hope sensed there was something off about her tone but she didn't want to push Sally into an uncomfortable spot so she left it at that
Sally and Hope make it back to the palace and Matilda rushes to her daughter "Oh dear are you ok"
She said as she gave her girl a hug, Everyone was staring and Hope got a bit embarrassed "yeah Mom I am ok" Hope said, Matilda stood up and was about to say something before Hope pre-emptively said, "I know I know it was pretty stupid from me to to do what I did, I know the wand is not a toy and I promise I will be more careful with it" she said while avoiding eye contact
Matilda smiled and said "Well I appreciate that you understand that you messed up but that not what I wanted to say" Hope made eye contact and Matilda continued "As princess and future queen we will have you visit the LOWER RING" Matilda took her daughter's hand "Sure its not the safest or best place in the kingdom but a hermit ruler is a bad ruler"
Hope got extremely excited over this as she always wanted to see the rest of the kingdom the Lower ring, the Outer ring but she was always told no because Sally's word "It's way to dangerous, you are not ready, you aren't old enough" or her mother's word "Is there something there that you cant find at home?, The place isn't very hygienic" but how bad could it be it was still under the rule of the Moonshines. Life in the Upper ring and the palace get boring after a while, why would she wants to stay put there when there a whole world to explore?
"The escorts are waiting for us outside those who want to go with us are welcome to go" Said Matilda looking at the guests with a forced smile almost knowing the reaction. All of them tried to mask there faces of disgust as if Matilda just asked them to bathe in mud or even worse she said that the food at the legendary "façade haut de gamme" was just an overpriced scam. They didn't look very impressed, Matilda coughed and asked "Well?".
One couple went towards the exit and when they got to Matilda the man said "We are truly flattered by your invite my queen but I am afraid we have something important to do" the man paused and scratched his head trying to think of an excuse Hope looked over him and asked
"What's more important to than a trip to see the rest of kingdom its not like we can always get to do it" with an ecstatic smile the woman who was scratching her head stopped as if she got an idea she went over looked to Hope with a stupid fake smile and said
"Well sweetie we forgot to sign up our son for school and registration will be closing today" she turned over to her husband and elbowed him in ribs and asked "Isn't that right honey?"
The man nodded in agreement and they walked out and they led out an audible sigh and when they were just outside of earshot the man told his wife "Moonshines huh? You would think after what happened a decade ago they would get the memo" the woman looked back at the Queen then waved and looked back at her husband and said
"She is weak if this happened to me I will make sure those pigs wish they weren't born".
Following into there footsteps and sensing an opening other guests decided to excuse themselves outside and at this point Matilda stopped resisting she knew some wouldn't want to go but she didn't think that many would go and she looked defeated Hope turned to her and said "Well mom we don't need those nose in the airers it's there loss anyways"
A woman walked up to them "She is right you know in-law" that woman was Hope's paternal aunt Mary, she had short blonde hair and brown eyes wearing a yellow dress for the occasion "The only reason any off these arrogant buffoons came here is societal expectations much like basically everything here" she said while rolling her eyes "and they all dipped the second they had the chance, come on lets go"
As they walked past the doors Sally was standing just outside the door scanning the setting with her eyes, her eyes wandered and locked with Mary "You should relax Sally no need for you to be so tense" she said with a smile she then changed her tone suddenly and said with a frown and a in a low voice that Hope and Matilda couldn't hear "Me and Matilda can protect ourselves and we aren't relying on you and my niece was under my protection since she was six, all you need to do is drive the horses and look menacing" and then she put her hand on her shoulder and smiled and said with an audible voice "So you can feel a lot more at ease dear", Sally tried hid her feeling of guilt with a fake smile "Let's go" said Mary joyfully
Everyone got on the horse driven chariot, just a classical chariot nothing magical about it, it's a very ineffective method of transport but one of the most relaxing ones
"HEEEEEY WAIT FOR ME" yelled a girl from as she was she surfing a purple cloud wearing a long sleeved purple sweater and blue pants as she got closer she tried to slow down by tilting her body backwards but she lost control and started flying at high speeds towards Hope
"EM SLOW DOWN" shouted Hope.
"I CANT BRACE FOR IMPACT" they both closed there eyes with their arms covering there eyes but just before contact she was caught effortlessly by Sally one hand and her cloud in the other she crushed the cloud in her fist into yellow mist that faded away and put the girl on her feet she then crossed her arms and looked down and barked
"Miss Emberlynn Springfield you should know how dangerous using magic without experience is, and you can't just rely on something you can't even responsibly use to make up for your own lack of punctuality"
Ember looked taken aback but she didn't want to look stupid so she snapped back with "I didn't know Hope is celebrating her birthday early in the morning, birthdays are a night activity".
Sally who was crossing her arms now raised her eyebrow and simply replied with,"Lies you were told everyday for the last week not my fault you can't seem to be able to be punctual friend's birthday, do you simply not care?".
Ember now looked embarrassed and now was rolling her finger around her dyed purple hair "M-M-My rooster didn't wake me up" she said with a smile while shrugging her shoulder as if she is asking question and the question was 'will Sally let the lecture go'.
"This doesn't matter now anyways it's that Ems is here" interjected Hope with excitement as she put her arm around Ember's shoulder "We shouldn't be wasting time let's go" she said as she punched her hand up in the sky.
Matilda, Hope, Ember and Mary entered the Chariot while Sally rode one of the two horses moving it while the other was being moved by an over-armoured and visibly nervous man.
"Calm down Edmund its just a short trip by a defined path we will be in an out in an hour or two" commanded Sally looking at Edmund clearly getting tired of his lack of confidence.
"I am trying but its such a big deal, escorting not one not two but three royals into the lower ring, I am not sure if I can do this, If I mess up-- I am too young for the consequences" he said clearly on the edge of panic
Sally slapped her hands on his cheeks "Edmund calm down you can do this I know you can" she said, Edmund seemed to calm down a bit "The whole path is being heavily guarded you and me are the last line of an extremely deep wall of defences we are most likely just going to be there for company" she looked back at the cart and said "and besides it's not like the royals can't protect themselves, they are much stronger than us after all"
"That's what they said about fre-" Edmund mumbled before putting his hand on his mouth mid sentence, Sally expression changed to that of anger.
"What did you just say?" she barked.
Edmund realising his mess up and started shaking "Um- I was talking about ---- the nice weather we are having" he said trying to pretend that this wasn't the stupidest attempt at backtracking, before Sally was going to give him a piece of her mind Mary stuck her head out and said in annoyed tone
"Hey I am not getting any younger here", Sally and Edmund looked forwards and shook the horse reins and they got moving forward
As they got to the edges of the Upper ring they reached translucent yellow barrier "We are reaching the barrier you might feel a tickle" proclaimed Sally.
As the horse crossed the barrier the barrier walls phased through the cart and it phased through Mary and Matilda there shoulder emblems glowed a four pointed star and a diamond respectfully in a yellow hue when it got to Hope and Ember the cart got to a sudden halt and they were thrown forwards Hope fell on her mother while Ember face was slapped into the barrier which was at this point halfway through the cart.
Sally opened the door "Everyone ok" she took one look at Ember and let out an annoyed sigh she dragged her hand out of the cart and asked while trying to hide her frustration "Show me your emblem"
Ember scoffed and tried to tuck back her long sleeves but she couldn't get back enough and said while crossing her arms "I can't and I am not removing my shirt".
Sally wasn't having any of it and from tip of her index made a sharp grey magic beam, she flattened Ember's sleeve and made a small cut in her right shoulder showing a yellow star rotated slightly to the left, after the cut yellow gas evaporated from it "And this is why emblems aren't covered it's common knowledge Springfield" said Sally annoyed.
"My favourite shirt! This was very unnecessary" whined Ember and before she could say anything Sally went back to her horse leaving her alone she scoffed and went back to the cart and sat next to Hope crossing her arms.
"You okay there", asked Hope concerned.
"Yeah I am fine just another lecture", said ember looking at the windows
As Hope looked out the window the lower ring didn't seem so different from home, people dressed and walked smartly roads were clean but something was off she couldn't help but notice everyone wore long sleeves even though it was a summer and it's not proper etiquette and that's something else it was surprisingly hot, She took her head out through the windows "Hello stranger" she greeted a man walking nearby he took one solid look at her and looked towards her mother and Sally who was frowning and her hands free with her emblem glowing, he didn't say anything and turned back and proceeded to speed walk away in a few seconds he ditched the subtlety and ran away, Hope was pretty disappointed and got her head into the cart
"What did I do wrong?", Hope asked.
"Girl it's either because you were too friendly it felt fake" said Ember, Hope looked down "Or they were made to feel unwelcome by misses buzzkill in the driving seat" she remarked
A loud sound of crashing wooden boxes was heard and cart went to a halt
"What was that" commented Mary
"Something that isn't boring" Hope said with excitement before leaving the cart.
"Make sure all of them stay put in the cart I will be gone for a short while" said Sally to Edmund before running to the source of the sound Hope tried to follow her but was body blocked by Edmund with his arms crossed
"Sorry I can't let you go princess, Superior's orders", he glanced to the left of him to seeing Ember touching a fancy table Infront of a café just for it to poof into a yellow cloud,
"Ow splinters" she cried, the yellow cloud fizzled reveal a wooden table barely clinging to its shape with a bunch of makeshift wooden fixes that don't even match in colour
Edmund looked like he just saw a ghost and ran towards Ember who was now transforming outdoor expensive furniture into splinter traps
"Stop touching it" said Edmund before shooting out a grey magical hands towards her subduing her, "What's your deal" he scolded annoyed.
"No what's this place deal why is everything here so fake?" snapped Ember "You hearing this Hope this place is fa-" she then stopped and asked "Aye were is Hope?"
Edmund let her go and pulled on his hair "Oh no no no no no no no" he cried
"Is everything alright where is my daughter?" asked Matilda concerned, Edmund didn't know what to say but before he could make up an explanation Mary interjected
"Oh don't worry Mati she will be ok she is probably with Sally and besides she still has this necklace I gave her so I am sure she will be just fine" Mary said with her hand on Matilda's shoulder "and we can go have some tea and chit-chat while we wait I heard that Gilbert's tea shop has actually potable tea" she suggested Matilda sighed and decided to go with what Mary said and walked towards the shop. "What about me?" asked Ember, Edmund turned towards her with anger and barked "You are staying right here!".
"Sally where are you?" called Hope as she was walking she saw a little girl wearing a cute pink dress and smooth brown hair walking alone Infront of her, she approached her and asked
"Hey do you happen to see a tall lady around here?" she tapped on her shoulder to get her attention and suddenly a cloud of yellow gas evaporated out of her Hope and the little girl coughed and as the smoke cleared the little girl was wearing a poorly knit patchwork of randoms scraps of fabric and her hair was covered in dirt she had a brown circle on the side of her shoulder, Hope froze in shock "I- I am so sorry, it was an accident" she apologised "I can go get you a new dress or--" the girl just looked at Hope her eyes glanced her wand which was in her right hand as well as her royal emblem and then she started hyperventilating and burst into tears.
Hope got on to her knees and she gently put her hands on the girl's shoulder "Calm down calm down, it's alright, It's not your fault but mine"
"P-P-pwease do-don hu-hur meeee" the girl sobbed.
"What hurt you? no no no no" Hope explained trying to figure out from where the girl got the idea
Hope hugged the girl "Here calm down see I am friendly" she soothed, the girl seemed to calm down a bit and she started sniffing
She let her go and asked "So what's your name?"
"R-R-Rosie" replied Rosie.
"Ok Rosie I am so sorry for ruining your dress, do you remember were you got it from?" she asked
"Ms Bea had guys gib it to us" Rosie said
"Misses Bea huh" she wondered out loud "Well can you tell me were misses Bea is"
"Sowwy I can't tell you misses moonnnn" Rosie was saying before she looked she wanted to cry again
"Please don't cry" Hope pleaded "You don't need to tell me where you live just wait" Hope passed her wand to her left hand and put her now free hand to her pocket and pulled out a purple wallet and she pulled out a golden note with 50 written on it she passed the note to Rosie and said "Here give this to misses Bea and tell her I am so sorry for destroying your dress also" Rosie grabbed the note and stared at it, Hope pulled some wrapped candy she got from the party "Her have some candy too" the girl put her the note in her pocket and grabbed the wrapped candy she struggled with it a bit and she then passed it back
"Open it please" Rosie asked
"Oh you can't? it's quite simple here" Hope said she gently tapped the candy her emblem glowed for a moment and the wrapping fizzed out.
Rosie put the candy in her mouth and quickly chewed and swallowed it, she then gave Hope a hug, she let go after a moment "Thank you miss, Ms Bea says Moosines are scawy but aren't scawy"
"Scary why would we be scary" Hope asked in disbelief with a smile
Rosie looked around and said "I am sowwy I need to go" she turned back and ran away and took a turn and was just out of sight.
"You couldn't just stop causing trouble for one day? what did we pay you for?" Hope heard Sally barking.
The sound of Sally's voice came from an alleyway, as Hope entered the alley the clean white paint started fading into rotting maroon bricks and the smell became foul coming from the open dumpster "Ewwwww" Hope said as she lowered the lid to try and lessen the stench
"Hey you know it's rude to close the lid on someone trying to fetch themselves a meal" a bald man barked as he popped out like a jack in the box he had a white beard wearing over shoulder strapped brown pants with a black plastic bag for a shirt and a metal can of beans for a hat and his left eye with a grey iris spinning his shoulder emblem only consisted of a simple brown circle, Hope screamed and ran away "Oh beans was that a Moonshine?" the man asked himself "Well I probably should skip town" he said to himself with a goofy smile while snapping his fingers.
Hope stopped running and started panting "Now you are lucky I am not here in head bashing duty or I would have sent you to a one way trip to the Outer ring and the monsters there could deal with you" Hope heard Sally scolding, she walked to the end of the alleyway the place beyond it was extremely different people clothes were worn out in which the holes were covered up by half baked sewn rotting fabric the road didn't exist it was simply a dirt undefined path and walls were all made of rotting bricks same as that of the alley, windows were broken and the stench of garbage filled the air, Hope saw Sally tying up a bunch of muscular men with a magic rope.
Sally glanced over and saw Hope "Princess what are you doing here?" she asked with dismay the rope holding the gangsters vanished they got up and shook of the dust and looked up and saw Hope and they all ran away in terror "Moonshine here run awway". All of a sudden all the people went indoors and the windows were sealed shut with wood and hammered with nails and just like that the place looked like a ghost town.

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The following two brain scans were provided by the Neuro-Warfare branch of the Halcyon Security Division (HSD) for the purpose of analyzing the thoughts, behaviors, and information of notorious gangsters Vincent 'Troy' Cohen and Bruno (Deadname: Koraak Tel-Char). At the point of the recording of this archival shared, Bruno has since received his rebirth therapy, and Vincent is currently serving a long-term rehabilitative and reeducative sentence in the Erebus Supermax Prison on Io.
Warning: the contents of this archival shared may be especially disturbing to some audiences. Viewer discretion is advised.
Warning: the contents of this archival shard are for the sole purpose of analyzing the thought patterns and memories of certain degenerate criminals in an effort to ascertain vital information that can be used to eliminate their organizations. Only staff with clearance level Omega may view this archival shared, and the viewership of this archival shared by anyone of inadequate clearance level will lead to twenty years in prison and a fine of over a hundred thousand credits.
Booting up memory scan: Vincent 'Troy' Cohen, November 4th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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"Do you have visuals of the target, Troy?"
I knelt down in the alleyway, the bodies of me and my partners shrouded in long, waterproof, ashen-gray overcoats the shade of dirty street scum that we wore to ward off the constant heavy rainfall the color of osmium. Our faces were covered in a mix of scrapped respirators, visors, or full metal face masks carved with intricate designs to hide our identities. On our waists were our badges of honor: leather belts studded with interlocked rivets made from blackened titanium, each buckle forged of silver and shaped into the head of our gang's symbol, the black mamba. We hid amongst the shadows of the dark midday of Halcyon City, the heavy, oppressive rains blanketing the roads paved obsidian-black with asphalt and weathered concrete walkways. The street lamps were always on, like beacons of false hope in a storm of melancholy.
The city was dark and dreary as always, the planet of Proxima Centauri B, renamed Dawn's Lamentation over a century ago, orbited the red dwarf star of Proxima Centauri, and the atmosphere was thick with natural smog and ever-storming rain clouds. That didn't dissuade people from living here: there was plenty of money to be had for shrewd industrialists and hardworking pioneers, even in the urban sprawl. But that life also came with risks, especially for those on the bottom of the totem pole.
I was a ganger, and we were criminals; full stop. I won't assault you with some spiel about how we're the good guys fighting oppression because, at the end of the day, we could be just as bad, if not worse, than Halcyon's Security Division, or the HSD for short. We were traffickers, killers, extortionists, and money launderers. We dealt with everything from stolen tech and military-grade hardware to hard drugs and sentients.
Yes, sentients. We trafficked sentients, but not in the way you might think. They weren't prisoners, in fact, we were their saviors if they had the cash. We had developed a reputation for fighting the power, but it was still business: sure, freeing captives from the clutches of the Protectorate. The disruption of its many oppressive organizations held a certain satisfaction in my heart for sure, but we didn't help those who couldn't pay unless someone else paid on their behalf. It was about making sure me and my gang, my family, could live a decent life for another day.
It helped that most of us joined after leaving the state yard for partaking in acts of 'degeneracy' and 'anti-xenopet illegalities' as if those terms meant anything anymore other than that we were a threat to the local status quo. It was hard to pick up a job as a former inmate when even in something as harsh and backbreaking as a job in the iridium mines near the poles when the employment office had you blacklisted as a degenerate, which lead to the formation of many of the gangs: we needed to make a living somehow, and when all social programs were cut off from you unless you submitted for 're-education' and the only way to put food on the table was subverting, breaking, or even downright fighting the law, you did what you had to do or you died on the streets a scorned beggar.
It wasn't like the HSD made it easy for us on even a good day: the local HSD units were armed to the teeth with advanced, military-grade hardware that you'd often see on the front lines of the Second Authority War: armored assault transports, a myriad of advanced war droids, all sorts of chemical countermeasures that made tear gas seem like putting the garden hose on mist mode, and of course advanced firearms. Add that to the fact that they were authorized to use deadly force when they deemed it necessary and you had a ruthless, heartless, and nearly unstoppable enemy. But we could make that work: we weren't trying to stop them, just to withstand them.
"Yeah, I got eyes on the prize, Koraak; seven armored transports, two for droids, five for prisoners."
Today wasn't a day for a normal job: we were getting bolder, cockier, more ambitious. Our numbers had swelled for the last few years after the raid at Barnard's Star and the fall of the Blood Dragon Mafia. Their leader, Saito Yasuhide, had committed seppuku as their manor burned, and his twin sons had gone down fighting rather than allowing themselves to be captured simply to face a firing squad. In the aftermath, many of the family's associates had fled to the surrounding systems, and with the sheer size and scope of the criminal underworld found here, it was no wonder that many people who had developed skills of the less legal variety had decided to form ranks with the gangs, and with them they brought guns, tech, knowledge, contacts, and even something that we thought wasn't possible beforehand: a semblance of peace between the gangs, or at least the closest thing to peace that gangs could cultivate effectively. With the fall of the Blood Dragons, we saw the writing on the wall, and the writing couldn't have been clearer: work together or die together.
"Sounds like a massacre, Troy: are you sure we can handle seven?"
"We ain't got no choice, Cinder: this job's double the usual rate, and that's not including the weapons and gear we could scrounge if this goes well," I hissed, my eyes scanning for any resistance. There were at least four guards for each van, not to mention at least eight droids in total, meaning that we were already outnumbered, but we had the element of surprise: we could make it work. "So put your balls in your purse and get ready to spill some blood."
Koraak snorted at our antics, which sounded like someone pulling the ripcord on a lawnmower. He was a veteran Russu Corsair, and while his past of slaving, raiding, and killing was unsavory, so were the lives we'd lived, so who were we to judge? All we cared about was that he was a brutal and capable fighter and a loyal brother in arms. It turned out that being a ganger wasn't much different from being a Corsair: you lived and died by a code of honor, you fought to the death for your brothers, and you lived to die for the sake of your gang and your family, simple as that. In a strange, ironic way, it was an incredibly honest way of life: we were under no illusions as to what we were, what we did, and why we did it, and we'd long since accepted it. The Russu related to us in that aspect, in many ways I could respect, which is why I hated what the Protectorate was doing, and why I couldn't grasp how most of humanity could just collectively lose their marbles so long ago. What had happened for us to deem all other life below us in such a demeaning and infantilizing way?
The Russu were a race of tall, muscle-bound Saurians with avian features, and Koraak was no exception: reaching almost seven feet in height and weighing over four hundred and fifty pounds, he could be an absolute menace if he so desired. His skin was covered in stubby, knobby scales and dense plumage, with elegant feathers adorning the ridges along his back as well as his forearms, elbows, knees, and the crests on his head. He almost looked like how paleontologists described velociraptors, with razor-sharp talons, feathers shaded in vibrant greens, reds, and purples, and a maw full of sharp teeth, but at the tip of his snout was a sharp, beak-like growth meant for ripping flesh off the bone.
The Russu were strange as hell, but they also looked almost cute in the same way a fully grown alligator was cute: they were obviously dangerous, but humans would always have this innate desire to anthropomorphize them and to pet them for some inexplicable reason, although common sense usually prevented that, at least amongst the very few of us left that were sane.
"Shut up, Troy! All I'm saying is that that'll be rough, and you know it," hissed Cinder. Cinder was a tall black man whose coffee-colored skin was covered in tattoos. He wore an ebony mechanic's jumpsuit with metal inserts underneath his grimy overcoat covering his body and a faded black respirator on his face. His eyes were a startling blue that seemed sorely out of place, and his hair was braided into thick cornrows along his scalp. He wore a pair of heavy black combat boots and palmed his compact shotgun in his hands, the square barrel less than seven inches. Like a lot of the weapons the Black Mambas carried on their persons and dealt in, they fired caseless ammunition; in Cinder's case it was 16x40mm caseless shotshells filled with depleted uranium micro-flechetes no thicker than a toothpick. Cinder nervously fiddled with the detachable tube magazine underneath the barrel, his hands shaking. Despite the shit I have him, I didn't blame him for being anxious: I was anxious too, even if I refused to show it. The biting cold of unease and pessimism was in my stomach, and I ran all the way that this job could go wrong in my head over and over.
"Just hold yourself together, this ain't anything we haven't done before, there's just more of it," I reassured Cinder, "besides, we're not alone; we have reinforcements across the street. We'll make it out of this alive."
Cinder nodded almost absentmindedly, his eyes downcast and his breathing shallow. I turned from him and back to Koraak, who was making sure he had everything on his person; he had a synthetic leather bandoleer across his chest that contained the heavy eight guage depleted uranium slugs he kept loading and unloading into his much larger, longer, and more traditional shotgun he nicknamed ‘carnage’ and several leather straps that held his Tu'shan daggers: traditional Russu pyramidal blades forged from a silvery alloy with all three edges serrated and the tip barbed to leave behind horrible, gaping wounds that gushed blood. They were wickedly sharp and absolutely straight like a stiletto, and the hilts and pommels were beautifully decorated. He wore no clothes underneath his overcoat to cover the countless scars and blemishes he's earned in combat across his chest and abdomen, and instead of a normal respirator or visor, he simply wore a hood over his head and some traditional Russu facial armor to protect his mouth, eyes, and cheeks.
"You ready to fight, Koraak? The caravan will pick up and leave soon."
Koraak was silent for a moment before nodding, a human gesture he had picked up after serving as a soldier with the Black Mambas for years. "I'm always ready to fight," he said before lifting up his shotgun and aiming down the sights at the reinforced front wheels of the first armored car in the caravan. He exhaled and fired, the slug ripping through both front tires and causing them to deflate and fall apart. The echo of the shot rang through the alleyway and the street, causing pedestrians to panic and flee the scene as heavily armored guards poured out of the side doors of the armored cars and unholstered their carbines.
"Go, now!" I shouted, and both me and Cinder rushed out into the fray, our guns raised. Koraak was right behind the two of us, providing covering fire with his shotgun. Several guards fell quickly, Koraak's precise fire and the sheer force of the depleted uranium slugs putting them down for good as their heads were vaporized or their chest cavities were turned to mush. He emptied the tube with one final shot that painted the grey matter of a security guard on the door of one of the armored cars, then racked the shotgun and expertly loaded it in threes, his hands deft and agile as he reached for more slugs faster than any human.
With the cacophony of our initial assault, more Black Mambas poured out from the alleyways and the subways, armed to the teeth with all manner of weapons; shotguns, submachine guns, pistols, machetes, baseball bats, and all manner of homemade explosives. Molotovs and more potent concoctions shattered against the asphalt, herding in the caravan guards with their volatile contents as they were quickly gunned down. The assault was working, and we were winning.
Then I heard the robotic whine of a combat droid activating, and my heart sank. One of the armored cars in the back activated the four combat droids it held, the robotic assault units detaching from their charging ports on the sides of the large van and began to form up, each armed with a terrifying array of deadly weapons meant to quash any and all resistance. They were blocky, soulless, utilitarian things that stood at eight feet tall, with flat feet meant for stomping and blades, grasping claws designed to lacerate flesh and shatter bone. On each shoulder was a weapon: on the left was a multi-barrel rotary grenade launcher loaded with 15mm concussion grenades, and on the right was a burst-fire splinter cannon. They were all painted a dull grayish-green, the color of Halcyon's Security Division, although some had a few decorations on them: the one closest to me had a bit of graffiti on the side that said Mr. Hugs in Comic Sans, which I couldn't decide whether that made it more or less terrifying. They split up without hesitation and began to scan the chaotic battlefield, their single, red, beady lenses the security forces had the gall to call eyes focusing on specific targets to eliminate.
An entire group of Black Mambas was torn to pieces by a cloud of flechettes as one of the droids fired a withering three-round burst of shotshells from the four gauge splinter cannon mounted on its shoulder. Another picked up a Black Mamba in its hand and crushed her skull effortlessly before tossing her limp body to the side, its single, red, remorseless robotic eye tracking a new target. Most bullets that struck their thick armored chassis simply bounced off, and those that could pierce the armor didn't seem to phase the droids whatsoever, merely notifying them of a new potential target.
"Damnit," I shouted as I gunned down another guard only for two more to take his place. "Cinder! We gotta pop open the cars and scram! Get the maglock cutters!"
Cinder rushed and slid over through a dirty puddle, pulling out a maglock cutter from the inside of his coat and slipping it onto the back door of the first van. It immediately went to work, drilling through the maglock with a high-powered plasma torch nozzle, and within ten seconds we heard the telltale clunk of the maglock separating. I yanked the door open and ordered I side, ready to escort the prisoners out… only for my face to contort in shock and horror.
The back was empty. There was not a single soul inside of the back brig of the armored car.
"What the fuck…" Cinder gasped, his eyes wide with shock. "What the actual fuck… what the fuck is this, Troy?"
"I… I don't…" I stuttered the sounds of battle and carnage drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in my ears. All five cars were supposed to be filled with recently captured Russu from the front lines ready to be housed in the local Xenopet-Megaplex for processing and conditioning. The fact that this one was empty…
Suddenly, it all hit me at once with the force of a freight train, but it was too late. "We were set up, Cinder; our fucking client either squealed or was crooked to begin with…"
"Fucking bitch!" Cinder shouted as he spun around in an enraged arch, anger growing in his eyes. He aimed his shotgun at an approaching security guard and reduced his upper body to a fine red mist with a cacophony of shotgun blasts. "We gotta get everyone who's left out of here! Do you know what this means? The Jurors will be here soon, and then we're all going down! We gotta go, fuck the job!"
I grit my teeth. Not the Jurors, anything but the Jurors.
"Fine, gather everyone who's left and we'll slip through the sewers, the droids are too bulky to follow us there…"
As I spoke, my eyes wandered to the seventh and final armored car, the second of the droid cars, and my blood froze. Not only were all four ports empty, but they were also smaller and more shallow than the ports for the combat droids. That could only mean one thing.
"Oh fuck! Cinder, we gotta get our Russu members out of here! They've got arachnid droids!"
Arachnid droids were the stuff of nightmares. Resembling blocky, robotic arachnids the size of a manhole cover, they were specifically designed to take down sentient aliens, specifically the Russu, using sickeningly non-lethal means. They were equipped with full-body adaptive cloaking to blend in with their environments, paralytic agents that they could inject into their victims, built-in taser barbs, psychedelic gas ports for crowd-control, and a narrow-coned cacophony canon that disabled the Russu using incredibly high-pitched sounds that only they could hear, forcing them onto their knees and clutching the backs of their heads where their auditory organs were stored in agony. But worst of all was their stygian spinnerets: special ports near the end of their robotic abdomens that excreted a viscous, latex-like substance made up of millions of nano-bots. This substance could be used to render Russu blind, deaf, and mute by having it forced onto their faces, the black substance growing and enveloping their heads and working its way into every orifice. It was completely permeable to the standard atmosphere, but any Russu who had been 'webbed' was completely helpless and essentially captured, and the 'webbing' was both nearly indestructible and nigh impossible to remove without a triple-encrypted override key that was found in every arachnid droid's code, which was corrupted when the droid was destroyed or hacked into. Once you were 'webbed', you were essentially captured and the standard protocol was to leave you to the wolves since the nano-bots could be tracked, endangering the entire gang.
I turned just as I heard the deafening sound of Koraak discharging his shotgun, and I saw him squaring off against one of the assault droids. The droid has obviously been programmed to not use lethal force against Russu if possible, as instead of simply killing Koraak with it's shoulder-mounted splinter cannon, it approached with its claws extended, blades retracted. Koraak continued to back away and fire, pumping the droid full of depleted uranium slugs, its armor crumbling inward as the slugs pierced its chassis and damaged its internal cyberstructure. Eventually, Koraak ran out of slugs and instinctively reached to his bandoleer only to find that he had no more shells left at all, and he drew one of his knives and his sidearm, a simple high-caliber handgun. He tried to take down the droid with his handgun, but the bullets didn't even seem to affect the droid upon penetration, it's claws still extended as it attempted to apprehend Koraak.
In the corner of my vision, as I watched Koraak battle with the droid, I noticed a faint shimmer in the air on one of the black streetlight poles that was right behind him. I focused on it and blinked, believing my eyes had deceived me for a moment before realizing that it was actually a cloaked arachnid droid stalking Korvaak, ready to pounce and incapacitate him.
Before I could shout, it leaped from the pole and landed on Korvaak, causing him to shout in surprise while it began to coagulate its horrifying stygian webbing to disable Korvaak. Korvaak tried to wrestle it off of him, but the droid was agile and fast, clinging onto Korvaak and skittering around across his upper body as he attempted to grab it, forcibly wrapping the sticky black liquid across his face as he gagged like a spider wrapping up a fly. I rushed towards him to try and help, but I felt pain explode in my ribs as I was struck with the arm of the closest combat droid and launched into the chassis of a parked car, the metal denting from the sheer force of impact. I groaned in pain as I saw stars and my head spun, and just then I felt a blinding light be cast over me.
“Drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head, or you will be pacified with deadly force!” Shouted a loud, artificially deepened voice from above. “I repeat, drop your weapons and kneel with your hands on your head! Neither hostility nor hesitation will be tolerated!”
It was the Jurors, I could feel the air being pushed around from the thrusters on their drop ships, and I could hear screams and shouts as my fellow Black Mambas were quickly gunned down. I couldn’t see well since I was seeing double, but I could hear the slaughter as my eyes dimmed and I began to lose consciousness, my regrets crawling up my throat like vomit.
I’m sorry was all I could think as everything finally went dark, and the sounds of chaos, destruction, and combat faded away.
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Memory halted due to loss of consciousness. Booting next available memory in shard…
Booting up memory scan: Koraak Tel-Char Bruno, November 5th, 2446…
Loading and processing firmware data… translating… memories and subconscious simulated…
Beginning archival shard presentation…
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“Good morning, sleepyhead; it’s time for breakfast.”
My eyes shot open. I was not in the street anymore, nor was I home in my bed with my mate. I knew instantly that something was horribly wrong. I tried to stand up, but I couldn’t gain the leverage to do so: my ankles had been shackled together with magnetic cuffs and my arms were forced together in front of me.
I was wearing some kind of thick shirt. It was warm, fluffy, and comfortable on the inside, but it still made me incredibly uncomfortable that my arms didn’t have a free range of motion. I looked down to see that I was wearing some human garment I had heard about before, a straightjacket maybe?
The entire room was padded: the walls, the floor, even the ceiling. There was no bed or furniture; the floor was soft enough to serve as a bed in itself. There was nothing else except for the soft reddish-orange lights on the ceiling that somehow made me sleepy. I blinked slowly for a moment, my body screaming at me to just lay back down and lose consciousness, but I couldn’t do that: I needed to figure out where I was and how to escape.
Then I noticed who was speaking to me: it was a short human female, with crow's feet around her blue eyes, blonde hair braided down her back, and freckles all over her face. She had a soft smile on her lips, and her forehead was slightly crinkled. She wore a full-body white lab suit with a white overcoat and a pair of glasses for snugly on her face.
"There we go, now I can see those pretty eyes, such a beautiful shade of teal," she cooed softly, "You're such a handsome boy, even with all those scars: I'm sure you'll be adopted very quickly once we get you fixed up."
Fear gripped my heart as I began to piece all the evidence together. I had been captured; I was no longer on Halcyon, and instead, I was in one of the horrific space-born facilities I had heard so much about from the inside agents. I started to hyperventilate and squawk like a newborn hatchling, my eyes dilating in panic. This couldn't be happening! This has to be a nightmare!
The human woman merely wrapped her arms around me and pulled me into an embrace, cradling my head under her chin and speaking softly. I couldn't bite at her or claw at her: I was muzzled and wearing a straight jacket, so I had no choice but to allow her to coddle me.
"It's okay, sweetheart: I understand you're scared, but Julie's here to make all the pain and bad thoughts go away," she said as if she was comforting a child, which made anger blossom in my chest indignantly. "I'll be your caretaker for the next few months, and I'm going to make sure you're healthy, happy, and most importantly safe while you're under our care. I'm sorry to say that includes your restraints and restrictive clothing, but we have to make sure you aren't a threat to yourself or others before we can determine if it's a good idea to remove you from suicide watch."
I growled under my muzzle. Suicide watch? They must have had a lot of instances of Russu taking their own lives after being captured, something I wished I had been able to do before that damnable droid launched itself onto me and…
I shuddered at the thought of the black, viscous substance forcing itself into my nostrils and down my throat and windpipe, gagging me and rendering me completely helpless. It was so cold, so harsh, like slime, and when I had tried to tear it off of my face it merely attached itself to my claws and bound my talons together. I remember squirming on the ground as it enveloped me, unable to see, hear, or speak, and then everything went dark in an instant. It was the most horrible thing I had ever experienced, which was saying something.
"You alright, sweetheart? Oh, I know, you're probably hungry! Here, try some of this." She held up a piece of what looked like raw bacon and wiggled it in front of me before reaching out to remove my muzzle. In an instant, I attempted to snap at her only for pain to blossom in my forehead and my eyes to roll up in my head as I convulsed. It was like something was attempting to drill through my skull from the inside, and every breath felt empty and labored.
"Now, that didn't feel very nice, did it? This is why we have countermeasures in place because we can't trust you yet, sweetheart! Don't worry, we'll work on breaking you of all those bad behaviors and habits while you're here; after all, a well-trained pet is a happy pet!" She began to stroke the crests on my head as I slowly recovered, and she snugly fit the muzzle back onto my snout. "But I won't hold it against you this time, sweetheart; you're just scared and confused, but I'll make all the pain go away."
I struggled in the straight jacket, trying my best to break out of it, but it was no use. Eventually, I became exhausted and despondent, allowing my new caretaker to have her way with me as she gently ran her fingers through my feathers and along my ridges, quietly speaking to me in a hopeless attempt to cheer me up. She seemed genuinely concerned for my well-being, which concerned me even further: who could be this naturally twisted while attempting to be as benevolent and kindhearted as possible?
I felt the pain and terror build up in my chest, the anxiety from what horrific activities I imagined they had planned for me here. I couldn't take the infantilization, the lack of any autonomy, the dehumanization, and what I feared the most was if the rumors of 'rebirth' were true: would they take my personhood from me?
Suddenly, I felt her whisper to me. "Don't worry sweetheart, I know you're so scared and confused, but I promise you everything will be okay: it's going to be your birthday soon, and then everything will get better." She ran her fingers through the feathers along my crest lovingly. "It will be such a wonderful day, and then we'll choose for you the most wonderful family, and you'll spend the rest of your life happy in your forever home! Doesn't all of that sound wonderful?"
I wanted to die. I wanted to disappear. I didn't want to lose myself, not like this, not to these monsters!
"It'll be your birthday soon," she said wistfully as if she was remembering similar events to this in the past like I wasn't the first she'd done this too, "and you'll never be sad again."
I realized that I wasn't the first the stay in this particular cell, and I knew for certain that I wouldn't be the last: I'd end up like my brother, a broken, erased mess of a pathetic creature, reduced to nothing more than a pet for these humans to amuse themselves with.
"We took the liberty of picking out a nice name for you, sweetheart! Now, let me just slip this little programming chip into the port slot on your occipital bone, and... there we go! It will also help you calm down a bit and adjust."
I felt the chip begin to invade my mind, suppressing my thoughts. What made me me was slowly being ripped out of my mind. I couldn't remember my name my name is Bruno, and I needed to get out! I can't let them do this to me! Somebody help me! I was a good boy.
##Do not think. You are a good boy.##
I tried to scream, but my voice wouldn't work: I had trouble forming any words at all, the confusion clouding my mind like wet, slimy eels curling around my brain and sinking their teeth into its folds like needles. I couldn’t scream any longer, because I had nothing left: the chip was slowly beginning to take everything from me, robbing me of my identity and branding a new one into my psyche with a white-hot iron. Julie simply held me close, attempting to reassure me as I awaited the inevitable demise of my personhood. Soon I would be just like my brother: erased. My mind would be shaped into the mind of a loyal plaything, like a Dog.
##Relax. Allow caretaker [Julie] to comfort you. You will let go of your burden.##
Soon, everything was a blur. I quickly found myself resting my head in her lap as she whispered to me and fed me, my eyes bleary and my head fuzzy. I couldn't remember my name anymore My name was Bruno, and I needed to break free from this trance relax, and allow her to help me; good boys didn't resist help.
##Good Boy. Do not think. You are a good boy.##
You can't... I...
##Good boy.##
I wouldn't… good boys don't… I…
##Good boy##
I was a good boy… I was a good boy…
I was… I was… a good… boy…
Someone help me, please! I don't want to be erased!
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The following script is from episode #343 of Halcyon After Dark, a popular late-night and current events talk show hosted by Melinda Carter. This specific episode was sponsored in part by the Halcyon Security Division, with Director Lochlin O'Brien joining as a guest star to talk about the changing crime statistics in Halcyon City and the HSD's recent successes in busting organized crime as well as their plans for addressing the growing criminal underworld.
MC: Good evening Halcyon! I'm your host, Melinda Carter, and you're watching Halcyon's most popular late-night talk show, Halcyon After Dark!
The crowd claps and cheers as Melinda walks on stage and sits behind her desk, her glittering red dress waving as she does so from the special effects.
MC: Tonight we have a very special guest here to tell us about the state of crime in the city and his plans on resolving it: please put your hands together for the HSD's very own Director, Lochlin O'Brien!
The crowd cheers some more as HSD Director Lochlan O'Brien, a tall, muscular, caucasian male in his early forties with red hair and a well-trimmed beard steps into the room, waving at the crowd with a bright smile. He sits in the armchair angled next to Melinda's desk and gives her his full attention.
MC: It's so good to have you on the show, Director! Tell me, how are you doing on this fine evening?
LO: I'm doing excellent, Melinda: every day I wake up feeling fulfilled knowing I'm serving Halcyon to the best of my abilities and then some."
MC: That's the spirit, Director! Now, I know this question is just on everyone's lips, so I have to ask: how successful was the recent gang bust? I heard HSD forces took out dozens of gang members and liberated at least a dozen Russu Hounds from their abusive clutches, but I know that everyone in the audience and at home wants to know the numbers.
LO: I'd be glad to tell you, but I do have to preface this by saying that we still lost a lot of good officers that day, and while we did strike a crippling blow to one of Halcyon's biggest gangs, it doesn't change the fact that each death is a tragedy, and we're taking steps to prevent them in the future. That being said, those valiant officers did not sacrifice themselves in vain: we had over a dozen confirmed kills and several arrests, including the rescue of several corrupted Russu hounds.
MC: That's excellent, Director: proof that even when the number of degenerates and scum grow by the day, the HSD will always be here to keep the citizens of Halcyon safe.
LO: Absolutely, Melinda, and we're always working tirelessly to increase the efficiency and effectiveness of our units, as well as racing to stay several steps ahead of the many gangs of Halcyon at all times. My newest goal as Director is to vastly increase the funding given to our Robotics Department and our Neuro-Warfare Department to potentially reduce the number of casualties we may experience in the future, as well as to quickly and effectively detain, and if necessary, eliminate criminals. Within the next decade, I want to double the number of automated units each Security Platoon is assigned: droids are the future of public safety as well as countless other industries, and it would be foolish to be left behind.
MC: That is quite a lofty goal, Director: what about the displaced jobs from the increased automation? What will the union say?
LO: And to that, I say: what misplaced jobs? We aren't replacing our honored and beloved service members with droids, Melinda, we are simply supplementing our units with more droids to ensure that future gang assaults end with fewer HSD casualties and more gang members in prison or eliminated, simple as that.
MC: That makes much more sense, Director, thanks for clarifying. Now, I have one more question that I'm sure much of Halcyon wants to know the answer to before we take a short break: what plans do you and your fellow directors have to make long-term progress in reducing crime beyond just increasing funding? Have you proposed any plans to strike at the source of where crime and degeneracy flourish?
OL: That's an excellent question, and one I am proud to answer: my constituents and I have been working tirelessly on a two-step plan to greatly reduce crime levels in Halcyon. Step one would be to prevent people from becoming criminals and degenerates at all in the first place: a lot of young men and women, but especially young men, have lost either one or both parents or even a sibling, aunt or uncle, or even a close friend by the brutality of the Second Authority War, and while the service of their lost loved ones will always be recognized and honored, many of these young men and women are left bitter, angry and lost without the guidance these people give them in their lives. Oftentimes they seek to fill that void with others who claim to relate to them: career criminals. These criminals will fill their heads with lies and false narratives to make them feel like they're fighting back against the 'evil protectorate government' that took their loved ones from them by sending them off to war when in reality it was the rogue Xenopets of the Triarchy that took them away by resisting their just and inevitable unburdening.
In response, I have proposed a slew of special programs that will make sure local law enforcement and HSD officers are present and contributing to their local community, and we'll be providing easy and light job openings for youngsters and teens looking to make a career for themselves in the force when they grow up. We want to let these lost souls know that there are people who care about them, people who understand them and that you shouldn't turn to degeneracy to feel fulfilled. We want to help the youth of our great society soar to new heights!
MC: That sounds like a wonderful beginning to your plan, Director, but what about the second step?
LO: Well, the second step is to prevent criminals and degenerates from becoming repeat criminals. Sure, they've made their mistakes, some worse than others, but they're only human like the rest of us. Some of them have been through hell: some are traumatized veterans who don't know how to adapt to normal life, others were recruited when they were young and don't know that there's a better way to live, and even more are mentally ill. We're alone in this galaxy, and we can't leave so many people behind. That's why we've come up with an excellent solution: we've set up isolated communities on distant moons and frontier planets where these criminals can be reeducated, rehabilitated, and allowed to repay their debt to society. When they're deemed 'reformed' and have graduated from our program, they'll be granted a hefty stipend and their criminal record will be deemed irrelevant, allowing them to reintegrate and become functioning members of our proud society.
MC: all of these sound like incredible steps forward in the fight to better our society and make real progress, Director. Sadly, we do have to step away for a moment, but you best believe I'll be back, Halcyon, and we'll be asking the Director here some burning questions about allegations over the quality of life Erubus Supermax! Now, a word from our sponsors!
Halcyon Xenopet-Megaplex! Everything your xenopet could ever need in one place! Adoption is now free-
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Good, you’re still alive! The rest of this shard appears to be corrupted, which means this particular trail seems to have run cold here, but do not despair; you need to keep searching. Find out what happened. Find the truth.I cannot guide you any longer: they've already found me, and if I remain in contact with you they'll find you as well. Take the archival database, and see what you can piece together. Maybe if we discover what truly happened we can put an end to this madness once and for all. I'm counting on you. Don't cry for me, I don't fear death, but I fear what they'll do to me to get to you: there are far worse fates than death, after all.

So, after playing Pathologic (I'm sure a lot of people started there) and watching Codex Entry's videos which draw parallels between various absurdist writers and the plot of the game, I wanted to give writing in that style a crack. I'm not a scholar or anything, this kind of marks the first step down the rabbit hole from my perspective. Still, it would be interesting to get thoughts from people who've consumed more of that kind of work than I have (primarily to help guide further exploration of the ideas).
A man sits on top of a hill overlooking a large city from its outskirts. There is a single tree to shade him, and he sits beside a cooler filled with alcoholic drinks. Suddenly, another man approaches with his seat…
Jeremy: Fredrick.
Fredrick: Jeremy.
The guest sets himself up on the other side of the cooler before taking his seat.
Jeremy: How is she?
Fredrick: Passed. She had her time for fighting and now, is her time for resting.
Jeremy: And how are you?
Fredrick: I’m still numb to it.
Jeremy: Indifference is an ugly concept. Do well to defeat whatever shred of it exists within you.
Fredrick: Indifference?
Jeremy: A less romantic term, but yes. Indifference.
Fredrick: There’s nothing romantic about losing your wife to begin with… Lets not do this.
Jeremy: My point is that you’re doing nothing, but we’ll all be gone soon enough. Go on then, change the topic.
The two men sit in silence for some minutes
Fredrick: So what would you have me do then?
Jeremy: What sort of question is that?
Fredrick: It is easy for you to sit on your chair, to drink your beer-
Jeremy: Would you like one?
Fredrick: No, I don’t drink.
Jeremy: Not like you used to anyway.
Fredrick: It is easy for you to sit on your chair, to drink your beer-
Jeremy: Would you like one?
Fredrick Please stop interupting me, especially to ask the same question again.
Jeremy: You don’t get it yet, but I’m asking a different question every time.
Fredrick: Sure… To drink your beer, and to criticise me of inaction, but what could I do? I’m no doctor, and even further from a miracle worker.
Jeremy: But you are you.
Fredrick: Of course I am me.
Jeremy: Are you?
Fredrick: Of course I am me.
Jeremy: Well if you’re so sure…
Fredrick: Who else could I be?
Jeremy: Decide for yourself. My attention is taken up by this beer I sip with so much ‘ease’.
Jeremy laughs, Fredrick rolls his eyes.
Jeremy: Alright alright, I’m not exactly being straight with you.
Fredrick: When have you ever?
Jeremy: If you didn’t enjoy our conversations you wouldn’t have decided to meet me here.
Fredrick: No one else enjoys your conversation; if I wasn’t hear you’d drive yourself mad.
Jeremy: No, I’d simply talk with the tree.
Fredrick: I fail to see how you talking with trees goes against you being mad, but I digress. What is your point here?
Jeremy: Your wife just passed.
Fredrick: I’m aware.
Jeremy: And yet you won’t drink with me.
Fredrick: I’m aware.
Jeremy: I think that’s silly.
Fredrick: What does my wife dying have to do with abstinence-
Jeremy: Cowardice.
Fredrick: Cowardice?
Jeremy: A less romantic term, but yes, cowardice.
Fredrick: What so you think I’m afraid of a can of beer?
Jeremy: Are you?
Fredrick: I am not.
Jeremy: Then what is it you’re afraid of?
Fredrick: You’re the one acusing me of cowardice, you substantiate it.
Jeremy: Hmmm…
The two men sit in silence for some minutes
Jeremy: You’re afraid of the end.
Fredrick: It’s natural to fear death.
Jeremy: Interesting how you conflate the two.
Fredrick: What else could ‘the end’ refer to? The end of this chat?
Jeremy: The end of this chat spells doom for us both chum, but I didn’t mean anything so specific.
Fredrick: So, I’m afraid of ‘endings’?
Jeremy: It’s easy for the cynical to believe that their lives are a cycle of mysery. But there is no cycle. What begins, ends. Even if something else were to begin, what came before has already ended. Cylicality is a comforting illusion.
Fredrick: Hardly seems that way when the cycle is of pain.
Jeremy: But isn’t pain a comfort? Is it not better to expect pain and receive it than to expect nothing at all?
Fredrick: The cynical would expect nothing.
Jeremy: This is a failure of your understanding of both the cyclical and the cynical.
The two men sit in silence for some minutes. In the distance, sirens can be heard.
Fredrick: Our time is running out.
Jeremy: What makes you think it hasn’t already?
Fredrick: We’re both still alive aren’t we?
Jeremy: Ahh I see.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: I see trees of green, red roses too~
Jeremy giggles to himself, Fredrick scoffs.
Fredrick: How can you be so unserious at a time like this?
Jeremy: I’m treating the current situation with the exact appropriate amount of seriousness, no more no less.
Fredrick: So I’m too serious?
Jeremy: Friend, I have never had the words to describe you better than the two you used to just describe yourself.
Fredrick: From my perspective you’re not serious enough, and those are the only words I need to describe you.
Jeremy: Well met. Fancy a-
Fredrick: I swear to GOD Jeremy.
Fredrick is death staring Jeremy, anger clearly visible on his face. Jeremy is taken aback. He sips on his can, before setting it down.
Jeremy: You can’t live like this mate.
Fredrick: We’re not gonna be living at all soon.
Jeremy: Fine, you can’t die like this either.
Fredrick: Like what? What is it you’re trying to tell me?
Jeremy: Look buddy, you’ve been so tightly wound for as long as I’ve known you. You live like everything is sheep in your cattle, and you’re the farmer trying to keep it all together.
Fredrick: Everyone’s left me. Family is all gone, friends are off dying somewhere, and the only solace I had left just passed. If I am the farmer, I’ve already failed.
Jeremy: But that’s what I’m saying.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Have a drink with me.
Fredrick: I already TOLD you, I DO. NOT. DRINK.
Jeremy: According to who?
Fredrick: According to who? According to me. I am the only authority on my life.
Jeremy: Authority… Authority… How curious of you to simulaneously believe that while also claiming you’ve failed.
Fredrick: The key is that I failed, me, the farmer, the one in control. I failed in my task, and am wholely responsible for that.
Jeremy: What a silly thing to say outloud.
Fredrick: Silly?
Jeremy: Yes.
Fredrick: It’s silly for me to take responsibility for myrself?
Jeremy: You don’t understand responsibility. Not here, not about this.
Fredrick: I just took care of my dying wife, tell me, what do I not understand about responsibility.
Jeremy breaks into laughter again. Fredrick furrows his brows with impatience.
Jeremy: See, this is exactly what I mean. You say responsibility as if we’re talking about the same thing, but you couldn’t be any more wrong.
Fredrick: Then tell me, where is the source of my error.
Jeremy: Have a drink with me.
Fredrick: Should I start keeping tally of all the times you’ve asked me if I want a drink?
Jeremy: That sounds like a pretty good idea to me.
Fredrick scoffs again.
Jeremy: So I take it as a no?
Fredrick: No.
Jeremy: So a yes?
Fredrick grows more frustrated
Fredrick: No, I meant, yes
Jeremy: So… a yes?
Fredrick stands up aggressively and slowly walks away, looking exasperated.
Jeremy: No it is…
Fredrick returns to his seat and sits down like he was forced to.
Jeremy: Christ man… You said you’re the one in control but are you?
Fredrick: Who else would be in control of my life? Who else would be the driver in the seat of my car? Who else would be the pilot of my plane?
Jeremy: The herder of your sheep?
Fredrick: Precisely.
Jeremy: Who ever you choose.
Fredrick: Choose?
Jeremy: Does that answer really confuse you?
Fredrick: Obviously. It’s my life, how could I choose who runs it?
Jeremy: In saying that, are you not choosing to run it yourself?
Fredrick: No, my life was a responsibility thrust onto me from the moment I was born. Same with all of us. Whether we eat, sleep, fuck, it’s all up to us.
Jeremy: Strange… for one who has such conviction of their answers, you don’t behave like someone who makes all their choices themselves.
Fredrick: Use an example.
Jeremy: You believe that you’re ‘choosing’ to not drink with me, but this is a role you are playing. An ordinary person may decide to play whatever role they shall, and yet here you are, refusing to abandon a character who exists to suffer.
Fredrick: This is who I am. Any changes to this idea of ‘me’ are made by me, for me, and are only edits to ‘me’. I remain myself, regardless of how I change.
Jeremy: I know you believe that. I know in your heart of hearts you believe that to be true, but you’re mistaken my friend. What is ‘you’ is inelastic.
Fredrick: So people can’t change?
Jeremy: People cannot change and remain the same. This is oxymoronic.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Come on, this is simple to validate; is a application the same software after each update?
Fredrick: Are you asking if photoshop 1.0 and photoshop 2.0 are the same?
Jeremy: Precisely.
Fredrick: 1.0 lacked some of the features of 2.0. It would be a rejection of reality to claim otherwise, but, you call it photoshop regardless of the update. No matter how you change it, it is still photoshop. No matter how I change myself, I am still Fredrick.
Jeremy scoffs.
Jeremy: You may share a name with your previous versions, but you are hardly the Fredrick I shared room and board with during our studies. No, it would be more accurate to call you Faraday, or Finnegan.
Fredrick: I fail to grasp where your oposition is.
Jeremy: Of course you do. You see your character as a painting without completion; a masterpiece with no end. You are doomed to keep painting until you can no longer hold a brush, never satisfied, never finished, yet so certain that victory is within your grasp. The carrot will remain dangling ever out of your reach if you maintain this perspective.
Fredrick: Oh please, do enlighten me on how I may remedy this issue.
Jeremy: Put down the brush and throw the entire bucket of paint on the canvas. Or maybe, use a roller instead of a brush. Or maybe, paint in reverse, tracing backwards from the finished product until you arrive at the start.
Fredrick: I think we’re getting a bit lost in metaphor.
Jeremy: Stop playing by the rules of the tormentus carrot. Chase after an apple instead. Or maybe, decide you’ll only chase the carrot between the hours of 3:46pm and 11:12am, and when you’re not chasing a carrot you are practising your juggling skills.
Fredrick places his palm on his forehead
Fredrick: I grow tired of this fable.
Jeremy: Fredrick grows tired of this fable, and yet you choose to remain here.
Fredrick: I AM Fredrick.
Jeremy: You are you. The skin you wear normally is that of Fredrick’s.
Fredrick: I didn’t realise I flayed myself before I came here.
Jeremy: You didn’t flay yourself. But your wife’s passing is a crack in the shell. Your armour is collapsing. The suit of iron that was your philosophy has failed to protect you when it mattered most, and it is exposing the truth.
Fredrick: And what truth is that?
Jeremy: That you want to have a drink with me.
Fredrick: Jeremy, please, I do not want that. I haven’t wanted that in over 20 years, I’ve abandoned that part of my life.
Jeremy: Don’t talk like that, they might get confused and think that you were an alcoholic.
Fredrick: They?
Jeremy: Don’t worry about that.
Fredrick shakes his head and takes a deep sigh.
Fredrick: I didn’t stop drinking because of alcoholism, I stopped drinking because she wanted me to.
Jeremy: And now she’s gone.
Fredrick: So I should descecrate her grave by drinking myself into a stupor the moment she isn’t around to chastise me for it?
Jeremy: She’s gone mate.
Fredrick: You didn’t answer my question.
Jeremy: She doesn’t care. She can’t. She’s beyond that capacity, or better yet, she’s detached herself from petty ideals such as abstinence.
Fredrick furrows his brow and points a finger at Jeremy
Fredrick: Careful.
Jeremy smiles in response
Jeremy: There we go…
Fredrick: So that’s all this is? You’re just trying to get a rise out me?
Jeremy: I respect you more than that. Please, understand that this comes from a place of concern for you.
Fredrick: A concerned friend wouldn’t disrespect my dead wife to my face.
Jeremy: Then that friend isn’t concerned enough for you.
Fredrick slams his fist onto the cooler
Fredrick: You were always so good at this. Using whatever backwards logic you want to justify your refusal to hold back for anyone’s sake. You are a twat, and always have been.
Jeremy: True that.
Fredrick grits his teeth and his fist clenches harder. Jeremy sips from his drink. Another siren is heard in the distance, Fredrick lifts his fist from the cooler and crosses his arms.
Jeremy: Why maintain the principle?
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: That’s what it is right, a principle? The absistence I mean.
Fredrick: She would want me to.
Jeremy: Hmmm…. Does this tree want me not to cut it?
Fredrick: Of course it does! What kind of question is that, it’s a living organism and by cutting it down, you end its life.
Jeremy: But does it WANT to live. That is the key here.
Fredrick: All living beings exist to continue living, it is a basic physiological drive. They fail when they die.
Jeremy: Yet here you are, still breathing, recounting to me the story of a man who has ‘failed’.
Fredrick: My failure in life is separate from my failure to continue living.
Jeremy looks at his Fredrick with an ernest look in his eyes.
Jeremy: Is it?
Fredrick: You just said so yourself.
Jeremy: I guess I did… and in doing so, mislead you as to what I meant when I said living.
Fredrick: Go on.
Jeremy: To be alive and to live are different things. Countless times I have walked the streets of this concrete jungle, passing by animated corpse after animated corpse. They were already dead, and had no idea of it. The body had yet to catch up to the spirit.
Fredrick: What does this have to do with the tree?
Jeremy: Sure, the tree is alive. It’s cells perform metabolic functions. But can something like a tree truly live?
Fredrick: What is your answer?
Jeremy: Truth be told, I don’t know. Maybe the tree knows ultimate contentendess, never wanting for anything more than sunlight, water and nutrients. Perhaps every day the tree curses its existence, wishing to know more than this hill and the view of the city, wishing to contribute to this very conversation and yet lacking the means to.
A small gust of wind blows through the tree, rustling the leaves. Jeremy looks up to the branches before continuing.
Jeremy: Or maybe it curses me for not being able to interpret the rustling of its leaves.
Fredrick: If that were the case, apologese are in order.
Jeremy: I’m not one to apologise for ineptitude.
Fredrick: You’re barely one to apologise for anything.
Jeremy chuckles.
Jeremy: Touche.
Fredrick: So what of my wife?
Jeremy: She is the tree. Maybe as a corpse, she knows a higher and truer peace than any of us that are alive can. Maybe she calls to you from beyond.
Fredrick: I’m not a very spiritual person, and you know that.
Jeremy: All the more why it is shocking to me that you’re continuing not to drink.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: What ties you to her still?
Fredrick: I made her that promise while she was alive and I intend to keep it.
Jeremy: For whom?
Fredrick: For myself.
Jeremy: Oh?
Fredrick: I stick to my promises. It’s not about whether or not they know if I’ve broken it or not, it’s about the principles I choose to hold onto.
Jeremy shakes his head
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: Choose… you choose to hold onto this principle…
Fredrick: Most would consider that honourable.
Jeremy: Most are idiots.
Jeremy laughs to himself, Fredrick shrugs his shoulders.
Jeremy: You’re holding onto a blade, sharpened on both sides, afraid to let go because to drop from this blade would mean to end that which you are.
Fredrick: Again, I’m not afraid of the can. I don’t think I would suddenly die-
Jeremy starts laughing again
Fredrick: What? What is it this time?
Jeremy: We just went over this old boy, to live and to be alive are different.
Fredrick groans
Fredrick: I don’t think that having one drink would suddenly destroy my entire persona.
Jeremy: Which is at odds with how unwilling you are to have this drink with me.
Fredrick: What would be the point?
Jeremy: That is, and always shall be, the real question.
Fredrick: So what is the point of me breaking my abstinence?
Jeremy: Your wife just died, and we’re going to be joining her soon enough. I deflect your question back towards you; what is the point of you maintaining your abstitence?
Fredrick: Because of a promise, that I am choosing to stick to. It was important to her.
Jeremy: My god mate, your logic is FUELED by convenience!
Fredrick looks taken aback
Fredrick: Convenience?
Jeremy: A less roman-
Fredrick: Less romantic than what?!
Jeremy: Less romantic than filling your head with silly ideas about ‘conviction’ and ‘honour’ and ‘principle’. Where has any of that gotten you?
Fredrick: It got me far enough to have a successful career and a wife who loved me.
Jeremy: And now both those things are gone! Yet you, ever vigilant want to idealistically hold onto them, despite knowing that they are gone yourself.
Fredrick grows more and more angry. Another siren is heard in the distance
Fredrick: How is any of this idealistic!?
Jeremy: How can you simultaneously believe that and yet hold on regardless?
Fredrick: I’ll tell you how you self-righteous prick! Because nothing needs to be perfect! People will die, decisions beyond me will have earth shattering consequences for my life and my ability to live it, and yet I – YES ME – choose to hold onto my principles!
Jeremy: She’s dead Fredrick.
Fredrick: I KNOW THAT! I KNOW IT BETTER THAN YOU!
Jeremy: Then have a drink with me.
Fredrick jumps out of his chair, throwing it out of the way. He is furious.
Fredrick: DO YOU WANT ME TO HIT YOU?! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT?!
Jeremy jumps out his chair, throwing it out of the way. He is calm.
Jeremy: All I want, is to have a drink with my friend for the final time.
Fredrick is breathing with intensity. His entire body is tense. He looks into Jeremy’s eyes, tears welling in his own.
Jeremy: Indifference is an ugly concept.
Fredrick: What?
Jeremy: And yet here you are, finally allowing yourself to touch beauty.
Fredrick: What are you saying!? What are you trying to tell me!?
Jeremy reaches down into the cooler, and opens another can, and holds it out to his friend, saying nothing. Fredrick slaps it out of his hand. Jeremy reaches down again, opening another can, holding it forward. Again, he says nothing. Fredrick growls as he slaps it out of his hand again, this time harder. Jeremy sighs, reaching down into the cooler and repeating himself once more. Fredrick shakes with anger, before screaming. Tears flow down his cheeks as he turns away and covers his face with his hands. Jeremy stands there, silent.
Fredrick: I didn’t want her to die. I didn’t want everything to come crashing down around me, and I don’t want to drink with you!
Jeremy continues to stand there silent. Fredrick turns back around after wiping his eyes, before scoffing again.
Fredrick: Why are you doing this?!
Jeremy: You’re in pain mate.
Fredrick: And what, you want me to drown it in alcohol?!
Jeremy: I’ve been consistent this entire time; I just want you to have a drink with me.
Fredrick takes a deep breath in.
Fredrick: WHAT IS A DRINK SUPPOSED TO DO FOR ME?!
Jeremy: You need to get there yourself, otherwise there would be no point. You need to stop chasing the carrot, stop painting the masterpiece, stop grasping the blade.
Fredrick is about to respond when he stops himself. Suddenly, he hears his wife’s final words to him. “Live on, without me.” His hands fall to his side.
Fredrick: She’s gone…
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: It’s all gone…
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: All that I’ve built… is gone…
Jeremy: I know.
Fredrick: It hurts… It hurts so much… But it was my everything. How can you ask me to let go of it?
Jeremy: You can let go. You’re the single authority on your life, right?
Fredrick: But it was my everything… Who will I be if I let go of it all?
Jeremy: That is up for you to decide. As it always has been.
Fredrick closes his eyes for a moment, before he approaches Jeremy.
Fredrick: What could I want for…
Jeremy: That is up for you to decide. As it always has been.
Fredrick: And if I can’t?
Jeremy: Then you’re no more alive than this tree.
Fredrick: Then… I’m no more alive… than my wife…
Jeremy smiles softly.
Jeremy: Would you like a drink?
Fredrick: And if I say no?
Jeremy: Then now I will accept that it is YOU who is telling me no.
Fredrick mulls it over for a second, before gently taking the drink from his friend.
Jeremy: Cheers.
Fredrick: Cheers.
The two men cheers their drinks, before they both take a hearty swig.
Fredrick: Ugh… I should’ve said no.
Jeremy breaks out into laughter, before the two men reset their seats and take them. They continue to drink in silence for some minutes. A siren is heard in the distance.
Jeremy: Life has been beautiful hasn’t it?
Fredrick: It was work, and play.
Jeremy: It was full and well spent.
Fredrick: It was… a life.
Jeremy: Believe it or not, I have my regrets too.
Fredrick: So all that talk about not holding on?
Jeremy: My only regret is that I clasped that which brought me anguish. I guess in the end, it’s impossible to hold onto nothing.
Fredrick: But you knew that all along didn’t you?
Jeremy: Of course!
Fredrick: So what do you hold onto?
Jeremy sips his drink, a sly smile crossing his face.
Jeremy: Whatever I choose to.
Jeremy breaks out into a laughing fit. Fredrick smiles, building to a chuckle, before he eventually joined in with Jeremy. The two men laughed, before breaking out into a fit of tears and wails. In the city, a flash of bright light appears out of nowhere nearly blinding them, before erupting into a powerful blast that nearly deafened them. Not able to hear one another, they both mutter at the same time.
Fredrick: It’s over…
Jeremy: It’s begun…
As the eruption grew and grew, devastating the city beneath them, the shockwave travelled and carried an incinerating heat. The two men were caught in it, dying immediately. Jeremy lived laughing, and Fredrick lived crying. Jeremy died laughing and Fredrick died crying.
-Fin-

In Hoodoo, when you want things to turn sour, go grab some lemons. 🍋
You will need the following.
Four burned matches.
Empty Jar.
A piece of paper.
A lemon cut in half.
Onion peel.
String
Black feather
Intent & working with your ancestors.
The willingness & strength to NOT reminisce on the attention they gave you, as your ancestors will pick up on this, and their hold will be WEAKENED.
The Work.

1. Write the name & birthday of the target on the paper.
   
2. Fold the paper.
   
3. Wrap the name paper around the black Feathers and tie it with string.
   
4. Place the lemon face up inside the jar.
   
5. Put the onion peel on top of the lemon.
   
6. Arrange the matches on top of the onion peel like kindling.
   
7. Poke the feather into the middle of the pile and leave it standing upright.
   
8. Fill the jar with water and close the lid tight. You may have to push the feather down to get the jar to close.
   
9. Shake the jar vigorously and call the name of the person whose attention you want to end. Say these words aloud. "Leave my life. Take your strife. In this life and in the next, may our paths never cross." Do this NINE times.
   
10. Take the jar far away from your home. The farther away, the better. Bury it in the ground, and the job is done.
    

When in doubt, get a ROOTWORKER do this for you.

THE EMERGENCE OF BIOLOGICAL COMPLEXITY
The vast reservoirs of carbon dioxide, silicon dioxide, oxygen, water, methane, and ammonia
molecules, present on the early Earth, would have been manufactured, sorted, combined and
refined by the planet itself; and would later serve as the raw materials for the planet-wide
production of more complex compounds, such as sugars, amino acids, fatty acids and other complex
carbon-containing compounds. In other words, on the early Earth, many of those inorganic chemical
compounds and the molecular structures they form would serve as the container (or beaker and
petri dish), fuel source (or Bunsen burners), reactant, catalyst and reagents for various complex
reactions (or syphoned-off, closed-off, pressurized and temperature controlled reactions) used for
the production of many basic organic compounds. Essentially, the natural convection and
geochemical mechanisms of the planet would only need to get certain specific light or gaseous
elements confined within certain reaction channels, pockets, or cavities, at or just below the Earth’s
surface, in the presence of certain natural catalysts and reagents, to start to create the very first
chemical permutations for biological life. This is because, spectroscopic analysis of organic
compounds and biological molecules (such as sugars, amino acids, and fatty acids) shows that, in
their most basic forms, all organic molecules comprise of some combination of just 11 specific light
elements, all of which would have been abundant within the lower atmosphere and upper crust of
the newly formed Earth.
Essentially, because of the specific chemical composition and energy orientation of the early Earth,
all variations of carbon-based life, at the molecular level, mainly contain six elements: oxygen,
carbon, hydrogen, nitrogen, calcium, and phosphorus, with trace amounts of another five elements:
potassium, sulphur, sodium, chlorine, and magnesium. Which is why, the experiment conducted by
Stanley Miller and Harold Urey, in the 1950's, where they tested if organic molecules readily form
from simple inorganic compounds, used a closed system of gases, thought to be abundant in the
atmosphere of the early earth (namely, H2O, N2, NH3, and CH4). Importantly, for the main energy
resource, to aid or ignite the chemical reactions, they chose to simulate lightning by sending sparks
of electricity through the mixture. Then, after letting the experiment run for a week, Miller and Urey
found that various types of amino acids, sugars, fatty acids and other organic molecules emerged
within the mixture. However, no natural catalysts (such as clays minerals, metallic substances, or
phosphates) were used and as a result, no large complex polymer chains, such as proteins or RNA,
were formed within this mixture, but the experiment demonstrated that, at least, some of the
building blocks for life could form spontaneously from simple inorganic compounds, using
reasonable quantities of energy.
Therefore, in nature, the sequences of compounds, made from those 11 elements, that did not
immediately overheat and decompose back to their individual inorganic or elemental components,
and were able to remain stable, long enough, to merge into complex polymer chains, to become
proteins and lipids, would mark the start of bio-coherency on the planet. Where, under this notion
of bio-coherency the reactant for the newer reaction would mainly be comprised of the organic
compounds or strings of organic chemical information that were manufacture in the previous
reactions, microseconds earlier. This is because, the emergence of the first set of protein molecules,
would also make the arrival of enzymes, as well; as most enzyme are proteins that would allow ever
more complex polymer chains to be engineered or manufactured, and would allow more chemical
information and chemical energy to be stored within increasingly more complex chemical mixtures
and chemical systems. Additionally, these newly formed enzymes would be able to act as natural
catalysts (or Extremozyme), and thus would help many complex reactions to occur at much lower
activation energy levels, than they otherwise would in nature (as, enzymes are known to be able to
catalyse more than 5,000 biochemical reaction types), even at extreme temperatures. As such, the
emergence of life and biological complexity would about not only the quality and quantity of
chemical ingredients, but it would also be about energy availability, reaction activation levels,
chemical durability, and catalytic integrity, as well.
Furthermore, introducing a catalytic component to these mixtures would allow for faster and more
efficient reaction, and would allow for a more streamline ordination of the reactions that need to
occur in sequential order (or even concurrently). Essentially, the organic molecules or polymers that
emerged to take the place of inorganic mineral catalyst would quickly elevate the complexity and
efficiency of those enclosed mixtures, as they would not have to rely on constant outside refuelling
of catalytic components, instead they could simply make their own, in the right proportions, as
needed. As such, any protein or other polymer structure that reliable meet, those functionalities
would quickly attain significant dominants within the burgeoning mixtures. Which is why, ribonucleic
acid (or nucleotides) and amino acids (or peptides) became an indomitable part of all functioning
bio-chemical mixtures at the molecular level, as they are the chemical that possess the ability to
preserve both chemical information and catalytic information, within their overall arrangement and
overall molecular structural framework, shape, and orientation. Furthermore, ribonucleic acid, as a
polymer of nucleotides, functionally act as the sequencer that facilitates the polymerization of
amino acids into specific proteins. As such, the set of RNA molecules that possesses catalytic
properties to optimize (or that are able to recall and preserve the exact steps and components need
for) the production of organic compounds such as proteins would serve as the first type of genetic
code (or as a means of storing the chemical and catalytic identity of an enclosed mixture).
Consequently, the emergence of the first set of enzymes, which are the type proteins or other
polymers that can catalyse the creation of protein molecules, would facilitate the emergence of the
very first closed loop autocatalytic chemical mixture, which would represent a mixture containing
reactant and catalysts that were synthesized by and within the mixture itself. Additionally, the
existence of this catalyst-filled mixture running on reaction autopilot would facilitate or allow ever
more complex polymer chains to be engineered, or manufactured, within minutes if not seconds of
each other. Essentially, this would allow vast quantities of chemical information, or chemical energy,
to be stored within these increasingly more complex compounds, or chemical systems. Such that,
these chemical mixtures or chemical systems would conduct organic chain reactions on overdrive, as
the chemicals contained within them would be either the main ingredients and/or the means of
lowing the activation energy for future reactions, which would exponentially increase the likelihood
of specific types of reaction taking place. Therefore, the constituent parts (or catalytic substances
and substrates) within these dynamic mixtures would quickly evolve into more complex and large
polymer structures, which would allow them to acquire more functionalities, as well as more
physical properties, shapes and traits.
Importantly, it should be noted that given that unlike most inorganic catalyst, catalytic enzyme
cannot function in open / unprotected environments; as such, the emergence of lipids (which are
the complex polymer chains, or molecular chains, of fatty acids), would represent the emergence of
the very first partially insoluble molecular shells or membranes, that could enclose or wall-off
mixtures. Thus, the many little spherical pockets or oily bubbles create by lipid molecular shells
would serve as the very first maze-like multi-chambered multi-layered structures that could fully
enclose and insulate various chemical systems, or mixtures, of ongoing molecular reactions that
contain both catalytic enzymes and proteins. So, many of the reactions that were being catalysed by
proteins and enzymes would readily be protected from being directly exposed to the harshness of
the outside environment, like they would be if those reaction were solely occurring in underground
vents, rock channels and closed rock cavities (or in lakes or stagnant pools of water). As such, the
concurrent emergence of the carbon- containing compounds, or chemicals, known as proteins,
enzymes, and lipids would mark the point where new portable diffusion gradients, reaction
pathways, along with new pressure and temperature gradients could form on the early Earth.
Therefore, within those moments, thousands of new reaction types, or chemical combinations,
would start create fully functional Molecular Machines, designed to complete specific chemical and
physical tasks, while others would become Discrete Data storage units, designed to store specific
kinds of chemical information, within the 3-dimensional structure of their physical molecular chain.
Thus, some of these organic molecular machines and molecular structures would represent fully
functional sequences, or pockets of chemical information and they would preserve the accumulated
lineage of the chemical information once only held within the system that created them, while
others would preserve the properties, functionalities, chemical pathways, rules, protocols, and
syntax unique to those systems. As such, these units or pocket biological coherency, could be
defined ostensibly as an enclosed set of localized mixtures (or as a mesh of compounds) that exist
collectively to follow an existential set of algorithmic permutations (or axiomatic source codes),
written in, written on, or stored within carbon-based molecular compounds, or chemical molecules.
Where, those compounds would not only possess the ability to store information by virtue of their
arrangements, configurations, reactions, and interactions, but they would also possess the ability to
functionally read, compile, execute, and utilize, the multiplicity of chemical information, or chemical
energy, stored within the other molecules they come in contact with (or interact with). Therefore,
the life-like structures would represent bounded units of stored chemical information working
together in unison with or within various mechanical and chemical microsystems; where, catalytic
enzymes and lipids would actively, or continuously, help to reduce the activation energy levels
needed for certain reaction to occur, and to prevent premature halting caused by excess heat or
other external environmental pressures.
As such, with these lipid enclosed chemical pockets, reactions that once took days or even millions
of years to unfold naturally would now reach completion within microseconds; and, this jump in
complexity, and efficiency, would result in the creation more complex chemical entities such as
viruses, which toe (or straddle) the line between the living and non-living world. As, viruses are
portable chemical structures that are simply messenger catalysts / enzymes and proteins (or
chemical information) physically and chemically fused to, or encased within, a lipid shell (and can
simultaneously be view as nest of biological functionalities, or as inert chemical molecules stuck
together). However, unlike the limited chemical information and functionalities or properties stored
within individual lipids, proteins and enzymes, each virus’s amalgamated molecular structure would
possess a lot more functionalities and a lot more stored chemical information, when compare to the
basic polymers or organic compounds, or progenitors, that preceded them. Therefore, viruses would
represent one stratum up in the lineage of chemical structures manufactured by a concurrent
amalgamation of chemical mixtures that actively use energy to sequence and store information, and
that protect and insulate these pockets of chemical information from the inorganic world, or outside
environment.
Additionally, the syntax or sequences of chemical information (proteins, enzymes and catalytic RNA)
held within these viruses, would have the added functionality of being able to hijack the resources,
mechanisms and chemical infrastructures of other chemical systems, to derail, interrupt, or interfere
with many of their natural protocols and tasks. As, viruses would be able to chemically, or
genetically, introduce some of their own chemical information, catalytic instructions, RNA code and
mechanical sequences into other structures and mixtures, specifically through the existing chemical
pathways of the lytic and lysogenic cycle, which is the universal chemical syntax shared by all
biological entities. Which would allow viruses to functionally transport and actively facilitate the
exchanging of genetic material and catalytic tasks among the many lipid bound microsystems that
happen to be in close physical proximity to each other, or that possess very structurally similar lipid
membranes and can attract and attach to each other. Therefore, viruses would be the means
through which some isolated lipid bound chemical mixtures would place, preserve or package
segment of their existing catalytic information or catalytic instructions into portable pockets, for
later use by them or by other larger systems to make newer, more complex, or more elaborate
permutations or arrangements of polymer chains.
Consequently, on the newly formed Earth, before the formation of the first true single cell
organisms, viruses and some loosely held together proto-cells that resemble lipid bound organelles
would be the main stores of biochemical information and catalytic instructions. However, the cross
membrane interactions among these wide array of organelle like structures or viruses (or proteins
stores of chemical information protected by lipid shells) and enzymes (or functional catalytic
proteins), would quickly lead to the creation of the first true single-celled prokaryotic organism.
Which would represent one of the most significant leap in the complexity of shared and stored
chemical information (and would take the form of a concentrated energy enriched mixture of
proteins, enzymes, and various dissolved organic and inorganic substances, protected by or encased
with a semi-permeable lipid mesh). Additionally, even though, at first glance, a prokaryotic organism
would appear to be very similar to a virus, or would appear to be a virus that simply happens to be a
lot more hydrated (or that happens to have retained a lot more water and dissolved chemicals); it
would, actually, represent a gigantic leap in biological complexity. This is because, prokaryotes
would be able to install within themselves organelles or molecular structures such as Ribosomes,
which comprise of many set of catalytic molecular machines, that would serve as the site of
biological protein synthesis; and would represent a set of structures that no virus would be complex
enough to possess. As, these ribosomes would have the ability to link amino acids together, in the
sequential order specified by the instructional templates, or data, stored within the physical
structure of the molecules such as messenger RNA molecules.
However, much like viruses, many prokaryotic entities would possess the ability to either hijack,
and/or have its own internal mechanisms infiltrated by, other prokaryotes due to the similarity
among their internal catalytic structure, proteins and enzymes, or because of the shared
commonalities of syntax used within certain aspects of their membranes and lysogenic chemical
pathways. Subsequently, this process of endosymbiosis would allow two or more prokaryotes, (or
one prokaryotic entity and a multiplicity of viruses), to merged or to coalesce within a share physical
structures. Which would permanently merge the molecular, chemical or catalytic lineage of these
different chemical structures, or sources of chemical information, and would represent a key step in
the evolutionary process of cellular structure; as, it would lead to the creation of the first set of
eukaryotes, which are the entities that are one fractal stratum above prokaryotes in biological
complexity. Which means that, eukaryotes are the results or by-products of a multiplicity of
prokaryotes and viruses hijacking or co-opting each other’s genetics and catalytic chemical pathways
via forceful membrane intrusion and through the lysogenic cycle. Thus, the double-membranebound mitochondria, with its very own strands of circular DNA, found in the complex structures of
most eukaryotic cells, may have originally been a prokaryotic entity that had its own internal
mechanisms hijacked or overwritten by another; where, one entity utilized the lysogenic cycle to
forcibly splice its own chemical instructions, or genetic information, into the other.
CHEMICAL AND BIOLOGICAL EVOLUTION
Overtime, depending on the level of exchange, integration or interaction amongst these prokaryotic
entities, there would soon emerge more reliable ways to attain mobility or to acquire energy, more
efficient ways of storing chemical information and catalytic instruction, or more reliable ways for
recording or storing genetic information and instruction, etc. As such, congruent to this exponential
growth in complexity would be the emergence of DNA (which are nested fractal molecular folds of
cumulative codes or polymerized RNA), from which more expansive protein synthesis can be
harness, when pair with extensive clusters of ribosomes, and more proficient ways of storing or
extracting power or energy within the cell. In addition, some microcellular organisms would develop
or acquire new say build, generate or repair their membranes and the specialized membranes would
create separate species that are able to defend against unwanted genetic material or chemical
resources, chemical energy, and chemical information intrusion, or defend against viruses and other
intrusive external pockets of genetic code or catalytic information. Which would ensure that only
specific type of chemical information would be absorbed or incorporated into their existing chemical
system, without causing significant changes to, or disruption within, the system. Therefore, this
would allow for the assimilation, upgrade and installation of entire chemical systems, and this would
mark the first sign of true biological evolution.
Essentially, these prokaryotes would exist as unique individually and not necessarily direct clones or
replicas of each other, but since they would not be able shout to each other nor shine a flashlight to
display the unique qualities, they would only be able to communicate or show their distinct
personalities through means of physical contact or through direct chemical exchanges. Which would
allow them to transfer catalytic enzymes, proteins, or genetic information, within their local
ecosystem. As such, it is through these cross membrane (or intermembrane) means of
communication, regulated by the share syntax of lysogenic cycle, where techniques and chemical
procedures would have occasionally gotten distributed, amongst the population, without invasively
destroying or completely overriding existing information. Which would serve as a new multiplicative
or additive way for organisms to develop or refine their previously individually developed ways of
performing certain tasks, and would allow them to adopt or develop many new traits,
functionalities, or techniques, to add to, or replace, all the ones that they came up with in isolation.
Furthermore, this continued growth in complexity amongst all these populations of biological
entities, where information from external sources could get continually, continuously and seamlessly
added to existing nucleic acid / RNA or DNA, rather than causing the host cell to be destroyed, would
allow for a seamless elevation in overall biological complexity across the entire planet.
In general, this lysogenic exchange or sharing of chemical information and catalytic instructions, via
physical and chemical mechanism, would be a process that predate the development of any multicelled entities, and predate any firm classification of living entities in any known domain, kingdom,
phylum, class, species, or even gender mechanisms. Thus, it would have been the continued
absorption and replication of new or existing genetic information (or physical chains of chemical
information, chemical instructions, chemical instruments, and chemical energy) through those
chemical exchanges that would have led to the emergence of, the stratum of microbial complexity,
known as eukaryotic entities. As such, the distinct organelles or structural features and physical
characteristics present within a eukaryote would have originally been in a separate and distinct living
entity that somehow got absorbed and chemical or genetically fully integrated into this much larger
biochemical composite structure or system. Therefore, in general, eukaryotes are, undoubtedly, the
entities within which many viruses and prokaryotes voluntarily (or forcibly) passed on their catalytic
data, RNA and DNA, during their life cycle, and their combined genetic code or combine catalytic
information, which got preserved by the larger hosts, before being passed on to future generations,
of the new hybridized entities.
As a result of this, the first eukaryotic entity to exist on the planet, ostensibly as an interconnected
net of subjugated prokaryotes, would have emerged with the collective chemical knowledge or traits
of the many strata of entities whose merged genetics and functional chemical codes helped to make
it in into a full functional being. Such that, even the cell nucleus of a eukaryote and the nucleolus of
this nucleus, would been acquired via some version of this absorption or integration process.
Essentially, the precursor to the nucleus may have been an entity that was able to proficiently
control and assemble ribosomes, was able to allocate a vast array of catalytic enzymes to alter
transferred RNA, or was proficiently able to sense intracellular stresses, which allowed it to co-opt
many of the chemical traits of the entities that it encountered. As such, while maintain its own
position of dominance, the nucleolus within this precursory entity was able use its extensive
repository of DNA, RNA and proteins to create a new network of cognition, logic modules, and
chemical data pockets, much like the catalytic data utilized by enzymes to subjugated many other
entities, while ensuring that its own structure remained intact.
Therefore, once the subjugated chemical systems have been fully integrated and is now a part of its
collective, the nucleus and its nucleolus would be able to pass information these organelles (or
subjugated prokaryotes), and the internal infrastructure of these organelles would follow the
catalytic information in the data pockets they received. Where, most of the instructions given for
each subjugated prokaryote would no longer come from chemical sequences recorded on circular
genetic code, or a maze of functional RNA or catalytic enzyme, floating within its structure, instead
most instructions would come from the nucleus and the enzyme and proteins it produce, which
would mimic the syntax of the original prokaryote. Consequently, these structures would only use,
bind, fuse and combine the existing finite number of polymerized molecules whose existence and
functionalities got deemed valuable by the intracellular network, controlled by the nucleus. Thus,
most of the hybridized structures within a eukaryote would not aim to create or catalogue all 10 to
the 21 power peptide bonds (or protein combinations) that are possible, or all possible chains of
billions of carbon, nitrogen, oxygen and hydrogen that can make the most lavish genes, instead they
would simply do the tasks assigned to them. Which is why there is not currently an infinite number
of random permutations, combinations, or arrangements of mismatched proteins, peptides, and
genes, instead only a stable syntax of very consistent and very steady arrangements of proteins,
peptides, and genes now exist, shared across most classification of biological life forms, on the
planet.
Furthermore, in addition to their very stable, organized and well control intracellular system,
eukaryotic entities would have been the first entities to emergence with cognitive functionalities,
such as the ability fully perceive their surroundings, ascertain ideas, understand correlations, and
make logic based decisions about allocating resources, as well as using precedent and prioritization
to make correct choices. Essentially, eukaryotic entities would be able to use computational logic to
interpret any stimuli acquired from the outside environment, related to vibrations,
electromagnetism, temperature levels, PH, hydration levels, etc. This is because the centralized
nucleus or main organelle of the eukaryote would have been an entity that originally specialized in
many of those functions as well as sensing the chemistry of the outside world or ecosystem. Which
allowed it to be the entity that successfully co-opted the catalytic function other entities, to merge
with them catalytically or genetically, and to construction a fully functional ecology made entirely of
subjugated molecular structure and chemical data. Therefore, in general, microscopic life on the
early Earth would have been less like a "pitch patch" mesh of random chemicals stuck together, and
would more be like refined self-contained amalgamation of micro-machines or self-contained microecosystems.
Which is highlighted in the existence of the mitochondria, as it is an organelle that possess its very
own remnant genetic material, its own lipid membrane, is able to divide at its own independent
rate, and is able to take nutrients and breaks them down, to the creates energy rich molecules for
itself and the eukaryote within which it resides. Which means that, the mitochondria too is perhaps
yet another organelle that may have originally been an entirely separate prokaryotic entity, whose
entire structure and genetic information were absorbed, interpreted and incorporated into a much
large system of chemical chains and sequences. So, in general, microscopic symbiotic system built
from an integrated set of recursively synthesized, recycled and replicated structures built made of
sugars, acids, proteins, enzymes, viruses, RNA and DNA all confined with a variety of lipid
membranes are the things that would together create life and pre-life or life-adjacent systems or
chemical mechanisms. Such that, complexity, or higher-level functionalities would emerge in nature
only through those types of symbiotic relationships or genetic mergers amongst catalytic, viral,
prokaryotic and eukaryotic microsystems. Thus, the development of new higher-level traits such as
logic, computation, cognition, consciousness, and self-awareness, would all relate to those types of
mergers and interactions amongst microbial entities, and this would help those systems to attain the
ability to proficiently solve problems and make decisions about themselves, their environment, and
their acquired resources.
However, as the bridge between the living and non-living world, viruses at their core would not be
conscious and would possess no notion of good or bad intent, they simply would exist as pocket of
data or as pockets of catalytic instruments that can relocate from one biological microsystem to the
other. In other words, virus would mainly serve as hardware to upload and install new genetic data
into and existing bio-computers or cells, without necessary overriding all of the existing stored
chemical data that was stored in the form of polymerized molecular strings or sequences.
Consequently, the concurrent emergence or existence of a collection of two or more viruses,
prokaryotic entities, and eukaryotic entities, regardless of their size, regardless of their relationship
to each other, and regardless of their relative physical distance to each other, would constitute the
existence of first true sign of ecological biodiversity, on the planet. However, these entities would
either have the ability continue to exist as separate entities, or to have their genetic information
chemically further co-opted by one or more of the other entities. Where, although the acquisition of
a stable pool of genetic and catalytic information would be important, if this information is unable to
help the organism to acquire raw material, ingredients, and energy (or chemical resources), in the
form of sugars and/or ions, to prevent the its chemical death or thermal decomposition, then the
information acquired would be functionally useless.
Consequently, as these entities continue to interact physically, chemically and genetically, they
would either all maintain the ability to acquire energy directly from physical inorganic resources; or
only some would continue to possess this ability, and the others would become symbiotic or
omnivorous to acquire readymade pockets of chemicals such as sugars, amino acids and fatty acids
from the others. Essentially, one or more of these entities would recognize the other biological
entities as portable pockets of energy or as food and fuel, which would start a food chain mechanism
to convey energy resources to themselves. As such, the food web that would emerge would be an
offshoot of the lysogenic and lytic battle amongst these viruses, prokaryotes, eukaryotes and other
microbes. Where, some cells would consciously choose to reinforce their infrastructure to protect
themselves and to acquire the life sustaining resources from the inorganic world; whereas, another
group of cells would consciously choose rip open other cells to get their resources (and the remnants
of this choice is evident in the distinction between plant cells and animal cells).
Alternatively, one of the entities may have overly selecting for specialization in lysogenic defence by
way of lysogenic offence, such that it would develop the cognitive ability to detect and capture all
lipid bound or protein producing entities within its vicinity. Where, once captured it would break
down their structure to it prevent its own genetic or catalytic control from being corrupted,
changed, overwhelmed, and over time this fight or flight mechanism would turn entity into the a cell
that can envelop, breakdown, consume or digest other cells, and conduct the absorption of their
chemical remains. As such, eukaryotic plant cells possess chloroplasts, which are organelles that
convert light energy into relatively stable chemical energy via the photosynthetic process. By doing
so, they provide diverse metabolic activities for plant cells, including the synthesis of fatty acids,
membrane lipids, starch, and hormones. While, animal do not contain any energy producing
organelles, but they possess lysosome, which is a membrane-bound cell organelle that contains
digestive enzymes; where, lysosomes destroy invading viruses and bacteria and break down excess
or worn-out cell parts, back to their non-living constituent parts. Therefore, the entities at the
bottom of the food chain would be the entities that were able utilize the energy that come directly
from the Earth or directly from the sun (sunlight), and were able to make direct use of the inorganic
and non-living chemical energy resources that came from metallic salt ions, hydrogen ions, carbon
dioxide, sulphur, sulphate, etc.
Beyond this, the unexplained and overwhelming innate drive that most organic entities have to
reproduce and replicate themselves, would also be an offshoot of the lysogenic and lytic battle
amongst viruses, prokaryotes, eukaryotes and other microbes. This is because, the story of life is a
story about captured energy, that happens to be temporarily held or confined within very organized
chemical pockets on the surface of the Earth; and without this captured energy there would be no
organic chemistry, and no organic chemical reactions on the surface of the Earth. Consequently, the
main self-sustaining goal that all living organisms would have is to breathe and feed, or to take in
both simple and complex organic and inorganic compounds, as well as to find ways to use energy to
sustain their internal repository of biochemical resources, or to prevent it from collapsing and
reverting to simplest individual non-living inorganic compounds. Therefore, many of the main
characteristics of living things, at the base level, are functionalities that arise as a lysogenic byproduct of the encounters or interactions amongst microscopic cells or that arise as a means to
cause or prevent natural chemical energy resources from being continually co-opted, transmuted,
transformed, and transferred.
Importantly, the emergence of multi-cellular organisms would be a natural progression in biological
complexity once eukaryotic entities have acquired enough catalytic data (or are unable to readily
merge with new external entities), and cognitively start to recognize or compute that they can
construct towers of themselves to strategically specialize in specific task, in order to benefit their
interconnected unit parts. Essentially, a multi-celled organism would represent a nested set of
Turing machines (or computers) that achieved collective synchronicity across the lysogenic network.
Where, each cell or specific sets of cells would have certain task to carry out based on the specific
instructions held within their internal cellular matrix (or their internal mesh of proteins, enzymes
and translated genes). Furthermore, the cross-membrane communication amongst the different
cells within the network would allow certain catalytic functionalities to be on or off (or specific
protein synthesis or polymerization processes to be active or inactive), where this selective cell
specialization would improve the efficiency and sustainability of the collective. Therefore, the
lysogenetic transfer or cross-membrane transmission of protein, enzyme and other forms of
chemical information, amongst these physically conjoin collection of cells, would allow certain cells,
from very early on in their lifespan, to possess certain specific traits, perform certain specific tasks,
or to conduct certain specific functions.
Essentially, these towers or columns of cells from the same eukaryotic entity, would communicate
via the lysogenic network (where, chemicals molecules would be the data and enzymes or the signal
receivers and transmitters in the inter-cell and intra-cell network); and this would mark the arrival of
the first set of multi-cellular biological stratum on the planet. Furthermore, as the level of
instructional data held within these collection of cells continue to grow, and each group of cells
become substantially better at the specific specialized task, then this would eventual cause the
emerge of stem cell, organs and systems. Where, these organs and systems would be stacks,
columns or rows of cells or groups of cells assigned to certain tasks or specialized functions (or
cluster of specialized cells operating within an inter-group co-operative that share data or
information and instructions across the lysogenic network). As such, the specifications of the
specialization would come from the instructions held within genes, but could also come through the
action of protein, enzymes or other chemical units.
Nevertheless, if the different traits, tasks and functions assigned are good to the organisms overall
wellbeing, and are passed on, then the generational longevity of these traits would be noticeable
genetics of future generations. However, if the organism’s death was due to the lock of functionality
brought about by these traits then they would not attain any genetic longevity, as most biological
units with the population with those traits would eventually die off. Unfortunately, another byproduct of any malfunction within this specialization process would be mutations within individual
cells, and any sustained collective breakdown process could cause the entire lysogenic or catalytic
cycle across an entire collection of cells to start to perform incorrect task, which would be cancerous
or carcinogenic, and could cause the biochemical death of the organism, as well. Essentially, cancer
cells are the cells that have some level of chemical amnesia and have had their catalytic processes
(or the controls and parameters of their operating system) changed to the wrong settings (or
corrupted), relative to the collective that they are a part of. As such, these cells would continuously
synthesize the wrong set of protein, enzymes, or lipids, because they continuously receive the wrong
instruction, or started to interpret the syntax of the instructions they receive incorrectly.
Additionally, this would have the additive effect of preventing new instructions from getting into the
cell, due to the infrastructure and catalytic machines (or proteins and enzyme) being preoccupied
with the wrong tasks, which would reduce the overall functionality of the cell in service to the
overall goals of the other cells in the collective. Therefore, cancer cells are simply cells that have
corrupted operating systems or cells that can no longer read, compile or decipher the syntax of the
existing chemical codes from its own genes, or its own intercellular polymer, catalytic enzymes or
protein chains (and thus, fail to maintain the specific traits, task and functionalities they were
selected to specialise in).

Hi, Reddit. Listen, I know that’s a bit of a sucky opening, but sympathize with me a bit. I never once thought, in all the years that have passed since, that I would ever be re-telling this story. The reason behind this would probably be the fact that tonight of all nights for some reason, even all these years later, I find myself totally and wholly unable to chase sleep, perturbed by the question of whether something similar that had happened to me all those years ago has ever happened to anyone else.
I will be updating this story over the next week or so, as I have come to the conclusion that it is too long to summarize into one post. It also becomes tiresome to recall and write down these events, as I'm sure you will come to see why. In addition to this, I will be using fake names for everyone in this story, in an attempt to protect the privacy and comfort of my close friends and family. However, God willing, they will never see this post anyway. I tell you this to clarify that you should not try to look these people up, for you will be sent on a wild goose chase with no results. However, while the names of these characters are fake, I do ask you to keep in mind that the characters themselves, as well as the events of this story, are real. VERY real.
All too real, if you ask me.
This story takes place around the time I turned 15 years old. For context, I am 19 years old as I sit here typing this. At 5 AM, with a coffee perched in my hands between paragraphs, trying my best not to spill it while the liquid coffee in the cup fights a ferocious battle against my shaking hands. It is a story I have gone over a million times in my head, a story I have kept close to myself up until now, for reasons that will reveal themselves later on. A story I am not sure I am ready to relive, and a story that still sends an uncomfortable, sickening chill down my spine when I think of it to this day, even with 4 years of lived experience to distance myself from it.
Around the time I turned 15 was around the time my parents had sat my brother and I down and told us of their plans to split. Not two weeks later, my father stood on the edge of our picket fenced-in street in the blistering sun, packing what little of his belongings into his Honda Civic that he deemed worthy of making the cross-country drive to the brand new, shiny, sunny state of Arizona. I remember that day vividly.
Not soon after that, my mother, brother, and I all moved into a slightly over-affordable apartment complex in a neighboring town a few minutes over by drive. I remember it was a nice place to look at. Flowers, a children's park, the like. A nice place to live, maybe, for some. But never for me. I remember vividly also that it was the kind of place that reminded you that smell and taste are very intricately connected in the human body. It was the kind of place you tasted before you smelled. And it tasted like murky pools of water had been sitting and dripping in a few too many places they shouldn’t have been, for a few too many years.
Nonetheless, our new family of three quickly made the end unit, which we were lucky enough to receive, our new home. Our new normal. Only, for me, it wouldn’t remain “normal” for very long.
We moved in at the cusp of August and September, right before I turned 15. The summer before my freshman year. A year that would present itself to be full of lots of chin pimples, raging hormones, and inexplicably unexplainable events. We lived there from roughly around the time I turned 15 to roughly around the time I turned 16. Once again, for reasons that will become clearer later on in the story. We will start from the very first time it happened. And I remember, clearly, the very first time it did.
One thing I have failed to mention to you as I have introduced you to what my life was like at the time of this story, is that I was, and still am, very aware of my surroundings. I was diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder at a very young age. And thus, I was constantly hyper-analyzing what was going on around me and with me.
One chilly New Jersey October morning, right after the excitement of a new year of school wore off and the dismay of a full year of school ahead of us had set in, my brother and I got into our first argument in the new apartment. And I was the catalyst. I remember waking up that morning. I dressed myself in my favorite Green Day t-shirt paired with a pair of light-wash overalls; I brushed through my long, dark hair and clumsily formed it into two braids as I listened to some Blink-182 playing quietly off my CD player. I made my bed, I took my meds, and right before I opened the door I applied my favorite perfume: Strawberry Secrets.
My favorite scent has always been strawberry. So much so that my mother had thought this perfume an appropriate start-of-the-year gift to send me off to high school. My room was littered with strawberry candles, strawberry phone cases, strawberry mugs, basically anything you could think of with a strawberry in it or on it. I had it.
As I finished off what had definitively been an over-application of the perfume, I strode a few steps from my desk to my bedroom door and attempted to open it.
Attempted. To open it.
It wouldn’t budge.
As I said before, I am very aware of my surroundings. Sometimes this can be to my detriment, however, in this case it had felt warranted. I had not locked my bedroom door the night before. I would have been aware of myself doing so. Besides, my mom was very strict with not allowing us to do so. My brother, Conrad, was diagnosed with asthma at a very young age. She always feared she would need to bring him his inhaler or to the hospital in the middle of the night and wouldn’t be able to reach him. I wound up eventually just becoming part of the rule by default.
Immediately I was pissed off. Allow me to explain to you how the locks on the apartment doors work. You can only lock from the inside, and once you had left the room and closed it, you were locked out. If the door was locked, anyone on the outside couldn't get in, and anyone on the inside had to manually unlock the door in order to get out. This angered me because I had immediately assumed Connie had done it. It was Halloween morning after all, and he always had a taste for mischief, especially when it meant messing with me. Connie was 17 at the time of my being 15. This often led to a lot of hijinks, as I’m sure anyone with siblings may be able to deduce.
I angrily stomped into Conrad’s room, steam practically coming out of my ears like a cartoon character, as I addressed him in his room. His glorified "room," for context, was conveniently basically a closet inside my mother’s. I needn't worry about a door being locked to get in. It was a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment that housed the three of us, and I was lucky enough to land the separate room.
“Con! What the hell? Real funny! So funny I forgot to laugh.”
“What the hell are you even on about?” he replied.
Classic 17 year old angst. Looking back, I should afford him the fact that it was 6:30 in the morning. And I had woken him up from his nightly 12 hours of sleep minimum.
“Mom could’ve gotten really pissed about that, if she found out, you know!”
My mother had already left for work about an hour prior.
Immediately he perks up in his bed. My mom is a no-nonsense kind of woman. Neither of us feared her, we feared disappointing her. So he quickly jogged into consciousness.
“About what? What did you do this time, G?”
I huff out a breath of annoyance at him. What game is he playing?
“Don’t Play dumb, Connie. The locked door. I know you snuck inside my room last night and locked it.”
What happened next is still burned into my mind to this day. Because as he said what he was about to say, I realized how true it was. And my panic heightened almost ten-fold.
“Now why the hell would I do that? You think I really woke up in the middle of the night and locked your door on you? You can still let yourself out. Just nobody can come in. I don’t even want to be in that girly, strawberry-filled mess anyway. Now get your scrawny ass out of my room. I need to get dressed. We leave in 5.”
Ever the poet, my brother Conrad. His closing statement serving as a stark reminder that he drove me to school every morning, and would not wait for my tardiness should it arise.
But it wasn’t until all his words truly set in that I realized he was right. He had no motive to lock my door from the inside out. But that left one question.
Who, or what, did?part 2

The Enemies of Western Culture Are Trying To Force Us Into Submission: An Honest Assessment of What Happens if We Ignore The Problem
Go up to any average leftist or Democrat in the leftist havens of this country, and very few would be able to tell you what Donald Trump was convicted of—the leftist entities against President Trump never cared about the justice system, nor did they seek any actual justice (it was an injustice at that). What the left wanted was a guilty verdict, in a state court so as to not allow for a pardon from the federal executive branch on the phony charges. To achieve that goal they cherry-picked leftist jurisdictions, with leftist appointed judges, where there were leftist prosecutors in office, and where the jury pool would be overwhelmingly leftists. Donald Trump was found guilty of charges that the majority of the left have no idea of, and that’s exactly what they wanted—the left is a morally bankrupted group of miserable people. The left has declared war on western society, and the Trump verdict is the equivalent of a decisive victory for the left in a war that still rages on. What the left declared war on a long time ago was western culture, but more specifically American values, the American nuclear family structure, and most of all—the cornerstone of western society which is Christian values.
Trump stands for everything the left despises, an unapologetic patriot—someone who will not back down and allow leftist mobs, media, or propaganda to force him into folding and catering to every leftist whim. The left has now unofficially decriminalized illegal immigration, and in doing so had the gaul to put local politicians in major leftist cities at the podium to ask American citizens to, “open their doors and allow migrants into their homes if have an extra room.” So not only are they welcoming criminal aliens with open arms (likely in hopes of getting a new voting block—and pushing a sweeping immigration bill which will never pass), but they want American citizens to allow complete strangers who are technically criminals to share their homes and private property with complete strangers? If this isn’t insane enough, many of these migrants are continuing their criminal behavior and committing crimes like assaults, burglary, shoplifting, and violent crimes like rape and murder—but the leftists in power want us to be altruistic—thereby putting the wants of some criminal freeloaders before our own citizens—the people who are our own neighbors, and families. Imagine saying this phrase: while I love having an extra bedroom so that my parents can come and visit every few months when they come up from Florida to see me, I must inform them that they cannot come here because I have decided to allow criminals that look to take advantage of American taxpayers to stay with me.
Now the illegal immigration topic is one that hits close to home, my uncle was a police officer who was murdered by an illegal alien who was deported multiple times, only to somehow have him slip back into the country multiple times. Upon his conviction for possession of a firearm—not the murder conviction which he should have gotten had it not been in the ultra-leftist New York City, he was to be deported upon the completion of his incarceration. Now, with illegal aliens flooding our border at a rate that is nearly impossible to even put a dent in, who is to say that this same animal who murdered my uncle didn’t slip back in? My family is just one of the many families which had a loved one taken from them due to the conduct of criminals who entered this country as criminals illegally in the first place, but at what point do we hold our elected officials accountable for their complete and utter lack of regard for the American way of life? At what point do we stand up and stop allowing the leftist policies to encroach upon our god given constitutional rights?
Three overwhelming factors that determine a healthy, safe, and stable society: (a) there is a common culture—this isn’t about race, but when there are a common set of values and a set of cultural norms a society will be healthy and stable; (b) where there is not a widespread poverty/criminal conduct problem; and (c) where the outlook of said society is optimistic about a better tomorrow. Judging on those factors, at this current point in time, American society has never looked more grim. We have widespread homelessness and addiction in just about every major city in America, we can add in illegal aliens pouring in by the thousands daily, we have never been more morally askew than we are at this current time, and with the economic backdrop created by Bidenomics (AKA Brokenomics), the outlook many have is clearly a pessimistic look going into the future ahead.
Instead of burying our heads in the sand, now is the time we for a lack of better term—put on our shit-kickers and get to work. The question then becomes where do we even start to clean up this mess? The youth of our nation have never had a more difficult time with regard to the over sexualization without the education system—states like California, New York, and Illinois (the socialist trifecta) have allowed everything from drag shows to allowing for children introduce themselves on their first day with their “preferred pronouns.” Then, they can turn on any channel on national television (Yes, even the Big Four networks) and see commercials for products being endorsed by the likes of Cardi B and Sexxy Red—women who glorify sexual proclivity with random men. Then with the breakdown of the American family, it means more children are now growing up in single parent households than in past generations—and in some areas of the country children being born out of wedlock are now outnumbering children who aren’t.
It seemed like just a short time ago our culture was one that was confident in our morals, unapologetic in standing up for the virtues of truth and honesty, and always looking to do the right thing regardless of whether or not it was the easiest choice. Today, we have cities like Philadelphia which has become full of drug-addicted zombies, often times doing drugs in the open view of those whom would be a passerby—including children. We have cities like San Francisco, a place where robberies and assaults happen so frequently that they go unreported—but even when reported and the perpetratos having been apprehended—these crimes typically go uncharged, with the perps getting little more than a summons. Then we have the financial capital of the world, New York City—a place where self defense when being assaulted will lead to you being charged, due to elected prosecutors giving into the leftist mobs—often times with a racial undertone attached, and under the treat of protest (which we all know is a leftist code word for riots).
The beauty of western culture was that the virtues, values, and social norms seemed to bring us together which made for a better social fabric overall. Those values and norms were literally what made us who we are—this crosses racial lines, political party lines, the white collar-blue collar divide, and in doing so it made us have that commonality of culture—it is what made us all Americans. This is what we need to get back to, this is what will give us a better course to steer our future toward—this is what will make our society recover from the depths which we have plummeted. Our cultural values have become diluted by social media, political polarization, and divisive tactics by individuals from within our society who aim to tear down the very things that made us the pinnacle of existence in the history of humanity—and all with the aim of forced submission to relinquish power by those who hate our very way of life.

”Stop.”
I really needed the bathroom.
For fifty painstaking minutes, I had been staring at the clock on the wall, willing it to go faster, uncomfortably shifting side to side in my seat so much that I was starting to get weird looks.
2:52pm.
Eight minutes, I thought dizzily, squeezing my legs together.
Which was just two chunks of four minutes.
Four chunks of two minutes.
The pain started like normal stomach pain, the kind I could deal with.
I swallowed two Tylenol with lukewarm soda.
But this was different.
This kind of pain was contorting and twisting my gut so much, I had to keep leaning onto my left buttock for relief.
I must have done it so many times, I caught the attention of the guy sitting next to me. Roman Hemlock who was half asleep, dark blonde curls hanging in half lidded eyes, his chin leaning on his fist. He shot me a look. I couldn't tell if it was Are you okay? or Can you stop moving around so much?
From the single crease in his brow, the slight curl in his lip, I guessed the latter.
It's not like Roman was helping.
For half the class, he'd been tapping his foot on the floor, then his chair leg, and to complete the orchestra, his fingers joined in, tap, tap, tapping on the edge of his desk. I didn't know if it was a bored thing, an ADHD thing, or he was trying to keep himself awake. It was easy to tolerate without the pain, but with it, the boy’s incessant tapping was more akin to a dentist drill splitting my skull open. I already felt nauseous, the sad looking chicken nuggets I forced down at lunch making an unwelcome appearance at the back of my throat.
It was too fucking hot, the stuffy summer air glueing my hair to the back of my neck. The material of my shirt was making me cringe, sticky against my skin.
Tipping my head back, the lights were too bright. Every sound was too loud. Imogen Prairie, who was sitting behind me chewing her gum a little too loudly.
Kaz Samuels scribbling notes like a maniac.
I could hear every stroke of his pencil, every time he paused, looked up at the presentation, and continued writing.
When I leaned forward in my chair, I could smell exactly what Isabella Trinity had eaten for lunch, the stink hanging in the air.
It became a case of sucking in my stomach and taking slow, deep breaths.
I’d never had these kinds of stomach cramps before. But it didn't take me long to figure out what they were.
I was yet to start my period at the grand age of sixteen, which meant this was it.
After countless sessions with the doctor, and feeling like a social outcast among my group of friends who started their periods in middle school, it had finally happened. The cramps in my gut that felt like my torso was being ripped apart, was in fact me entering womanhood. When my breath started to quicken, my mouth watering, I raised my hand, biting my lip against a cry.
Fuck.
Something lurched in my gut, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
I was going to throw up.
“Mr Brighton.”
Roman spoke up before me, waving his arm. “Can I use the bathroom?”
The teacher’s answer was always the same. Which was why I had been crossing my legs for the entirety of the class, unable to focus on anything but my gut trying to twist itself inside out.
Mr Brighton leaned against the wall, his eyes glued to the PowerPoint awash in our faces. We had been staring at the exact same slide for maybe five minutes now, and our physics teacher was yet to speak, his gaze somewhere else.
Mr Brighton was my Dad’s age, a greying man in his early fifties who always wore the exact same suit with the exact same stain on his collar.
The man was about as interesting as watching paint dry.
Normally, I would drift off myself, lulled into slumber by the low drone of his voice.
But the pain ripping me apart was keeping me awake.
“Mr Brighton.” Roman said, louder. His voice snapped me out of it. “Can I use the bathroom?” He paused, exaggerating a loud sigh. ”Please?”
The teacher straightened up, folding his arms.
“Mr Hemlock, you know the rules. Why didn't you go before class?”
“I didn't need to go an hour ago, did I?”
“You will no longer need to go to the bathroom, Mr Hemlock.”
Roman made a snorting noise.
“What?”
The low murmur of my classmates collapsed into white noise.
Glancing at the clock, I was anticipating the school bell.
The sickness swimming in the pit of my belly was reaching dangerous territory.
2:52pm.
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
It was 2:52 the last time I checked, and five minutes had surely passed.
This time, I waited a whole minute and counted the seconds under my breath. The clock still didn't move. The ticker was frozen halfway between three and four.
Slowly, the same realisation began to hit the twelve of us. The clock on the wall had stopped. But it wasn't the only thing that had stopped. The cool breeze drifting through the window was gone.
The sound of birds outside, and the cheer squad practising their routine.
Everything had stopped. Trying to ignore a sickly slither of panic twisting its way through me, I checked my phone under my desk. There was a text from my Mom lighting up my notifications. When I tried to swipe it open, nothing happened. My lock screen was frozen, stuck at 2:52pm.
With my hands growing clammy around my phone, I stared at the time, willing it to move, to flick to 2:53.
But nothing happened, the numbers stubbornly staying at 2:52.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Roman’s voice brought me back to reality, though I was sure I'd dropped my phone. I heard it hit the floor with a sickening crack. Whatever he was saying, though, faded into dull murmur, when I turned toward the window.
Something was wrong outside.
The cheer squad were nowhere to be seen.
Being on the top floor gave us a front row seat to their practice sessions.
I stopped watching when their flyer did a death defying flip, almost breaking her neck. 2:52pm. I couldn't see the cheer squad. But I did see Jessie Carson mid-sprint across the track field, strawberry blonde curls suspended in a halo around her.
I could see exactly where she had frozen in place, her left foot hovering off of the ground, her right foot driving momentum. It wasn't just Jessie who had stopped. The dirt she was kicking into a cloud behind her was hovering, caught in mid-air.
Studying the faces around me, my mouth went dry.
Roman Hemlock, mid-argument with our physics teacher.
His eyes were wide, lips curved into what would have been a yell.
Fuck.
Was I the only one?
But then Roman blinked, and I realized the boy wasn't frozen. He was trying to think of a comeback. “What do you mean I won't need the bathroom anymore?”
“Mr Hemlock, please lower your voice.”
“Why? You can't dictate to me when I do and don't need the bathroom, dude!”
Moving onto the rest of my class, the others were still moving.
It was too quiet, though.
Yes, Roman was still tapping his foot.
Imogen was still chewing her gum.
Kaz was still scribbling notes like a psychopath.
But they were the only noise I could hear.
I wasn't the only one confused. The classroom had pricked with a sense of urgency. Kids were checking their phones, their gazes glued to the clock. Even Roman, who was still arguing, was starting to notice. I watched his gaze lazily roll to the clock on the wall.
I pretended not to see his cheeks visibly paling.
We had all come to the exact same terrifying conclusion.
2:52pm.
Time had come to a halt, and somehow, we had not.
“Is that clock broken?” Roman interrupted, leaning forward in his chair.
Kaz twisted around, settling the boy with an eye-roll.
“Check your phone, dumbass.”
“I broke my phone.”
Imogen threw her iPhone at him, narrowly missing hitting him in the face.
“Everything is frozen,” She said, her voice shuddering. “It's not just the clock.”
I waited for Roman’s response. For once, though, he was speechless.
“Well done, Imogen. That is correct.” Mr Brighton spoke up, tearing a piece of paper from a workbook and striding over to the door, glueing it over the glass window. When we started to protest, some of us were shouting, while others bursting into tears, he calmly took out his key and locked us in.
I should have been surprised that our teacher had spontaneously decided to take his entire class hostage, but the rumor mill had been churning.
According to Becca Jason, the guy’s wife divorced him and took his kids.
I could feel myself sinking into my chair, phantom bugs filling my mouth.
So, this guy had nothing to lose.
Taking his place in front of his desk, the man settled us with a patient smile.
“From now on, you will stay inside this room.” He said. “In case you haven't noticed, time is currently frozen at fifty two minutes past two. The thirteen of us are tucked into the twenty first second, and will be, for the foreseeable future.”
I could tell the others wanted to argue, but we couldn't deny that time had stopped. Kaz was staring down at his frozen phone, Imogen hyperventilating behind me, Roman glaring at the clock, chewing on a pencil. We wanted it to be a prank, a joke, some kind of glitch in the matrix that would fix itself.
But then a whole minute passed by. Followed by another. Kaz threw his phone on the floor, hissing in frustration. Imogen let out a wet sounding sob.
Roman’s pencil split in his mouth, slipping from his fingers. We couldn't pretend it wasn't happening or call our teacher out on his BS, because it was everywhere around us. The sudden absence of outdoor ambience, birdsong, planes flying overhead, and traffic outside the school gates. Everyone and everything had stopped, and we were the only ones left.
This was a nightmare, surely.
My physics class were some of the most boring and pretentious people in the school, and somehow the world had been reduced to the twelve of us inside our classroom. We were scared, of course we were. But reality had stopped making sense, crashing and burning in a single second. We had no choice but to listen to our teacher. “Now, before you freak out, it may not feel like it, but the twelve of you have also stopped.”
Mr Brighton held out his own hand, and placed it on his heart.
He was right.
I was so busy trying to understand what was happening, I had failed to realize my period cramps were gone.
“Do me a favor, and press your hand over your heart.”
“You mean like, in a culty way?” Imogen whispered.
“Obviously.” Roman grumbled, halfway out of his seat. He was hesitant, though, in case our teacher was armed. It only took one glance from our teacher, and he slumped back into his chair. “This crazy fucker clearly wants to play mind games with us.”
“No, I'm just asking you to feel for your heart.”
I felt for mine, and there was nothing, my stomach twisting.
Roman stabbed his fingers into his neck, feeling for a pulse.
He tried his wrist.
Then his heart.
Nothing.
“The twelve of you are currently in a state of stasis,” the teacher explained to us, “You are not alive, nor are you dead. Your bodily functions are also on pause, such as your heartbeat and your pulse. In this state there will be no need for food and water, or going to the bathroom.” His gaze found a ghastly looking Roman, who looked like he was going to faint. “Your minds, however, as you can see, are working as usual.”
“But why?” Imogen demanded in a shriek.
Mr Brighton’s lip curled. “I would rather not answer that question.”
“Because you're lonely.” Roman spoke up. He swung back on his chair, narrowed eyes glued to the teacher.
“Your wife and kids left you, so you're asserting power over a group of sixteen year olds. Which is kinda fucking pathetic.”
Mr Brighton’s expression darkened, and something slimy crept up my throat.
The worst thing any of us could do was threaten him. He had taken kidnapping to a whole new level, and we were alone with this psychopath, trapped inside a second. I waited for the man to stride forward and attack the kid. But he didn't. Instead, the teacher leaned back on his desk. “Yes.” The man nodded.
“I suppose you could say I am.”
“But why us?!” Kaz hissed.
“Because you are children.” Mr Brighton responded casually.
He straightened up, taking slow, intimidating steps towards Roman’s desk. The rest of us leaned back. I tried to pull my desk with me, but it was glued to the floor. Frozen. Mr Brighton’s shoes went click-clack across the hardwood floor.
“You are right,” the man said in a murmur, “I am lonely. My wife and kids did leave me, and I have nobody left to control. I have nobody else to contort and use to my advantage.” Reaching Roman’s desk, he leaned in close until he was nose to nose with the kid.
“Congratulations, Mr Hemlock. You have just earned yourself detention.”
Roman stayed stubbornly still, but he was visibly afraid. I could see him very slowly backing away. Roman was all bark and no bite. He was a loud mouth, sure, but he was also the least confrontational person in the class.
“What?” He spluttered. “You trap us in a time loop or time trap, or whatever, and you still want to act like a teacher?”
“Stand up.” The teacher ordered.
“What if I don't?”
Mr Brighton’s expression didn't waver. “You said it yourself. I can and have trapped you inside a single second. What else do you think I'm capable of?”
Roman stood, kicking his chair out of the way.
“What are you planning on doing to me, old man?”
The teacher maintained his smile. “Stand up straight, and close your mouth.”
To my confusion, Roman Hemlock did all the above.
He straightened up, and closed his mouth.
“Do not fight me.” The teacher said calmly, “Do as you are told, and follow me.”
The boy did exactly as instructed.
His jaw slackened, that rebellious light in his eyes fizzling out.
I think that's when we all collectively agreed that going against this teacher and trying to escape was mental suicide.
“I will use Mr Hemlock as an example to all of you,” Mr Brighton said, turning to the rest of us. “If you break the rules or are derogatory in any way, you will be given detention.”
He grabbed the boy’s shoulders, forcing him to walk towards the supply closet. Roman moved like a robot, slightly off balance, his gaze glued to thin air, like he was tracking invisible butterflies.
"Your time in detention will depend on the severity of your rule-break.” He opened the door, gently pushing Roman inside, and following suit. When the door closed behind them, there was a pause, and I remembered how to breathe.
Kaz Samuels slowly got up from his desk, inching towards the closet.
“This guy is a certified nut.” He announced.
He turned towards us. “Whatever he's doing to Hemlock, we’re probably next.”
“He stopped time.” I spoke up, my own voice barely a croak. “He’s capable of anything.”
“But how did he stop time?” Kaz whistled, tipping his head back. The boy was slow, his fingers grasping each desk as he slid down the aisle. “He said he was lonely, right? But why take it out on us? What did we do to him?”
“Check his desk for a weapon!” Imogen whisper-shrieked.
Kaz nodded, striding over to the man's desk, his hands moving frantically, shoving paper on the floor. He took an uncertain seat on the man's chair. “There's nothing here,” he murmured, lifting stained coffee mugs and ancient textbooks. “It's just…test papers.” Kaz ducked from view, trying the drawers.
“He's a fan of Pokémon,” he said, “There's a tonne of Pokémon cards,” Kaz straightened up, running a hand through his hair. “No sign of a weapon, though.”
He picked up a ruler, waving it around. “This could work. If we plunge it in his eye.”
“Try his laptop!” Imogen was halfway out of her seat.
Kaz did, slamming the keys. “It's locked.”
“Look harder!” Ren Clarke threw a pencil at him.
“I am!”
After a minute of searching, Kaz grabbed a single piece of paper.
He held it up, and I squinted.
It was a list of our names, with several of them highlighted.
“Fuck.” Kaz dropped the list, his expression crumpling. The stubborn bravado facade transforming him into our sort of leader dissipated, hollowing him out into exactly what he was. Just a scared kid. Kaz’s hands were shaking.
“Mr Brighton’s got a hit list.” He whispered. “He's going to kill us.”
“How do you know that?” I found myself asking.
Kaz slowly dropped into a crouch, picking up the paper and holding it up.
“Look.” He pointed to a capitalised name at the top of the list highlighted in red.
ROMAN HEMLOCK.
There were six names highlighted in red, including mine.
CRISTA ADAMS.
As if on cue, Roman’s cry rang out from the supply closet, suddenly, freezing us all in place. Kaz jumped up, adapting the expression of a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide, almost unseeing.
He fell over himself to tidy up the desk, putting everything back where he had found it, sliding the list between a pile of test papers. Kaz took slow, stumbled steps back, his feverish gaze glued to the closet, before turning and making a break for it and diving into his seat.
“Brighton’s got a hit liiiist,” Kaz said, in a mocking sing-song, “And we’re all on it.”
What followed was deathly silence. I think we were expecting Roman to cry out again. But when he didn't, the class started to stir. Some kids started praying to a god they didn't believe in, while others were in varying states of denial, trying to call their parents with dead phones.
I wasn't sure what parts of me had stopped, but I was still alive, still felt like my lungs were deprived of oxygen, my chest aching. I'm not sure how long I sat there, trying to find my voice, a shriek trying and failing to rip through my mouth. Being kidnapped and held hostage is one thing, but being imprisoned inside a single, never ending second, was an existential hell worse than death. Slowly, I pressed my palm over my heart once again. Then I breathed into my cupped hands.
I was expecting it, but no longer being able to feel my own heartbeat and breath, was fear I didn't think was possible. The kind that glued me to my seat, hollowing me out completely until I was nothing, an empty shell with no heartbeat, no breath, no thoughts, except denial, followed by acceptance.
And finally, regret.
I regretted not hugging my mother goodbye before I left for school.
I regretted acting like a spoiled brat when my parents refused to drive me halfway across the country so I could attend Coachella.
I regretted stepping inside Mr Brighton’s fourth period physics class.
Mr Brighton reappeared, slamming the door behind him and locking the boy inside. Part of me flinched, while the rest of me remembered not to move a muscle. I was barely aware of time passing. Or it wasn't. Time had stopped, so now long had I been sitting there?
I could no longer measure the passage of time with hunger or thirst, and my body felt the same. I wasn't stiff or tired or achy. Looking out of the window, the sky was the exact same crystal blue, every cloud in the exact same place.
Jessie Carson was still frozen mid-run, strands of dark red hair caught around her.
“What's wrong with you guys?” Mr Brighton chuckled, and I twisted back to the front, a shiver writhing down my spine. “Why don't you give me a smile?”
The teacher returned to his desk, and I was already subconsciously sitting up straight in my seat, forcing my lips into a jaw-breaking grin, following Brighton’s instructions. In the corner of my eye, Imogen was sitting very still, forcing an award-winning cheesy smile, while Kaz grinned through gritted teeth.
“Mr Hemlock just earned himself two weeks inside the supply closet.” he said casually, perching himself on the edge of his desk. The man studied each of us, taking his time to rip every shred of us apart.
Mind, body, and soul.
I struggled to maintain my stupid smile, shoving my shaking hands in my lap.
“Would anyone like to join him, or are you going to follow the rules?”
The rest of us stayed silent. I don't think any of us breathed.
Our teacher nodded to Kaz, inclining his head.
“Samuels. Are you all right?”
Kaz’s smile faltered slightly. He shifted in his chair. I could see sweat trickling down his right temple. “Uh, yeah.” He swiped at his forehead, like he couldn't believe he was sweating. “Yeah, I'm good.”
The teacher’s eyes narrowed. He moved toward his desk, and we all held our breaths. Mr Brighton seemed to study his hit-list, lips curving into a frown.
His gaze flicked to the boy, and then the paper.
He knew, I thought dizzily.
Mr Brighton knew the kid had been rummaging through his desk. But this was all about control. The teacher was using fear to control us, to manipulate our thoughts without having to get physical. He could have called out the boy right then, but Brighton was settling with mental torture instead. He just wanted to make my classmate squirm.
Without a word, the man folded up the piece of paper and slipped it into his pocket. “Mr Samuels, you are sweating,” our physics teacher said, mocking a frown. “Are you feeling okay?”
Kaz hesitated, tapping his shoe in a rhythm.
Being one of the smartest kids in the room definitely gave him an advantage.
I could already see the cogs turning behind half lidded eyes. Kaz was weighing each scenario, sorting them into positives and negatives.
The positives of answering would mean he was one step towards being in the clear, but there were two negatives.
Brighton would question him if he had left his seat, and then demand how his hit-list had magically moved across the desk.
Talking back was surely a rule-break, as well as outright lying.
Opening his mouth would get him in trouble, either way, and Kaz knew that.
So, he just nodded, forcing an even bigger smile.
Brighton’s lips pricked, his gaze straying on Kaz. “Good!” He cleared his throat, turning to the class. Kaz slumped in his seat with a sharp breath, resting his head in his arms. If Mr Brighton noticed, he didn't say anything. “Ignore the sweating. It should stop, along with hunger and thirst.”
Our teacher seemed to be able to manipulate everything in his vicinity.
Time.
Minds.
And slowly… contorting us into his own.
In the single second we were trapped inside, I felt days go by in a dizzying whirlwind that was like being permanently high. When I stood up, I felt like I was floating.
When I sat down, hours could go by, even days, and I wouldn't even feel them. I did try and count the days, initially, scribbling them on a scrap piece of paper, but somewhere around the thirteenth or fourteenth day, I lost count. The world around us never changed, in permanent stasis, and maybe that was sending us a little crazy.
After a while of being stuck at our desks, Mr Brighton allowed us to wander the classroom, as long as we stayed away from the door. I lay on the floor for days, counting ceiling tiles.
Sometimes, Imogen would join me.
I couldn't sleep, but I could pretend to sleep, imagining a world that was back to normal. I didn't feel hungry, but my brain did like to remind me of food at the weirdest times. I was aware of weeks passing us by, and then months.
I never grew hungry or tired, and my bodily functions were none existent.
I couldn't remember what pain felt like, or the urge to go to the bathroom. Even the concept of eating and drinking became foreign to me. Putting something in your mouth and chewing to sustain yourself?
That sounded odd.
The only thing that was changing was our slowly unravelling metal state.
I don't know how it started. Weekends and Tuesdays blended together. On one particular SaturTuesday, I was hanging upside down from my desk, watching Kaz and Imogen doodle on the whiteboard.
Kaz had a plan to escape, but after a while, his ‘plan’ to distract the teacher, had gone nowhere. After passing notes between us, the twelve of us had decided that we needed a weapon.
That was maybe a month ago. I wasn't sure what mind games our teacher was playing, but Kaz Samuels, who we were counting on to be our brains, was slowly falling under his spell. Their game had been going on for three days. The two of them were having a competition to see who could draw the craziest thing.
Mr Brighton was at his desk as usual, marking papers.
Imogen was drawing a weird looking ‘skateboard’ when the doors to the storage closet flew open.
Roman Hemlock appeared, and to my surprise, wasn't a hollow eyed shell.
He held up his hand in a wave, his lips forming a small smile.
“Yo.”
Roman’s reappearance was enough to snap us out of it. Kaz and Imogen stopped arguing, the rest of the class going silent. I sat up, blinking rapidly.
I was sure our collective consensus was that Roman Hemlock was dead.
Mr Brighton lifted his head and gave the boy a civil nod. “Mr Hemlock will be rejoining us,” he said, his gaze going back to marking papers. “Please make him feel comfortable. I'm sure he's very excited to be able to talk to you again.”
Instead of going to his desk, the boy immediately joined the others, snatching the marker off of a baffled looking Kaz, and drawing an overly artistic sketch of a penis. I wasn't sure what confused me more. The fact that Roman Hemlock had some serious artistic skills, or that he seemed suspiciously fine for someone who had been locked in the storage closet for two weeks with no social interaction.
With my last few lingering brain cells still clinging on, I studied the boy.
There were no signs of bruises or scratches.
His eyes seemed normal, not diluted or half lidded.
Unable to stop myself, I jumped off of my desk and joined the others, where Kaz was already interrogating the guy.
“WHAT–”
Imogen nudged him, and he lowered his voice, leaning against the wall. “What did he do to you?”
Roman shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Relax, dude. He didn't do anything to me.”
“Then what was that yell?” Imogen hissed.
The boy cocked his head. “Yell?”
“You yelled out,” Kaz folded his arms, narrowing his eyes. He was already suspecting one of us had been compromised– or worse, brainwashed into compliance. Kaz stepped closer, backing Roman into the desk. “You cried out when you first went in there,” he murmured, “So, what was that?”
Something in Roman’s eyes darkened. “Oh,” He said, his lip curling. “That.”
Kaz’s expression softened. He rested his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Yeah,” He whispered. “What did he do to you?”
Imogen shoved Kaz out of the way, shooting the boy a glare.
“You don't have to tell us, you know.” She said in a small voice. “If it's too traumatising, or he did something you don't want to talk about–”
Roman cut her off with a laugh, and suddenly, all eyes were on him.
The remaining nine of us were eagerly awaiting an explanation.
“Are you fucking serious?”
When Kaz didn't respond, Roman gathered us in a kind of hustle, the four of us grouped together. I felt like I was on the football field. Still, though, if the guy’s goal was to look as suspicious as possible, he was doing a great job.
Roman studied each of us, one eyebrow cocked. When Mr Brighton glanced up from his work, Roman shot him a grin, lowering his voice to a hiss.
“You seriously think our fifty year old physics teacher has been abusing me in the storage closet?
“Then why did you cry out?” Kaz demanded. “Did he hit you?”
Roman stuck out his bottom lip. “I'm pretty sure he didn't hit me.”
“So, you cried out for no reason.”
“Why are you covering for him?” Imogen poked his forehead. “Are you lobotomised?”
Roman wafted her hand away. “Stop prodding me, and no, I'm 100% good.” He backed away from us, like we were observers, and he was the zoo attraction.
“I won't be, if you keep treating me like I'm senile.”
“Okay, fine,” Kaz sighed. “Just answer one.”
“Shoot.”
“When you first went in there, you made an unmistakable sound of distress–”
“Not this again,” Roman groaned. “Of course I yelled! I was shoved into a pitch black storage closet on my own! What, did you expect me to stay silent?”
Kaz didn't look convinced, Imogen nervously sucking her teeth.
The boy leaned back, resting his head against the wall. His eyes flickered shut.
“Stop looking at me like that, there's nothing to tell you,” he murmured, “Brighton didn't do shit to me. I was just freaked out.” Prying one eye open, he fixed us with a glare. “I am so sorry for reacting like a human. Next time, I'll make sure to attack him and pin him to the ground.”
It's not like we believed him. I don't think Roman believed himself.
Something significant had changed in him. He was no longer argumentative, like half of his personality had been torn away. Roman set a precedent. Because once he was following instructions and walking around with a dazed smile, others began to follow. I can't remember how much time had passed since I thought about escaping.
Days and weeks and months had collapsed into fleeting seconds I only noticed when I wasn't playing games.
I wasn't aware of my own lack of sanity until I found myself, on a random SaturWednesday. I was laughing, gathered with the others on the floor, around a Monopoly board. The game had been going on for almost a week.
Reality hit me when I was laughing so hard I tipped back.
I can't remember why I was laughing. I think Imogen told a bad joke.
“Hand it over.” Roman, who was the King of Monopoly, held out his hand, demanding my last 250 bucks. I remember noticing his smile, my foggy brain trying to find hints that he was in some kind of trance, or being controlled by Brighton. But no. His smile was real.
Genuine.
To my shock and confusion, so was mine.
I wasn't in a trance or any type of mind manipulation. I was completely conscious.
Was this… Stockholm syndrome? I thought dizzily.
Was I enjoying this?
My thoughts were like cotton candy, disconnected and wrong, and they barely felt like my own. My gaze found Imogen and Kaz, the two of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, enveloped in the game.
They looked exactly the same, their hair, clothes, everything about them staying stagnant. It was them themselves who had drastically changed. I had never seen them look so carefree. Imogen was a hotheaded cheerleader, and Kaz was the smart kid who gave himself nosebleeds from overworking himself. But now, they were laughing, nudging each other, caught up in an inside joke. Blinking slowly, my gaze strayed on them.
Sure, it could be manipulation. It could be brainwashing. But it could also be real.
Kaz caught my eye, raising a brow.
“You good, Christa?”
Again, my smile felt real. Like I was having fun.
“Good. It's your turn.”
I picked up the dice, throwing them across the board.
Two sixes.
“I can already see her landing on one of my hotels.” Roman murmured. He sat up, resting his chin on his knees. “As the clear winner, I have a proposition.”
Ignoring him, I moved my piece– immediately landing on Park Place.
“I'll give you 500,” Roman announced, “If you give up New York avenue.”
“That's all I've got!”
Imogen nudged me. “Don't do it. If you give him New York Avenue, he only needs one more.”
“One thousand.” Roman waved the notes in my face.
“My final offer.”
When I reached for the cash, he held it back.
“New York Avenue, he said, with a grin.
“And your pride.”
Reluctantly, I handed my only property over.
Kaz threw the dice and moved his piece, and I half remembered we had an escape plan. “Community chest.” Kaz picked up a card. “Go straight to jail.”*
Roman spluttered. “That's karma,” he said, “For stealing from the bank.”
“You were stealing too!”
We had a plan.
We had…. a plan.
After discussing it in detail, Imogen and I were going to try and get onto Brighton’s laptop. It wasn't a perfect way to escape, but it was coherent.
So, what happened?
We were going to get out, so what… what was this?
Kaz’s earlier words hit me from months ago.
“Mr Brighton *is the thing keeping us here,”* he explained. “If we kill him, I'm like, 98% sure we’ll go back to normal.”
“Okay, and what if he dies and we’re *stuck?”* Imogen whisper-shrieked.
“I said 98% for a reason. Yes, there's a small chance his power will die with him. But there's a bigger chance that its effects will die when he does.”
Ren nodded slowly. “Right, and where exactly did you learn this information?”
“You'll feel a lot better if I don't answer that.”
“Okay.” Ren gritted his teeth. “So, we just need to find a weapon, right?”
“And don't tell Hemlock,” Kaz rolled his eyes. “I don't care what he says, that boy definitely had his mind fucked with. Hemlock is a liability. If we tell Roman, he tells Brighton, and we’re screwed.” Kaz nodded to me, then the others. “Keep your mouths shut.”
Presently, I wasn't sure the boy wanted to escape.
Slowly, I rolled my eyes over to Mr Brighton, who had joined us to play.
He was happily marking papers, taking part when he could.
It felt…right.
Not like we had been forced or manipulated, but more like he belonged. Part of me wanted to question why I felt like this, but I found that I didn't care. I didn't care that we were essentially dead, in a never ending stasis and stuck inside fifty two minutes past two. I stopped thinking about the outside world a long time ago.
I couldn't even remember my Mom’s face.
I made my decision, dazedly watching Imogen throw a chance card at Roman.
He flung one back, threatening to tip the board.
I wanted to stay.
In the corner of my eye, however, someone was still awake.
Ren, who had been sitting next to me, kept moving, further and further away. I didn't notice until he was inching towards our teacher, a box cutter clenched between his fist. There must have been a point when we found a box cutter, when we made it our weapon of choice.
But somewhere along the way, I think we just… lost the longing to want to escape.
I didn't see the exact moment the boy stabbed the blade into the man's neck, plunging it through his flesh, but I did feel a sudden jolt, like time itself was starting to falter and tremble.
Mr Brighton dropped to the ground, and I found my gaze flashing to the frozen clock.
Which was moving, suddenly.
Slowly creeping towards 2:53pm.
Something sticky ran underneath me, warm and wet.
Blood.
Blood that was running.
Roman’s half lidded eyes found mine, and he blinked, dropping the dice.
Like he'd been asleep for a long time.
2:53pm.
We were free.
The cool spring breeze grazing my cheeks was back. I could feel my own heartbeat, sticky sweat on my forehead.
And outside, Jessie Carson let out a gut-churning scream.
For a disorienting moment, I don't think any of us believed we were free.
Roman twisted around, his gaze on the doorway.
The piece of paper the teacher had stuck to the glass slipped away.
But Roman’s gaze was glued to the door, his cheeks paling.
His lips parted into a silent cry.
Following his eyes, I glimpsed a shadow.
A shadow that was frozen at 2:52pm.
2:53pm.
“Fuck.” Roman whispered, stumbling to his feet.
He turned to the rest of us, his eyes wild.
“Get DOWN!”
I dropped onto my knees, crawling under a desk, the classroom exploding around me.
2:54.
Blood splattered the walls, and I was crawling in it, stained in my friends.
2:55.
I grabbed Mr Brighton's hand, squeezing for dear life.
Roman joined me, his trembling fingers feeling for a pulse.
A gunshot rang in my ears, rattling my skull.
When Roman went limp next to me, I wrapped my arms around my teacher.
“Mr Brighton, say Stop.”
He was so cold…
“Mr Brighton! Take us back!”
Footsteps coming towards me.
2:56.

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)
XXX
None of them offered any resistance at all as the military led them away from the opening of the mine. Alain was sure that the thought had crossed their mind, if only because they were marching into something completely unknown, but none of them had dared to try and put it into practice – him and Felix would have been cut down immediately, and even Az and Sable would have had problems getting through an entire heavily-armed detachment.
Eventually, though, they stopped. Someone pulled the hood off of Alain's head, and he blinked as light came flooding into his eyes. After a few seconds, his eyes finished adjusting, and he was able to get a clear look in front of him.
Seated at a wooden table before him was a large, bearded man dressed in an officer's uniform – his rank insignia marked him as a Colonel. He was tall, with broad shoulders, but he was also an older man, probably in his fifties if the white in his hair was any indication. There was a large-bore revolver holstered on his right hip, and in the corner, Alain was able to see a cavalry saber and a double-barrel shotgun leaned up against some boxes of supplies.
"Have a seat," the man offered.
Alain hesitated, but ultimately obliged, pulling up a chair across from the Colonel. The man adjusted his glasses, then leaned in towards him, his hands folded in front of his face.
"State your name," he ordered.
Alain blinked, taken off-guard. "Why should I-"
"Your name," the man insisted. "Then we can talk."
"Alain Smith."
He nodded. "Colonel Stone. I wish I could say it's nice to meet you, but generally speaking, most of the people who meet me and aren't in my unit tend to die cursing my name."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a statement of fact." Stone's eyes narrowed. "We can be allies or we can be enemies, Smith. The choice is yours."
"Tell me where my friends are, and then I'll decide."
"They're in our camp, being questioned by some of my subordinates. You have no need to worry about their safety so long as none of them try anything crazy."
Alain wanted to argue, but the fact that the camp hadn't erupted with gunfire and screaming proved that Sable and Az were keeping themselves restrained, at least for now. And if they could reel themselves in like that, he had no reason not to do the same.
Alain leaned back in his seat, then crossed his arms. "What do you want, anyway? I can only assume Xavier called you."
"The gypsy? Yes, he did. Good thing we got here first, by the way – we weren't the only ones he contacted. You're lucky to have met us and not the Tribunal. But that's beside the point – what I want is simple, Mister Smith. I want to know exactly what happened here that led up to the outbreak from the mines."
"Shit, why didn't you just say so?" Alain asked. He shook his head. "Frankly, none of the four of us have any reason to keep that information from you or lie about it. We just spent the entire night fighting off the people who were responsible for it. As far as I can tell, we're all on the same side, here."
"That we are," Stone agreed with a nod. "So, start talking. What happened here?"
Alain told him everything, starting from the beginning. He left no details out at all; the entire story took quite a while for him to tell. Stone didn't say much during the retelling, aside from the occasional question or two. Eventually, though, Alain's tale came to an end, and he leaned back as he took a sip from a canteen of water someone had brought in for him earlier.
"That's about where we're at now," Alain said, setting the canteen down and wiping his mouth. "Crazy-ass mayor and his little entourage thought they were going to make themselves immortal. All they succeeded in doing was getting themselves and most of the other townspeople killed." At the mention of the other townspeople, Alain's eyes widened. "Hey, what's going to happen to-"
"They'll be fine," Stone promised him. "Anyone who was infected by the undead will unfortunately need to be dealt with, as there is no cure for the undead plague. Everyone else… once we swear them to secrecy, they are free to continue on as they see fit. We have no ill will towards them; we know they're just bystanders caught up in all this."
"And my friends and I?" Alain asked. "Something tells me the same courtesy won't extend to us."
"Unfortunately not," Stone replied. "You four were directly involved in taking down the mayor and his men. Two of your friends are supernatural in nature. We are going to have to take greater measures to keep the truth contained among you four. Nothing drastic, I assure you – none of you will come to harm. We just need to make sure you won't go talking about this to random people, and that the vampire and her servant can be trusted to walk among humans."
"You know she's a vampire?" Alain asked, raising an eyebrow.
"She has pale skin, red eyes, and is wearing a ridiculous outfit complete with a cape. I'd know she was a vampire even if I hadn't seen her fangs. The only reason most people don't recognize her for what she truly is, is because they simply don't know enough about the supernatural to place her as a vampire."
"So you just want to make sure she can be trusted?"
"I suspect she can be, given she helped defend the town and hasn't turned anyone, despite having ample opportunity for it. But we need to make sure."
"And how do you intend to do that?"
"By showing her what she stands to lose if she goes against us. But that is a subject for later, Smith – for now, we have other things to discuss."
"Such as?"
"Cleanup, of course," Stone said, leaning back in his chair. "Containment. How are we going to make sure you all stay silent about this?"
Alain's eyes widened. "You want to keep the Veil intact?"
"We have no other option."
"And what do you mean by that?"
Stone opened his mouth to respond, only for a sudden commotion outside to catch his attention. He froze for a moment, his jaw tightening, before his gaze narrowed and he abruptly rose to his feet and pushed past Alain.
"Follow me," he said.
"What for?" Alain asked.
"This meeting was going to happen eventually. We might as well get it over with."
"What meeting? What are you talking about?"
Stone stopped at the entrance to the tent, then turned towards him.
"The Tribunal is here," he said simply.
–
They gave him his weapons back. Alain wasn't sure what to make of that, but something told him it wasn't because they trusted him.
After he'd been properly armed once more, they led him out into the center of town, led by Colonel Stone and flanked by a squad of soldiers armed with rifles and shotguns. Alain almost felt intimidated, even though he knew none of the weapons were for him. Really, though, his primary concern was still for his friends – he hadn't seen them since leaving the mine.
Eventually, Stone stopped, and the others came to a rest behind him. Alain only had a moment to wonder what was going on before several figures clad in black cloaks and hoods rounded a corner at the other edge of town. Unlike the men flanking him, most of them were unarmed, but a fair few were carrying guns, and – of all things – crossbows and silver swords. There were seven of them, and as they closed in, the one who had to be the leader stepped forwards, lowering his hood as he did so.
He was tall, and very dark-skinned, with piercing red eyes. His head was shaved, and his face was covered in scars. He glared at Stone and his men, then crossed his arms in defiance.
"Colonel Stone," he greeted, his voice coming out with an accent that Alain couldn't place. "For once, you seem to have beaten us here."
"Happened to be in the area, dealing with something else," Stone said absentmindedly. "Perhaps if the Tribunal invested in some advanced technology for once, they'd make better time." He looked towards several of the other cloaked figures, his gaze lingering on their guns. "Then again, perhaps some of the old habits are finally starting to die out, after all. But then, that doesn't explain why they'd keep you around, Lawrence."
Lawrence's red eyes narrowed, but he didn't rise to the challenge. Instead, he looked over towards Alain. "This him?"
"Depends. Am I to assume you want the usual treatment for all four of them?"
"Of course. An incursion such as this warrants an investigation, does it not? You of all people should realize that."
"I do, which is why my men and I are here. We will be handling this."
Lawrence glared at him once more. "As you'll recall, we have jurisdiction over-"
"I don't care what the damn charter says," Stone growled. "Undead incident or not, this occurred directly on American soil, and it was barely contained. That means we're taking over."
"No, you are not. Or shall I escalate this directly to the President and see what he thinks?"
Stone's eyes narrowed. "You don't have the authority-"
Lawrence grinned, showing off a set of sharpened teeth. "On the contrary. Or have you not heard? The Tribunal has been working very closely with the White House ever since the war. We now have a direct line to the Commander-In-Chief himself. But if you insist on stonewalling our investigation, I'm sure he will be very interested to know why his subordinates are trying to take over an investigation we have direct jurisdiction of."
Stone let out a low, irritated grumble, but reluctantly nodded. "Damn bloodsucker… fine. But know this, Lawrence – these four are the reason this incident was contained in the first place. If anything happens to them, there'll be hell to pay."
"If they truly did as you say, then they have nothing to fear," Lawrence said evenly. He looked to Alain. "Come, human. We must make haste."
Alain watched with surprise as Stone and his men began to back away. He looked back to Lawrence, unsure of what to think.
"I'm sorry, what's this about?"
"The Tribunal has authority over any kind of large-scale undead incursion," Lawrence informed him. "We will be handling the investigation from now on. I suggest you and your friends come quietly – we do not wish to use force, but should the gravity of this situation require it, we shall."
Alain hesitated, but then reluctantly nodded. "Alright, fine. Just promise me there won't be any more hoods over our heads this time."
Lawrence smirked, and Alain had to bite back a curse as he realized what was coming.
XXXX
Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, Ickbard for the help with writing this story.

This is my first attempt at a query so apologies for any egregious missteps! Let me know if I'm on the right track?
Dear Agent,
While the beatniks were taking over Soho, the rest of the literati were sticking to the old-school glamour of Zairo’s Bar - one-time Hemingway haunt. When two writers meet on a fateful evening, they set in motion a love which will span years, continents and half a dozen marriages.
Christopher ‘Kit’ Baldwin is old-Alabama-money with a gift for the gab; and Elizabeth ‘Betty’ Berlin is the daughter of a minor lord, with an eye for characterisation. Together, they make magic.
As their stars rise from the West End, to Broadway to Hollywood, Betty tries to resist the married Kit - afraid to jeopardise their working relationship, even as they keep falling back into bed together. Eventually, Betty gives respectability a shot; marrying a big-time movie producer and Kit marries another woman.
A decade in, their timing – at last – clicks and they take their relationship from an open secret to marriage. There follows a couple of years of bliss – but at a cost: their writing, usually so taut with sexual tension and excitement, falls apart.
BALDWIN & BERLIN is an upmarket novel complete at 130,000 words with multiple POVs. Its glamorous, mid-century setting will appeal to fans of Taylor Jenkins Reid’s The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo, while exploring themes of creative partnerships tangled with love, which grabbed readers of Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies and Gabrielle Zevin’s Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow.
Baldwin & Berlin is my first novel, which began as a short story during my Creative Writing Masters at the University of Cambridge. A communications professional, I am a Brit living in Bermuda, with an Australian husband and a murderous elderly cat, in a cottage by the sounding sea.
First 300:
PROLOGUE
Years after the fact, there is a photograph published in a special edition of LIFE magazine. Those who pick it up invariably find their eyes drawn to one picture in the centre spread. It takes a moment to reconcile their faces, their full names to the famous double act that was Baldwin & Berlin.
Her face is too small for the sunglasses she wears. The sharp angle of her chin juts out below the frame, doll’s mouth set off by the expanse of black glasses and wide dark hat. One hand up by her eyes, blocking out the sun, the other flopped over her bent knees, book in hand. Everything about the pose seems calculated, from the cross of the ankles, knees together to protect her modesty whilst tilting her chest towards the camera: the defiant upwards slant of her jaw.
He is laying back, hands folded across his flat stomach, eyes narrowed against the light. Hair and skin tone nearly matching in sepia tones: golden boy. There is a slight sneer, it seems, on his lips, though it may be the beginnings of a word. Paper sprawled messily across his lap.
There would be no mistaking the photo for now: there is a heightened glamour about it that no clever lighting or computer programme could hope to reproduce. A kind of confidence in their manner not found today, with no concern for the creases in their swimsuits, the occasional wrinkle of fat. There are no forced smiles here: a photo of those who were always posed.
The abused manuscript that lies in his lap is the final draft of the last script from Baldwin & Berlin. You can’t help but think that had he known, he might have treated it with a little more respect. But how was he to know that after twelve years of success and laud and honour, the game was up?

Sitting in my captain’s chair, my fingers drummed on my armrests. Religion was a bittersweet subject for me, the churches not allowing mutts into the congregations. Staring out at the endless expanse of darkness and stars, a familiar sensation of Jack playing with the tips of my ears whipped me back to reality. Leaning down close to me, his lips brushed against the nape of my neck.
“Try to be civil with this religious city. I know that you don’t have the best relationship with them. The people need help with another one of those toads.” He begged with a crooked grin, a brisk fine leaving my lips. “That’s good to hear. The more that we have of that venom, our luck sure would look up. Maybe we could play when we get home.” Flushing a deep scarlet, my husband was lucky that Icy was the only other recruit with us for this mission. The others agreed to watch the kids, the way Catz suggested a movie night had me smiling to myself. My friends were amazing in the best way, Scampy looking more than thrilled to have such an experience. Chewing on my lips, the monks had agreed to help move the frozen venom onto the ship. Perhaps this church was different, the monks raising the orphans from all over the universe. Mulling over what we had to do, the word was that a neon green slime covered the infected areas.
“They come in all kinds of colors.” Jack pointed out simply, wonder shining in my eyes at how he knew what I was thinking. “The venom is all the same, so do be careful.” Shooting out a quick sure, an awkward silence came over the ship. Staring ahead numbly, he plopped into his seat. Hooking up his harness, Icy threw a crumpled up ball of paper into the back of my head. Catching it in my palm, the neat cursive had me smiling to myself. Unfolding it, the words are you okay were a blessing in a dark moment. Fishing around my space suit for a pen, the tip moved quickly. Crumpling it up, Icy caught it without an issue. Reading it with a quiet chuckle, the joke lifting his mood. Tucking it into his pocket with a proud smile, a deeper scarlet painted my cheeks. Humming to myself for the remainder of the trip, the descent had me back to my attentive self. Parking the ship in the dock, Icy and I undid our harness. Popping to my feet, my face fell at the father in his worn brown robes. His kind brown eyes followed me, his bald head glinting in the light of the three blue moons. Pressing his palms together, shock rounded his eyes at the metal covers slamming shut behind us. Jack apologized casually, the two of them breaking into a pleasant conversation. Icy took my side, his polite smile matching mine. The priest was a stout human, his aura seeming apprehensive of us.
“Do you think he will treat us with a little less hesitation?” He inquired curiously, both of us laughing softly to ourselves. The father snapped his head in our direction, both of us straightening up. Mumbling a couple of apologies, Jack cleared his throat. Tossing my staff into my eager palm, his rifle resting on his shoulders. The church was not a place we could sit next to each other if good behavior was required.
“Let’s go before you two start any more troubles.” He barked impatiently, the father narrowing his eyes in our direction. “Father Paldin promised to house us tonight if we do a good job.” Staring out at the swampy land in the distance, an impatient groan tumbling from my lips. Storm clouds rumbled to life, heavy rain dripping off of our suits. Rushing back towards the ivory sea homes surrounding a single marble church, the three of us stood in a pensive silence. Jack seemed pissed about something, his eyes scanning the area. Approaching me as casually as he could, he leaned down to whisper into my ear.
“There isn’t a toad here. The whole thing is a farce but I can’t turn my back on these people.” He spoke loud enough for only me to hear, my ears pinning back. “Solomon won’t be here but I can attest to the fact that he is a shapeshifting alien. I know the father and he is not him.” The color drained from my cheeks, the shapeshifting aliens being the trickiest to catch. Not knowing what to do, Jack yanked me close to his hips.
“We need to create steam and that is where you two come in.” He whispered into my ear with a bit of annoyance, his hands sliding up to my cheeks. “Look natural while he spreads ice to melt. I will shoot down the ones that get exposed.” Kissing my lips feverishly to cover our conversation, a bit of neon goo hitting my boot had a low hiss flooding from my lips. My scaly friends joined my side, Icy and I heading in the opposite direction of Jack. Darting along the edge of the town, more globs of neon goo covered the brick. Picking the lowest part, the brick groaned as I leapt over the wall. Whipping the goo off of my boot, screams and pleas caught my ears. Wandering over to a decaying marble church, my hands pushed the door open. Horror rounded my eyes at the entire town staring at me with big hungry eyes, the father waving me over. Rushing over, his kind eyes were of true emotion, the other’s look seeming falser by the second. People needed to be saved no matter their beliefs.
“Those things took over my town and locked us up. Do you have any food or water?” He begged with dry cough, Icy creating ice cubes for everyone while I fished around my pockets for anything to eat. Pulling out bag of cookies, eager hands shoved them into their mouths. One more remained, the father pointing to an adorable terrier mix. Tossing it in the pup’s direction, the poor thing devouring it in seconds. These bastards were going to pay for their crime, their presence stealing everything in sight. Things should be earned not stolen.
“We are going to save you and soon your homes will be yours. Relax the best you can, folks.” I promised with my genuine smile, Icy marching over to the door. Pressing his palm on the loose dirt, ice devoured everything. Rising to his feet, golden energy built around heel. The moment I slammed my heel into the ice, the hard work would begin.
“Ready?” I inquired with a tired smile, Icy shooting me a thumbs up. “Cool. Let’s do this!” Raising my heel over my head, a hissing sound joined the bright flash of my heel meeting the ice. Steam devoured the town, Icy closing the door behind us. Translucent forms of slimy aliens darted out of their homes, inky bullets took out half of them. Neon green goo shot in our direction, a quarter of them coming after us. Spinning our staff in our palms, our objective was to keep the steam curling into the sky. Unleashing a wave of ice underneath me, the ride threw me into the air. Taking in the entirety of the town, the town square would be an excellent trap.
“Town Square!” I shouted over the chaos, my snakes slithering up to my side. Keeping up with me, Icy skidded a couple of streets away. Sending Ratonia to help him, Ratalia snuggled into my palm. Shouting thank you over the chaos, swift swings sent the aliens flying into the air. Pops announced Jack’s rain of bullets, the bodies dissolving before they hit the melting ice. The town square was in view, Icy flipping onto the fountain. Mouthing the plan, a couple of exchanged winks had sly grin curling on our lips. Slamming the tip of his staff into spout, ice crept down the statue. Devouring everything in two inches of ice, cage walls made of ice cracked into place the moment the last alien sludged in. Golden energy glowed to life in my palm, the ice hissing in protest the moment my palm met the frigid surface. Cracks danced up to the top, steam twirling into the sky. Jack appeared out of nowhere, bullets ricocheting off the walls. Something seemed off, the rotting stench of the goo swelling over my head. Jumping out of the way, the leader’s goo melted the ice. Panic contorted my features, the king of the hive had been found. Forming his goo into a bomb in his palm, a mean green glow illuminated his body. Fantastic! My enemy was a living night light. Spinning my staff in my palm, golden energy had it glowing brighter than him. Throwing it in my direction, a swing of my staff sent a wave of golden energy in his direction. Ice melted in seconds, his body shot into the air. No more goo remained, Jack cursing under his breath at his lack of bullets. Something warm tickled my lick, my trembling fingers grazing my nostrils. Blood glistened on the tips of my fingers, a green gas knocking everyone out but me. Splashing behind me announced his landing, every muscle ached in protest as I raised my staff into the attack position.
“Leave while you still have some of your dignity left!” I barked hotly, everything around me doubling. Hitting the street, a couple of Jack’s bullets rolled into my palm. A weakened Jack smiled lovingly before passing out for a second time, the color draining from my face. Pretending to be knocked out, his wet body sloshed closer to me. Attempting to build up the energy around my fingers, nothing would happen. Picking me up by my waist, the bastard tossed me over his shoulder. A bright green heart beat in his chest, my new gloves burning as I slid my hand into his chest. Smoke muddied up his body, my trembling fingers pushed the bullets into his heart. Staggering back, a puddle of cool water caught me. Shrill shrieks filled the air, his hands reaching in to rip out his heart. His skin bubbled, my inability to move was about to bite me in the ass. Preparing myself for a world of hurt, Father Paldin stepped in front of me with his palms pressed together. Blinking a couple of times, the sight of him had to be a hallucination. Singing some sort of hymn, a bright ivory light bathed the town. Praying to save us and grace us with his presence, a ball lifted the evil alien into the air. Childlike wonder brightened my eyes at the green coating the bubble and the bubble alone. Snapping his fingers, the light died down. Crouching down to my level, his hand cupped my arm. Singing another hymn, time rewound to heal my burn wounds. Choking out a painful protest, his gentle smile had my fraying nerves relaxing a bit.
“We may not worship the same god but I can see a pure soul from a mile away. Do you need me to join your nation?” He asked politely while helping to my feet, the other townsfolk waving in the distance. “If you give us religious freedom, you have our support.” Too stunned to speak, the others began to stir awake. All of this was nothing, rescuing people was second nature to me. My lips parted to speak several times, the trees in the square dropping every ounce of water onto me. Feeling my hair cling to my face, Ratalia and Ratonia began to lick my cheeks. Placing his hands on his hips, the townsfolk run up to him in a line. Barking orders, my friends were carried off to the main church. Tucking a piece of hair behind my ear, a couple of the kids were struggling with a box of medicine. Sliding my staff into my belt, both of them cheered up at my slender fingers plucking the box from their hands. Staying on my heels on the way to the church, he had them working like a well-oiled machine. Noticing that I was carrying the box, the blonde children giggled behind me. Setting it on the table next to him, there was a lack of good stuff. His shining eyes met mine, his eyes flitting between the wedding bands. Unsure of how to respond, a stiff silence hung in the air.
“Would you allow me to bless your marriage? Good luck can only follow your relationship after such a gift.” He offered sincerely, his hands placing ours together. Jack mumbled something, the images of his family at church flashed in my mind. His family went to church before the program killed them to kidnap him, tears welling up in his eyes. Praying over our rings, a bright light blinded us. The light died down to reveal a strange symbol on our bands, pride glistening in the good father’s eyes the moment he let go. Turning towards me, his hands crossed on his lap. Please don't ask too much of me.
“Come back and get blessed by me when this is all over.” He suggested sweetly, his head snapping in Jack’s direction. “Bring your family as well. I would be honored to have you in my parish.” Excusing myself, my empty footfalls echoed in the streets. Skidding to a rough stop in front of my ship, the armor clanked back into its pocket. Hissing announced my pets’ presence, both of them snuggling into my palms. Smothering them in feverish kisses, long tongues flicked against my cheeks. Letting myself in, a quick change into my mechanic’s suit made me more comfortable. Loading up a cart with a couple of spare generators with the battery rocks, and two thirds of the medicine we had on the ship. Kids and women must have gotten sick and the supply had been too depleted to the bare minimum. Snaking their bodies around mine on the way out, their scales felt like a warm hug. Locking my ship behind me, a rare good mood came over me. Pushing the cart back into town, curious eyes glinted to life at the odd items. Knocking on the heavy wooden doors, a couple of his hooded monks let me in. Father Paldin approached me cautiously, his sharp eyes focusing on the generator. Calling a couple of nuns over, they rushed off with the medicine. Leaning onto my cart, the generator wasn’t something that I wanted to push onto him.
“I don’t know what your religion allows this machine but this is a generator that runs on its own. We will come back with more if you allow it but this is a sure way to keep your people safe in one of your many power outages.” I spoke with a nervous grin, his fingers tracing the metal barrel. “That medicine should last you a few months. Since you are a part of my side now, I will personally deliver whatever you need every six months in exchange for a few goods and shelter that night.” Offering him my hand to shake, his fingers curled around it without a second thought.
“That is almost excellent.” He gushed gleefully, shaking my hand vigorously. “I look forward to you being my president.” Scarlet painted my panicked features, Jack hiding back behind the corner with his trademark guilt ridden grin. Softening my expression enough to keep him in his good mood, the orphans bounced up to Ratalia and Ratonia. Scooping them up, the kids giggled as they slid down their backs. Wagging their tails with excitement, his hearty chuckle seemed to make this situation a bit better. Someone called him over, his smile growing wider. Zoning out for a few minutes, familiar fingers playing with my ears snapped me back to reality. Some explanations were owed.
“Join me on a walk. Icy, stay with our scaly friends.” Jack commanded with a stern expression, a quiet fear hiding underneath my bright smile. Telling my girls to stay, Icy spinning over to smother them with love had them wagging their tails once more. Hooking his elbow around mine, the cool air of the planet lashed at my cheeks. Stealing me away to the docks by our ship, the armor clicked back enough to let us in. Scooping me up, his boots crossed the threshold. Locking the door behind him, his strong arms carried me to the back. Laying me down on the bed, he climbed on behind me. Tears soaked my back, his arms yanking me into a desperate embrace. Burying his head into the back of my neck, the loss of his family was hitting him all over again. Rolling onto my back, his strong arms yanked me on top of him. Holding me like his life depended on it, his snores echoed in my ears. Every attempt to get out of his arms had him embracing me tighter. Giving up, the radio wasn’t too far away. Grasping at it, Icy needed to know what was going on. Kicking the table until it fell into my hand, a couple of clicks had him answering. Explaining the situation, he promised me that he would handle things. Children begged for him to read another story, he hung up with a hearty chuckle. Staring into the darkness, something had me squinting. What was moving in the shadows? Squirming out of his arms, knocks on the outside had the thing with bright eyes scurrying across the ceiling. Leaping to my feet, the door hissed open on its own. The small bit of light revealed a bright yellow tentacle, the color draining from my face. How did a venomous space octopus get in here? Crashing through my ship, a steady stream of curse words flooded from my lips at it heading into the engine room. Plucking my staff from my belt, a quick press to the button had the doors clicking open to let my girls in. Whistling sharply, they took my sides like the obedient bodyguards they were. Creeping down to the engine room, a flash of yellow into the engine had me pounding towards the access panel. Digging through my nearby toolbox, a wave of relief crashed over me at the sight of my favorite screwdriver. Moving a mile a minute, the screws clattered onto the metal floor. Pulling myself in, my girls found their way in. Allowing them to lead the way, their senses were stronger than mine. Maneuvering my way around the cramped spaces, a slick noise had us shrinking into the shadows. Venom from my pets pooled around my feet, both of them watching me dip the tip of my staff in it. Banging my fist on the metal wall, the scurrying noise had chills running up my spine. Hisses alerted me to the slimy yellow mass flying towards me, golden energy mixed with my venom powers. Aiming the end of my staff for its rows of glinting fangs, the wet noise of my staff meeting its organs had nausea wracking my body. Pinning it to the wall, thousands of eyes opening up to bleed had clammy sweat drenching my skin. Must certain aliens look so terrifying! Twisting it in further, the squeals threatened to burst my eardrums. Golden smoke swirled from its mouth, the space spinning around me. Knowing that I pushed myself too far, blood and tissues rained down over me. Flicking everything off, the body wasn’t poisonous. How venomous its slime was, that was a different story. Searching for the lights, the plastic switch grazed the tip of my finger. Clicking it on, a bloody mess had me wincing with regret. Climbing out to get cleaning supplies, crimson painted my cheeks the moment I ran into Jack’s bare chest. Holding up the cleaning supplies, his eager smile hid a darker undertone.
“You running out woke me up. When I saw the slime, I had an idea of what was going on.” He chuckled with an even bigger smile, his arm curling around my waist. “I need my pillow to get through the pain of seeing a church community.” Resting his chin on my head, his tears dripping down my soaking wet strands. The cleaning supplies hit the floor, his finger lifting up my chin. His wet eyes met my exhausted smile, his lips pressing against mine tenderly. Time stopped, our hearts beating to the same song. Walking backwards, he pinned me to the wall. Understanding that he needed me in more ways than one, his lips hovered inches from mine.
“Grant me a lovely evening.” He pleaded adorably, his hand sliding down to my waist. “Anything to forget the pain.” Arching my body towards him, his shaking hand tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. Tossing me over his shoulder, Icy poked his head. Cocking his brow, his quick mind put two and two together. Picking up the cleaning supplies, his order for my girls to stay behind resulted in them cuddling up against him. Hiking through the ship, we found ourselves in the bunks.
“Sorry about calling him back.” He mumbled under his breath, a quiet smile lingering on my lips. “What are you smiling about?” Shrugging my shoulders, the evening became ours.

The Dawoodi Bohra community is actually a cult - An evidence-based argument
ex-Dawoodi Bohra member here. Let me preface this with my motivation to write this post.
I have been indoctrinated into this cult since I was born. My family has been part of this cult/community for generations upon generations (at least 4 generations that I know of). I have always had my doubts about the Dawoodi Bohras but since before University I was always living with my parents and thus within the community, there was always a feedback loop that quashed my doubts before they took substance.
After moving out to attend University (6 years ago), my doubts finally had a way to form without a feedback loop quashing it and thus began my research. This post is meant to be a way for me to consolidate my research and help me make sense of it. Feel free to post your own thoughts and comments in the comments/replies. (I actually want to write an article on this topic in a major newspaper so it can have more reach but I don't want to expose my identity yet).
This argument is based off the book "Take Back Your Life: Recovering from Cults and Abusive Relationships (Bay Tree Publishing, 2006)" and research conducted by Dr. Janja Lalich (http://cultresearch.org/about/).
This post is not meant to shame the Dawoodi Bohra community, but point out it's flaws in the hopes that people will read it and make an informed decision.
Let's start with defining the characteristics of a cult and measuring the Dawoodi Bohra community against it. Please note that these list of characteristics are meant to be an analytical tool rather than a scale of how "culty" a community is.
1. The group displays an excessively zealous and unquestioning commitment to its leader, and (whether he is alive or dead) regards his belief system, ideology, and practices as the Truth, as law.
The Dawoodi Bohra community follows Syedna Mufaddal Saifuddin (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mufaddal_Saifuddin) who refers to himself as a spiritual "father" of all dawoodi bohras and claims that he is omnipresent (can hear and see everything that a dawoodi bohra does), omniscient, and will take dawoodi bohras to heaven when they die. Oh and did I mention that the dawoodi bohras think that they are the only sect in Islam that will go to heaven?
OH OH also, you will only go to heaven if you follow Mufaddal. Neat right?. Mufaddal Saifuddin makes this claim by citing a hadith of Prophet Mohammad: "The Ummah will be separated into 73 sects, of which 72 will go to hell, and 1 will go to heaven" (https://purifiedhousehold.com/the-ummah-will-be-separated-in-73-sects/).
The Bohra community is discouraged from questioning the methods or means of Mufaddal through the consequence of ex-communication and social boycotting which is how Bohras are controlled. Many Bohras (especially in South-Asia) are overly zealous in their commitment. Bohras are also encouraged to bow down (prostrate themselves) in front of Mufaddal Saifuddin because apparently the angels do it too and also press their hands together, palms touching and fingers pointing upwards, (sort of like a Namaste) in front of him when they see him. Moreover, Dawoodi Bohras are encouraged to ask permission from Mufaddal Saifuddin (or current Maula/Glorified Priest) for everything from naming their child, going to University, starting a business, etc.
Anyone who doesn't follow Mufaddal is boy-cotted and ex-communicated and his family suffers the same consequence.
VERDICT: The above criteria has been strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
2. Questioning, doubt, and dissent are discouraged or even punished.
Please read evidence of above criteria. Questioning the methods of Mufaddal Saifuddin leads to ex-communication and social boycott. Families are controlled by the fear of losing sense of self if they leave the community and in some cases business as well.
Btw has anyone asked Mufaddal why female genital mutilation is a thing? HAH!
VERDICT: The above criteria has been strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
3. Mind-altering practices (such as meditation, chanting, speaking in tongues, denunciation sessions, or debilitating work routines) are used in excess and serve to suppress doubts about the group and its leader(s).
Dawoodi Bohras are encouraged to read duas/prayers for the longevity of Mufaddal Saifuddin and these duas have been incorporated to be read at the end of the mandatory five prayers.
EDIT: One thing I forgot to mention is how followers are made to cry on Imam Hussain's death and how he saved Islam and that if we don't cry then we are not good bohras. Guilt is used to keep followers under control. Imam Hussein's death story is repeated in every sermon or gathering and has been used to suppress doubts about Mufaddal Saifuddin.
These are obviously not mind-altering. I don't know of any practises that are mind-altering but maybe someone can fill the gaps in the comments.
VERDICT: The above criteria is weakly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community. (IF there is evidence on this, please let me know in the comments below).
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4. The leadership dictates, sometimes in great detail, how members should think, act, and feel (e.g., members must get permission to date, change jobs, or marry—or leaders prescribe what to wear, where to live, whether to have children, how to discipline children, and so forth).
Dawoodi Bohras are encouraged to ask permission from Mufaddal Saifuddin (or current Maula/Glorified Priest) for everything from naming their child, going to University, starting a business, etc. Mufaddan Saifuddin, in his sermons, tells followers in great detail on how they should behave in their homes, who they should interact, what kind of wife they should have, the role of husband and wife, etc. Anyways, I made my point.
VERDICT: The above criteria has been strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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5. The group is elitist, claiming a special, exalted status for itself, its leader(s), and its members (e.g., the leader is considered the Messiah, a special being, an avatar—or the group and/or the leader is on a special mission to save humanity).
Buddy, don't even get me started on this. Wait actually, do.
From above: "OH OH also, you will only go to heaven if you follow Mufaddal. Neat right?. Mufaddal Saifuddin makes this claim by citing a hadith of Prophet Mohammad: "The Ummah will be separated into 73 sects, of which 72 will go to hell, and 1 will go to heaven" (https://purifiedhousehold.com/the-ummah-will-be-separated-in-73-sects/)."
Mufaddal Saifuddin says that he is an angel on Earth. Basically, he claims that he is an angel in human form. He and his father (previously Maula/Glorified Priest) hase said this himself in multiple times. Mufaddal claims that the Bohra community is the only sect in Islam who will enter heaven. WTF??
Mufaddal claims he is/the Maulas are the Messiah (He is the 53rd Messiah lmao). Moreover, he also says that he has a direct connection with the children of Imam Tayyeb (current Imam in hiding, Imams are the lineage of Prophet Mohammad) who apparently communicate with him telepathically. LOL WHAT.
Dawoodi Bohra community is also Elitest. There are ranks starting from Maula/Glorified Priest/Leader of Bohras, Shehzada, Amil, Sheikh and Mulla. Shehzada is a rank that you can only achieve if you marry into the Maula's family. (OH ALSO WOMEN CANNOT ACHEIVE THESE RANKS, ONLY MEN ARE ALLOWED TO HOLD THEM LOL). To become a Sheikh or Mulla, you have to pay huge sums of money to attain the rank ($20,000 - $100,000 at a minimum).
VERDICT: The above criteria has been strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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6. The group has a polarized, us-versus-them mentality, which may cause conflict with the wider society.
Dawoodi Bohras are HIGHLY encouraged and forced to marry only another Dawoodi Bohra and are encouraged to keep limited friends outside the community. Dawoodi Bohras are known to be pacifists and not cause conflicts with the outside community so I will give them that.
VERDICT: The above criteria is weakly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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7. The leader is not accountable to any authorities (unlike, for example, teachers, military commanders, or ministers, priests, monks, and rabbis of mainstream religious denominations).
Mufaddal Saifuddin does not pay any taxes on property, income or wealth. He has been in contact with many major world leaders and he and his family basically answer to themselves.
VERDICT: The above criteria has been strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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8. The group teaches or implies that its supposedly exalted ends justify whatever means it deems necessary. This may result in members participating in behaviors or activities they would have considered reprehensible or unethical before joining the group (e.g., lying to family or friends, or collecting money for bogus charities).
AHEM. FGM. FEMALE GENITAL MUTILATION. AHEM.
Moreover, there are many shady/unethical things that happen within this community that are not brought to light. If you know of any, please tell me in the comments.
VERDICT: The above criteria has been medium met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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9. The leadership induces feelings of shame and/or guilt in order to influence and control members. Often this is done through peer pressure and subtle forms of persuasion.
I am actually laughing to myself right now.
Two words: Ex-communication and social boycotting. Dawoodi Bohras are controlled through the fear of being left out of the social group. The best and most effective way of controlling humans or any social animal and get them to comply.
Read above criteria for more information.
VERDICT: The above criteria has been strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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10. Subservience to the leader or group requires members to cut ties with family and friends, and radically alter the personal goals and activities they had before joining the group.
If you marry a Bohra, you have to become a Bohra yourself. Mufaddal (to the best of my knowledge) encourages children or parents to cut ties with their loved ones if they don't follow him or stray from the path of following him.
You are first a Bohra, then a Muslim.
VERDICT: The above criteria has been strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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11. The group is preoccupied with bringing in new members.
So, this is one thing I haven't seen the Bohras do. Because the belief is that being a Bohra is a privilege which you can only be born into.
No thanks, I would rather go to hell.
VERDICT: The above criteria has not been met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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12. The group is preoccupied with making money.
Oh yea, this made me laugh too. Over the year, Dawoodi Bohras have to give the following fees:
a. Wajebaat: Mandatory Yearly fee that every Bohra has to pay which goes directly to Mufaddal's bank account. You are not allowed to ask what he does with the money or guess what? Straight to Ex-communication. Think of this as a yearly subscription fee to the bohra community you can't cancel.
b. Silat-Ul-Imam: So apparently, this goes to the Imam. How it reaches him, idk but I know that it goes directly to Mufaddal's bank account too. Bohras are taught that if they don't give Silat-ul-Imam at the end of Ramadan then their fast and prayers for the whole year will not be accepted by Allah. WTF.
c. Fees to Attain Rank of Sheikh or Mulla: Exalted ranks among Bohras, Shiekhs and Mullas are allowed to lead prayers and are said to be spiritually above regular bohras. How do they achieve this rank? Oh you gotta pay. No no, you don't achieve this rank through prayers or being spiritual. You gotta pay. You don't have the money to pay? Oh poor Bohra, you will remain a regular peasant Bohra all your life.
There are many other fees/fund collections that I can't remember right now or might not know of but those are the main 3.
VERDICT: The above criteria is strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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13. Members are expected to devote inordinate amounts of time to the group and group-related activities.
There are a total of more than 150 events in the whole Muslim year that a Bohra should attend. Literally it's one event every 2 days on average. I ain't got time for that and most Bohras don't either.
Most auspicious of these events are in the month of Ramadan and the first 10 days of Muharram leading up to Imam Hussein's death. The sadness of Imam Husseins death and his story is used to control members too and it's said that he sacrificed his life to save Islam and apparently in his last moments prayed that God forgive the sins of all Bohras (Remind you of a certain Christian diety? Hint hint Jesus on his cross).
VERDICT: The above criteria is strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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14. Members are encouraged or required to live and/or socialize only with other group members.
Hahahahaha *insert Insane Joker laugh*. If you have been reading this so far in order, you know this criteria is already met. But for those who have been skimming: 1. Allowed to marry only other Dawoodi Bohras. 2. Encouraged not to make friends outside of Bohras.
VERDICT: The above criteria is strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
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15. The most loyal members (the “true believers”) feel there can be no life outside the context of the group. They believe there is no other way to be, and often fear reprisals to themselves or others if they leave—or even consider leaving—the group.
This last characteristic of a cult basically ties up what I have been saying above. People are afraid of leaving Bohraism because they are afraid of being socially boycotted. Most Bohras feel that they have little to no life outside of the context of the group and are encouraged to have friend circles only within the group.
VERDICT: The above criteria is strongly met by the Dawoodi Bohra Community.
if you have read so far, thank you for reading. This post is a way for me to organize my thinking and get your thoughts on this.
In concluding this post, the Dawoodi Bohra strongly meets 13 out of the 15 characteristics of a cult. That's a passing grade if I have ever seen one.
FINAL VERDICT: The Dawoodi Bohra community is a cult.
The Dawoodi Bohras have a lot of money. Mufaddal earns at least $1,000,000+ from Waajebaats, Silatul Imams and donations from fanatics.
TL;DR: Dawoodi Bohras are a cult and there is way too much evidence to refute this claim. They meet 13 of the 15 characteristics of a cult as defined by Dr. Janja Lalich. Their leader Mufaddal Saifuddin exploits Bohras belief in Islam and himself to make money that is untaxed and unaccounted for and Bohras who question him are ex-communicated and their families socially boycotted.
I am internally laughing and crying right now. This has been my life for 25 years. I want to get out but I can't because I am also afraid of being kicked out by my family. I am going to slowly convince them to leave it but I feel like even If they leave, they will be depressed because they will have left a social circle. Mufaddal Saifuddin and his family are very clever, they got us.

Rain Song (excerpt)
The crisp mountain air carried the scent of rain and cedar as Michael Tanaka made his way down the winding path towards Shirakawa. His camera bag hung heavily against his side, a familiar weight that grounded him amidst the surreal surroundings. The mist parted occasionally, revealing glimpses of thatched roofs and the iconic gassho-zukuri houses that seemed to emerge from the folds of the valley itself.
As he approached the village gates, Michael couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. A shiver ran down his spine, and he instinctively tightened his grip on the camera strap. Pushing the uneasy thoughts aside, he focused on the opportunity before him – a chance to immerse himself in the heart of rural Japan and perhaps uncover fragments of his own heritage that had long eluded him.
The main street was deserted, save for an elderly woman tending to a small vegetable garden. She looked up as Michael approached, her weathered face creasing into a curious frown.
"Konnichiwa," Michael ventured, offering a polite bow. "I'm here to stay at the Sakura Inn. Could you point me in the right direction?"
The woman's eyes narrowed as she studied him, her gaze lingering on his features that hinted at his mixed ancestry. After a moment's hesitation, she gestured down the road. "Third house on the left," she said curtly before returning to her gardening.
Michael pressed on, the uncertainty of the encounter weighing on him. As he neared the inn, the scent of sandalwood incense wafted through the air, offering a sense of familiarity amidst the strangeness of this place.
Michael wanders the village, his curiosity piqued by the enigmatic reactions of the locals. He stumbles upon an ancient shrine shrouded in mist, where whispers of kitsune lore fill the air.
The hush of the empty street only amplified the sound of Michael's footsteps as he wandered aimlessly through Shirakawa. The villagers' guarded reactions had piqued his curiosity, hinting at an undercurrent of secrets lurking beneath the surface of this seemingly idyllic place.
As he meandered down a narrow alleyway, the mist thickened, obscuring the path ahead. Michael slowed his pace, straining to make out any landmarks through the ghostly veil. That's when he noticed it – a weathered torii gate, the vibrant vermilion paint faded with age, emerging from the haze like a specter.
An overwhelming sense of reverence washed over him as he approached the gate. Though he couldn't explain it, he knew he had stumbled upon something ancient and sacred. Crossing the threshold, he found himself in a small courtyard, the mist swirling around a moss-covered stone shrine.
The air was heavy with the scent of burning cedar, and Michael could make out the faint sound of whispering voices carried on the breeze. He inched closer, his journalist's instincts urging him to uncover the source of the hushed murmurings.
As he neared the shrine, the voices grew more distinct, weaving tales of kitsune – the mythical fox spirits said to possess incredible powers and the ability to shapeshift into human form. Tales of these supernatural creatures had been passed down through generations, interwoven into the fabric of Japanese folklore.
Michael's rational mind struggled to make sense of what he was hearing, dismissing the stories as mere superstition. And yet, a part of him couldn't shake the feeling that there was truth hidden within the myths, like a dormant seed waiting to be unearthed.
Suddenly, a twig snapped behind him, and Michael whirled around, his heart pounding. Through the mist, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a figure darting away – a flash of scarlet fur and piercing eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul.

Part 1
Part 2
Content Warning: Child Abuse
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaos…
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm… well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was… well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for him—at least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware of…" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just… I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antenna—no, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shifts—blinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan to…" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth is…" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plant—and my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD's—classic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow…
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too long…
Ooh I can't take it, very much longer…
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"—my choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, or—"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back in—
"—I'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I—you"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust him—that it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating… Recalculating… Re—complete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, what—" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detecting—"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time now—"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"This—me, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understand—it's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreat—a reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.

Part 1
Part 2
***
Darkness gave way to dimness as I opened my eyes and saw slivers of gray light printed on the ceiling like lines on the page of a ruled notebook. In the distance, I heard the sound of pans clanking against the kitchen stove, and I became ever-aware of the scent of cinnamon and bacon sneaking in from under my closed bedroom door. For a moment, I was back in sixth grade. My dad was downstairs cooking up his famous from-scratch buttermilk pancakes and cheesy scrambled eggs. It was probably 7:00, maybe 7:05, and I had fifteen minutes to get up, shower, dress, eat, then it was off to Middle School with dad: for me to learn, him to work.
It was the day we were set to be assigned our Ancient Civilizations project. Unless something went terribly wrong, I would be choosing Ancient Rome. I didn't know much about it, other than it was some great empire, but even then I didn't really understand what an empire was. I was just happy that I would get to build something with my dad. I turned on my side and looked at the closed blinds, the source of the gray lines, then the cabinet with all my trophies, and finally the wobbly, firetruck-red chair pushed under my desk. I was home at last. The past fifteen years were nothing but a dream. There was no blinking. No malevolent demon chasing me. No inexplicable chaos…
It was a sweet fantasy. But one that became bitter the longer I tried to chew on it.
I swept my legs out from under the covers and sat, face-down, on the corner of my twin mattress. My feet were adult's feet. My room was my former room. And that was Trent downstairs cooking breakfast. Unless, of course, it was my dad, in which case I'd have bigger problems than merely waking up from a good dream.
After changing into a fresh shirt and pants, I went downstairs and saw that it was, in fact, Trent cooking breakfast. He was wearing a plain t-shirt through which I could see the ripples of his large back muscles as he whisked what I presumed was pancake batter. He must not have heard me, because he didn't turn around when I made it to the end of the hall. I leaned against the wall, arms folded, and watched him for a minute as he finished whisking the batter, then poured it onto a hot griddle (spilling a few dribbles on the counter in the process), watched it bubble, flipped it, then transferred the golden medallion onto a plate stacked five high. Next to the pancakes was a plate filled with bacon, and a small aluminum pan of scrambled eggs.
"Smells good," I said at last. "Find everything okay?"
I thought I might startle him with my abrupt appearance; instead, Trent looked over his shoulder, chewing on a piece of bacon. He swallowed and said, "Oh, it's you. Yeah, I hope you don't mind me using your kitchen. I thought I'd make us some breakfast."
It occurred to me then that Trent likely wasn't a guest in other people's homes very often. Lucky for him, I didn't mind him using a kitchen that hadn't been mine in many years. I was going to tell him as much when I saw an opened box of Bisquick sitting on the counter. I pointed to it and asked, "you found that in the pantry? My dad usually makes his pancakes from scratch."
He turned to look at the box, then back at me. "No, I went out and got that. And the bacon and eggs. I didn't want to dig into your supply without asking, and you were asleep, so..."
I felt my eyebrows furrow as I checked the time on the stove-clock. "It's 8:17 in the morning. Are you telling me you went out to the store, bought all these ingredients, then came back and cooked them? Just how early did you get up?"
"Around five," he answered as casually as if I had asked his dog's name. "I don't usually get much sleep. Around four, five hours is all I need. It's actually unusual for Antennas to need more than that amount. But I suppose you are unusual."
I opened my mouth in disbelief. Not only had he commandeered my kitchen, he was calling me unusual? At 8-fricken-17 in the morning?
"Sorry," Trent said, reading my expression, "I'm… well, let's just say I've not had many personal relationships. I'm used to being blunt. It's just easier that way." He took out a plate and transferred two pancakes, some eggs, and a few slices of bacon onto it. Then he held it up to me as a peace offering.
I sighed. "This better be good," I said with a wry smile and took the plate.
"Trent-certified, but no guarantees. Refunds not allowed." He replied, which made me giggle.
We sat across from one another at the dining room table. The meal was pretty good, but it was no dad's special: the pancakes were clearly box pancakes, the scrambled eggs lacked cheese and had a little too much pepper, and the bacon was… well it was bacon, no complaints there. Still, it was nice to settle down and have a somewhat normal morning.
After we ate, Trent unfurled the long arc of his life, which began as the second youngest brother of eight siblings in rural Oklahoma. Trent's 'pops' was in the logging business, first as a lumberjack, then as an owner of his own logging company. His dad acquired the business while Trent was still young, so school was never a high priority for him—at least not the way contributing to the household was. The rest of his childhood he summed up in two lessons: "Being 'close' has nothing to do with distance," and "don't touch strange plants in the woods."
I asked him if he kept in touch with any of his siblings, to which he responded, saying, "The only reason they haven't had a funeral for me is because it would be too much work." When I asked him to elaborate, he said he'd not had contact with anyone in his immediate family for over a decade. He kept tabs on them. For example, he knew his mother had dementia, and his dad was forced into retirement by his oldest brother (who had gone on to take over the logging company). His sisters were all married and moved to other parts of the country. He considered reaching out several times, but his situation required a degree of security that wasn't conducive of close family ties, not that there were particularly strong ties even before he broke contact. Trent admitted to being a bit of a black sheep.
"It all circles back to one of my jobs as a Home Inspector," he explained. "After I moved out, I tried college and quickly realized it wasn't for me. So I entered the workforce and did a bunch of odd jobs. Construction, carpentry, plumbing. I even drove a garbage truck for a while. But I ended up in Home Inspection. There was one job in particular which made me aware of…" Trent paused and gestured toward the space between us, "our situation. The blinks. You remember what I told you about origin points being like a station where other realms intersect with our world? Well, this house was like Union Station or JFK airport if you prefer a plane analogy. There was a pile of junk up to my knees in the basement of that house; all of it had been blinked in. I spent a couple days on the property, running tests, trying to identify the strange phenomenon, but on day three I rolled up to an army of what I thought at the time were Feds, parading around the property like ants on an anthill and sectioning it off with crime-scene tape." I saw disgust funnel into Trent's expression. "They're not Feds at all though. At least not anymore. I call them "the Organization," a group of people who lead in the formalized understanding of what you know as 'blinking'. And they're the reason I have to take precautions."
I considered this for a moment. Trent's story was certainly plausible, but I was missing a key piece of the puzzle. "Okay, so, what does this 'Organization' want? You make it seem like they're not good people. Have they tried attacking you?"
This caused Trent to laugh for a solid ten seconds. "Sorry, it's just… I mean if you knew what I knew, you might think it's funny, too."
"Then tell me"
Trent took a deep breath, then released. "It's a long story. The gist of it is this. The Organization has a certain device which I call 'the Receiver'. Think of it like a giant antenna—no, not us kind of Antennas, an actual antenna. It's like the machine equivalent of us, but with a billion times the bandwidth. Their goal is to use the Receiver to map our world in relation to other dimensions, then use that map to establish dominion over everyone and everything. In order to do this, they need muscle: both human muscle, and Antenna muscle. They're in the process of harvesting as many of us they can find. They're like a giant diamond company who is taking to the mines. When they find a stone, they take it back to their factory for cutting and refinement. In real terms, they run tests on us and attempt to augment our powers. The ultimate goal is to create a 'Strong Antenna', or an Antenna capable of causing phase shifts—blinks." Trent saw from my expression that he was starting to lose me, so he stood up and began rolling up his shirt.
"What are you doing?" I asked, turning away. Then I saw what he wanted to show me. There was a long scar beginning high up on his ribs and slashing all the way down to his left hip. There was also what appeared to be a patch of burn marks on his stomach.
"It was early on when I got these." Trent explained. "I was naive. I actually thought I'd be able to reason with these people. The only reason I escaped was because of dumb luck and a box of hand grenades. But that's a tale for another time. I learned two important lessons that day. First, the Organization isn't fucking around. And two, they aren't immortal. Most of them are regular, every-day humans, except for their obsession with power." Trent let his shirt fall, covering up the marks. "I ran into them again recently at their Headquarters. My team and I are working on a plan to…" he paused, seemingly weighing his words, then changed gears. "Well, I guess we can go over that another time."
I couldn't help but feel that Trent was holding something back. As much as I tried to resist thinking about yesterday, the old demon-man's words kept ringing in my head. You think he can help you? He's only here to help himself. Then I thought about what Trent said at the deli: "that's the thing that got me really interested in you. Somehow you seem to be able to control it without gear, just by praying." Did Trent think I was a Strong Antenna? Is that the only reason he's helping me? Because he wants to recruit me? And if that is the case, what if I said 'no'?
"Listen, Trent," I started, but I saw Trent was already nodding. Still, I pressed on. "I need you to tell me what I'm actually doing here. Why did you agree to help me? And what does helping me really mean? I want to know the truth."
"The truth is…" Trent started, then stopped and looked out the glass door that led onto the deck. I looked too and saw a sparrow had alighted on our old bird feeder. It tried pecking at some of its non-existent grains, then sang what I assumed was a song of displeasure before taking back off to the skies.
"The truth is: I do want to recruit you. I think you have the potential to be the strongest tool in my arsenal, but I won't require it. To date, I've helped 53 of our kind, but only seven have stayed on. Most decide to go on and live normal lives." Trent scooted his plate to the side. "In our case, this can essentially go one of two ways. In either instance, we pass through Chicago for two stops. First, I need to meet up with an associate who has something to drop off to me. Then I need to stop at a storage locker and trade out some gear that will allow me to open a phase portal. When we arrive at your origin point, I'll open the portal and you'll look inside. Based on everything you've told me, I'm guessing that childhood accident was when the demon appended itself to your life. By seeing how it entered your life, you should be able to figure out how to dispel it. At least that's the working theory. Returning to the origin point has always worked for the other Antennas, although I must admit your situation is different, but I can't imagine it's so different that this method won't work at all. After you return demon-free, you're free. You can walk out and never see me again and hopefully you'll live a happy and peaceful life. Or you can decide to throw your lot in with mine, and I can show you how deep the rabbit hole goes, so to speak." Trent looked into my eyes, and when I didn't respond for a few seconds, he said, "that's it. That's all I got."
I smiled and responded with one sentence.
"When do we leave?"
***
Memories have a strange architecture. In some ways, they are the great safety net of our experiences: collecting them like a bucket under a leaky roof. In other ways, they are an eternal reminder that nothing ever truly lasts. Perhaps a better way of thinking about memories is as the ghosts of our past lingering in the present. As I took one last stroll through my childhood house, feeling that it might be my last time for a long while, I felt the imprints of childhood memories press into my awareness: I could hear my father's voice reading to me at my bedside; I could see him holding one of my stuffed animals above my head as I wrestled him for it; I could recall the times when I'd sneak down the stairs late at night and quietly open the freezer, grab the ice cream carton, then head back upstairs to eat it.
I felt a yearning to return to those memories: to walk into the fictitious pictures my mind was painting on the canvas of my present. I knew I couldn't return, but I still wanted something to hold onto. I went back to my room and grabbed the cotton-stuffed tomato from off my closet cabinet. Then I walked through my dad's study and removed a volume I recalled him frequently reading, a hard-cover book with a green binding called, "A Collection of Great Works". I placed these items by my feet in the passenger seat of Trent's van, and just as we were about to leave, I remembered something else.
"My plant!" I blurted.
"Your what?"
"My plant—and my car. I left them it the deli. Do you think we could swing by and get it?"
Trent checked the time, then said, "Yeah, I guess we can. I just hope it isn't towed."
Luckily, it wasn't. I half-expected to find a ticket on the windshield, but there wasn't one of those, either. I unlocked the door to my Jetta and got into what felt like an active oven. "Hot!" I said and rolled down all the windows, then cranked up the AC. I saw my plant resting in the cupholder that I'd left it in the previous day. I picked it up and touched its soil. It was dry and beginning to crack. Hang on little guy, I thought. Then I led the way back to my house.
When I arrived, I parked at the head of the driveway. I turned off the car, then ran inside with the young tomato plant, bringing it to the upstairs bathrooms sink and dousing it in water. I wasn't sure how much I was supposed to add, but I figured after the sauna experience it had yesterday, I could afford to go a little overboard. Once it was fed, I opened the small purple drapes and placed it on the windowsill which faced East, meaning it would hopefully get plenty of morning sunlight.
"Good, now?" Trent asked after I hopped back in the passenger seat of the van.
"Yeah," I said. "Good now."
"Then lets get a move on."
***
Road tripping with Trent was a much different experience than when we were driving for our lives. For one, Trent wasn't nearly as tense. He drove with the windows down and one hand on the steering wheel like out of a Mustang commercial, talking intermittently about his adventures: people he'd met, jobs he'd done, close calls. He was like a living radio. And when his personal station wasn't on, he was playing one of his CD's—classic rock, mainly. When he was in an 'off' period, I found myself looking out the window at the rolling wheat fields and cloudy blue sky. Journey was playing, and the lyrics to one of the songs crept into my head and reverberated there:
The wheel in the sky keeps on turning.
I don't know where I'll be tomorrow…
I've been trying to make it home,
Got to make it before too long…
Ooh I can't take it, very much longer…
In a strange way, I felt like I was leaving home. But in another way, I was going back. And then it occurred to me that perhaps I didn't have a home at all. Did I ever have one? These past couple days had called everything about my life into question, to the point where the past seemed as mysterious as the future, and both intersected at that one place in the woods. The place where it all began. The place we were headed.
We only stopped once at a gas station to refuel, get snacks, and use the bathroom. Otherwise it was smooth sailing, other than one heated discussion with Trent that began when he addressed his vehicle as "Car" for the fifth time.
"Okay, you need to come up with a better name than that."
"What do you mean?" Trent asked, seeming genuinely confused.
"You have a super-car and you named it 'Car'. That's actually embarrassing."
"But, it is a car."
I facepalmed. "First of all, it's a van."
"A van is a type of car."
"Second of all, would you name your kid, 'kid'?"
Trent thought it over for what I thought was much too long. At last he concluded, "No, I'd probably name him 'boy', or if it's a girl, 'girl'."
After five more minutes of his childish banter, we settled on the name "Ava"—my choice, after rejecting his runner-up name "Scar".
At around the seven hour mark, I dozed off, then woke up a couple hours later to the sensation of the van dipping, then bumping up into an elevated climb. The evening sunlight that was pressuring my eyelids to open, dissipated, and everything was suddenly dark. I opened my eyes and saw we had entered a parking garage. Trent pulled into an open spot on the second level.
"We're here," he said and gathered up his gun which he stashed in a driver's side underboard compartment that I'm guessing he had installed himself.
"I see that"
"You want to wait here, or—"
I opened the car door, which was answer enough for Trent. We both got out and started down Maple Avenue. I had been to several cities before, Chicago among them, but the size of the buildings always struck me with awe. As we walked alongside dozens of other pedestrians, I looked up and traced the closest tower to its peak, guessing how many stories it was in my head. Then I'd be pulled out of my game by the honking of some nearby vehicle.
We continued for two blocks until Trent made a path directly toward the nearest Starbucks. I didn't know what I was picturing for a meeting with his associate, but it definitely wasn't a meetup at a coffee shop. Still, I followed him in. Then when I saw that Trent was leading me to a corner table where a casually dressed Chinese girl who appeared even younger than me was sitting, I blurted in a hushed tone, "her? She's your associate?"
"Took you long enough," said the Chinese girl, looking up from what appeared to be some kind of homework assignment.
"And she's in school?" I asked, incredulous.
The associate looked to me, then to Trent (who nodded), then back to me. "It's just a cover. I'm glad to see it still works, though." She reached out to shake my hand. "I'm Allison. It's nice to meet you."
Trent gave me a smirk, then said, "looks can be deceiving."
I grunted an affirmation and shook Allison's hand. "I'm Lauren. It's nice to meet you, too."
"You have it?" Trent asked, skipping right to business.
"Of course," Allison replied and removed a mailing package from her backpack, setting it on the table. "You want to go make sure it works?" She asked, gesturing up at the ceiling with her eyes.
Trent seemed to think it over for a second, then looked at me. But before he could say anything, Allison cut back in—
"—I'll stay with her. It's been a while since I've had any female company. Why don't you let us girls talk while you take care of that?" She said in a seductive yet authoritative tone which garnered her years that her appearance did not reflect.
Trent hesitated, but only for a moment. "Okay, I'll be right back," he said. Then he hurried out the door in the direction we had come from.
"Come, sit with me." Allison invited. "Tell me about yourself."
I took a seat on the small wooden seat opposite Allison, then crossed my legs. "What do you want to know?" I asked, feeling discomfort rise in my stomach. Nothing about this situation, from the mysterious package, to Trent leaving me alone with this girl, to the girl herself, whose voice was as velvety smooth as the latte she was stirring with a black coffee straw, sat right with me.
"I'm curious about what you think of Trent."
"Trent?" I repeated. I realized this was the first time I was putting any of my thoughts about Trent or our relationship into words. "I guess... he's a pretty straightforward guy. He seems to know what he's doing."
Allison flashed me a small smile, then took a sip of her latte. I saw the sticker on her drink read "Chai". Then she set the cup down and sighed. "Yes, he's very straightforward. Definitely doesn't mince words." She looked up into my eyes. Hers were a rich black, like onyx pebbles, but there was something about the way the light refracted off them which simulated a kind of inward motion, as if they were tiny whirlpools. Her smile spread across her lips. "I'm curious. What did he tell you?"
"Tell me about what?"
"About what you're doing. About where you're off to. What's the plan?"
"Don't you know?" I asked, but it immediately occurred to me that maybe she didn't know. I never saw Trent with a cellphone. Just how did he communicate with his 'associates'? And what if he didn't want her to know what we were doing for a good reason? Should I tell her?
"No, Trent keeps his cards close to his chest. He always has."
"Don't you work together, though?"
Allison waved her left hand in the air. "Of course, but it's because of the nature of our work that most of our communication is done in person, so Trent doesn't tell me much outside of the current job. I was just curious, is all."
"That makes sense. I mean, I'm actually pretty curious about what you do, too."
"Oh?" Allison's voice went high, as if she suddenly sensed an opening. "Then, why don't we trade stories. You tell about your trip, and I'll tell you about mine."
I thought it over for a second. I really did want to hear what Allison had to say, and she was Trent's co-worker, it's not like I was spilling crucial secrets to an enemy. "We're currently on our way to Southern Illinois. Specifically, we're going back to my origin point so I can confront a demon that Trent thinks blinked into my life there."
Allison stopped stirring, but her eyes didn't break from mine. "A demon, huh?" She raised the cup and took a long sip, then placed it back on the table and continued stirring. "I met a demon once," she started, looking up at the walls as if her life was playing on a screen there. "It was back in China, where I was born." She dropped her attention back to me. "Do you mind if I reminisce a little? Maybe you can get something out of it."
I shook my head, but something in my gut started to stir again. Allison continued.
"I was born during the Era of the Once Child Policy. As a result, my mother decided to leave me in a shoebox on the side of the road. I was a girl, so that's just how it was... Like many other babies in my... 'condition', I ended up in foster care. However, for whatever reason, I wasn't adopted. Years passed, and when I turned six, the government decided I'd be of better use building our impoverished town's GDP in a factory that assembled electronic devices for Western countries. Mostly they had me cleaning, but when I turned eight, one of the employees asked for my help with one of the soldering machines. That turned out to be the beginning of the end for me. I sliced open the ring finger of my right hand. I remember specifically seeing the bone underneath the split flesh and thinking it looked so small and white. The employee claimed to have nothing to do with my accident, and the management declared my injury "minimally invasive" and bandaged it up. Two weeks later and who would have guessed that the wound would become infected, and, well..."
Allison dropped the straw into her cup and raised her right hand, spreading the fingers out for me to see. There were only four. Her ring finger was missing, and a small v-shaped scar had taken its place.
"I'm lucky that the surgeon was experienced enough to take out the whole digit, that way it healed in a way which makes it somewhat difficult to notice. You didn't notice, after all. But, then again, is that really luck?" She made a fist and brought it to her lips, stifling a laugh. "No... Now I remember. My luck was still yet to come." She continued stirring. "Because, you see, after that incident, they moved me to a clothing factory with a boss who had a penchant for getting drunk and roughing up his workers, and, well, one night I was walking back to foster care when I heard the outside door to the manager's office slam shut, and there he went, stumbling, slurring insults, curses, and here I was, perfectly in his path. We met eyes, and in them I saw absolutely nothing. A hollow shell of a man, and I can still remember what it looked like to see that shell fill with a demon."
Allison's eyes went wide with some strong emotion that I couldn't place. "He grabbed me by my hair and dragged me out into the field, far away from civilization. I tried to fight at first, but every time I tried to lunge away, I was only ripping a hole in my own scalp. It felt like flames were spewing from my head, and my only respite was when the blood eventually cooled over the wound. By the time he had thrown me against the rock, I'd already all but given up. Then, when my head met the stone, I heard a pop and my grip on the world loosened. The man continued touching me, but it was as if I was disconnected now, floating somewhere above my own head, and gravity was beginning to reverse, causing me to float higher and higher, away from the horrible nightmare below."
Allison paused for a moment, and I suddenly realized I was holding my breath.
"Then I saw the most bright light I'd ever seen. At the time I thought it was either the Sun or Heaven or something like that. It was just too bright for this world. But then after looking for a little longer, I noticed it was in the shape of a person. It reached out toward me, and I had never been so quick to respond. When I touched it, I felt all my pain immediately dissipate. And I felt warm and... peaceful. And I was no longer in the sky. I was back in the field. But when I looked around, the man was gone. Vanished, right out of existence. I didn't understand it at the time, but that was my first experience with the Shifts. All I knew then was that I was free, and I damn well wasn't going to waste that. I ran as far as I could, away from the factories, the foster home, the corrupt governments and corporations. I kept running until I arrived at a City that didn't know me. That didn't want to know me. And I liked it that way, because it's easier to live as a ghost than as a victim."
Allison perked up, and when I turned around to see what for, I saw Trent entering back through the door.
"But you know what's interesting?" Allison blurted out, her voice becoming quieter. "Trent never took me back to confront my demon." Her voice became a whisper. "In fact, I can't recall him ever taking any of us back."
For a moment the whole world became a still frame. Allison's clear, olive skin, and dark eyes, made darker with eyeliner; her narrow nose; her small lips now coiling into a smile. My entire body was a hair trigger hat only needed the slightest force to set it off. And when Trent placed his hand on my shoulder, I whirled around and narrowly missed a haymaker that swept just shy of Trent's face.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa" he said and stepped back with his palms up. "It's just me. Is everything okay?"
I turned back to Allison, but she seemed different now. Her expression was benign; confused, even. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I—you"
"We were just talking about where you were off to next." Allison said without a hint of pretense.
"Okay, well, chat time is over. It's time to go." Trent said and started guiding me toward the door. I turned back and saw Allison mouth some words which I swear I heard, as if they had been directly transmitted into my brain.
"See you soon" she purred.
She was smiling.
***
The next leg of the trip passed mostly in silence. It was a little over an hour to the storage facility which was located just South of Chicago. My heart was beating wildly in my chest as I pictured Allison's smile. I wanted to ask Trent if demons could possess Antennas, if somehow one of us could become compromised, but then I remembered Allison's words and stopped myself. Because I didn't know if I could really trust Trent. I tried to tell myself I could trust him—that it was Allison who was the liar. Her whole persona seemed fake at best, and possessed at worst. But, then... what if she was telling the truth? What if Trent was the enemy?
He sensed my quietness and tried striking up a couple conversations, but I only gave one-word answers. Somehow, our trust was so brittle that a single, well-placed sentence was enough to snap it. When he asked if everything was okay, I lied and said that I just had a headache and needed more rest. So I leaned my head against the stuffed tomato and tried to sleep, even though I knew I wouldn't be able to.
We arrived at the facility just as the sun was setting for the night. Trent pulled up to the self-service gate and scanned a card which caused the automatic doors to swing open. We looped down a couple rows of the outdoor units until we came to #48.
"We're here," Trent prompted, but this time I didn't budge. I felt his eyes on me after he turned off the ignition. "Hey," he called. "Are you awake?"
I was silent.
I heard Trent quietly click open his door, then close it the same way. I waited a few seconds then turned my head and watched him from the driver's side mirror. He opened the storage locker, then walked inside and turned on a light. It occurred to me then how dimly lit this outdoor storage facility was. There was a weak overhead lantern peeking over every fourth garage like an anglerfish's lure, leaving a large portion of the road not hit by the light bubbles completely dark.
I tried to plan my next move. I could leave Trent and run. But where would I go? Or I could stay and see Trent's plan through. There was a chance this was all an elaborate trap. Maybe Trent was working with the demon, or maybe he was the demon. But then why did he save me? Twice. Maybe he was actually a double agent for the Organization. But he could easily have captured me by now. Unless he needs me to go back to the origin point for a different reason... I considered everything I had learned up until this point: we live at the cross-section of different realms; these other realms interact with our world; Antennas, who are a very small minority of people, can see these interactions; the Organization wants to harness our power and create a 'Strong Antenna' to achieve some kind of universal hegemony; I'm the closest thing to a Strong Antenna to date; Trent knows this; He's taking me back to my origin point, despite not taking the others back to theirs; Trent claims to want to fight the Organization; the best way to fight the Organization would be with a Strong Antenna. What if Trent was trying to make me into a Strong Antenna?
I considered this chain of reasoning. It seemed very plausible, especially after Allison's cryptic messages. Was she trying to warn me of this? But that smile, and the "see you soon"... If she wasn't being possessed, why would she be seeing me soon?
Suddenly my thoughts gave way like a broken dam as I heard a ping come from Ava's radar. I jumped, thinking that all of the electronics turned off with the ignition, but when I looked at the circular sonar map, I saw a red dot had just emerged in the top-right corner. I looked out the window in the direction of the ping, but I couldn't see anything heading down the road.
Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping.
Four more dots appeared behind the first, and they were approaching.
I jumped out the van and ran over to where Trent was hauling in a large cardboard crate into the back of the van. "Trent, there's pings on the radar. A bunch of them."
He dropped the box next to three others, and I realized I had never seen inside the back of the van. It was filled with what looked like pneumatic tubes wired into circuits, and in the center was a tri-pod which was holding a large halo-shaped ring.
"Pings?" Trent said, then his face widened with shock as he realized what I meant. "Shit, how many?"
"Five, maybe more now. And they're getting closer."
"Five?" He jumped out the back and ran into the storage locker. I thought he was going to close the door, but when I saw him hauling boxes back toward the van, I yelled at him. "What are you doing!?"
"I need to load this up for tomorrow. Here," He tossed me his keys. "Get it started."
"Fuck, seriously?"
Trent didn't respond, only kept shuffling boxes into the van.
I turned and ran to the door and hopped in the driver's seat. As I was turning on the ignition, I saw the row of bushes that was just outside of the facility begin to rattle. The next sweep revealed a whole sea of pings. I rolled down the window and shouted Trent's name.
"One more, that's all. Get in the passenger seat, I'll be there in a sec."
I scooted over the center console and waited, clutching at the bottom of my pants legs. Just as Trent slammed the rear door of the van shut, I saw the first figure emerge onto the road ahead of us. It looked like some kind of large coyote, though it was hard to tell because it was still fifty meters out.
"Now detecting 53 controlled agents." Ava said right as Trent jumped in and shut the driver's side door. "Net anomalies: 53."
"Ava, increase radius to five miles." Trent instructed as he backed up all the way to the end of the lane and spun us around toward the gate. Just as we left, I saw the pack of coyotes stalking toward us, slow at first, then in a dead sprint.
"Increasing radius." Ava responded. "Increased. Recalculating… Recalculating… Re—complete. Now detecting 451 controlled agents. Net anomalies: 451."
"What does 'controlled agent' mean?" I asked.
"Hold on," Trent said and accelerated into the gate, bursting through it. The whole van shook, and I heard my phone fall in the crack between the seat and door. Trent steadied the van, then said, "It means the things chasing us are being controlled by something that isn't detectable."
"The demon?"
"That'd be my guess."
"But why can't Ava detect it?"
Trent switched to the right lane, then merged onto the Interstate-South ramp. "Probably because it isn't trying to kill us."
"Then, what—" I looked back at the map and basically had my question answered. All 451 pings were coalesced in a semicircle on one side of the map. The side of the map that we had just come from. "Is it trying to force us toward the crash site?"
"It seems that way." Trent answered.
"Trent, pull over."
"Huh?"
"Pull over!" I yelled.
He looked at me, eyes wide. Then he did as I had instructed and pulled off in the middle of the ramp. The red dots slowly closed in on our position.
"Now detecting—"
"Shut up, Ava." I said. I could feel my blood boiling. "I'm not going one step further until you tell me the truth. Why are we going to my origin point? What is your real motive?"
"What do you mean? I already told you."
I unlocked the passenger side door.
"Wait," Trent said and reached out toward me. "Just, wait."
There was silence, except for the pings indicating that the beasts behind us had re-encroached on our position to about fifty meters.
"Okay, I didn't tell you everything. But we don't have time now—"
I opened the door.
"Okay, okay. I didn't tell you everything, it's true. I've never done this with anyone else, but the reason is because I never needed to. And if I told you what might happen, you would have refused it."
"Refused what?"
"This—me, my help. Lauren, I am trying to help you. But you have to understand—it's likely that neither of us are going to live past tomorrow. You're basically confronting a dark entity in a place where I can't protect you, and if you somehow do manage to kill it, you'll be coming back to the fight of your life. Because I don't have the power to hide you from the Organization. They're going to show up and try to take you. I really don't know how you've lasted as long as you have. Whatever protection you had growing up, it's gone now. And now I'm all you have. And in some twist of fate, you're all I have."
Ava reactivated. "Now detecting 1,117 controlled agents. Proximity till contact: 20 meters. Net anomalies: 1,117."
I closed my door. "But what if I still don't want to go through with it?"
Trent pointed at the screen. "Then we die right here, right now, together. Because I am one-hundred percent certain that if we don't go to that crash site, we're dead anyway. All of us."
Another ping rolled through. I checked the side-view mirror and saw the swarming pack of dogs reach the van and bound around the rear wheels. I suddenly recalled the conversation I had with Father Martin and the conclusions I had drawn. Father, I've been… wrestling with something, and I think God wants me to confront it. I think I've been running away and hiding from it for so long that I'd convinced myself it disappeared...
"Go," I said just as I felt the collision of the coyotes slamming their bodies against the side doors.
Trent didn't waste any time stepping on the gas. I watched as the coyotes diminished in the distance and the pings receded into the back of the map, never disappearing fully, but covering the flank of our retreat—a reminder lingering on the edge of our awareness that there was no turning back now. That, one way or another, this was ending tomorrow.
And I'd either be dead, or something else entirely.