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Ceele strolled through the damp grass along the outskirts of the village, a spring in her step and the dwindling scent of dew following behind. It rained yesterday, which had prevented her from going out to gather supplies, but the mild morning air had been accommodating enough for her to get an early start and make the trip. She was glad she did.
One hand clutched her new prize to her chest, while the other held a fraying wicker basket filled with herbs and some edible roots she gathered by exploring the forbidden forest. Despite her reservations regarding where she chose to go, her excitement now lingered like a steady thrum of shifting stones, giving her energy that defied how long she had been walking. She all but pranced beneath the burgeoning night's sky, gleefully toeing the line between the dirt pathways of the settlement’s outskirts and the trees of unclaimed land. Normally, her path back home would never be so close to the village, but she was far too gleeful to mind. She had come back with a sense of fulfillment and a rare object—or if not rare, then hopefully of great value.
It was hard to point to any one specific reason that she came across the orb. There had always been a ‘draw’ during her travels, urging her that there was something missing in her life, yet it was no more than a mild whim to walk in a particular direction more often than not. Once she reached this part of the continent, she was compelled to wander, never quite able to explain why she obliged the sensation besides having nowhere in particular to be. Even when she finally settled somewhere, it stayed in the back of her mind, suggesting that she was close to whatever would make the pit of vacancy go away. She ignored it, purposefully distracting herself with her work and responsibilities, yet that could only last so long. When she awoke this morning with plans to resupply, and all of her newfound spots had been picked clean by wildlife, she turned to the depths of the forest where she was warned not to tread. It was all too easy to follow the subtle tug in her chest through the loose justification.
The urge to be somewhere grew unbearable with every step closer to the forbidden area. That sense of having a direction she needed to go became stronger and stronger, until she was well into land long since forgotten. She came across an overgrown depression in the hillside, and was entranced by the foreboding image. Something about the cave just…beckoned her. She was far too weak to resist.
Horrible tales echoed into her ears as whispers of fearful voices, warning and unending, yet but a dull drone compared to her hammering heart. She navigated the trees and brushed aside unkempt vines, stepping into the cavern with a mix of expectation and trepidation, then laid eyes on the small obsidian stone perched atop a crumbling pillar. The feeling of needing to travel somewhere…stopped.
The pull was absent, which was why she held the orb close instead of placing it into her basket. She wasn’t sure what it was exactly, but she recalled overheard tales of hidden gemstones, deep cavernous expanses, and the untold terrors that lay within. Comparing the scenes of those fables to the cave seemed foolish now; it wasn’t some torturous chamber, but a dusty depression in a small hillside. Besides, anything this pretty was sure to be worth a fair sum, and she needed the coin. Yet the thought of selling the precious-looking stone was a conflicting one. She shook off the thought for the time being, turning her attention back towards where she was going.
Shadows stretched and faded as the moon stole the last of the illumination afforded by the sun, replacing it with a calming glow that caressed the log frames and thatched roofs of various homes. A star-filled sky came into prominence as clouds lazily drifted away, revealing the promise of tomorrow’s fair-weathered arrival. It was too late for anyone to notice her treading on the edge of their town while lost in thought, but she was still careful not to get too close to the houses or livestock pens where people might be finishing the evening’s duties. It was best that they didn’t see her returning from a place she was told not to go. Still, her feet carried her near the dwellings as she took in the noises.
Ceele enjoyed the comforting chatter from a distance. Indistinct words floated freely. Meaningless gossip and warm goodbyes were exchanged between friends and family. Places of various occupations were dark and quiet, only the faint contented mewls and clucks of livestock coming from their pastures as they ate what was recently put out for them. No metal rang throughout the streets as it was struck inside a centralized smithy, no heated bartering came from an overactive trade house, and the crunch of dirt beneath transport or merchant wagons was absent, replaced by the rapid steps and yelps of children rushing to their homes before it got too dark out. It was all just gentle conversation and life drifting through the wind, taking the rustle of leaves along for the ride, just so she could hear it. Tranquil, in a word.
She wondered what it would sound like if she were yet one more voice within that crowd of kindness. Would it be loud like the larger cities? Would she struggle to maintain a thought with so many stray topics floating about? Would she once more yearn for the peace and quiet of solitude that she had grown used to, or would she immerse herself, free of judgment and laughing like the carefree young that scampered about? Did thinking about it even matter?
Her smile fell from its genuine intensity—still worn, but not as fully. She glanced downward as her stride lost its jubilant bounce, her tail losing its sway as her grey eyes examined the dry black scales that adorned her body against her wishes. It was the ugly hue of tarnished oil, unlike the skin of any other kobold she had met. Some had reds or greens, yellows or whites, while most were between a sandy tan or earthen brown. The rainbow of peculiarities was displayed by the lucky few, and she was one of them…
…Yet she was different in the worst of ways.
Even if she would rather any other colour, she supposed it was that way to make sure no one came near without accepting the unspoken risks. That was what her mother always said, anyway, though the woman hardly feared much of anything in her old age, and dedicated herself to giving her offspring all the love she had left to give—a perk of living a full life. She would always help her daughter bathe, complimenting the colour of what most were unnerved by. That was more than a decade ago now, however. Ceele’s parents had passed on while she was still young, and she took to travelling not long after, working at what she could to afford what little she needed. Never for long, though—just enough to get to the next town between where she was and where the urge to go lay. There were certainly moments she looked back on fondly, but the journey had taken its toll.
The crude material of her ‘dress’ was coarse, old, and heavy, but it helped ease the worst of spring's chill—even if it was more of a modified sack than proper attire. Still, it was all she had after the last of her clothing fell apart, and giving the repurposed material a name that reminded her of something else made it less uncomfortable to wear, somehow. It would have to do until she could afford a pitying seamstress or the like. Until then, she would pretend she didn’t look so desperate, even if it only highlighted her status and made finding work difficult.
But it did. The dishevelled garment was a far cry from the wonderful silks or breathtaking designs she had seen some women wear, harshly marking the distinction between herself and those of affluence. The clothing of commoners was also a leap in style and quality, so she couldn't say her attire was up to even modest standards. No matter how hard she squinted, and no matter how much she fantasized otherwise, she seemed every bit like the vagrant she was, down to the soil embedded in the curvature of her claws and the stains throughout her fabrics. She looked like a serf from the more oppressed lands, yet they too wore crude cottons, which said a lot about how she appeared to those who had never lived a life of servitude. It was obvious that she was an outsider. That she didn't belong amongst the rest. It made changing something as simple as her appearance all the more difficult; prospective employment always saw a young woman who seemed more likely to steal or swindle than make an honest day’s living.
There was one good twist of fate in recent memory, however, and she came upon the result of it after leaving the slowing bustle of the village behind. Her steps carried her through a small copse of trees on the outskirts of town, the small shaded path leading to the back of a large, carefully pruned clearing, a scattering of fruit-bearing trees providing even darker shadow than the already dim moonlight. She skirted along the aging fence on the border that kept predatory animals away, carefully hoisting herself over the barrier where a large vegetable garden she was responsible for tending resided. If one were to tell her she would be living in such an area several months ago, she would have smiled politely and walked away, yet here she was.
A modest, warmly lit home occupied the middle of the clearing, sitting front and centre when one approached from the village path. It looked quite cozy, surrounded by berry bushes that were just beginning to bloom as the last dregs of winter slipped away. A front patio displayed a nice table and well-loved chairs, the rustic appearance only adding to its charm as a place where friends and family spent the warm summer afternoons. A smithy to the left of the house functioned as an additional heated building during the colder months, but usually served as a storefront and to muffle the sounds of hammered iron, though that had become less common. An old stable was nearby, close enough to be accessible, but not so close as to disturb the once occupying animals with sounds of iron craft. It hadn't seen a horse in quite some time, apparently, so it was mostly a workshop for whatever tasks didn’t require fire or metal.
There was a long history attached to each little detail—from the scuffs along the wooden siding to the depressions in the ground where daily routine wore into the earth. Every fault suffered throughout the years was matched by a thousand quirks that made it feel welcoming, like the house itself was merely waiting for the next friendly face with one of its own. She knew that the inside of each building would look just as cared for.
Her concern lay outside, however. It was a comparatively miniscule space just barely visible through the sheltering trees, true, yet it was where her efforts turned into tangible results, and where a stranger’s trust was painstakingly repaid. Once overgrown grass had been laboriously trimmed, the weeds plucked and disposed of, and now nothing distracted from what she could claim she had done.
The small plots of rock-bordered soil had little buds of growing vegetables, a sense of pride never failing to bloom in her breast with the knowledge that it would be barren without her touch. When her troubles and concerns grew heavy, and fears of the future or spectres of the past loomed over her head, she could look at where she had brought life where it wouldn't otherwise be. Some days, that was enough. She smiled in appreciation at what was admittedly amateur work, the night’s sky helping to hide any inevitably made mistakes.
She enjoyed the sight for a moment longer, then turned to walk towards a neglected old tool shed that was well out of sight within the trees, far away from whatever warmth and comfort the larger house offered to everyone and anyone. She put a hand on the degrading wood of the entryway, giving one last sad smile at the garden as she dismissed selfish thoughts of taking the eventual harvest for herself. A breath cleared the uncertainty from her voice, and she pushed open the door.
“I'm home!”
= = = = =
It took a while for Altier to adjust to his situation, and even once he accepted that his mana wasn't being siphoned, he was still reeling from confusion. He had spent centuries with every year passing by without his notice, yet now he was painfully aware of each creeping second languidly dragging on with the expediency of growing grass. It was as disorienting as it was painfully nostalgic.
Time was something he was never good with, and it only got worse as a dungeon. He'd get lost in creating rooms, corridors, creatures, and whatever else needed doing, only pausing to watch or listen to the few adventurers he became interested in. There was a stint where he spent what felt like hours agonizing over new abilities or options while he let the system manage things in the background, though he supposed it might have been much longer. So many wasted days, yet he still hadn't managed to try everything he had gained access to. Some abilities were simply too niche, came with concerning titles, or held descriptions that made him wary. Anything with ‘Decay’ in the name was instantly ignored—he didn't need more reasons to fear his affinity, and from the few he took the effort to read through, they were always vile.
But his existence for the moment was no longer like those endless stretches spent pondering the minutiae of what would help his adventurers grow stronger. Now, he could follow the rhythmic sounds of footsteps and steady breathing that set a calming pace. They were someone else's, yes, but they contextualized how easy it was to slip away without the subtle noises of life that he had long since surrendered to help his family. Of course, there were more differences that he noticed since being removed from his crumbling cavern, and his sight was the newest change.
He never gave much thought to how far he could see before. Why would he? As a man, his world extended as far as he could fathom, yet was also confined to the room where he spent his days, and as a dungeon… Well, who was he to consider distance when an event happening miles away could be seen with a flicker of thought? Nothing was too far when it was within his creation. Or his ‘body,’ he supposed. Sadly, his entire perception currently consisted of the small sphere of his obsidian core, and maybe a finger's length beyond it—which is to say, not much. He could make out the fine details in the dirty burlap he was held against, and how pale moonlight slowly took over the blurred reds of sunset, but hardly anything more. It was all just frosted colours after a certain point, and he found it infinitely frustrating. He just wanted to peer beyond the haze and scaly hand holding him to confirm that the sky he remembered was still there. Alas, the sunlight faded at too quick a pace, yet one oh so agonizingly slow.
The ensuing darkness gave him nothing to do but think about where he was, not that he had any ideas. He was too curious about why he wasn't dead to bother much with his blurry surroundings after the soft-spoken kobold abducted him, thus why he only belatedly noticed how limited his worldview had become. There might have been a forest beyond his cave, but the greens and browns were gone, and the sounds of steps through brush was replaced by the distant din of a village. An idle curiosity pondered if he would recognize any descents of his ‘family tradition’ adventurers there, but he was being carried by what most considered a monster, so likely not.
That short musing was short-lived, however, and he brought his focus back to the matter at hand. He supposed he was being taken somewhere specific, but that was an obvious deduction, considering he was taken at all. The why of the matter was less so; for what purpose would someone want a Decay-aligned core? He hadn’t heard of them before…well, before he was made into one, but he couldn’t imagine many uses. Maybe he was being sold? His…kidnapper? His sudden companion seemed rather pleased by their discovery of him, so that might be the case, and it was morbidly amusing to think that a frail, sickly young man might one day become a coveted, highly valuable item. His abduction could also be a part of some cult’s nefarious activities, but he didn't want to think about that too hard. He experienced enough odd ceremonies from the adventurers who took the time to tell him their tales.
Either way, he wasn't in the dungeon anymore, and he couldn’t see where he was going. He tried to query his menu to glean an answer, but was met with a scrambled mess he suspected read ‘Synchronizing…’ and little else. It gave him a headache trying to make sense of it—which he didn't know was possible anymore—so he dismissed the text and distracted himself with blurs from whatever diluted senses he still had. There wasn’t much to observe other than the constant footfalls and the flicker of shadows on his companion’s burlap garment. They might have travelled through brush again, but it was too dark to really say for certain.
Eventually, there was something new. He heard an old latch rattle and rusted door hinges groan, then a shuddered clack that confirmed he was now in a building. His kobold acquaintance gently cooed at something before moving about the nearly pitch-black space, finally setting him down on a… He wasn’t sure what it was, besides old and wooden.
[D$#@m$n E@$*ded]
The headache from before became a blinding migraine that suffocated him under a flash-flood of suffering. Seconds passed in abject torture until it blissfully abated, the mental blinks clearing his mind enough to notice a change in his existence. Specifically, he could actually see something besides the rotting wood grain he was placed on top of.
And it wasn’t anything promising…
He was more or less in the centre of a room no bigger than twelve paces by maybe ten. Not a terrible size for a space, but it was clearly never meant to house someone. His resting place looked about as neglected as he surmised; it was an upturned feeding trough, he supposed, since calling it a table seemed too generous. The surface was rife with holes and degraded iron, so it was something that once saw regular use before being replaced and tossed into storage, never to see the light of day again.
Actually, most things in the room seemed to fit that description. The window shutters were installed with metal hinges that had since rusted them closed, the misalignment letting in a draft—and whatever weather was outside as well, most likely. A poorly carved bowl sat on the floor, the stain beneath it hinting that it collected any rainwater that slowly dripped from the leaky roof. The wooden floorboards looked old, splintered, and in need of maintenance or replacement, though an effort had been put into abrading it somewhat smooth lately.
A tiny and decrepit fireplace was to the left of the door upon entry, its brickwork slowly crumbling due to weathering and age. It was sized more for keeping the room warm during mild days than to keep away the frigid chill of night. Its base only held cold ashes, but there was a collection of deadwood and scraps nearby, so that would probably be rectified soon. A small wheel-less cart had been turned into storage against the opposite wall, some herbs and other foraged items stowed away in it for future use. Various things he remembered seeing his father and brothers use in the fields were scattered about, too. It was nostalgic to see, honestly, even if his recollections had blurred over time.
Bundles of tattered blankets formed a pair of nests in the far corner, the smaller of the two had a pile of rough plants nearby. That answered his silent pondering of the room's purpose somewhat, though he was pretty sure the bedding material was salvaged, and there didn’t seem to be any hay or padding underneath whoever was sleeping on it. He didn’t know what to think about the weeds; they were purposefully placed there, and whoever did so had taken the time to wash them, but it was still strange.
He couldn’t see a doorway besides the entrance, yet most of the hallmarks of residency were put where space could be afforded, however crude. All in all, he surmised that it was a gardening shed of sorts, and his new acquaintance apparently lived here. He wasn't sure what he was expecting when a creature he had only read about came into his dungeon, but it wasn't being brought to a rundown and decrepit shack for unknown purposes.
Even if he had been raised by parents who made a humble living at the best of times, and they had emptied their coffers for unsuccessful attempts to ease his ailments, his acquaintance's living space made him uncomfortable. His family's house was never anything fancy, true—it shared some of the worn qualities that inevitably gathered over the years—but it was never this bad. His home benefited from a father's touch keeping it robust and a mother’s love keeping it warm, whereas this place had seen neither in quite some time. Oh, there was evidence that such was once the case; a wall was adorned with carefully made and well-spaced hangers for the various gardening tools, though the implements themselves had become a victim of neglect. That being said, he could make out the fresh soil and recent scratches exposing furrows of silver, so they were seeing use again.
A scrape and clack of flint drew his attention to his kobold companion. They were kneeling in front of the fireplace, methodically sparking life back into a dead flame with twigs and dried leaves. A slow, steady breath into the reddened base illuminated its face with a dull orange glow, revealing its weary visage and the permanently etched smile that rested beneath its cold grey eyes. The black-scaled kobold looked tired, if he were to guess—much the same as Altier did when he spent countless days watching everyone living a life he could never have through the mossy window of his bedroom. He was probably humanizing it too much. Still, he was surprised by the muted pang of sympathy, and how he would feel much more than blithe curiosity after spending so much time alone in the crumbling crypt of his own making.
A mental breath cycled through him as he looked at the odds and ends yet to be observed. Hardly anything else was of note—everything else was degraded and neglected, too. He did notice a nest of blankets move though, which was as good a distraction as any. The answer to his previous ‘pile of weeds’ inquiry poked a tiny nose from a crease in the fabric, then rapidly pawed at the blankets to dig itself out. Altier stared at the creature in both recognition and confusion.
It was a rabbit…or at least it looked like one, assuming you were to also describe a porcupine and a sea urchin as well. He was pretty sure he didn’t remember any hare that had jagged metal-tipped fur, nor that had said fur arranged into a row of spiked horns that flowed down its spine, terminating at a large fluffy tail, which was equally bizarre to see. The whole of its coat could double as a weapon, with semi-sharp barbs sticking off seemingly at random, yet he remembered an adventurer saying most animals used that sort of thing defensively. He increased his focus as he tried to make sense of the odd creature. Surely he would have heard about—
[Hoppittttttt#%%÷ — Ferro-o-orabbit-it (Ma%$le)
Abil—]
[Null]
[Er0Rrrrrrrr—]
[Und#$f—]
He bit back the pain caused by the sudden intrusion of his menu, blanking out the text and mentally retreating to hide from the source. Did he just inspect something? How? Shouldn’t his entire…‘framework,’ was it…? Yes, that was it. Shouldn’t that have been corrupted? Why could he see the creature’s information when his entire framework was damaged? That was the first ability he lost, so why is it the first to be functional? How was it functional? Was it? It did just spit garbled text at him, but it was something, and that was more than he had gotten from it in a very long time. If it was somehow working—no matter how poorly—then that left the question of why he hadn't heard of anything called a ‘ferrorabbit’ before, assuming he read that correctly.
A soft thud vibrated the tro— table, startling him out of thought. He turned his attention to the button nose wiggling erratically at him, the short, stubby muzzle leading to surprisingly expressive and curious red eyes. Dull brown fur jutted off in random tufts and patches, changing to a darker tint on its paws and the upper half of its ears, while the tips of its spikes were a muted hue of iron. It still seemed just as soft as the less pointed variety he remembered, if a touch dirty. Upright ears twitched this way and that way as its head vigorously shook, eventually settling on pointing in his direction when it calmed down enough.
It was apparent that he had its undivided attention…for all of a few seconds. His scaly companion called something out in their foreign tongue, and whatever conclusion the pointy-furred animal came to, it seemed more interested in the kobold, parting from him after nudging his core with its nose.
[Cre-e-e—]
[Errrrrrr0r: Undefiiiiiiii—]
[Acceeeeep-t-t-t??]
[Yeeee— s s / Nnnnnnn—]
He winced at the intrusion, but the contents detracted from the pain. He couldn’t remember the system ever asking him a question without his explicit intent being involved. It wanted him to…accept something? Was it the system prompting him, or the animal? What was he to accept?
[Creatuuuuu—]
[Acce-e-e-%#@ed!]
…What?
= = = = =
“Hoppit, that's not food!” Ceele admonished half-heartedly, placing a larger branch on the burgeoning flame before she got to her feet. She wasn’t actually that worried; the stone was as big as his head, and she was pretty sure he couldn't bite into it. Hopefully. “Come here, momma has a treat for you!”
The ferrorabbit playfully bumped the gemstone and jumped off the low table, landing with a soft thud that belied how heavy he was for his tiny size. He wiggled in excitement, his ears flailing and releasing a slight clack whenever the two connected. It got even louder when she grabbed her basket and put away the useful herbs, taking out a specific item that she had gathered just for him. The little bun wasted no time in scurrying over and standing tall on his hind legs to judge if the offered plant was to his liking—and it was, based on how he dug in with enthusiasm. She stifled a laugh as she contentedly watched him nibble away on the treat, ignoring the guilt that came with knowing she couldn't afford proper vegetables for him. He had a hard life too, and it tore at her to have so little to give.
She came across Hoppit a year ago, during a storm that worsened while she was travelling between towns. The day had darkened to night in spite of it still being about noon, but the weather didn't care for how bright it was supposed to be. Wind and rain became a typhoon, forcing her to seek shelter in a thankfully abandoned den of what was probably a larger animal. She was fine with waiting out the squall, since the stone roof over her head was more than she usually had back then, but the sounds of dull bangs and thuds near her hideaway was followed by cries of animals yelping in pain. Curiosity won over reason, and she left the safety of her shelter to see what was causing the disturbance. Truthfully, she was hopeful that she'd come across scraps or the like, her hunger driving her forward, and she could always turn back if it seemed dangerous. Yet when she arrived at the source of the commotion, she found herself thinking of anything but food.
Two predators had fought over a small burrow, both trying to dig out a meal and taking offence to the other doing the same. What they didn’t know was that they were assaulting the home of ferrorabbits. Specifically, the home of an angry, protective, and well-fed mother that was keeping her newborns safe from the storm when predators decided to try their luck. From the scene Ceele came across, it was certainly obvious why most people dislike trying to hunt the creatures.
Sadly, the rabbit didn't survive an attack from two predators, but she did make their victory pyrrhic; neither could do much about their hunger with their bodies full of cuts and holes, and it was only a matter of time before they succumbed to blood loss or infection. The mother's sacrifice meant that the babies had avoided the imminent threat, but they were left unattended as a consequence, and it took an opportunistic bird swooping down to shake Ceele out of her shock. Despite her subsequent hurry, she only acted in time to save one of the orphaned young. The warren was new and barely dug out, which meant that it didn’t take much effort for the kits to be found—by both her and hungry maws. All she could do was scoop the ball of fluff into her arms and run back to the cave before anything else tried to eat it.
In retrospect, it was a stupid decision for a number of factors. She barely had the resources to supply herself, and an attempt to raise offspring of any type would only make the inevitable heartbreak worse. But when she saw how quiet and scared he was… How his tiny, shaking body calmed in her arms, those terrified red eyes seeking comfort… She should have just walked away when she knew there wasn’t going to be anything to fill her stomach. She should have put the baby animal down and let nature take its course…yet the preciously furry face stole her heart far too quickly for it to grow so cold. The next day was spent backtracking to the nearest town to get him something suitable to eat, which used most of her meagre savings. Still, it was worth every coin.
Hoppit had been accompanying her ever since. He grew quickly, transitioning from something she saved that stormy night into a presence she had grown to love like a child. The little lagomorph would bounce along beside her during her travels, then ride in her arms as he rested—though the latter happened with worrying frequency as of late. She hadn’t learned much about the springy herbivores, but she knew enough to say that he wasn't as big as he should be, nor was his fur as sharp. No matter how startled he was, his spiky coat never managed to do more than stiffen slightly, which was apparently a side effect of poor diet, according to snippets of conversation she had overheard on the topic. She wanted him to be healthy, but she didn't know what he needed. Not many farmers raised ferrorabbits, and those that did were far away, so she didn’t have anyone to ask what she should be doing. Her best course of action was to give him what little she had.
Ceele was well aware of how he would be better off on his own, but he followed her whenever she tried to set him free. Hoppit just kept launching into her arms and wiggling his ears, ecstatic that he was with her again, uncaring that food was scarce and that they spent most of their days travelling. No amount of cold nights spent bundling up under the tattered blankets she managed to find ever dampened his spirits, and he was content to eat the grass or flowers whenever he felt like it, oblivious to the fact that he wasn’t getting enough nutrition. He would dig and excitedly drag back oddities that he found, and the one time he found a plant that looked particularly good for him, he insisted that it be shared with her.
A black pit still lingered in her chest when she recalled how pleased he was while he munched on the rare vegetable he discovered, then how distressed he became when she wouldn’t have any as well. He bumped and nipped at her, all but begging her to eat. His ears pinned back against his head, his fur bristled in a way she hadn’t seen since. It was only when she took a small bite and let him inspect the new teeth marks that he seemed to calm down, but perhaps she had been looking too deep into the actions of her tiny friend. All she could say for certain was that he was scared she was going hungry.
A morbid thought wondered if his first mother had refused food shortly before being attacked, and he—as small and simple as he was—had connected the two events in his mind, making him absolutely terrified that something would happen if Ceele didn’t have something too. All of that fear, and desperation overwhelmed him, just because she was happier watching him eat. She was determined to erase that issue. She would find something that needed a worker and earn enough to feed them both. One day, she would be able to smile at how big and healthy her little fluffy boy had become, but until then, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to think about how she was spending so much time growing vegetables and fruit that he couldn’t have…
Every morning was an exercise in tending to the gardens while actively shoving down images of a pleased ferrorabbit happily eating the results. That never went well; no matter how determined she was to complete her duties without a single selfish thought, most tasks were done while picturing his full belly and delighted bounces. There were a few weeks until the fastest of the crops would be ready for harvest, and Ceele would have to collect them while fighting the urge to bring back just a few for him.
She couldn’t, because she knew exactly how quickly that could escalate. It would start small—A vegetable here, a fruit there—but seeing Hoppit happy was one of the precious few good things she had in her life. Crossing the line would only become easier each time. They couldn’t risk losing their new home over greed, and she was already betraying the trust given to her by housing a wild animal, especially one known to be a pest for crops. She didn't want to know how angry it would make her benefactors if she was caught taking their vegetables for one.
No matter how tame and precious Hoppit was, and no matter how well he listened, they would only see him as the same creature that ruined harvests in droves. Thus was why she had to tell him to stay cooped up by himself while she was working or scavenging. And to her surprise, he did.
Honestly, she had made the initial request with the expectation of needing to carry him back into their home until he understood that she wasn’t leaving him forever. There wasn’t much she could do to stop the ferrorabbit from digging through the old wooden building if he wanted to get out. He wouldn’t need to damage anything either—a rotting board on the door only needed a little push to nudge it out of the way, and his natural curiosity made sure he was aware of it. But no, Hoppit was well-behaved as always, keeping hidden until she walked through the door, where he would leap from the shadows to personally show her how good he was and how he stayed put like she asked him to. It never stopped amazing her that he had such a surprising level of understanding despite being an animal, and that was to say nothing of how young he was.
All that intelligence, joy, and companionship he offered her…and yet the best she could give back to him was the weeds from the garden and the odd plant she found while scavenging…
Soft clacks of flicking ears dragged her from her pondering, her mind returning to the present. Hoppit finished his treat of the small plant, then bounced in place and scurried over to his bowl of water, perfectly happy to have eaten only that. He was so joyful with how little she provided, approaching every day of scarcity with the same enthusiasm she could never muster, as if certain that everything would be alright.
“It’s bedtime, Hoppit,” Ceele announced through a soft sigh, stoking the fire with enough branches to hopefully last the night. The ferrorabbit perked an ear in her direction, then sat on his haunches to extend the rest of himself up, his two little forepaws adorably held to his chest as he inspected the room like he always did. She smiled and made sure everything was stored away, then laid down on her bundle of blankets, covering herself with the warmest one. Hoppit bolted over to snuggle once he decided everything in the shed was up to his standards, throwing himself to the floor in a dramatic flop of comfort. Her quiet laughter subsided as they both settled in for the night, her tail completing the rabbit’s encompassing cuddle, but her eyes fell towards the obsidian orb on the table, her thoughts following suit.
It sat there, just as she left it, as benign as anything else ever placed atop the improvised furnishing. Yet there was a sense of ease and purpose as well. The old wooden trough seemed…important with its adornment firmly laid upon its surface, and she couldn’t puzzle out why. She was starting to doubt her earlier excitement.
Should she sell it? Would anyone know where it came from? Would anyone know what it was, or if it was worth anything? If she could get even a modest sum for it, she would be able to buy clothing, food, and new bedding. It would be easier to convince someone to give her work if she was dressed better and wasn’t so thin, and then she would have the income to slowly improve both of their lives. She could pay for a wandering merchant to ask a ferrorabbit rancher about the animal, even if it would take time to get back to her, or maybe she could hire a local if they needed to go near one for some reason. The cost didn’t matter to her as long as it happened.
But there was something else bothering her about the idea of selling the stone. She had travelled so far with a tug in her chest, only for the feeling of wanderlust to dissipate as soon as she held it. Was that a sign? She was never one for things like ‘fate,’ but a niggling doubt in her mind discouraged the idea of making a profit off her discovery. Even if what she could gain was so very tempting, and even if Hoppit would be happier if she did…
She tore her dampened eyes away and closed them, ignoring the burning trails running across her face. It would be another early morning, and she needed to sleep so she could take care of the garden. Decisions like this could wait. Once she had nothing else distracting her, and she had time to properly think about it, she would see how she felt about the stone.
Eventually, she dozed off with Hoppit pressed against her chest, and a longing in her heart.
Next
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A/N: Patreon and Ko-fi will be 1 chap ahead this time around, and I've set it so everything from the lowest tier up can read the newest trashfire! Anything above that is sheer show of love. Hope you enjoyed!

Hello everyone and I was just thinking about how I despise the trans flag and thiyght i would share it with yall both as a way to get it off my chest and also to hear what yall think. Now i know some people prefer bullet points so ill just do that for my reaons why
.Creates (or is at least based on) an extremely binary system of gender where its just man or woman which according to gender theory and general scientific concencus it is not even a spectrum but more of a multideminsional concept that is beyond human comprehension in all the ways it changes
.It uses very childish "blue means boy" "pink means girl" logic for its colors
.Its not bad from a vexillological standpoint but there isnt really anything good about it, for a flag that represents so many people it just isnt that good
.(personal grievances so ill just rattle em off) colors dont mesh well, too bright hurts eyes, so simplistic compared to the other flags

I've been playing around with my setup trying to get that chest kick feeling. I've got a single PB 1000 in a 12x12x8 ft dedicated room. I've done the crawl etc. and even used REW to find the placement with the best response. I don't think I've got a huge room mode issue. Here's the SPL chart: https://ibb.co/8X84VTW
If anything there's a spike near 40-50 Hz
And spectrogram: https://ibb.co/8jQrV5P
There's a decay problem under 30hz but I'm not sure if that'll be contributing to the lack of chest kick.
I set my receiver to -10 db and played a test tone on REW all the way from 30 to 70 Hz. This was the loudest I could go without risking my hearing. At close to 30 Hz the doors were rattling scarily. Closer to 40-50 Hz I could definitely feel the bass. But it wasn't punching me the way bass at a concert does.
I also tried some reference scenes like the hammer scene in John Wick or some Marvel fight scenes.
I was doing this with room correction on because that does make the bass more pronounced. I wonder if I need to add a tactile element like bass kickers to really feel it in my body. I'm not sure if more 'room pressure' will help because isn't pressure the same as loudness? And I really can't listen any louder.
Edit:
Thanks for your feedback everyone! I tried a bunch of stuff just now. Here's my report: * Setting crossover lower made it worse. Bass felt more precise but less punchy coming from my front speakers. * Setting crossover higher helped a bit with bass feeling more punchy * Tweaking the curve to emphasize 60-120Hz even more helped
BUT what really helped me actually feel the kick was finally just shoving the sub right up to the couch right behind my listening position. Holy hell was that exactly what I was looking for!! Mystery solved!!
I think I'm gonna invest in some bass kickers because I now realize I really love this feeling.

”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.

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.

PART ONE THOUSAND AND SIXTEEN
[Previous Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
I think of the three groups I visited this morning; Uncle Barris, by far, sucked the hardest. Sure, the three of us had relaxed on his office couches, and he hadn’t pushed more ambrosia on me, but there was this … tension between him and me. I couldn’t put my finger on why it was, but it was like … actually, it was EXACTLY like the way Professor Gilespie used to watch me in class, waiting for me to screw up.
It came to a head when Dad went to the bathroom, leaving Uncle Barris and me alone. His smile fell away, and something calculating crept into his eyes as he leaned forward and placed his cup on the coffee table. He stayed in that stooped position and stared silently at me: like a coiled snake.
It was unnerving. “What?” I finally snapped.
“You’ve been rubbing your chest a lot, kid, so you either have a cold forming or something significant recently hit you there. Three guesses which of those two I’m leaning towards?” He tilted his head and arched an eyebrow.
My hand stilled against the left side of my ribs where I’d been tasered, and I lifted it to rub my jaw before awkwardly dropping it to my side. Subtle I wasn’t.
“Exactly, so unless you want your father to find out what you’re hiding, talk fast, kid. What happened?”
I was suddenly reminded of that poor taxi driver that Dad had killed for giving me a rough ride home. I may not have liked the guy that zarked me, but I didn’t want him dead either. And that was even more likely to happen, given Uncle Barris was all about ‘the hunt’. “I need your word; you won’t do anything about it. I mean anything.”
“Not gonna happen,” Uncle Barris declared.
“Ditto then,” I replied.
“O—kay,” Dad said, his gaze bouncing between us when he returned a couple of minutes later, and Uncle Barris and I were still eyeballing each other. “What’d I miss?”
“You want to tell him, or will I?” Uncle Barris asked, arching his eyebrow at me yet again! His thumb and forefinger were stroking his chin like an evil genius.
“There’s nothing to tell,” I contended.
“Fine. Sam’s recently taken a decent hit to the chest.”
“What?!”
“It’s nothing!” I insisted. “It wasn’t meant to happen.”
“Which is it?” Dad asked, his voice taking a lethal tone. “‘Nothing’ or ‘something’ that shouldn’t have happened?”
“Both,” I answered honestly. “But I’ve got it under control, and those involved apologised, so it’s a non-event.” I really didn’t like the way Uncle Barris and Dad looked at each other. “Seriously. Leave it alone.”
“Erase ‘but’ from your vocabulary,” Uncle Barris commanded.
At the same time, Dad said, “I will on one condition,” as he sat on the couch adjacent to mine. “You look me in the eye and tell me honestly that it was a true accident with no intent.”
I couldn’t, and he knew it. The lie wouldn’t leave my tongue.
“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” Uncle Barris said, sitting back in his seat beside me and twisting sideways to face me, his eyes never leaving mine. The hand he laid along the back of the couch between was far from casual. “You can either tell us what happened, and there’s a chance … a chance that maybe we’ll do as you ask and leave it alone. Or you can keep your secrets, and the second you leave here, I’m going to backtrack your movements until I figure it out myself. The longer that takes me, the more pissed off I’m going to get, and the more likely whoever you’re covering for is going to pay for that irritation dearly.” He widened his eyes, almost daring me to doubt him. “What’s your poison?”
I groaned and bowed my head, burying my face in my hands. Then, with my head still bowed, I ran my fingers through my hair until they were interlocked behind my head. “Okay, and here’s my counterproposal,” I said, finally lifting my head. “If anything happens to the guy, I’m going to give Daniel chapter and verse of this discussion.”
“Is that your idea of a threat?” Uncle Barris scoffed.
“Yes, because unlike the rest of the human police force, Daniel won’t let you get away with murdering someone in his city. Or taking a citizen of this city to murder somewhere else.”
The silence stretched for a few seconds; then Dad looked at me. “Talk,” he barked.
Well, okay then. “There was a miscommunication with Tucker’s guards…” I began and then went on to explain everything that happened at the Lexington Hotel. I knew neither of them was happy about the tasering, but since they didn’t jump out of their seats and go after the guy that Kulon had chased off, I was hopeful they’d leave it alone.
Uncle Barris asked how the humans managed to get the jump on Kulon, and I told him how Kulon had to stay within the capability of a human since they were all humans.
At the end, Dad drummed his jaw with two fingers. “And you’re sure you have no scars or bruising to speak of?”
I shook my head. “I was fine two seconds after it stopped. If anything, I was madder at the guy who grabbed Gerry. But I did put him in the hospital, so there’s that.” My lips curled in pride at that because eff-him. Asshole.
“So, it’s okay for you to put someone in the hospital for assaulting someone you care deeply about, but not us when it’s been done to you,” Uncle Barris quantified. “Is that what you’re telling us, buddy?”
It didn’t sound right when he put it like that. “Weeeell…” I said, blowing out a raspberry. My brain took that moment to reengage. “Look, the difference is I was there. Like right there. If you were there at the time it happened, you’d be okay reacting to it, too. But this is hours later, and everything’s now fine again. It’s practically ancient history.”
“Not even close,” Dad huffed.
“Dad, for crying out loud! I’m fine! Let it go!”
Again, Dad and Uncle Barris looked at each other. “Alright,” Dad said, lifting his right hand placatingly. “For you, I’ll let it go. You have my word.”
Having gained Dad’s promise, I stared at Uncle Barris until he shrugged like he didn’t care enough to disagree with Dad.
And just like that, a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. “Great! Because it really was just a miscommun—”
Dad made a negative sound and snapped his fingers twice for me to stop, which I did. “I said I’d let it go. Don’t rehash it unless you want me to revisit the matter.”
I was so happy with the outcome that I mimicked zipping my lips and tossing away the key.
For the next twenty minutes or so, I regaled Uncle Barris with stories of growing up in Flagler Beach and Greenpeace, determined to stay away from the day's earlier events. Dad and Uncle Barris joined in with tales of their own, each taking great pleasure in embarrassing the other with things they’d done in Mystal that had me in stitches.
Like the time Uncle Barris had built a hunting hide in a tree, only to discover it overlooked a natural plunge pool that a teenaged Lady Col and her friends used to bathe in every day. Not that Uncle Barris was interested in spying on Lady Col, because that was family and ewww. Still, her friends were also in their late teens, and Barris had been especially appreciative of the flawless copper skin and feminine curves of their Yarusian visitors.
In other words, Uncle Barris was a total perv, and Uncle Avis had apparently caught him in the act. In his haste to escape, Uncle Barris had fallen out of his hide and hit every branch on the way down—and that was before the elders got their hands on him. Apparently, my grandmother of War had been particularly ‘unhappy’ with him for embarrassing her in front of their Yarusian guests.
I hadn’t known who a Yarusian was until Dad said, “The Egyptians,” and then the copper skin tones made sense.
All told, we ended on a good note, and I promised to visit more regularly. When Uncle Barris offered me his phone number, I told him Nuncio had already set me up with everyone’s numbers and rattled off mine for him to add to his phone once we were gone.
I was then engulfed in a tight hug, while Dad and Uncle Barris gave each other one-armed bro-hugs after first clasping wrists. As Dad went to step back to my side, he raised a fist, and Uncle Barris tapped his own against it. The two nodded happily at each other.
“Let’s go, Sam,” Dad said, and with a hand on my shoulder, we waved at Barris and realm-stepped away.
* * *
As soon as Llyr took young Sam home, the smile fell away from Barris until a dark scowl replaced it. He stalked two steps to appear in his dressing room in the Prydelands, where his Mystallian uniform waited for him on a Barris-shaped, headless mannequin. As he was already in black jeans and a skin-tight, long-sleeved black shirt, he kicked off his sneakers and slid his feet into his knee-high black boots, stamping on the heel with millions of years of practice. Next came the black elbow-length leather gloves that doubled as a protective armguard for his bow.
After that, he went to his display wall and strapped various weapons to his body (despite knowing his bare hands would be more than adequate for the job at hand), ending with a barebow he fed over his head to rest across his back and the six arrows that he jammed three into each boot, narrowly missing the knives already sheathed there.
Once he was satisfied, he stepped back and lowered himself to sit cross-legged on the floor. He then closed his eyes and breathed for a few seconds, clearing his mind until nothing existed to him but his elusive quarry.
And when he was ready, he rose in a fluid motion that defied physics and realm-stepped away.
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!

As of the posting of this chapter, I now have just one full, and one mostly finished, chapter left to go before Reddit has caught up to my manuscript. Honestly, I'm not really sure where the story is headed next; My writer's block led to me writing the final chapter of the novel so I could move on from it, so I know where the story ends... But I'm as clueless as all of you about how it will get there. And personally, I'm excited to see it unfold... Especially with what takes place in this chapter and the next.
Up until now it's been merely place-setting for the REAL story. Welcome to the meat of the story, Reddit. Shit's about to get insane.
[First] [Glossary Addendum] [Previous]
[From the Abyss Artisanry, Wolfreach Commercial District, 23rd of Nocun, 5016 TE]

[Boltz]
Darkness... Flickering reality, ever-shifting... The screams of the half-Taken and the un-natural howls and cries of... things, jumping in and out of the places where reality itself wavered...
"GAH!" I shot up in bed, my breath coming in ragged gasps, my heart thundering in my chest. Chit, who had apparently been laying against my shoulder, let out a small cry of alarm as my shoulder suddenly shot past her head. I looked around the room, expecting to see it flickering like an old archive record from the Terran History Archive. But it wasn't... My breathing started to slow, though my heart continued to beat in my chest like a demented war-drum. I'm fine... Reality is fine. Nothing is - I let out a yell and my body jerked away as Chit reached out to touch my arm, before recovering. I looked down at my hands, and was shocked to see them shaking as though I was freezing. Chit laid her hand on my arm again, and this time I didn't flinch. Taking it as a cue, my lover shifted her body to be on my lap, and simply wrapped her arms around me. She hadn't seen what I had... But I was grateful for that. I simply wrapped my own arms around her and gripped her body tight, willing my nerves to settle. What I saw... I could only pray to the Duality that it wouldn't come to pass.
As my lover held me though, instead of my nerves simply calming, my composure slipped, slowly, cracking little by little as it slipped away, until I was crying like a child into my beloved Siren's neck. If it bothered her, she gave no indication of it; She simply held me tight, allowing the tears to flow.

[A Few hours Later...]

[Cewa]
I leapt off of Lan and ran into the workshop, Chit having already unlocked it for me. My Greatwolf companion collided with the door as it was closing, making a crashing noise as his shoulder connected. However, it was then allowed to continue closing, as Chit led me back to the apartment, where Boltz was on the bed, rocking back and forth. I had never seen such terror on his face before, and his eyes looked as though he had been crying. He registered my presence, and asked,
"Reality... Outside... It's not... Not..." He trailed off, shaking his head and rocking himself back and forth once more. I frowned, turning to Chit, and she said,
"All I could get out of him was that he had a nightmare where... Reality was... Flickering? Like the original records from the ship Terrans arrived on." The words sent an icy chill down my spine, and I froze. As I did so, Lan let out a fearful whimper as the mental image leaked across our connection. Seeing my reaction, and giving Lan a worried glance, she asked,
"What is it? What does he mean, reality flickering?" I looked at her, my body feeling hollow, and I replied,
"Obliteration."

[That Lunwatch...]

[Cewa]
I opened my eyes, finding myself in the Cascade. I looked around, and spotted Luunah, watching the universes in their eternal, slow-motion fall in the distance.
"How long do we have?" I asked by way of greeting. He turned to look at me, and frowned.
"What do you mean, Cewa?" He asked, and I growled.
"My Sparkborn, Jakob, woke up last night from a nightmare... Where he saw Khaos Taking a reality. It scared him more than anything I've ever seen.
Luunah fully turned to face me now, and I saw a flicker of concern in his eyes. He walked over to the Observatory, a small, table-like construct with a viewing sphere, he had called it. He gestured to the Observatory and said,
"Show me." Taking a deep breath, I focused on imagining Boltz, and soon enough, a vision appeared of him, sleeping, though his head was twitching left and right. Luunah reached out, and the vision rippled like water, before being replaced by...
"So it's happening again." Luunah said simply, and then looked out at a dark spot on the Cascade. I frowned at him, and he said,
"You must increase your vigilance, Cewa. The first indication of Khaos approaching a reality with Stormbirthed is them receiving visions. The second is the twisting of weak minds. You will find that there are people who will follow Khaos for what it claims to offer them. They will believe it, and follow blindly." I nodded, and Luunah sighed.
"It seems time is running out once more..." He said, and returned to his watching of the Cascade.

[A Cycle Later...]

[Chit'Eiwu]

"... And in other news, rumours have begun to circulate about a new pirate group calling themselves 'The Fingers of Khaotum'. These 'Fingers' have begun to make small time raid attacks on passing freight ships. It is unclear who is leading them or what their ultimate goals are, however-" I turned off the newscast, and sighed. It had taken just three weeks for this group to suddenly start appearing... And I had been one of the victims of their raids. I'd been waiting for a shipment of metals for creating new weapons for sale when the supplier had contacted me to tell me that the courier freighter ship had been attacked and their cargo stolen.
As I was sitting at the table and wondering what was to be the next step, Cewa walked in, and stood near the table. I looked up at him, then froze as I saw the expression on his face. He looked as though he had to inform somebody of their upcoming execution.
"What is it?" I asked, and he sighed.
"The Fingers of Khaotum... Boltz and I have to deploy alongside some Warriors and the CDF to combat them." I blinked, not sure why that would be such a bad thing. The Cluster Defence Force was, after all, a powerful military force.
"The Fingers... Will most likely be able to wield a pale fragment of the power of a Khaosian." He said after a short pause. My heart sank into my stomach; That would mean that only the Kaurine armour that we had developed would protect them.
"I can... I can give you and Boltz a couple of Watches. A week at the most. Make them count... My friend." He said, and gently squeezed my shoulder, a uniquely Terran gesture. I nodded, and he walked out again.

[Seven Watches Later...]

[Boltz]
Resting my elbows on the counter, I ran my face up and down my palms. It had been a hectic week, contacting all of my regular customers, and informing them that I'd be out for a while, and that due to the nature of why I would be absent, I couldn't guarantee my return. The messages also stated that if I was to return, I would look forward to serving their needs once more, but if this was to be our last correspondence, I was honoured that they had chosen From the Abyss Artisanry for their equipment needs. The countdown timer buzzed, indicating that it had finished and was now displaying the "closed" signage, and I straightened, and wearily walked into our apartment and through to the bedroom.
As I rounded the corner however, the weariness melted away; As she had each Lunwatch since Cewa had informed her that we would be deploying, Chit sat on the bed, her body proudly on display as she waited for me. And just as every night before, I couldn't help but grin. It was like she wanted to ensure that our memories had each other's body burned into them in case I didn't return. Not that I was complaining... Though tonight, with it being the last Watch before I deployed, I decided to make it... Special.
Taking a deep breath, I took off and folded each item of clothing with deliberate slowness. First my jacket, which was made of genuine cattle leather, then my shirt, then my shoes where neatly placed beside the door, but out of the way. After that, my pants came off and were folded once, twice, then placed on top of the other two items. My underwear of course, sailed into the washbasket. At last the only thing left to do was reach the bed, at which point things become a bit fuzzy...

[The Next Watch...]

[Cewa]
I knocked on the door to the bedroom of Boltz and Chit's apartment, and I saw an amethyst head raise tiredly from the bed, where both Boltz and Chit were laying together in something of a crumpled mess. Her green eyes gazed at me without focus for a few seconds, before slowly focusing on me, then her head fell back, and she groaned,
"What time is it?" I chuckled, and replied,
"It's about two hours past Solpeak. I figured I'd give you guys almost as much time as possible; We need to be leaving atmo by five." I leaned against the doorframe, and couldn't help but grin as Chit almost lazily hit Boltz with an arm.
It must have been one hell of a Lunwatch they had... Boltz's sandy hair popped up, then turned, and he rolled over to squint at me. I gave an exaggerated wave, and his head dropped, then came back up as he asked,
"Can't delay it?" His words were slightly unclear from drowsiness, and I shook my head.
"Nope, but I deliberately came early in case this very thing happened. Bitterbean?" I replied, and an arm flew up before dropping again. Chuckling as I turned to go into the kitchen, I called out,
"If you're not dressed yet, throw something on; Got a new uniform waiting for you on the ship anyway so that's not an issue." And with that, I strode into the kitchen, knowing from many a visit where the ingredients were. Biterbean granules for the heart of the drink, and an equal amount of sweetcrystal to take the edge off the bitterness. I placed a cup under the receptacle tap, and hit the "bitterbean" button, followed by "type A". The machine scanned the cup, and began to heat up the right amount of water, as set by Boltz, and then walked over to the fridge to grab out a bottle of milk.
As I walked back to the receptacle, the fridge door closing itself without pressure against it doing so, the tap dispensed steaming water until it was about a quarter from the top, before stopping. I pulled the cup out and poured milk until it was just under the lip, paling the color from a dark, almost black, to a muted, muddy brown. Then I took the now empty milk bottle to the reducer and dropped the glass container into it, just as Boltz stumbled out of the room. I noticed however, that he was walking in a slightly awkward way, and chuckled. Definitely a hell of a Lunwatch... Though I couldn't blame him; I was walking the same exact way for the first hour after I woke up. I gestured to the bitterbean, now steaming away on the counter, and he gave me a tired grin.
"Thanks. How long til we gotta be out of atmo?" He asked, and, as I moved out of the way, I replied,
"By five. You've got about two and a half hours to down that and wake up, then we gotta get mobile." He nodded, and grabbed the cup with one hand, lifting it to his lips. He took a sip, and I saw some of the tiredness immediately dissipate from my friend's face.

[Two and a Half Hours Later...]

[Cewa]
I watched in amusement, Aerrin by my side next to the transport shuttle, as Boltz shared one last kiss with Chit before boarding. Aerrin laughed as Boltz finally turned around, jogging over to the shuttle and boarding, his cheeks flushed. I grinned at his expression, which resembled that of a schoolboy who got caught kissing his crush in behind the gymnasium practice mats. Turning to Aerrin, I wrapped my arms around her waist, and said,
"With a bit of luck we'll be back in person in around two weeks." Lifting up one hand, I brushed some hair out of her face, and leaned down to kiss her goodbye, hoping against hope that it wouldn't be our last.
After a few blissful moments though, I had to let go, and reluctantly did so. I stepped back and onto the shuttle ramp, and grabbed onto the overhead stability rail. Aerrin took a few steps back, and I turned towards the pilot, and nodded. The shuttle immediately began ascending, and Aerrin waved, continuing to do so until the shuttle turned away, the side door sliding into place and sealing.
Sighing, I moved to the seating section, and swung myself into one of them beside Boltz. Soon enough, the shuttle rattled as we approached the sound barrier, and then slowly calmed down as the atmosphere around us grew thin. Off to war again, it seems... I thought, and then glanced at Boltz, who had his eyes closed, and teeth clenched. I felt a smile tug at my lips, and added, But at least I'm not alone. I've got the closest thing I've ever had to a sibling here with me.
After a few minutes more of flight, the pilot began speaking into his comms, and I stood up, walking to the cockpit, and taking hold of the handles on the twin seats in the front. The pilot looked around at me, hearing my approach, and said,
"Just received docking clearance, sir." I nodded, and focused my attention ahead of us. Reaching down my connection to Kaelani, I said,
Whereabouts are you, Lan? There was a moment of silence, before he replied,
Approaching the hangar. You're inbound? I nodded, then realised he wouldn't be able to see me do so.
Affirmative; Just a few clicks out. The ship's just come into view, and we're on approach to the hangar area. I caught a flash of the doors to the hangar from the ship interior, and flashed back the sight of the ship we were to serve on.
The Aurora Caelum Procella, was one of a small family of nigh-identical ships. The bow of each, had a sensor array, looking like needles poking out ahead of the massive vessel and the hull was a gunmetal grey aside from a patch displaying the Warrior Emblem: A Kaurine Blade, half Empowered, resting on a metal shield like in the ancient archives Terrans brought with us when we fled wherever we previously called home before the Cluster.
Behind a section of nearly featureless hull, broken only by small lines of dotted windows for the crew quarter areas, sat a series of three large hangars. We were headed for the closest one, but I could also see a set of three visible, and massive, engines a ways behind the last hangar.
From having the systems described to me, I knew there was a fission-fusion duel operation reactor which measured a cube of approximately fifty metres, or about thirty of my roughly one and a half metre height, stacked, in each direction, which provided a number in energy units that I couldn't even remember due to the size of it being impossible for me to grasp at the time.
Alongside this reactor however, were the massive engines of the ship, each of which stretched about twice as far inwards from the nozzles I could see, and with a width of around ten of my height, or just over a metre and a half, the engines would be a most dangerous place to be indeed. Soon enough however, the shuttle docked, and the door popped open with a hiss. Lan sat on the other side, waiting for me.
However, Boltz reached him first, and rubbed the fur between his ears. Over our connection, Lan let out an almost... Terran groan of pleasure, before recovering his composure as Boltz moved on, and saying,
Why does that feel so good? I chuckled as I walked to the door, and hopped down from the shuttle, which this time had not lowered the boarding ramp. Resting a hand on his neck, I shrugged.
"Who knows?" I said aloud, and he stood up to match my stride as we walked to the command bridge.
A few minutes later, we stepped out into a large chamber in the center of the ship, with the walls covered in viewscreens. Lan and I reached the Command Table, and he assumed a bowing position, while I snapped a salute, which consisted of bringing one's arm up as though cradling something to your chest, and clapping your hand to the front of your shoulder, before forming a fist with the same hand and thumping said shoulder. As I did so, the ship's Commander turned from where she had been studying a star chat with one of the navigators, and returned the gesture as she fixed me with a sapphire gaze.
"Ah, Lord Aerrus! Did you have a pleasant flight up?" She asked.

This particular Commander, one Akyra Vikrian, was an Arctus Lepardis, to my great surprise. Her fur was dotted with various patches of black on her silvery coat, with some rings of black enclosing sections of an almost greenish grey color. Her black and white tail swished from side to side for a couple of moments as she spoke, indicating her happiness at seeing me. Her uniform, like the one I would soon don, was a mixed color; The majority of its shape was deep, Lunshade blue, and the hems and collar were a perfect, snow white, though unlike me, her insignia was that of a Blade and shield, with three bars below it, resembling support pillars.
I flashed a grin at her, and nodded, assuming a more relaxed posture.
"Yes, it was slightly bumpy, but that's to expected with a rapid ascent. So, what's the latest?" I asked, stepping down towards the Table, or CT, as we referred to it internally. She pressed a few buttons, and brought up a holographic archive.
"They call themselves the Fingers of Khaotum, though we're not sure yet what their ultimate goal is; They seem to be raiding for supplies right now, though they also leave no survivors behind." She said, bringing up a classified document which contained a report from a recent attack.
"Have the Shadesteppers worked out why they named themselves that?" I asked, stroking my chin thoughtfully, where some facial hair was beginning to develop. She brought up another report in the archive, and paraphrased a summary for me.
"They seem to be a religiously fanatical entity, espousing the virtues of what they call 'The Evershifting Paradise'. Beyond that, Khaotum seems to be their... God?"
I groaned at the words, and her gaze flicked to me.
"What? I've heard of what that sound means from a Terran..." She said. Sighing, I nodded to the door, and said,
"You'll want to follow me. This is... Not something you want to burden the crew here with. Bad enough that leadership members need to know." One of the Terran crewmembers turned to look at me, a frown on his face. Anticipating the question in his eyes, I said to him,
"This is something you would rather not know. If you knew the nature of the force behind these raiders, the lack of sleep would kill you." His face paled, and he nodded.
"Don't worry, crewman; Anything that won't adversely affect you simply by knowing, I will tell you. Anything that will... Well, that's my burden to bear." I added, and rested a hand on his shoulder. I smiled inwardly as the relief washed over his face.
Then I turned and led Akyra out of the bridge, and down to the Cerebis chamber of the ship. Cerebis chambers were a kind of mental projection theatre, used for primarily interrogation techniques, where a person merely thinking about something will project it. As we passed the med bay, I asked Akyra to wait for a moment and walked in, finding a medical assistant on her commpad. She looked up and then rapidly stood and saluted, but I waved a hand.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to report you for that. Do you have any spare bodily waste disposal bags? Specifically I need one with a reverse filter." The assistant nodded, and grabbed one out.
"Using the Cerebis chamber?" She asked, and I nodded.
"Need to show the Commander something... And I don't think she will handle it well." The assistant's face paled slightly, and I allowed myself a grim smile. She shakily sat down again, and I returned to Akyra, handing her the bag.
"You may need this for what I'll be showing you." I said.
[Next: The Fingers of Khaotum]

As always, thank you to u/SpacePaladin15 for the wonderful universe that is NoP! Thank you to u/cruisingNWfor proof reading and helping me make this chapter as good as it can be, you're the man! Honestly LoM wouldn't have gone very far without him! If you haven't you should absolutely go read Foundations of Humanity! It's very good! :D
A big thanks to u/Saint-Andros for helping with proofreading! He writes Out of Our Elements which is a very good one! If you like a good fic in the wilderness and a pair of cute 'friends' ;) you'll love OOE!
Also thank you to u/brotanics! For this wonderful fanart of Taisa. And this one! She's so cute I'm gonna die
And thank you to u/Jimdandy117! For this adorable fanart of Chris and Renkel! Dear god help he's adorable I love him so much
Thank you u/SlimyRage, or AsciiSquid on Discord, for makin' Vengineer Taisa Gamin'. She's absolutely adorable, I love her lil' workers apron. She looks so excited to get to work!
Thank you u/Braquen! For this astounding Pixel Art of Taisa after a few range day dates with Chris! Her little hat and gunbelt are absolutely astounding!
Thank you u/VeryUnluckyDice! For this Artwork of Taisa and Chris as characters from One Piece! I've never seen or read it before but it's incredibly cute!
Thank you to u/creditmission for their wonderful work of several LoM fanfics!
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Memory Transcription Subject: Taikel, Venlil Farmer, Venlil-Human Exchange Host
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 18th, 2136
Polani guide her light… please.
My heart hurt as I awoke to the familiar clatter of the window’s auto blinds snapping me to consciousness, rousing me from my sleep as golden twilight rays filled the room, forcing me to follow through. Everything felt tighter, stiffer, more painful as I slowly rose upright, my paws finding and pressing into the tension at the base of my neck, my eyes squeezing shut as I did everything I could to push past the tide of reality falling on my shoulders.
Rensa laid at my side while her occasional muffled beep drifted from her as she was lost in whatever dreams her medicine had brought to her mind this time. She’d cried into my shoulder when she’d broken from them after the accident, wailing about the horrid events and images she’d been forced to endure, or relive, in the nights of her dreams. All I could hope was that her stillness was a good sign that she wasn’t haunted by those horrors again; old, or new.
The heavy weight hanging on my eyelids beckoned me to give in, to turn over and bury myself back into the covers, to hide from the thought of what we’d los-
No. Not yet.
The thought of losing them. The UN hadn’t confirmed anything and wouldn’t for a few more paws - or ever, Stars willing - but Taisa’s silence set ice in my veins. Until then, I had to push forward to help Rensa and to keep Renkel’s spirits up. Even if it meant I’d have an even farther fall.
And if they are gone, they wouldn’t want you to sit and rot away in bed. Keep everything together, gray coat, for them-
A tight, high whimper from my love, my life beside me all but shattered my heart.
And for her.
I leaned over, gently licking Rensa’s cheek before tucking the blankets a little tighter around her and slipping myself free from beneath their enticing embrace. I wasn’t entirely alright; wouldn’t be until I knew, for better or worse. Until then… Until then I’d do everything I could to make them proud.
The wood beneath my paws let out a long, sighing creak as I rose from the bed, pushing myself out into the hall before gently sliding the door closed behind me. This waking, for Renkel at least, would be no different than any other waking he had off from school. Not if I had anything to say about it.
The stairs were silent as I descended, turning into the open living room and staring at the hearth for a long moment, doing my best to keep my attention off of Chris’ empty room and onto the task at hand. I let out a long sigh, flapping my ears to try and batter the thoughts away as I padded into the kitchen. Warm pops and wet hisses of my cooking soon filled the air as I set about making first-meal with a hearty helping of Human vegetables.
Before I knew it the soft click-clack of pup-claws sounded from the stairs as Renkel followed his tongue to find a steaming bowl of scramble waiting for him.
“Good waking, Rekan.” I whistled, doing my best to shear the melancholy from my voice as he clambered up into his seat, clutching one of his Human ‘Animal Encyclopedias’ close to his chest. “How was your rest?”
“Good! I dream’d’d of fishies!” He exclaimed before thumping the book on the table and flicking it open to a page with the dull, speckled flanks of some massive fish that dwarfed the Human swimming next to it. “That one! It’s my favorite!”
A small titter of amusement slipped from my snout at the fickleness of a pup’s interests. “Oh really now? I thought you said the Manta Ray was your favorite!”
“Muh-uh! Whale sharks is way cooler! Look how big it is! And it swims around with its mouth open like the manta but way bigger!” Renkel groaned, tossing his arms as wide as his maw in imitation of the gargantuan fish.
“Well you’ll have to tell me all about them!” I whistled in return, serving myself a steaming bowl of the mix before knocking the heat down to keep it warm for Rensa… whenever she woke up.
“What’s wrong, Papa?” >Alright?< My son asked with his, curious, worried eyes staring up at me past the wisps of steam drifting from his food. “Is Mama ok?”
“She’s… She’s alright, son. Her leg’s hurting her a lot lately. Everything going on has got her real worried, is all.” >Everything Fine.< I answered, my voice sounding far more sure of the words than I felt as I paused for a moment. >Eat Up!<
His attention hung on me for a few moments longer before he let out a happy, satisfied beep and launched into an explanation of everything he found interesting about these ‘Whale Sharks’, only pausing to breathe and stuff whole skewers of vegetables into his mouth. The enthusiasm of a pup never did fail to amaze, and Renkel certainly had enough to go around! Our bowls were soon finished and empty, but Renkel kept going, happily whistling on about how their gills worked and how their coloring was to protect them from predators. Before long the dishes were cleared and in the sink, all except for one.
She needs to eat.
“Tell ya what, Rekan, you find yourself a few more facts and you can teach me even more about them after I give your Mama her first-meal. How’s that sound?”
“More fishie facts!” He exclaimed with glee, his paws in the air as he rocked back in his chair before plunging straight back into his book. My paw slipped beneath his bowl, scooping a fresh serving into it before gently nuzzling the studious pup’s crown on my way to the stairs. His happy whistles faded as I plodded up the old wooden steps, stopping for a moment at the door to mine and Rensa’s room, my paw hovering above the door-slide as I listened for any sign that she’d stirred.
I didn’t hear any.
The door whined as I gently slid the door aside and found her awake, staring at her cupped paws with a vacant expression. Her ears swung in my direction as I stepped in, only for a moment, while I did my best to keep my voice positive as I approached with food in paw. “Good Waking, Sweetheart.”
A small, grumbled ‘Good Waking, Love’ was all she could muster for me as she stared at the black bead cradled in her paw.
So soon?
“Your leg feeling any better?” I whispered as I set the bowl of scramble and glass of water on the bedside before gently taking my place at her side.
“Not really.” She hissed, her voice distant as an unladen paw kneaded at the border of her wool and the leg’s interface plate, squeezing her eyes shut and drawing in a long breath before shaking her head, her tail bobbing a succinct >Not at all.<
“Maybe some food will help.” I whispered, gently trading the bead for her bowl and skewer and setting it on the bedside before softly pressing my snout to her’s.
She was quiet, staring into her food for a long moment, her eyes puffy and orange. >Don’t think so. Gone.<
Tears pooled at the corner of my eyes, burning like firefruit oil as I twined my tail around what little of hers hung over the side of the bed, squeezing tight as I could to ground my wife to what of this world, of our family, we had left. Her paws moved, slowly poking the skewer into the food before raising it to her mouth, and then again and again before the bowl and glass were empty.
“I…” Rensa let out a small sigh, setting the bowl on the old bedside with a loud clunk before her tail squeezed, weakly, back into mine. “Th-Thank you, Love.”
“It’s ok, Sweetheart.” I replied, leaning into her side and soaking in the silence that stifled the space between us. She sucked in a pained gasp as her free paw found its way back to the remains of her leg, clutching the wool tight. “W-Were the meds helping any, last paw?”
>Yes.< Her tail flicked slowly, almost reluctantly as I watched tears gather in the folds of her squinted eyes.
I rose, gently nuzzling her crown with a forlorn mewl before guiding her paw back to mine for a moment, giving it a gentle squeeze. “I’ll be right back.”
I hate to see her like this, more than I hate seeing her drifting a while. At least then she’s not crying from the pain. Not suffering…
I rushed to the bathroom, ripping open the closet and retrieved the damned bottle. A single pill tumbled into my paw, the remainder clacking noisily against the sides as I slipped them back into the box they had been stowed in. The little tan capsule churned my stomach as I looked down at it, horrid memories sprouting in my mind. The memories of the paw of the accident and the herds after it where she was despondent, from the pills and the loss of her career.
If those two are gone…
My tail shuddered, trying to shake the creeping vines of despair free from my heart at the thought before I drew in a deep breath, steeling myself and stepping back into the bedroom. Rensa stared up at me as I approached, her eyes filled with worry as I settled back down on the bed beside her, holding the pill out on my paw. She hesitated, her tail curling as her attention slid from me down to the proffered pill before her eyes squeezed shut and her paw seized as hard as her leg, digging her claws into her pads with a low, pained mewl.
“Please, Sweetheart…” I trailed off, my paw sliding over hers to try and calm her squeezing claws from hurting herself further. I’d seen her draw her own blood far too many times.
A soft gasp sucked into her mouth as she leaned forward, wrapping her paws around me with a stifled cry before accepting the pill and downing it with a sip from her glass. “I-I’m sorry, Love.”
“It’s ok, Sweetheart.” I soothed, pulling her close to me as I ran my paws through her wool, doing my best to drive the sorrow burrowing in my heart away. “It’s ok…”
Her sobs began to fade as the medicine took hold, her arms slackening around me a little before she let out a harrowingly familiar, relieved sigh. “Thhhank you, Taikel…”
I couldn’t bring myself to answer in kind as I pulled her closer, fighting away the tears pooling at the corners of my eyes. Instead I settled on easing her back on the bed before gently nuzzling her snout, receiving a passive mumble of acknowledgement as I stood from the bedside, stopping to stare down at the black bead on the bedside, quietly pawing it before I padded through the door to the upper landing. I paused. Took a breath. And another. Willing myself to stifle the rattle in my throat before I faced my son again. There was little more I could do for her right now; at least the meds might let her sleep for a while longer.
The stairs beneath my paws clicked and creaked between the amazed whistles and beeps of Renkel still at the island meeting my ears; most certainly still enamored with his book. Quietly I found my way to the hearth, doing my best not to alert the pup as I gently opened the Heartwood box Rensa and I had made when we’d married, staring down into the void-black padding at the singular circle of white, Amarek wood at its center.
When we’d made it her father had insisted that, according to tradition, this was where it was meant to be, in the middle of everything else in your life. That the chest that held your darkest days should live with the rest of your joy until it would in turn join the others in the tapestry of your life.
We’d only ever used one since we’d married… I had hoped we wouldn’t need anot-
No. Not until you know.
My ears battered away the despair sprouting in my chest as the bead slipped into place, standing in stark contrast to the brilliant wood encircling it like an eye peering back up at me while the lid slowly closed over it, shielding the burrow from the pain it held. I pulled in a quiet breath before turning, squeezing my eyes shut again to hold back the tears I knew were just one bad assumption, one errant thought, one horrid message away from spilling forth.
The pup whirled around as I stepped behind him, peering over his shoulder to see what new tidbits of information he was foraging for this time. A new picture of the massive fish was spread across the page, this one taken from above the water looking over the side of some vessel staring down at the animal through glimmering, crystal clear waters.
“I wonder if Chris has ever seen a whale shark! That’d be so cool!” Renkel exclaimed, his tail zipping back and forth excitedly as he tapped at the page. “I bet he’s been all over the carry-bean!”
A pang of grief flashed through my heart at the mention of the missing pair, the feeling festering for a long, gut wrenching moment before I whispered to him over his shoulder. “I’ll bet he has, son, and I bet he’ll be happy to tell you all about it when they get back!”
Then if they c- When. WHEN they come home, I’m going to give them both ears so full the stars above will hear everything I’ve got to say.
And then some.
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Memory Transcription Subject: Taisa, Venlil Starship Engineer, Crystal Star Shipping Co-Owner
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 19th, 2136
Another paw of sun-scorched hell. Stars, I hope Mama and Papa are alright….
The pad in my paws was still harrowingly silent as I gazed down at the screen, a trail of my own messages dotting their way up the screen had gone unanswered these last two paws. Letting them know that we’d made it out safe, what we’d been doing, when I thought we’d be home…
Polani shook and shuddered as Chris brought her around again, shaking me from my thoughts as we passed over charred, smoldering tracts of forests on the eastern side of the crash site that looked like little more than blasted ashen sticks. It’d been a sleepless night as we rushed to help quench the fire the Glorious Pyre and the Twilight Star’s drives set when they’d crashed. The U.N. had leapt to invoke our contract again, putting us to work shuttling material, equipment and water to put out the inferno that threatened Chris’ home and the surrounding areas. Thankfully they hadn’t sent any Arxur for us to shuttle!
The fact that they were here. That they were helping. That they’d even showed up to Humanity’s defense in the first place was… it was unthinkable!
Every stray glance I was forced to see them, every plodding step they took, every reverberating growl of their horrid language and every time I caught one of them staring at me like I was little more than a cut of meat to hunt, to chase, to toy with… Sent shivers down my spine and out my tail.
I hated it.
Hated them.
Hated what I’d seen them do on the Cradle, what one of them had done to me. What one of them had made Chris do to protect me. Hated what they’d made us have to see, hear, and live through. It didn’t matter what they were here for, it bought no good will of mine. Chris promised to protect me again if we got assigned to moving any of them, that he’d happily put another bullet in one of them before chancing the possibility of losing someone else.
Annabelle.
He, and the rest of his family, were still holding out hope that they’d find her and the rest of her bunker beneath what little was left of what had been the outskirts of London. I wanted to be hopeful with them, to pray and call and beg to every star I could see, every star I could name for her to have been spared but… but the pictures didn’t look good. The scattered rubble that had once been so many Human cities left the bitter taste of bile and sorrow in my mouth as I thought about the millions of lives the federation I’d once believed in had snuffed out in a flash.
The monsters I’d once championed had tried to take everything from Chris, from his Family, from all of us. From Me. They’d stolen parents from their children, shattered families, people, communities and cultures that they’d turned to ash in the wake of their failure. So much gone, so much destroyed, so much lost, so much taken.
Taken.
Because of their fear. Because of their hatred. Because of their cowardice.
Because of their weakness.
“At least the fires are out.” Chris sighed, the long, forlorn sound gently pulling me from the anger simmering in my chest. “Ma, Pa, an’ Ryan’ll be alright, so long’s the Peacekeepers actually do their job with trackin’ down those… stragglers.”
“Let them burn or let them rot for all I care.” I grumbled, staring out the viewscreen down at the devastated countryside below; images of Chris’ family, tears in their eyes as they huddled around their TV looking for any information they could find about Annabelle. “It’s the least they’d wanted to do to us.”
“‘Much as they fuckin’ deserve it…” His voice cracked as a flash of concern passed over his face while he glanced over at me, hesitating for a moment before responding. “Probably for the best we don’t reinforce what everyone the arm over already thinks of us.”
>Fair.<
“‘Specially not the new friends we picked up, doubt the Zurulians would be particularly big fans of Humans doing… that to prisoners.” He sighed, righting Polani from her bank before guiding her nose around, across the horizon, and back towards Blacksburg, the hum of her thrusters building to a mournful, crackling wail as they pushed us onward. “For now though, let's get some food in us; Ma’s bound to have something good.”
My tail twitched at the idea of a belly full of Darlene’s wonderful red beans and rice to try and take my worried mind off of the world of ash and fire smoldering around us as a meek mewl slipped from my mouth. “Thank you, Love.”
I swear to the stars above:
I’ll get even for what they’ve done.
[Advance Transcription by Time Unit: 1.5 Hours]
The comfortingly warm weight of Darlene’s cooking settled in my stomach as I sunk back into the chair, my tail wrapped tight around Chris’ leg. Darlene stared through the window out at the pasture beyond, passively scrubbing grime and grit away from the white pot in her hands as the sound of running water filled the air.
“Where’s Ryan now?” Chris grumbled as he scooped another mouthful of meat, beans and rice from his bowl.
“Out ‘helping’ ‘gain.” Darlene sighed, setting the pot on her drying rack with a ringing clang as she turned to point a wooden spoon at an empty plaque on the wall. “At least Cobb’s gon’ go out with ‘im.”
“Boy went out an’ got hisself hurt on ‘nother planet and now he’s damned well set to go on ‘n get hurt again on this’n.” Michael grunted, anger in his voice as he flicked through article after article on the pad sitting on the counter in front of him. “‘Tween those fire-crazy exterminators and these god-damned lizards I ‘on’t find myself thinkin’ this shit’s hardly a good idea.”
“Pa’, come on, you know how he fe-” Chris started, swallowing his food as he leaned forward over the counter, his response cut short by the ringing chimes sounding out from both of our pads.
TO: CRYSTAL STAR SHIPPING
FROM: THOMAS ASHFORTH
NORFOLK AID PICKUP
Your services are required to move the personnel and material listed in the attached manifest from the subject port to the following aid sites:
U.N. COALITION NEW YORK AID AND RESCUE CAMP - 06
U.N. COALITION NEW YORK AID AND RESCUE CAMP - 11
U.N. COALITION NEW YORK AID AND RESCUE CAMP - 14
Thank you,
Thomas Ashforth
U.N. Logistics Coordinator
A manifest was attached, listing off everything from pallets of food, medical supplies, material for expanding the aid camps, a pawful of Zurulians and U.N. staff an-
Oh Stars.
My blood ran cold as my tail tightened around Chris’ ankle, a small, weak, terrified mewl weeping from my snout at the sight of the final thing on the list.
Arxur Volunteers.
A low growl built at my side as Chris stared down at his pad, his fists tightening around the pad until his knuckles were white with the strain. “Rat fucking bastards.”
>We have to.<
He nodded, his mouth tight with anger as the scrape of his stool sounded across the room while he rose to his feet. His hair tossed about as he shook his head, doing his best to drive off whatever thoughts were raging behind his eyes as he looked over to me, gently slipping his leg free from my tail before he marched to his room, Roscoe’s wagging tail close at his side. The comforting, familiar thump of his boots on hardwood marked his return just as fast as he’d left, the glint of his pistol holstered across his chest and the soft shine of the rifle hanging from his shoulder telling me everything I needed to know.
“Together?”
“Together.”
---
Memory Transcription Subject: Rensa, Venlil Farmer & Ex-Exterminator, Venlil-Human Exchange Host
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 20th, 2136
Fire’s gone. Pain. Gone. Daughter. Taisa. Gone.
My mind swam as I stared at the stars high above the Warren, drifting in a sea of white, black, and gray, feeling little but the chill of the glass of gin resting in my paw alongside the whispering cold of twilight’s winds. The occasional drift of odd colors floated through the air, harvesting my attention from the morass of nothing that had filled this paw and the one before it. Warbling sound filled my ear, vibrating the left side of my vision and sending new waves of kaleidoscopic colors across the sky.
I was hallucinating again. It’d been a while.
Dr. Poreth had told me a long time ago not to mix; it hadn’t stopped me then and it certainly couldn’t stop me now. Besides, they were a far better distraction than anything else I had right now. So instead I sit and stare at the sky, watching the pretty colors.
They were just as real as anything else.
A tide of messages from Taisa had bolted through my pad early this waking, from before the bombing. Each one the last I’d ever hear from her. The last words I’d ever see from my darling daughter. Renkel still didn’t understand, the pup happily chirping away about when they’d be back, about his next paw at school and about going with Taikel to one of the shelters in a claw or so to try and help ‘keep their spirits up’. Through the haze I envied him, wishing and pleading to Polani that I could have that same youthful hope.
Even if it would just be cut down by the scythe of the real world.
The glass in my paws slips away as the wavering rays of the sun are blocked, quickly replaced by another, and a soft nuzzle on my crown. Taikel’s wavering voice floated across my ears, still filled with mournful sorrow. I can’t make out the words but Renkel’s upbeat whistles tell me enough; they’re off to the shelter.
Barely seems worth it with them gone.
I weakly return the nuzzle, barely leaving my chair with my leg feeling like little more than juicefruit pulp as Taikel’s shadow slips past me, Renkel asking something I can’t quite make out past the fog.
So strong, stronger than me.
The rumble of the truck’s engine shuddering to life sends waves of green across my vision, accompanied by the crunch of gravel following after it before it fades into the distant hum of tires on the road. Alone again. The fog falls back in around me, stifling the sounds of nature that had begun to creep in at the edges of my mind. I sink again, staring up at the sky, watching the drifting colors and clouds as I sip at the liquid fire in my glass.
At least it helped smother the fire eating my leg and dull the storm in my mind.
The sound of my pad letting out a painfully familiar chime on the table split the air, stirring me from my stupor to clumsily paw at it to go silent. The offending sound faded, replaced by the isolating silence that I’d craved; at least in it I didn’t have to think about what I’d lost.
About the tricks my mind was playing on me.
A long, deliberate sigh fell from my snout as I pressed my paw into the thready wool near the stump that’d once been my leg, trying to push the pain away as best I could before reaching, once again, for my gin. Before my paw met the star-slicked glass flanks my pad bleated out the same, mocking chime.
A growl built in my throat as I grasped at it, angrily hurling the offending electronic phantom what few tails my numb shoulder could manage.
Another trick of my mind
Another message from Taisa’s ghost.
Another claim that the Arxur were ‘helping’ them.
Another promise of them coming home when they were done.
Another mote of hope sprouted before being ripped from my grasp.
Another paw of despair.
Another river of tears.
Another dose.
---
First Prev. Next

hi! this is a little thing i wrote (cosplaying as a 4chan post) and i'm just trying to get feedback and comments on what i could do better.
thank you for reading and i look forward to your comments and feedback.

 ***** 

be me

Twenty-three, half-drunk, sidling out of my room to see if the coast is clear. The den looks empty so I glide barefoot across freezing tile. Halfway to the kitchen, I hear my name.

mom is lying down on the couch

I turn and see her, swaddled in a blue blanket, pink satin scarf slipping more and more as she shivers. The scarf hides patches of grey hair that she refuses to shave. It’ll all grow back, you’ll see, she would say. I doubt that, I would reply, but then, moments later, I would Google: Does your hair come back after chemo? and tap on the same blue link from the last time I searched it. 3-6 six months, I remind myself. Three to six months to forget how harrowing the last year and a half have been. Three to six months to bury it all beneath a thick crop of silver hair. I ask her what is going on, and she says it’s a slight fever. Nothing to worry about. I nod slowly, transfixed by her slight stutter, each word bouncing back and forth in rhythm with her shivers. I offer to wet a towel and she refuses. Instead she warns me not to steal any meat from the pot in the kitchen.I roll my eyes.

dad is coming down the stairs and sees u enter the kitchen. he’s been asking you difficult questions

He bellows and the hairs on my neck stand. Our conversation last week replays in my head.

deerinheadlights.jpeg

I shove a piece of fried beef into my mouth. I can’t answer any questions if my mouth is full. It does not stop him from asking. The questions are assaults, rapid fire. So what's the plan? How’s job hunting going? Have you been going for therapy? What is in your mouth? I need you to take your life seriously. WHAT ARE YOU CHEWING. My friend, can you answer me?
Ironing the tell-tale tilt of my loosened tongue flat, my answers manage to match his questions in sharpness. He nods loosely and is about to walk away.

u tell him u want to do a mfa

He turns around and blinks.

he doesn’t know what a mfa is

I hurriedly explain. He stares blankly, then gestures that I follow him into the den. There he settles on the head of the couch and softly caresses my mother’s head. He asks more questions like: what do I plan to do after I graduate, and how do I plan to make money, and if I know school is for something sustainable and practical. I answer each one and shrug at the last. I see him turn my answers over in his head. I already know what's next: Are you sure? But before he can ask, my mother groans. Reflexively, he strokes her head faster, slipping the scarf more and more, while muttering under his breath. It’s okay, it’s okay. I offer to wet a towel again. I’m fine. I’ve taken medicine. I swallow a lump and insist. My father continues muttering, hiding most of his words as soft rumbles in his chest. The words that do escape lose me, but I understand it as prayer. Life can’t bend me because I pray, he had said last week. Prayer is the substance of strength, he said. Prayer as balm, prayer as fertiliser, prayer as deliverance. My mother finally relents, gesturing to a small hand towel in her bag. I run to the bathroom and wet it under a tap, blood pumping in my ears, so I can’t hear when my father is calling me.

he wants to know how much a mfa costs

My father, stroking my mother’s head, is asking me how much a MFA program costs. I see the thermometer on the table, and while rattling off costs per course unit, I point it at her head. Beep. 37.4 degrees Celsius. That's manageable from home, so we can avoid the sterility of another hospital waiting room. I can finally make out the TV in the background, stuck on two men arguing in a store. I drape the towel over my mother’s head and she recoils, teeth shattering. She begs me to take it off, but I make a dry joke about how she’d do the same when I was younger and ill. My father blinks too many times. Then he asks about how much a full year costs and then he goes, wow. He asks how I’ll pay for it. I shrug and say something about finding scholarships. Then he tells me to pray. Prayer as support, prayer as hope, prayer as possibility. Gazing softly at my mother, he says ‘All you need to do is pray, have faith, and leave the rest to God. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do’. I nod. He blinks faster, eyes reddening.

he’s supportive?

He sighs. He says: hope you've thought it through.

surprisedpikachu.gif

He asks if I believe in my writing. I say yes. My mother shivers. He asks if I’m sure. I say yes. My mother groans. He asks if it’s good enough to earn a scholarship. I say probably not. My mother suddenly mumbles, ‘You should believe in yourself. Don’t be a loser’. I smirk. My father smiles wanly. In three to six months, this will be funnier.

he’s supportive!

He tears into a long story about a woman he once knew and the power of her faith. The story eats itself, an ouroboros that I slip along, mindlessly nodding as we move past conclusions and beginnings until he arrives at the word faith again. On the TV, the arguing men have pulled in the owner of the store. My mother is still shivering, but less so. In three to six months, all grief will be subsumed in a crop of silver hair and laughter.
Umm what do I do with a supportive African father? Is he broken? [red text]

I waited for her to come down for coffee and after handing her a mug and kissing her cheek I decided to ask her about it.
"What was that about last night?" I asked, keeping my tone light so I didn't offend or embarrass her.
She frowned over her cup of coffee, shaking her head like she had no clue what I was referring to.
"You were peeking at me again. From over there." I said, pointing to the spot on the floor by the kitchen island.
She followed my gaze, and when she looked back at me she burst out laughing. She laughed so hard that I couldn't help but join her.
"You creep me the fuck out sometimes, you know that?" I said. She giggled and set her cup on the counter and wrapped her arms around my neck.
"You creep me out all the time. So I guess we're even." She teased.
We said our goodbyes and left for work. As I drove I kept thinking about how creepy it had been seeing her grinning at me from behind the island like that. The sounds her hands made on the floor as she crawled away. I told myself she was just trying to be silly. Just trying to join me in my love of all things horror….
It's not like I was afraid of her. But it still didn't sit right with me.
I started seeing her peeking at me more and more. Sometimes she'd be peeking out from behind the couch or living room curtains. Once she even managed to get inside her grandmother's old trunk that sits at the foot of our bed.
I might not have even known she was there at all had the trunk's old hinges not given her away.
She'd had the lid propped up just enough so that only half of her face peeked through. She'd been grinning like an excited toddler. It was unnerving. I didn't even know what to say to her. All I could do was stare. When I finally found my voice, I asked her why on earth was she doing this. She didn't answer, but she had slowly closed the lid, shutting herself inside the trunk. I just walked away, feeling disturbed.
I didn't understand why she was doing it, but it clearly made her happy. I just hoped she would tire of the game quickly.
Lynn didn't peek at me for the next two weeks. I started to think she was done with her weird prank and I was relieved. We were watching a show on Netflix one night and I jokingly said that I hadn't seen her peeking at me lately, and that she must have given up on her spy game. She looked up at me with a small smile and said, "Maybe I've just gotten better at it."
I didn't say anything but I wondered whether or not she was joking.
For the next few days I couldn't stop thinking about what she'd said. Was she still peeking at me when I wasn't looking and I just hadn't noticed? And if so, what the hell was she getting out of this? I started to feel paranoid, constantly checking whether she was watching from around the corner, or behind a door. I was jumpy whenever I was home and she wasn't in full view of me. I felt stupid and a little crazy.
But after a few weeks without another incident, I began to relax. I stopped checking behind furniture and walls and told myself it was just a bad memory.
Then a few days ago things got so much worse....
Lynn left to go to a friend's, and I lounged on the couch and played a couple games on my laptop.
Around 9pm I hopped in the shower and as I was washing the soap from my hair, I felt that awful feeling that I was being watched. I slowly opened my eyes and almost had a fucking heart attack.
Lynn was peeking from behind the shower curtain, her entire head stretched into the shower, leaving just her body outside. Her long dark hair hung against the curtain, the ends dripping with water. Her mouth hung open in a terrible grin, eyes wide and red, as if she hadn't blinked in a while. I screamed and jumped back against the wall. She didn't move nor did her smile waver. Her makeup ran down her cheeks in two black streaks. She looked giddy and completely deranged. I was fucking terrified.

We stood like that for a few moments, neither of us saying a word. Finally after what felt like forever, she slowly pulled her head back out of the shower, and I watched her blurry figure through the curtain as she moved backwards towards the bathroom door.
A second later the bathroom door slammed shut, hard enough to rattle the mirror. I screamed again, and jumped out of the shower to lock the door. I stayed inside the bathroom for over an hour. Maybe I overreacted to some of you. But joke or not, I wasn't going to put up with the crazy shit anymore. That's what I kept telling myself as I paced in my bathroom, stopping to listen at the door every few minutes.
Suddenly I heard a muffled sound, and I pressed my ear against the bathroom door, straining to listen. I couldn't hear anything but I envisioned Lynn standing on the other side of the door, giggling at her joke.
I felt a surge of anger. I was beyond pissed at being made to feel scared in my own house, and made to hide in the bathroom for an hour. All for what? Some joke? If it was a joke it was an awful one.
"What the fuck Lynn!" I snapped. "This shit is getting really fucking annoying." I waited for her to apologize, or to call me a jerk. But instead I heard a faint moan, so quiet I wondered if I heard it at all, and then complete silence.
"Lynn?" I called out, not able to even hide the shakiness in my voice. I got no response. Just my own heavy breathing.
"I swear to God, just fucking stop it!" I yelled, pounding my fist on the door.
I waited for her to cuss me out, something I would expect from me talking to her like that. I never screamed at her before.
But there was nothing. Just the occasional drip from the shower head.
I won't deny that I was scared. Too afraid to open the damn door and face my own wife. I waited another 30 minutes or so, which feels like a fucking lifetime when you're scared. Finally I decided I wasn't going to spend the night hiding in my bathroom, so I got down on my knees and peered under the door. I almost expected to see her face peeking back at me but thankfully I didn't. I could see straight down the hallway to the top of the stairs, but no Lynn. I didn't know if I should be happy about that or not. I looked for a few minutes, waiting to see her head pop up over the top step, but it never came.
I stood up, my hand hovering over the door and mentally prepared myself to open it. I slowly turned the lock with shaky fingers, and was about to yank it open when I heard a sound that still makes me feel nauseous when I think about it.
A moan, louder than before, but this time I was able to tell just where it was coming from. I turned my head to the closet door as if in slow motion, and locked eyes with my wife who was peeking out at me from the slight gap.
Her eyes were still wide as ever and her mouth was hanging open in the most grotesque gaping smile I'd ever seen. I didn't even scream. I was too scared for even that. Her hands were clasped to her chest, body trembling with sheer delight, as if she could barely contain her excitement. A short raspy moan bubbled up from her throat, deep and raw, sending a shiver through my entire body. Subscribe for part 2

See Chapters 1 and 2 for the previous parts of this story.

Chapter 3

Alyssa ran. Adrenaline and the lingering energy of the mushrooms coursed through her veins as she sprang away from the cave. Her feet slipped in the muddy earth as she fled. The figure gave pursuit, its movements deliberate and direct.
As it began to move after her, Alyssa saw the figure uncoil a length of chain from its belt. The metal links glinted in the starlight, a promise of violence that urged Alyssa to push herself harder; to fly across the unforgiving ground before she felt its bite.
Alyssa’s heart pounded in time with her racing feet, and the mouse clung to her shoulder, its fears and fate now intrinsically tied with her own as the pair raced for their lives.
Behind her, Alyssa heard the gaunt figure's voice ring out, "Fly all you wish, child. I will never cease my pursuit. Your trespass will be rectified." Its words were punctuated by the rattle of chains; a chilling promise of what awaited her if she were caught.
Alyssa practically flew across the uneven ground, hardly noticing as her bare feet landed on sharp rocks or the prickly evergreen needles that served as forest floor. Low hanging branches snatched at her hair and shirt, and she screamed and raised her hands to fend them off as she plunged through to the other side.
Panic surged through her veins, mingling with the lingering energy of the mushrooms. Alyssa's mind raced, desperately seeking a way to evade her pursuer. The mouse's tiny heartbeat hammered against her neck, but offered no guidance other than the clear and obvious need to keep running.
As the ground began to slope upward, Alyssa's legs burned with the effort of propelling herself forward. The earth was soft and yielding beneath her feet, slowing her down. Alyssa stumbled, and its hand barely missed swiping her as she scrambled back to her feet with a surge of frustrated energy.
She was exhausted. After the hours of trying to escape the pools, she felt overwhelmed by the sudden pursuit. She risked a glance over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of the figure behind her, its cold blue eyes fixed on her with an unwavering intensity. Hopelessness consumed her as she realized how desperate her situation had become. "I can't--" Alyssa gulped for air, her pulse pounding in her ears. "--can't keep this up." Sweat mingled with the tears on her cheeks, and a sob threatened to choke her. There had to be a way out, an escape. If only--
The mouse's squeal of warning came too late. Alyssa's foot met empty air as she plunged over the edge of a cliff she hadn't even realized was there. She screamed as branches whipped past her face, scratching and snatching at her skin and shirt.
A branch caught her weight, knocking the wind out of her. It bowed deeply before snapping with a sickening crack. Alyssa flailed her arms, desperately grasping for something--anything!--to slow her descent.
Her hand closed around another branch, but her momentum ripped it from her grasp, taking a layer of skin with it. The next branch held, jerking her to a sudden and jarring stop. The pouch of mushrooms at Alyssa's hip burst open, scattering her glowing prize on the ground just a few feet below.
With a groan, Alyssa let go, dropping the remaining distance. Pain lanced through her body as she landed hard, and she stung all over from numerous cuts and scratches. She knew she needed to keep moving, but the mere thought of standing seemed an impossible task.
Convinced her relentless pursuer would not be deterred by the cliff, Alyssa risked another glance upward. She spotted the gaunt figure, its cold, malevolent gaze fixed upon her. Then, to her surprise, it turned and began walking along the cliff's edge, apparently in search of another way down.
In that moment of reprieve, Alyssa collapsed to her knees, a helpless sob of pain and terror escaping her lips. The mouse leapt off her shoulder and began dragging mushrooms from where they'd fallen towards her. She could sense the little mouse's terror and determination. Did it truly care for her? Or maybe it was just trying to return the favor. Watching the mouse's determined efforts, Alyssa desperately wished she would wake up from this nightmare.
When her little companion nudged a glowing cap towards her fingers, Alyssa took it with a trembling hand and brought it to her mouth. She swallowed, and once again energy coursed through her. "Whoa," she breathed, as she felt the pain from her injuries fade into the distance. The pain didn't disappear entirely; she wasn't fully healed, but the buzzing energy from the mushrooms overrode the worst of it.
"Okay, okay," she whispered to herself, summoning the will to keep going. She'd made it this far; she wasn't going to let the fall stop her when nothing else had. Glancing up at the cliff's edge, she saw no sign of her pursuer, but she knew better than to assume he had given up the chase.
Alyssa worked quickly, aided by her small companion, to gather the scattered mushrooms. Once the glowing caps were secured in her makeshift pouch, she tied it securely to her hip. "Stay focused," she admonished herself, as she scanned the terrain for options.
The fall had bought her time only because the strange creature seemed disinclined to try the suicidal leap she'd taken, but she knew it would find another way down. She couldn't afford to make that mistake again. Extending her hand, she waited for the mouse to scamper up her arm onto its familiar perch at her shoulder, then pushed herself to her feet.
Alyssa set off at a cautious pace, following the cliff's edge in the opposite direction she had seen the figure heading. Although each step carried her further from the perceived threat, she couldn't shake the feeling that the creature was drawing ever closer.
Warmed by the soft fur of the mouse at her neck, Alyssa pressed on, her mind racing with possibilities and her senses heightened by the lingering effects of the mushrooms and her own adrenaline. She had to find a way out of this nightmare, but the forest seemed to stretch on endlessly. Escape seemed impossible, but she was determined to keep going.
Alyssa and her companion traveled in silence for a time. As she jogged along the ever-growing cliff face, Alyssa cast furtive glances over her shoulder, half-expecting to see the gaunt figure pursuing her at any moment. Her thoughts were of escape, but she had no idea how to accomplish it. The forest seemed to stretch on endlessly, and the cliff face showed no signs of ending.
Deep in her own thoughts, Alyssa didn't notice the low rumble from ahead of her until she was nearly upon it. She slowed to a halt, and the mouse on her shoulder sniffed the air curiously. The little creature seemed more curious than afraid, which gave Alyssa some reassurance as she put a hand on the cliff-face and continued around the bend.
Ahead, she spotted a waterfall cascading down the cliff face. The water was crystal clear, and the sound of it was deep and soothing. Alyssa's heart leapt at the sight. She had been so focused on escape that she hadn't realized how thirsty she was. She knelt beside a pool where the water and cupped her hands, drinking deeply. The water was cool and refreshing, and Alyssa felt a sense of relief as she drank. The mouse chittered and scampered down her arm to drink as well.
Alyssa watched it for a moment, then turned her attention back to the river. She splashed some on her face, washing away the sweat and grime of her flight, then scrubbed her hands and arms as well, washing away the blood and dirt that had accumulated there. She had to keep moving, but she felt a moment of peace as she knelt beside the water.
The sound of the waterfall was soothing, and the cool water invigorated her. Unfortunately, it also prevented her from continuing along the cliff face. The stream was too wide, the water too deep to cross easily. Alyssa let out a sigh, then offered the little mouse a hand up to her shoulder. "Come on," she said to the little creature as it reclaimed its place on her neck. "We have to keep moving."
Following the river proved easy enough as the river wound its way from the cliff. The forest began to thin, and the underbrush grew less dense. The trees were smaller, here, allowing the strange light of the too-colorful stars to filter through the canopy above. Alyssa felt a sense of relief as she walked, the cool air and the sound of the river soothed her nerves. Alyssa found herself humming softly as she walked along the meandering riverbank as it rose to short cliffs and fell to sandy beaches. The sound of the water was a constant companion. For the first time since she awoke in the watery cavern, she felt a sense of hope. Maybe, just maybe, she could find a way out of this nightmare.
No sooner did the thought cross her mind than she heard the sound of a chain rattling just ahead. It was all the warning Alyssa got before the gaunt figure stepped out from behind a tree, the chain whirling in his hand. Alyssa and the mouse screamed in unison as the figure lunged at her. She ducked below the attack and rushed forward, using his momentum against him as she ran past. The mouse chittered and squeaked as it clung to her shoulder, and Alyssa felt a surge of adrenaline as she ran.
"Mushroom," she reminded herself, as she reached down to the pouch at her hip. She pulled out one of the glowing caps and shoved it between her teeth, swallowing it whole. The world around her seemed to slow as the mushroom took effect, and Alyssa felt a surge of energy as she ran. She dodged and weaved through the trees, the strange guardian hot on her heels. She could hear his ragged breath behind her, and the sound of the chain whirling through the air.
The world seemed to narrow to a tunnel around Alyssa as she ran, and the sound of the river and her pursuer faded into the background. She could feel the mushroom working its magic, filling her with energy and strength. She ran faster than she ever had before, her feet barely touching the ground as she flew through the forest. But her pursuer was faster, and he was gaining on her with every step. Worse still, as she crested a hill and looked down into the valley below, she saw that the river cut back against her path, effectively cutting off her escape.
Alyssa's heart sank as she realized she was trapped. She didn't bother to look over her shoulder--that mistake had cost her dearly last time--but she could hear her pursuer gaining on her. After a moment of panic, she made the only logical decision she had left. "Hang on!" was all the warning Alyssa gave her passenger before she turned and leapt off the rocky ledge. The mouse squealed in surprise as Alyssa's arc carried her out over the river, and for a fleeting moment Alyssa felt weightless as she flew through the air.
The water enveloped Alyssa with a shocking cold as she plunged beneath the surface. It was deep, here, with a moderate current. Alyssa's hair billowed around her face as she sought to orient herself, arms and legs kicking to regain control of her momentum. The mouse was gone, and Alyssa felt a surge of concern for the little creature as she swam back towards the light.
Alyssa exploded to the surface with a gasp of air, her eyes scanning the riverbank for any sign of her pursuer. She saw him standing on the cliff above, watching her with what she could only perceive as anger. Slowly, the nightmarish figure began winding the chain around his hand as he turned and disappeared back into the forest.
Alyssa let out a sigh of relief, but it was cut short as she felt an overwhelming sense of panic from downriver. She turned to see the mouse struggling in the water, its tiny paws flailing as it tried to stay afloat. Alyssa's heart leapt into her throat as she put her face into the water and swam to catch the little creature. So much lighter than she, the mouse was being carried away by the current, and Alyssa worried she wouldn't be able to catch it.
Despite her exhaustion and the cold, Alyssa swam with all her might, her arms and legs churning through the water as she fought to catch up to the mouse. She could see the little creature struggling ahead of her, its tiny body barely visible in the dark water. Her muscles burning with the effort, and her lungs ached for air, but Alyssa was in her element. She was a strong swimmer, and after what felt like an eternity of effort, she finally caught up to her friend.
"Here, I've got you!" Alyssa called, as she reached out and scooped the mouse from the water. Gasping for air, she let the river carry them both along for a while as it clung to her hand, shivering and chittering in fear and cold. Alyssa gave a little laugh of elation at realizing they were both safe, for now. She squeezed the mouse gently to her chest, hugging the little rodent, before placing him on her head. With one last glance towards her pursuer, Alyssa turned and swam towards the opposite shore.

I've never read a poem
that offered a cure,
though the voices rise and fall,
their images of comfort
are often mishaped.
So down we go.
I've never heard a song
that served as an antibiotic
to my infected heart.
The melody is plain,
the chorus too bony.
And down through the startling
passage of a dream we go.
I wake with the same dull
and thorny throb in my chest
as I went to sleep with.
Limping through the day,
this ruin of heaviness
has given me a permanent backache.
I've never known a clear road
where the fog distinctly lifts
so I'm not blinded, feeling first
with my heart and then with my hands.
Down we go.
Sorrow is the first gift he ever gave me.
Sorrow is the want that rattles
like a tedious ambition, edging me forward,
moving me on.
I wake from dreams I'm oblivious to.
I open the door to a world filled with
too many others' needs. I enter it anyway.
And down I go.

This my first time ever trying to write,I'ive been inspired to try by friend of mine. we both love fantasy, love mythology and magic. I'm sure you can see the influences In my writing. Please give feedback thanks.
Chapter 1
After easily dodging the head kick from his opponent, Oran countered with a leg sweep and put his foot on the man's chest and finished holding his sword to his opponent's neck. “Yield!” Oran shouted. His opponent a middle-aged man with emerald, green hair and navy-blue eyes, shouted back, “Never!” Oran looked slowly around at the fighting pit crowd while keeping pressure on the man's chest. “May the gods have mercy.” Oran said as he swung the sword in swift motion, ending the green haired man.
Back in the locker room Oran sat down in his locker with his sword beside him. Oran was a boy with dark hair that rivaled the darkest of nighttime skies. His eyes looked white as the moon on its brightest night. His skin was a toffee-tan that identified him as a celestine. Oran sat and contemplated why men would not yield and live to fight another fight in the pits. Maybe it had something to do with being asked to yield by a boy of fifteen. Despite being fifteen Oran was by far one of if not the best fighters in the pits. Oran was an excellent swords man for his age and was very mobile and agile fighter. Oran had been training for the pits all his life, being trained by the owner of the pits himself. The owner was a former fighting champion from a distant world. While he trained Oran personally, he showed no favoritism.
“Boy!” the owner of the pit shouted. He was sitting in his office which was right outside the run-down locker room. Oran knew what the man was upset about and took a deep breathe, he steeled himself. Walking to the office Oran knew the ass-chewing he was about to receive but opened the door to the office anyway. The owner of the pits was an older man, what was once visible blonde hair was now spotted and speckled with gray and white. The man had eyes that were blue as stars. “What did I tell you about killing my fighter's boy!” the owner yelled. “To not to” Oran replied. “Then why do you keep doing it!” the owner shouted back. “You think I like killing, you think I enjoy being the best fighter here. You do, I make you rich.”
Oran said with an attitude that almost sounded arrogant. The owner blinked in suprise from the tone and started laughing. The laughter caught Oran off guard as he had barley seen the man even smile. “You may be the best fighter in my pit boy, you have no idea of the monsters that fight in pits across the cosmos. You may even be the best fighter in the Moon kingdom, but don’t go thinking just because you can swing a sword means that you are anything special. You would get eaten alive, literally on other worlds. However, you are right, you do make me rich, your cut of the bet's boy.” The owner threw Oran a small bag of coins which Oran caught and shook to hear the coins rattle against each other and then placed them in his pocket. “Your next fight is in three days; I’ll make sure to find somebody who will take that sharp tone you spoke to me with and stab you with it. Oh, and clean your sword up would you, I didn’t give it to you, so you let blood stain it.”
Oran got up without saying another word and grabbed his sword from his locker and took it to showers to clean. The sword the owner gave to Oran was a formidable weapon, forged out of a metal that Oran didn’t recognize. The sword was not as long as a long sword but bigger than a short sword. It was a silver blade with a regular looking hilt and handle. Oran had been training with the sword since he started fighting at a young age. Oran loved the familiarity of the weight of the blade and the feel of the handle in his hands, as if it was forged for him.
After getting cleaned up Oran got dressed in his robes, put a bracelet on and slung his sword on his hip as he readied himself to go to the local markets of the market district of the Moon Kingdom. The Moon kingdom was named because of its ten moons that it had in its orbit. Each moon provided valuable resources to the moon kingdom and allowed the kingdom to be one of the main space ports in its area of the cosmos. Oran liked walking along the markets and seeing the families that were shopping there. He likes to imagine what it would be like to do something as simple as walk the markets with a family of his own. The bracelet Oran had put on was something fighters had to wear if they left the pit, it allowed owners of the pits to find them and did not allow the fighters to leave the cities.
Suddenly Orans bracelet glowed a blood red and Oran looked up to see the sun start to set. This indicated it was time to head back to the pits. The fighters all thier own rooms, if you could call it a room. The rooms were not much bigger than a closet. Lying in bed Oran was still thinking about the families in the markets, how they cared for one another no matter what, then his thoughts drifted to the green haired man who refused to yield like the countless others Oran faced. Oran wondered if that man had a family, if they would miss him. Orans thoughts eventually faded as his mind wondered off into the realm of dreams.
In his dream Oran is lying on a castle roof top. Oran notices first how bright the stars were in the night sky, he had never seen anything like it. He stood up and made his way to the edge where he could see a massive city that was engulfed in flames. He looked at the castle gates and saw a massive battle taking place on both sides of the gates. The castle defenses had fallen and were being overrun. In the battle was man in armor slicing through enemies like he was a skilled chef, and the enemies were food ready to be cooked. The man had black hair just like Oran except his hair had little blue dots that were glowing bright just like the stars in the sky. The man fought well but was overwhelmed but hundreds if not thousands of enemies and was lost in the chaos.
Oran heard a voice behind him, turned and saw nothing. He heard it again and turned, but it's not clear what is being said. Oran looks up at the stars while backing towards the edge of the tower. Not watching where he is stepping Oran falls, right before Oran hits the ground, he can hear the voice as clear as the night sky, “Rise Orion, your kingdom awaits” Oran wakes like he struck by lightning, drenched in sweat he whispers to himself “Who the hell is Orion.”

End of chapter 1 

this is my attempt at trying to write, I am a huge fan of fantasy and I think you can tell the influences in my writing. its nothing special yet but if its enjoyed I will continue to write.
Chapter 1
After easily dodging the head kick from his opponent, Oran countered with a leg sweep and put his foot on the man's chest and finished holding his sword to his opponent's neck. “Yield!” Oran shouted. His opponent a middle-aged man with emerald, green hair and navy-blue eyes, shouted back, “Never!” Oran looked slowly around at the fighting pit crowd while keeping pressure on the man's chest. “May the gods have mercy.” Oran said as he swung the sword in swift motion, ending the green haired man.
Back in the locker room Oran sat down in his locker with his sword beside him. Oran was a boy with dark hair that rivaled the darkest of nighttime skies. His eyes looked white as the moon on its brightest night. His skin was a toffee-tan that identified him as a celestine. Oran sat and contemplated why men would not yield and live to fight another fight in the pits. Maybe it had something to do with being asked to yield by a boy of fifteen. Despite being fifteen Oran was by far one of if not the best fighters in the pits. Oran was an excellent swords man for his age and was very mobile and agile fighter. Oran had been training for the pits all his life, being trained by the owner of the pits himself. The owner was a former fighting champion from a distant world. While he trained Oran personally, he showed no favoritism.
“Boy!” the owner of the pit shouted. He was sitting in his office which was right outside the run-down locker room. Oran knew what the man was upset about and took a deep breathe, he steeled himself. Walking to the office Oran knew the ass-chewing he was about to receive but opened the door to the office anyway. The owner of the pits was an older man, what was once visible blonde hair was now spotted and speckled with gray and white. The man had eyes that were blue as stars. “What did I tell you about killing my fighter's boy!” the owner yelled. “To not to” Oran replied. “Then why do you keep doing it!” the owner shouted back. “You think I like killing, you think I enjoy being the best fighter here. You do, I make you rich.”
Oran said with an attitude that almost sounded arrogant. The owner blinked in suprise from the tone and started laughing. The laughter caught Oran off guard as he had barley seen the man even smile. “You may be the best fighter in my pit boy, you have no idea of the monsters that fight in pits across the cosmos. You may even be the best fighter in the Moon kingdom, but don’t go thinking just because you can swing a sword means that you are anything special. You would get eaten alive, literally on other worlds. However, you are right, you do make me rich, your cut of the bet's boy.” The owner threw Oran a small bag of coins which Oran caught and shook to hear the coins rattle against each other and then placed them in his pocket. “Your next fight is in three days; I’ll make sure to find somebody who will take that sharp tone you spoke to me with and stab you with it. Oh, and clean your sword up would you, I didn’t give it to you, so you let blood stain it.”
Oran got up without saying another word and grabbed his sword from his locker and took it to showers to clean. The sword the owner gave to Oran was a formidable weapon, forged out of a metal that Oran didn’t recognize. The sword was not as long as a long sword but bigger than a short sword. It was a silver blade with a regular looking hilt and handle. Oran had been training with the sword since he started fighting at a young age. Oran loved the familiarity of the weight of the blade and the feel of the handle in his hands, as if it was forged for him.
After getting cleaned up Oran got dressed in his robes, put a bracelet on and slung his sword on his hip as he readied himself to go to the local markets of the market district of the Moon Kingdom. The Moon kingdom was named because of its ten moons that it had in its orbit. Each moon provided valuable resources to the moon kingdom and allowed the kingdom to be one of the main space ports in its area of the cosmos. Oran liked walking along the markets and seeing the families that were shopping there. He likes to imagine what it would be like to do something as simple as walk the markets with a family of his own. The bracelet Oran had put on was something fighters had to wear if they left the pit, it allowed owners of the pits to find them and did not allow the fighters to leave the cities.
Suddenly Orans bracelet glowed a blood red and Oran looked up to see the sun start to set. This indicated it was time to head back to the pits. The fighters all thier own rooms, if you could call it a room. The rooms were not much bigger than a closet. Lying in bed Oran was still thinking about the families in the markets, how they cared for one another no matter what, then his thoughts drifted to the green haired man who refused to yield like the countless others Oran faced. Oran wondered if that man had a family, if they would miss him. Orans thoughts eventually faded as his mind wondered off into the realm of dreams.
In his dream Oran is lying on a castle roof top. Oran notices first how bright the stars were in the night sky, he had never seen anything like it. He stood up and made his way to the edge where he could see a massive city that was engulfed in flames. He looked at the castle gates and saw a massive battle taking place on both sides of the gates. The castle defenses had fallen and were being overrun. In the battle was man in armor slicing through enemies like he was a skilled chef, and the enemies were food ready to be cooked. The man had black hair just like Oran except his hair had little blue dots that were glowing bright just like the stars in the sky. The man fought well but was overwhelmed but hundreds if not thousands of enemies and was lost in the chaos.
Oran heard a voice behind him, turned and saw nothing. He heard it again and turned, but it's not clear what is being said. Oran looks up at the stars while backing towards the edge of the tower. Not watching where he is stepping Oran falls, right before Oran hits the ground, he can hear the voice as clear as the night sky, “Rise Orion, your kingdom awaits” Oran wakes like he struck by lightning, drenched in sweat he whispers to himself “Who the hell is Orion.”

End of chapter 1 

Synopsis:
An engineer from earth blends science and magic to achieve greatness in another world where skills and levels reign supreme.
—
Ethan was just a plain old engineer, but everything changed when he was reborn into a world of skills, levels, and magic. With his advanced knowledge far ahead of the time period he finds himself in, this new reincarnated life will be much different than his last, especially because he can construct, deconstruct, and reconstruct runes—something no one else can do.
But with royal politics, looming tax collectors, a mountain of debt, dungeon incursions, cults, and hostile fantasy races mixing together into a cocktail of bullshit that threatens to bury his dreams; Ethan must bridge the gap between steel and sorcery to grow stronger. — What to Expect:
- Weak to very strong progression with a Sword & Magic MC that kicks a whole lotta ass. - Fast pacing. A balance of action galore, politics, kingdom building, and slow-burn runecrafting. - Fun, satisfying moments. An extra shot of happiness when reading. Hardcore wish fulfillment. Hyper competent MC. - MC will trigger an industrial revolution, revolutionize magic, modernize agriculture, communication, commerce, textile production, education, transportation, sanitation, weapons manufacturing, leisure & entertainment, and medicine. - Dark truths of a medieval-esque society going under change.
First < Previous Next > (Patreon)
Author's Note: Hello there! I hope y'all are doing great!
First off, this novel will be updating again soon. The update schedule will be 1 chapter every 2 days once I have dealt with RR.
Second, I've finally launched on Royal Road! I'm so excited; thrilled. I would love to have a shot at Rising Star—so that I can continue writing without financial concerns. Thus, I am going to need your help! IF you have been enjoying the novel here, I would be grateful if you could drop a follow on Royal Road, I'd be even happier if you could drop a rating (or a review) on Royal Road if you have enjoyed reading it here on Reddit. Anyway, that's all!
Link: Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World [Kingdom Building LitRPG] Royal Road

Chapter 08

Ethan took the book from Roland’s hand.
“My lord, this is what I’ve managed to get. Though, a man named Derrick was also interested in meeting you, so you can likely get more detailed books later.”
“Sure, thank you.”
Bowing, Roland left Ethan’s room. Ethan sifted through the book he’d secured about magic. It was written in a tongue that he somehow understood through [Myriad Tongue]. The magic in this world was rather simple. It’s a damn RPG-lite... At age twelve, people would awaken their system—a ceremony called System Day was held every year. Everyone of age twelve would be in this ceremony. If you got bound by the system you’d be able to gain a Class, if nothing happened, you’d be branded with a marker indicating you lacked magic—somewhat looked down upon, especially among nobles.
Theodore had essentially failed to awaken, thus the interest in him from his father had practically vanished, and due to this, the old man had slowly pushed him out of the family. And now, Theodore ruled Holden—a Barony in name only. It was only because Ethan transmigrated that the system awakened and he could choose a class.
Ethan read through the long and boring description inside the book, and by the end of reading it, he understood more about how things functioned around here.
Most importantly, he knew now that [Basic Rune Creation] could get him in trouble if used irresponsibly. It wasn’t possible to “create” runes...
Runes formed when magic in a certain area exceeded a threshold of sorts. If enough mana was circulated in one area for a long period, it could eventually form runes; however, runes were rare and elusive. To “create” a rune, the area needed had to be capable of holding enough mana. Thus, mostly, runes were formed inside the Great Dungeon. Great Dungeon—a dungeon sprawled beneath the earth. There were countless “entrances”. Regardless, you couldn’t simply “create” a rune yourself. Countless experiments had been carried out to understand runes and how to manipulate them, but none of it had ever amounted to anything.
So, all in all, Ethan would be playing with fire. If his skill was to be revealed... he’d undoubtedly be used as a lab rat, or worse, used as a rune generator.
Hmm... It’s dangerous... but, if I could create tiny—very tiny—runes, or more like, rune motes, it wouldn’t be a problem. Rune Motes were the middle ground between mana and fully made runes. And, there were a shit ton of them in the world. No one would suspect a thing. All he needed was for the Rune Motes to suck mana from their surroundings to survive. If he could get that working, Ethan’s mind would be flooded with possibilities.
What can’t runes do? Ethan grinned. Mana-compatible runes could manipulate and change the world itself...
“Okay, it’s decided then,” Ethan mumbled.
He slammed the book shut. Ethan rose, tensing his jaw, and sat cross-legged on his bed. He closed his eyes, focusing on the meager mana swirling inside him as a Level 01 [Mage]. Activating his skill, a mental image formed—a wisp of pure energy. A very small wisp. A mote. One that could be turned into a full rune if combined. But he would create them in such a way that they couldn’t be combined—every set would be lacking a crucial piece.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 1 -> Lvl 2!
The image flickered, unstable. Sweat beaded on Ethan’s brow. He pushed harder, picturing the mote condensing, solidifying. Why’s it harder to create rune motes compared to runes?
A spark erupted in his mind, sharp and unexpected. His vision swam momentarily as the nascent rune mote flickered into existence before dissipating with a faint pop.
He gritted his teeth. That was close. Ethan refused to give up. He experimented, adjusting his focus, visualizing the mote drawing in the sparse mana like a tiny, hungry vortex.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 2 -> Lvl 3!
Another attempt. This time, the mote flickered for a heartbeat longer before dissolving. Tiny beads of success. One more time—this time, the vortex pulsed into existence, a dozen motes swirling within, each flickering with a faint, hungry glow. Success! A laugh escaped his lips as he spent the next few hours diligently creating more motes.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 3 -> Lvl 4!
The night went on. Ethan was exhausted but exhilarated, but felt a surge of satisfaction when he looked around at the increasing number of rune motes.
His level got stuck there, b as he spent the next two days refining the process, he learned to create multiple motes at once. That elicited another level up.
[Basic Rune Creation] – Lvl 4 -> Lvl 5!
***
A satisfied grin stretched across Jack’s face. He tapped a finger against the hefty tome, its pages now filled not just with Blight patterns but with intricate diagrams—the base spell was complete, and it would do everything they wanted it to do. Lord Theodore had given him an excellent solution after reading through the convoluted idea he’d planned. Due to Lord Theodore’s contribution, the solution had solidified into a plan, a beautiful monstrosity of a plan, but a plan nonetheless. Excitement bubbled in his chest as he stared at Lord Theodore—he had bags under his eye; no doubt he’d been working tirelessly on this issue!
“Are you sure, my lord?” Jack asked, barely containing himself. “Using rune motes would be expensive. I’m sure you’ve had to spend a hefty sum to get these...” Jack gestured at the bag full of rune motes. They shimmered faintly in his gaze, barely noticeable, but the effect was truly beautiful when hundreds or more were gathered.
“Do not worry about the prices.” Lord Theodore said. “Also, this matter must remain between us at all costs. Now,” Theodore waved his finger. “Go, get it done. Before that, however, I need an [Oath].”
Jack’s smile froze, eyes turning serious. “An [Oath]?”
“You must realize the impact your earlier plan would’ve had—your ideas cannot be allowed to fall into the wrong hands, or this situation could become even more dire.”
“Ideas?”
“Your convoluted plan to imbue mana into soap...” Lord Theodore gave him a dry stare.
Jack coughed, and gave a stiff nod. He hadn’t realized, in his excitement, the impact of what he’d made. The impact it could have on the world. After Lord Theodore’s explanation, however, it hadn’t been hard to connect the dots.
“Lastly, I want you to take an [Oath] of exclusivity. I’m planning on employing you permanently.” Theodore smiled, clasping his hands on his lap. “How does that sound?”
Jack froze.
Lord Theodore grinned slyly. “Let us negotiate, eh?”
...
He’d done it.
He’d completed it!
Granted, his initial ideas had been a tad too ambitious and convoluted, the answer was rather simple... mana gathering rune motes. Each soap needed to have a mana-gathering rune inside it. Even if low-grade, it would suffice. He’d had to swear an [Oath], the contents of which made him grimace at times, believing he’d somehow been ripped off. But he was over the moon, as his future had been solidified.
Before he could begin production, Lord Theodore wanted some samples, and he’d just done that!
Now, as Jack stared at the soap, a sense of dread swelled inside him. Would the idea pan out? What if the motes would suddenly eat too much mana and cause some issues?
Jack knelt beside the soap bar, and poked it with a finger. After some tests, he relaxed and exhaled a sigh of relief. “Success,” he whispered, smiling, then grinning. His project had succeeded—
—but there were hundreds of soaps he needed to imbue yet, and not to mention he still had the whole nexus to build. He gulped as the daunting task loomed ahead.
***
The morning chill clung to Gilbert’s worn cloak as he tightened the cinch. Beside him, Edgar adjusted the pack slung across his broad back, the weight of the ledgers settling a groan from his lips. Holden. The very name brought a grimace to Gilbert’s weathered face.
“Still can’t believe Theodore inherited the Barony,” Edgar grumbled, his voice rough with morning grog. “A wastrel like him, fit only for chasing skirts and gambling away his inheritance.”
Gilbert grunted in agreement. “Lord Baelgard wouldn’t have stood for such nonsense. Used to say a full treasury is mightier than any castle wall.” Lord Baelgard, the previous Baron of Holden, was a legend in their corner of the kingdom. A stern but just man, he’d kept his coffers overflowing and his people secure. Theodore, however, was rumored to be the opposite—a spendthrift with a penchant for lavish parties and losing bets.
“Just wait till we reach Holden and see the state of his coffers. Empty as a troll’s skull, I tell you.”
They had left the bustling Capital weeks ago, tasked with collecting the annual taxes from the far-flung reaches of the kingdom. They’d sifted through cities and towns and now would soon be reaching Holden, one of the bordertowns—they still had more towns to go through after all. Their last visit, three years prior, had been a near-riot. Theodore, having spent the kingdom’s allotment on lavish galas and exotic beasts (a snow leopard, Gilbert remembered, the creature looking as miserable as a fish out of water in the Holden kennels), had refused to pay a single copper. It had taken the arrival of a contingent of royal guards, led by the stern Lord Commander himself, to shake loose a pittance—a fraction of what Holden truly owed. They’d taken the exotic beasts and more, and Theodore had begged, saying he’d pay back in full next time around.
Let’s see if you can. Gilbert chuckled. “Bet he’s already holed himself up in that drafty castle of his,” Gilbert said, “pretending he’s ill or some such nonsense. I pity the peasants, to be honest.” he muttered, kicking at a pebble as they made way to their horses.
The peasants of Holden were some of the most stoic he had encountered in his years as a tax collector. Yet, even their hardy spirit could be broken. The last time, their faces had been gaunt, eyes dull with resignation.
“Aye,” Edgar agreed, his voice gruff but laced with a surprising amount of something he could only assume to be sympathy. “But you know the king’s orders—all the taxes, every last copper.” His voice was cold—a rumbling sound that seemed to rattle the stones beneath their feet; it might just have; the man was a strong [Mage] from the Red Tower of Magic.
Gilbert knew. This wasn’t just about collecting money—it was about asserting the king’s authority in every corner of the realm.
...
On their journey, as they huddled around a sputtering fire, a raven landed on a nearby branch. Its Obsidian eyes glinted in the firelight. Edgar shooed it away.
“Not a good omen,” he muttered, tossing another log onto the fire.
Gilbert scoffed. “Superstition, Edgar. It’s just a bird.”
Their journey took an unexpected turn a few days later. A swollen river, churned brown by recent rains, barred their path. The rickety bridge that usually spanned the gap was missing, swept away by the angry current. They were forced to take a detour, adding precious days to their already long journey. Food supplies dwindled, forcing them to rely on foraging and the meager generosity of passing traders.
Thus, they decided to remain longer in a town called Siez to resupply.
Then, they would need to sift through five more cities before they could head for the Bordertowns.
Regardless, Gilbert looked forward to their meeting with Theodore.
First < Previous Next > (Patreon)
Author's Note: Hello there! I hope y'all are doing great!
First off, this novel will be updating again soon. The update schedule will be 1 chapter every 2 days once I have dealt with RR.
Second, I've finally launched on Royal Road! I'm so excited; thrilled. I would love to have a shot at Rising Star—so that I can continue writing without financial concerns. Thus, I am going to need your help! IF you have been enjoying the novel here, I would be grateful if you could drop a follow on Royal Road, I'd be even happier if you could drop a rating (or a review) on Royal Road if you have enjoyed reading it here on Reddit. Anyway, that's all!
You can read up to 10 Chapters ahead on Patreon!
Note: I use the new subscription model. Meaning, you will get a full month regardless of when you subscribe. For example, if you subscribe on 16th, you will be charged then and there, and going forward, you will be charged on the 16th next month.
Link: Industrial Mage: Modernizing a Magical World [Kingdom Building LitRPG] Royal Road
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Interesting, aint it, the kind of tricks your mind can play. I know all the man did was walk through town and shoot someone, hardly even even worth mentioning these days. But knowing who he was, what he was, my memory now tells a far different story.
It was as if the winds themselves were humbled by his arrival, not so much as the coarse scraping of dust blowing over dust, the world growing quiet just to be sure we could hear it. That slow, rhythmic clop of a single horse. It was almost like... music. Not the jaunty piano of a saloon, or the soulful plucking of a travelling guitar man. These were war drums, plain and simple. It’s the darnedest thing, I know full well there were two of them, that native fella with the necklace of bones just a few paces behind. But in my mind, that second horse was silent as the dead, letting all attention go to the frontward rider.
I swear, I’d never seen clothing so dark as this man wore, like it were stitched from the space between the stars, like the sun set early for him alone. And do people usually kick up that much dust when their feet touch the ground? The dirt seemed to flee from his boots, maybe to honour the dirt of the grave they say he crawled out of.
Word is he was a lawman in life, but I aint ever seen eyes that fierce on no lawman. I kind of figured revenants would look soulless, void of emotion, like a doll being puppeteered by the ghost of the departed. That couldn’t be further from the truth. There was something in them eyes. Not hate I don’t reckon, more like... drive. You know that look a snake gets when it spots a rodent? He strutted through the streets like he owned them, his spurs heavy like chains. Though, I think the moment they too grew silent was more unnerving still, the moment the hunter put his prey in sight, the moment you knew one of the two weren’t walking out of there.
And then, in a flash, it was over. The silence that had consumed this scene broken by the sound of two gunshots, close enough together that they damn near passed as one. The sound rang out, seeming to rattle every piece of metal in the town, before rolling off the distant hills. Both the black rider and poor ol’ Curtis took a nasty shot to the chest, course only one of them was still standing after. Then just as swiftly as he arrived, the rider climbed back up on his horse and rode out. No urgency, no rush, just them same war drums fading off into the distance.
I aint a nosey fella usually, but I have to wonder what Curtis did to provoke such drive in the rider’s eyes. Was this vengeance, or was the rider drawn to him like vultures to a corpse? I wish I knew, cause frankly, I don't ever want to be the rodent caught in his stare.

Hi, I’m 22 female 150lbs. I am trying to sleep but for the past day I have felt like I had to catch my breath and just couldn’t. I also felt a lump in my throat which was weird and not something that I normally have. I then noticed tightness in my chest. I am not new to anxiety. I have had it for the past 2.5 years. But something about not knowing all the way if that’s what it is is freaking me out. I decided to go to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I am jerked awake in a weird sensation( almost like my body is rattling). And a second ago it was because both of my arms were tingling like they weren’t getting blood in them or something. And my upper chest is tingling on both sides but mainly on the left side. It’s right on the pectoral muscle. I just want to sleep because I have a big day tomorrow, but I think I have worked myself up all day and now can’t sleep because I’m terrified. Someone please tell me that I am okay. I think that I am having a heart attack because I looked my symptoms up and that’s what it could be. So now I’m freaking out. I think it’s building to a panic attack. My chest is currently tingling.
Symptoms again: Lump in throat (hard to catch my breath). Chest and arm tingling. When I close my eyes I am jolted awake. Rib soreness( on the back and around sides)

First / Previous / Royal Road / Patreon (Read 12 Chapters Ahead)

A short while later, Alain and Felix came marching out of the gun store, both of them sporting new bandoleers filled with shotgun shells. Felix had slung his Winchester rifle and instead opted to carry a double-barrel coach gun, similar to Alain's. The two of them walked through town shoulder-to-shoulder, until they reached Sable and Az, who were waiting for them.
"Took you both long enough," Sable said, impatient.
"Can't rush the art of reloading, Sable," Alain replied. "Are we ready?"

Az nodded. "We've already told the townspeople to hold here and prepare for a fight in case things go belly-up down there. There shouldn't be very many surprises."
"Then what are we waiting for?" Felix questioned. "Let's go."
With that, the four of them headed for the mines. There was no resistance on the way there – rather, it was deathly quiet. Alain couldn't help but tense as the silence washed over him. Eventually, though, they reached the opening to the mines, then after a brief moment to collect themselves, pushed in.
There were a few undead still wandering through the mine shafts, but Az and Sable made quick work of them as they all advanced. Within just a few minutes, they reached the barrier once more.
"You all ready?" Alain asked.
"Just do it," Sable commanded.
He nodded, then broke open his shotgun and replaced the shells full of buckshot with the ammunition that he and Felix had reloaded. A pull of his gun's dual triggers fired both barrels simultaneously, sending chunks of sharpened bone screaming towards the barrier. They made impact, and there was a loud sound like glass shattering as the barrier broke. Alain stood there for a moment, stunned that it had actually worked, only to snap out of it as the others rushed past him. He hastily reloaded his shotgun, then moved in after them.
They all advanced down yet another mine shaft, though this one was completely barren of any undead. Still, they moved cautiously, unwilling to risk stumbling into an ambush. As they descended down, it got progressively darker, with only wall-mounted torches to light their way; Felix took one down and held it in his off-hand, illuminating the path forward as they walked.
Alain couldn't help but note that the floor underneath their feet was stained with dried blood, as if a body or several had been dragged across the ground.
As they drew closer, Alain heard it – a young woman's muffled cries and pleas, followed by the baying of a small crowd. His eyes widened, and he rushed forwards with his gun already in his shoulder. The path ahead was suddenly illuminated with a wide array of torches, and he barreled on without a care, finally emerging into a large chamber.
He only made it about three steps into the room when he felt cold metal against the back of his head, followed by the telltale click of a revolver's hammer being cocked back. His eyes narrowed, even as his grip on his shotgun slackened.
"Ansley," he guessed.
"Wrong," an unfamiliar voice answered with a sneer.
"Tobias, now is not the time to play with your food," Ansley called from off in the distance. "Our time draws short."
Alain turned towards him, and his breath caught in his throat at what he saw. Ansley was dressed in a set of blood red robes and standing over a stone altar, a bloodstained dagger held in his hand. Just underneath him, a young woman clad in only her undergarments was chained to a stone slab, her bonds rattling as she attempted to free herself, to no avail. The slab underneath her was already soaked with crimson. Behind Ansley, Alain could see several wooden caskets piled up.
"So, this is what you've been doing," Alain noted. "Ritualistic sacrifices?"
"How astute of you," Ansley said dryly. "I'll admit, you've been quite the thorn in my side – you and your little entourage, that is. I was hoping those bandits would take care of you or at least keep you busy enough that you wouldn't be a problem anymore, but I can see now that I severely underestimated you."
"Enough with this," Alain replied. "I know what you're after – you want to make yourself immortal."
A grin split Ansley's face. "Talked to Xavier, did you? The old man always was too honest for his own good. But still, that's only half of the plan."
"And the other half?"
"You're a smart man. Look around you, see what you can figure out."
Alain blinked, then did as he was told. He was stunned to find a small crowd of six people gathered nearby, all of them dressed in fancy-looking outfits and adorned with expensive-looking jewelry. His eyes narrowed, and he turned back to Ansley.
"So that's what this is about," Alain ventured. "I'll admit, I'm disappointed."
"Are you, now?"
"I am. Your ledger made it sound so simple. I'm ashamed to know that it really is that simple, after all. Despite everything you've done, all the evil you've committed, it ultimately comes down to nothing more than money."
"Of course it does," Ansley told him. "It all comes back to the almighty dollar. That's how I attracted these people here, anyway – with promises of gold and wealth beyond their wildest dreams. Imagine my surprise when I ran into the old man, and discovered there was something far more valuable than gold that I could sell to these people."
He ran his thumb along the blunt edge of the dagger. The bound girl stared at the blade, her eyes wide and her chest heaving with panicked gasps. Ansley brought a hand up and ran it through her hair.
"Shh, my dear," he urged. "It will all be over soon."
Footsteps from behind him caught Alain's attention, but he didn't dare turn around with the revolver still pressed to the base of his skull. Ansley, however, stood up straighter, glaring into the darkness of the mine shaft.
"Unless you want to see your friend's brains painted across the stone, you'll stop where you are and hang back," he warned.
All three of them immediately froze where they stood. Sable leveled a glare at Ansley from just outside the entrance to the room.
"Foolish mortal," she said. "You have no idea the kind of powers you're meddling with by doing this."
"On the contrary, my dear – I know exactly what the consequences are for doing this. Why do you think I'm so dead-set on seeing it through to the end?" Ansley shook his head. "But enough talk. It's good that you four showed up – you'll get to see our rebirth… and at the end of it all, you will be the first ones to be brushed aside by us as we usher in a new age."
Ansley suddenly raised the dagger, the point aimed square at the young woman's heart. Her eyes widened and she thrashed against the stone slab, desperate to free herself from her restraints, but it was no use. The blade glinted in the torchlight as it came down hard enough to pierce straight through her ribcage. Her body tensed, but then slackened a second later as the breath left her.
For a moment, nothing happened, even as Ansley roughly removed the blood-soaked dagger with a sickening squelch. But as Alain watched, the shadows in the room began to shift. They elongated, creeping out from the corners they'd been banished to by the firelight, steadily reaching towards Ansley. He eyed them with a wild, wide grin.
"Yes!" he proclaimed. "I knew it would work!"
Alain watched as several of the shadows diverted course, splitting off from the one headed towards Ansley. One of them began to move towards him, and for a brief instant, he was worried that it would make contact with him, but it didn't – instead, it bypassed him entirely, aiming for Tobias.
"Fascinating…" Alain heard him mutter under his breath. "This is simply div-"
Before he could finish his sentence, the shadow suddenly retracted into itself, then shot forward as a large, jagged spike. It passed just above Alain's shoulder, causing him to flinch when he felt it barely graze his ear. Behind him, he heard Tobias give out a sick-sounding gurgle, followed by his revolver clattering to the ground. Alain instantly rounded on him, pulling his Colt from its holster as he did so, and was stunned to see Tobias lying there, the shadow steadily worming its way into his body through a hole in his throat. Tobias thrashed, his eyes going wide with fear and panic as the blackness forced itself into him. As Alain watched, Tobias' body began to change, steadily going from human to some kind of darkened shadow creature. His whole body began to contort and shift; his bones shattered and cracked as they were reshaped and molded, blood leaking from the myriad fractures erupting throughout his body.
He never got to finish his transformation, however – Az suddenly stepped forward and stomped on his head, crushing it underneath his heel. That shook Alain out of his stupor, and he turned towards Az, who stared back at him with razor-sharp focus.
"If you all have any sense, you'll take out the rest before they can finish shifting," he growled.
That was all Alain needed to hear. He scooped up his Ithaca shotgun, then raised it to his shoulder as he advanced. The other members of Ansley's inner circle were currently suffering the same fate Tobias had, with all of them in various states of transformation; Alain took aim at the nearest one and blasted him with both barrels, which instantly stopped the transformation and killed the unfortunate host.
There was a sudden rush of wind from next to him as Sable and Az advanced, leaping from person to person in an attempt to stop them before they could fully transform. Felix stepped up next to him as he reloaded and took out another person with his own shotgun before dropping back to load.
"What is this…?" Ansley asked as he backed up into a corner, several shadows advancing upon him. His eyes widened as they drew closer, and he pulled a revolver from his holster and began to fire at them. Several of the shadows went down, but the remainder suddenly split into multitudes, all of them continuing to move towards him. Ansley screamed as he fanned his revolver's hammer, but eventually, it ran dry.
And the moment it did, the shadows pounced.
Alain could only watch as the shadows all piled onto Ansley, who disappeared beneath the pulsating mass of darkness with a muffled scream that was cut short. He only stopped and stared for a moment, however, before Az and Sable came running up to him.
"We need to leave, now!" Sable warned.
Alain was about to ask what she was talking about when he saw several of the shadows suddenly pull away from the pile atop Ansley and begin to move towards the four of them. Without a word, he nodded, and then they all took off running towards the entrance of the mine.
As they ran, the shadows followed. Thinking quickly, Alain pulled a lantern from the walls and shattered it, slathering the ground behind them with oil; in the same motion, he pulled a match from his pocket and struck it, then tossed it back at the oil-slick ground. Flames erupted in the center of the mine shaft, and by the looks of things, his intuition had been correct – the shadows reeled from the sudden onslaught of heat and light, enabling the four of them to continue sprinting back to the entrance unimpeded.
They emerged from the depths of the mine and back onto the world above just as the sun began to crest over the horizon. Alain doubled over, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath, but it only lasted a moment before someone rested a hand on his shoulder.
"Look sharp," Felix warned.
"What do you-"
Alain's statement was interrupted by the sound of several dozen guns being readied. He paused, then looked up, and was stunned to see an entire US Army cavalry detachment standing there, their guns pointed at the four of them. Sheepishly, he raised his hands in surrender.
"Army's here," was all he managed to get out before they approached him and threw a burlap sack over his head, then began to muscle him away.

Special thanks to my good friend and co-writer, Ickbard for the help with writing this story.

TW: sexual harassment & assault
I recently confided in my partner about an incident of sexual harassment at a party we both attended. He had organised a birthday party for his other partner and the person who harassed me was a friend to both of them(partner & meta) I shared this with him 3 days after it happened and he immediately jumped to "fix" the situation (I could tell he felt helpless, and I empathised with that because imagine how I felt!) I tell him that I was just sharing to get it off my chest, that I didn't want it to turn into a big deal because being subject to scrutiny after an incident like that has the potential to further traumatise me.
The next day after I share this, he calls me randomly during the day to ask me to confirm which of the guys is the culprit. I had already told him who did it but he sent me pictures anyway and asked me to point him out (police detective style). I complied. I proceed to inquire why he was doing this and he tells me that he had a long talk with meta after I shared this news with him and that they were angered by their friend's actions. They both agreed that he needed to be held accountable and then he presented me with the solutions they came up with; forget about it and move on or confront the culprit with him as the intermediary. I tell him that this is not going to solve anything, but he was of the opinion that it should still be brought to the culprit's attention. My fear is that he (my partner) doesn't believe me as can be the case with a lot of people, but he reassures me that he does.The way this entire thing is unfolding rubs me the wrong way but I can't quite figure out why, so I choose the latter nonetheless.
He asks me to share a written record of the events so that he can reach out to the culprit with my statement rather than sound accusatory. I comply once again. I feel like I'm in too deep at this point. He says to curse the guy out if I feel like it but I'm too exhausted at this point so I just keep it simple, a recount of the events + how it made me feel. He confronts the guy on his end, and reports back to me about how rattled and apologetic the culprit was though he says he doesn't remember doing any of it. I don't know what to say to this so I just tell him OK and thank him for confronting him on my behalf.
The way this situation played out left me feeling confused inside though. I feel like him sharing this info with meta was a breach of trust no matter how well-intentioned. The thought of them just seated talking about something as sensitive as that without my own input made my skin crawl. I felt like if they were truly genuine about a solution, they should have created a space that centred me and my experience, not them vs me and the solutions they came up with. I felt like I was being treated like a child (it doesn't help that im the youngest of the trio, I'm 23, meta 30, partner 25) As a result of that, it inevitably got bigger than I was initially comfortable with. And the confrontation yielded no result like I had expected. So what was the point?! I felt compelled to share with him in the first place because I just wanted someone to help me carry it, but it felt like they just wanted to be rid of it. I'm still carrying it but they get to move on because they "did something about it" I don't know how to feel, I've been unable to express everything I'm feeling because it's a lot.
Feel free to weigh in. I'd like to know what you guys think!

A few weeks ago, I started working as a janitor at a research facility just outside of town. It was just a quick, easy job to earn some pocket money before school started again. That was, until I started witnessing strange things. And today, I found something that I’m sure shows they’re experimenting on humans. I don’t know, I suppose I should just tell you all everything that’s happened so far.
Even during the interview, I waited around in the lobby and noticed how deadly silent it was. I didn’t even want to breathe, since I felt as if I would draw all the eyes in the room to me. I was sitting on this rock-hard plastic chair, uneasily shifting as the natural anxiety of a job interview carved a pit in my gut. Trying the tactic of taking note of things you can see, hear, feel, smell, taste, I scanned my eyes around the room. The dim hum of overhead fluorescent lights and whirring of ceiling fans caught my attention first – the lights were giving me a headache. Then, I sneakily took a look at the other people in the room. There were three others, two men and a woman. They were all older than me, maybe sixty or seventy, greying hair and wizened skin, but they all seemed unusually frail, their skin draping from their bones like their flesh had been suctioned out. And it was so, so quiet. I couldn’t even name more than three things I could hear. The lights. The fan. My heartbeat. I couldn’t even focus on the other senses, I was too distracted by these people.
None of the others were looking anywhere but the shiny vinyl flooring, a somewhat vacant expression behind glazed eyes. They were sat multiple seats apart, but all united with the exact same expression of… resignation? Sadness? I’m not really sure, but it made me feel unsettled, like they knew something I didn’t.
After a few more minutes, a woman draped in a white lab coat and professional-looking attire poked her head through a door. "June Collins?" she called out, glancing up from a clipboard, her eyes searching the room until she eventually noticed the old woman standing up. She smiled warmly towards her and led the hobbling woman through the door. The two men didn’t look up.
It took another twenty minutes or so for anything else to happen. A different door opened, and a man spoke out this time. He called out my name, and I followed him through to a tiny concrete box of a room with nothing more than a metal table and chairs. The interview went fine, he introduced himself as… I don’t think I should say his name. Dr Smith will do, that’s vague enough. He asked the basic questions of why I wanted to work there, what I did in my free time, where I saw myself in a few years, I just answered with fancy-sounding phrases I had prepared the night before and I got the job. There wasn’t anything else of note that day, Dr Smith let me go home and I didn’t really think about the three other people in the waiting room again.
My first few days went okay, I would just put my headphones in and quietly clean the building all day. There was a rule I had to follow, though. If I were to go down into the basement to pick up cleaning supplies, I would have to get Dr Smith to follow me. I didn’t really know why, until maybe the fifth day.
It was an awkwardly quiet elevator ride down, a gentle lull of calming music easing the tension. I assumed it was my fault that the mood felt so strained since I’m terrible at speaking to strangers and I feel like I radiate some kind of ‘this girl is uncomfortably awkward to talk to, do not approach her’ forcefield. However, I ended up noticing how stressed Dr Smith always looked during that elevator trip. He’s not that old, maybe thirty or so, but the lighting in the elevator highlighted every dent and wrinkle in his skin, casting deforming shadows onto his features that twisted his face into an obscured, sagging malformation. He always stands stiffly and tightly clenches his fist, repeatedly darting his eyes to the little LED screen that displays the floor as if desperate for the ride to be over.
It only began to make sense on that particular day. Like usual, I made my way towards the cleaning cart, but noticed that the bleach was empty. Mindlessly, I did a quick scan of the room and saw a spare resting on a shelf in a darker part of the room. I made my way towards the shadowy abyss, but just as I was about to grab it, the silence was shattered by a shrill screeching right beside me, alongside the grating sound of rattling metal. I flinched away and made this humiliating, wobbly yelping noise, Dr Smith soon came jogging over from the elevator.
Once I turned, I saw that there was a cage on the shelf next to me, as well as tiny wrinkled hands and a furry face with bared rows of teeth thrashing inside of the metallic cage. There was a monkey inside. Maybe it was a monkey, I don’t know, some sort of small ape thing, and it was furious. It howled and screeched as it clenched the bars and shook the entire structure, hissing at me as if it wanted nothing more than to shred my face apart. It continued to writhe in pure rage, only for Dr Smith to start laughing calmly behind me, patting my shoulder in a friendly manner.
"Oh, you scared me," he chuckled light-heartedly. I was frozen in shock, but he couldn't have been more impassive about the shrieking creature in front of him. He barely even raised his voice to be heard over it, and I could only just about hear him as he spoke. "That's Isaac, don't worry about him. He's just shy."
Isaac, this wailing creature, continued to violently shake the cage and scream at me, eventually resulting in banging his fist against the cage and even slamming his entire body up against it over and over. He just wouldn't stop. "I thought," I began, desperately trying to regulate my breathing. "I thought you weren't allowed to experiment on animals anymore."
"What?" Dr Smith exclaimed, furrowing his eyebrows concernedly and scrunching his face in disgust as he quickly shook his head. "No, no, no, dear, you've got it all wrong. Isaac's a friend."
My eyes slowly wandered from the screeching monkey to Dr Smith, who was already ignoring the creature as he brushed off his suit and turned on his heels back towards the elevator without another word. I don't even know what I was supposed to say in that situation, what I was supposed to ask him. It already took a great effort for me to speak up in any situation, and by the time I had summoned the mental courage to talk, he was already standing inside the elevator, giving me a brief wave as the metal doors slid shut. I was a little confused as to why he left, since I had never been alone in the basement before, but I didn’t want to spend any longer down there than I had to. I let out a wobbly exhale and turned to grab the bleach and leave.
When I turned, Isaac had stopped screaming.
It was so sudden that it almost startled me as much as when he had started screaming and thrashing around. Instead of wildly flinging his arms and legs around, he had just... stopped. He had stopped screaming, stopped moving... he was now standing up straight with a tall, stiff posture and his short arms hanging at his sides. Human-like. He had this blank stare on his face, his black, close-set eyes with a ring of hazel and a pinpoint pupil remained fixed onto me as he stared with a void, wide-eyed expression. It was like when models in a video game glitch out and revert back to their default pose, you know?
I must have been standing there for minutes on end, basically shitting myself as this monkey stands up straight and just silently stares at me after acting insane a second ago. Eventually, I realised that I just had to leave, I was already on the verge of tears. As if trying to break free from solid amber, I managed to rip my feet from their spot on the concrete and step back, not wanting to take my eyes off of the monkey as I gathered the cleaning supplies I needed and dumped them onto the cart in a hurry.
His eyes followed me around the room, neck craning to ensure he was always looking at me. Once I had everything I needed, I stumbled backwards towards the elevator so that I didn't have my back on him, aimlessly patting the wall behind me until I managed to open the elevator and stumbled into it, repeatedly slamming the close button as the sight was blocked by the doors. I did end up crying in the elevator, but I wiped my tears once the doors reopened on the ground floor and shoved my headphones in, distracting myself with work. The monkey couldn’t have been the reason I wasn’t allowed in the basement alone, surely, since Dr Smith had just left me alone with it. I don’t know. I feel like I’m losing my mind.
You might not understand why seeing some creepy monkey warrants human experiments, but please, just stay with me.
Isaac the monkey was gone after that day, and I couldn’t say I was disappointed about it. When I told Dr Smith about what had happened, he had scoffed at me and said a slow ‘Right’, in an unimpressed tone, like he thought I was lying. I didn’t say anything after that, shutting my mouth in embarrassment. I just thought that it was one of those creepily self-aware Monkeys, the ones you see online that do things like write or put on clothes. Maybe it was playing a prank on me, trying to scare me on purpose. I don’t know.
The next incident was three days later. It happened on the third floor, where I had to wear protective gear like face masks and gloves since they handled infectious diseases on that floor. I had placed some wet floor signs in an empty hallway and was mopping the ground (even though it was perfectly clean, I was just bored) while listening to music. A couple moments later, I heard this metallic groaning noise from inside a nearby room, like a rusty iron door being pulled open. Taking out my headphones to listen closer, it was still muffled behind the wall, but still loud. I couldn’t guess what it was, but it sounded large and withered. Also kind of like the low horn of a ship. Something like that.
I propped the mop up against the wall and followed the noise to a sleek metal door that had various bright yellow stickers on it, warning me of all the biohazards contained in the room. I thought that it’d be fine, I thought that if anything were really a hazard in there, they’d have some sort of lock on the door, right? With that, I carefully creeped inside, excitedly grinning under my stuffy mask as I saw the room inside.
To me, at least, the room was mesmerising. Despite the suffocatingly strong smell of chemicals lingering in the air, I stepped further inside to get a closer look at all of the intricate stations with flashy computers, microscopes, sparklingly clean flasks and test tubes piled on top of the glass countertops. The lighting in the room cast an electric blue hue over everything, making the room look like a movie set. I thought it was cool, but I didn’t really understand where the biohazard was. There wasn’t even anyone else in there.
I heard the noise again. It was much louder and clearer, but still sounded like a deep, rumbling, metallic lamentation. I pinpointed it to the left of me, so I weaved through the rows of modernistic workstations and reached what looked like a garbage chute – a square iron hatch that seemed to lift up with a handle on the bottom. I assumed that this was where the hazard was, since the hatch was also drowned in red and yellow warning stickers. One peek wouldn’t hurt.
Checking either side of me to ensure that nobody was watching, I gently lifted the hatch open. As I did, I heard the sound again, and it was clear that it was travelling up the concrete tunnel from somewhere down below. I think it was because I thought I was alone that I ended up leaning forward and sticking my head into the chute in order to see what was down there.
It wasn’t what, it was who.
Limbs sprawled out and pressed against the walls of the chute to keep himself propped up, a man seemed to be stuck midway through the chute, a few metres below me. I didn’t really process what I was seeing for several seconds, I just stared at the back of this man’s head as he looked down the chute. I could tell he was old, with thinning white hair and a spotty head underneath, his arms and legs were so withered that he looked like nothing more than a skeleton wearing tailored skin, I was surprised that they didn’t snap holding up the weight of him. I could also hear an unintelligible, distant discussion below the man; not so heated that it was an argument, but not calm enough to be a casual conversation.
Before I even realised it was happening, however, the man slowly craned his neck up to make dead eye contact with me.
I don’t know why, exactly, but I had almost expected him to have the same expression I saw on those other people in the waiting room, as well as the monkey. Instead, his mouth was hanging open, kind of like he didn’t have any feeling in his jaw and couldn’t close it. His gaping mouth was entirely black, void-like. He didn’t have any teeth. He didn’t have a tongue. I couldn’t even see his throat. Just darkness. Then, he made the noise I had been hearing.
I think I screamed, but I honestly can’t remember, I was likely too horrified to do anything. All I remember is the feeling of my heart sinking in the abrupt terror of his limbs suddenly moving, like when a spider suddenly crawls towards you after thinking it was dead. At a nightmarish speed, the man began to scuttle up the chute and towards me with a hostile desperation to reach me. I immediately retracted my head from the hatch and slammed it down, backing away as I continued to hear the muffled scrambling of his arms and legs growing closer as he rapidly clambered his way up the chute.
In case he managed to open the hatch from the inside, I darted back towards the door, even bumping into one of the workstations and almost knocking a few empty flasks to the ground. When I reached the door, I flung it open to see Dr Smith standing there, panting as if he had just sprinted there.
"What on earth were you thinking?" he demanded. I didn’t realise it then, but I’m now wondering how he even knew what had happened. It had been seconds since I took my head out of the chute, and there he was.
"What was that?" I trembled. My limbs felt cold and numb, like my blood had been replaced with icy adrenaline. Frantically, I kept checking behind me to the hatch, fully expecting the man to crawl out of it and bound towards me.
"Look, it’s–" Dr Smith stopped himself and exhaled, pinching the bridge of his nose out of stress. "We try to keep dangerous patients below ground, so as not to scare employees like you. That’s all."
"Dangerous patients?" I repeated, utterly lost.
"Rabies," he hurriedly stated, as if that were supposed to clear up all of my questions. He must have noticed the blank, baffled look on my face, so continued. "We’re working on developing better treatment for the disease, so hospitals send rabies patients to us for examination and observation. It was in the news, actually. You should have known that already."
"That guy had rabies?"
Dr Smith nodded, but refused to meet my eye. He kept looking everywhere but at me – over his shoulder, behind me… he seemed to be stifling his nerves, which didn’t help me feel any better about the situation. I think he was worried that someone would see us or was hasty to leave the conversation, but I’m not entirely sure. "He chewed through his restraints and was trying to escape, I imagine. But, try not to worry, they’re kept downstairs for a reason. It’s safe up here, I promise."
I don’t think I managed to hide the growing anxiety on my face, but it didn’t matter anyway since Dr Smith wasn’t even looking anywhere near me. It’s safe to say that I don’t believe him now after the most recent incident, but at the time, it made sense to me. Plus, we have a tendency as human beings to blindly trust authority – as some teenage janitor, who was I to question the man in the white coat with a PhD? I didn’t know any better, so I assumed that he was telling the truth, and I avoided that floor from then on.
I didn’t speak when I went home that night. My parents asked me how my day was and I simply walked straight past them and into my bedroom, locking my door and not leaving until the morning for work. I skipped dinner and breakfast. I didn’t even leave to use the bathroom or brush my teeth. Even though I only thought he was a rabies patient that had been sent in for treatment, something about him disturbed me to my core. I laid awake that night with his face burnt into my mind like a scolding hot iron, the sound of him scuttling up the chute haunting me.
Finally, we reach today. I had somewhat recovered from the event after a week or so, but I still refused to go back to that floor. Pushing the thought out of my mind seemed to work, so my life carried on. Honestly, I never even told anyone about it until now, since Dr Smith had somehow convinced me that there was nothing to tell, that it was a well-known fact they treated rabies patients. I almost felt like I was in trouble for what I saw, so I kept it quiet, like I was keeping my own secret instead of his.
Anyway, earlier today I was in the women’s bathroom on the sixth floor, kneeling underneath a sink and scrubbing the porcelain, rethinking all my life choices that led me to that point. I had music blasting in my ears and was quietly humming along, until I heard the door quietly creaking, like someone was trying to sneak in. I flinched slightly, feeling embarrassed that I had been caught humming, and whipped my head around to see who was coming in. I assumed that they didn’t want to interrupt me, or something, so I paused before nervously calling out. "You can come in, I’m just cleaning."
There was no answer, but the door was open a crack, as if someone were cautiously waiting outside.
"I’ll… I’ll leave, I’m sorry," I said, guessing that whoever was waiting was uncomfortable using one of the stalls whilst I was in there. With that, I quickly gathered all of the cleaning supplies around me onto the cart and brushed myself off as I stood up. When I turned to head towards the door, I stopped in my tracks, frozen with the sudden shock of what I was seeing.
That fucking monkey.
There it was, standing upright, no taller than a foot or so. It might not have been Isaac, I wouldn’t have been able to tell from appearance alone, but the way it stood there was directly reminiscent of when it was in the cage the other day. Now, however, it was blocking the door. Just… stood there motionlessly. Staring at me with such human vacancy in its eyes.
I felt an acute sense of vulnerability as the creature glared at me with wide pupils, I don’t know what it was thinking. I don’t even know if monkeys do think. I was completely paralysed other than the violently shaking in my hands. The room felt hot and cramped, painfully contrasting with the ice-cold blood rushing through my veins. I had heard the stories of monkeys or chimpanzees or whatever brutally mauling people, and images of the creature clawing away at my face flashed in my mind as I stared back. My chest tightened as if my rib cage was closing in on my lungs just like the jaws of the claw clip tangled up in my hair.
It only moved its mouth. It was so gradual and achingly slow that I didn’t even notice it was opening until it was already slightly ajar. Wider and wider, so unbearably slow… until eventually its jaw was gaping. It was black. No teeth. No tongue. No throat. A pitch-black hole like its mouth was yet another pupil. I was already crying, already on the brink of throwing up. I thought that I was about to pass out.
Looking back, it was only a tiny thing, and I probably could have kicked it away if it had come any closer. But in the moment, I was beyond petrified.
It didn’t come any closer, though. It remained wide-eyed, mouth immensely agape and completely static for a moment longer, until it suddenly dropped down onto all fours. I let out a brief scream and stumbled backwards since I thought it was going to come bounding towards me, but it instead made some sort of chirping noise and started biting at something on its fingers. It then climbed up onto one of the bathroom stalls, tail hanging and head curiously looking around the room, blinking and breathing. Normal.
I didn’t let myself stay in that room for any longer, I rushed towards the door as it perched on the stall and paid no attention to me at all, simply acting how you’d expect any monkey to act. Once I was outside, I slammed the door shut and scrambled for the keys in my pocket, shakily locking the bathroom shut.
I needed to go find Dr Smith and tell him that the monkey had escaped, so I made a beeline for his office, which was luckily already on that floor.
The wooden door – a harsh juxtaposition to the rest of the soulless industrial structure – was shut, so I hurriedly knocked. Nothing. I knocked again, clearly conveying my urgency in the franticness of the banging. Still, nothing. I wasn’t in my right mind, I was convinced that he must be in there and that I needed help. I don’t know, I think the fact the entire floor was empty and devoid of life was stressing me out even more.
I let out an exasperated exhale and decided to use the master key I had been given to get inside. I had been warned against using the key for unauthorised areas, such as the offices, but I wasn’t thinking about that then. I think I was having some sort of panic attack, it was the most awful thing I’ve ever experienced, I genuinely thought I was about to go into cardiac arrest and drop dead.
The key, to my surprise, slotted into the lock with a satisfying click, and I was able to open up the door to Dr Smith’s office. It was messy, like he wasn’t expecting anyone but himself to see it – an ocean of papers and files completely covered his desk, as well as three old coffee mugs lying around discarded, the empty swivel chair was sticking out at an angle as if he had left in a hurry, and I noticed that one of the filing cabinets behind the desk was hanging wide open, a padlock dangling off the handle. The more I looked, the more apparent it came that he had rushed out, for some reason. I wondered if that was why everyone else was gone; the thought that they all knew about something I didn’t only further sharpened my unstinting anxiety.
The open filing cabinet caught my eye most, especially the padlock that had been recently unlocked. I had to, didn’t I? You can’t tell me you wouldn’t do the same if you were me. I know I shouldn’t have, but I approached it as if it were going to attack me too, peering inside to see nothing but a singular piece of paper lying flat at the bottom. I reached inside and flipped it over – it was all typewritten, which I had never actually seen before in real life. I read on in curiosity, and, well, I found myself throwing up in the trash can underneath his desk moments later.
I had to get out of there after that. I know, it was stupid, but I kept the piece of paper in my hand as I rushed out of the building. I didn’t see anybody on my way out, either.
Usually, I would take the bus home, but since it was the middle of the day and I wasn’t going to wait around any longer, I walked miles back to my house. My legs were burning and a sheen of sweat was drenching my entire body but I hardly even noticed. I dragged my sore body up to my bedroom and slumped down against my bed, feeling the smallest amount of relief at the cool sensation of the hardwood floor. That’s when I reached for my laptop and began to write this.
I suppose I should share what was written on the paper, but I'm honestly terrified. I’ve been considering the possibility that I’m just insane, that I somehow hallucinated all of it. I don’t know. I don’t even know if this is saying what I think it’s saying, if I’m about to get sued for sharing this. I haven’t said the name of the company, have I? I can’t get in trouble for this? I don’t know. I feel sick. I’m looking at the paper now and I want to throw up again. I’m sure that I wasn’t supposed to see this, I think that this slipped out of a file and Dr Smith accidentally left it behind, maybe he was trying to dispose of it. That makes sense, I think. Maybe I’m just overreacting. I don’t know.
Okay, I'm sorry, I’m rambling. I’m just going to type it up and put this out there. I don’t know what to do. I’m losing my mind. I feel really sick.
ANOMALY LOG: #7286-015
DATE: 02 / 16 / 21
NAME: Dr. Isaac Hughes
SUBJECT: 7286

• AGE: 73
• SEX: Male
• HEIGHT: 5’8”
• WEIGHT: 106 lbs
• DOA: 08 / 07 / 17

REPORT:
Since its arrival four years ago, 7286 has been making staggering progress. I, along with Williams and Robinson, had been discussing disposing of it due to its lack of activity. I believe it has been much more aware than we first imagined, it has likely been pretending to be inert to avoid experimentation and is only now operating to save its life. For the first time in all of our research, we have discovered signs of emotion amongst them.
Furthermore, 7286 spoke today. I was alone in the facility with just Goodnight and 7286, Goodnight and I had music playing – specifically Moonglow by Artie Shaw – while we finished typing up reports for the day, when 7286 spoke and asked what song we were listening to. Neither of us knew that they could speak until now. However, its voice did not sound perfect, almost computer generated, and it struggled with correct sentence structure. It sounded a lot like Robinson to me, though I can’t be certain. I believe Goodnight conducted somewhat of an interview with it, that should be filed in Log #7286-014.
END LOG