Trigger warning: there’s unsubstantiated violence, including sexual violence, related to the history of the house that are mentioned here. I just want to put this out because I don’t know which flare to use.
I’m telling this story because of another post here that got my attention.
I wasn’t raised in Manila but I lived with my grandmother when I worked there. I’m the very youngest in the family, (so I’m the shobe) and I didn’t actually get to meet her until I was in my early 20s and she was in her late 90s. We have Chinese heritage through her, she came to the “Philippine Islands, USA” as an infant in the early 1920s with her family from mainland China.
We’re a huge family but we “splintered” and live in different parts of the world - mostly HK, USA, Canada, and some in Australia and UK. So I didn’t have anyone else to live with but her when I decided to experience Manila. When she was on the verge of death, she would keep telling the household staff to quiet down the visiting children and lead them out of her bedroom. (She was half-conscious at this point, very ill but refused to go to the hospital for hospice care.) But there were no children in the house. Just me, the cook, 2 young housemaids, a licensed in-home caregiver, and my grandmother’s elderly driver and elderly gardener who have both been with her since the 70s. The lot where her house stood had a dark history we’re not exactly clear about, one story was that it used to be part of a compound where military during the dictatorship years would bring political prisoners to torture, another story is that it used to be a compound of a Spanish-era orphanage that went up in flames, and still another story said the same compound was used as a garrison by the Americans, that it was full of refugees who all then died in the hands of the Japanese during WW2. So we really don’t know who the ghost children were. The house in general is creepy, you always feel on edge in it especially at night, on edge and extremely melancholic! The staff have experienced dreaming of a short guy with grey hair in white shirt waking them up frantically (yelling “not here, not here!”) when they rest in the lanai, the driver and gardener would also often see that same guy walk past them in the garage followed by the smell of cigarette smoke. The ladies would also see a lady in long white dress passing between the pagoda and pond at the end of the property. The pond supposedly was where women were brought to be raped and drowned but our family never found anything there, and the period when those supposedly happened always changed - during the dictatorship years, during WW2. The men would also see a big guy in purple basketball shorts standing at the front door and looking out towards the gate of the property (by description no one in the family dead or alive looks like that), everyone in the house have seen a faceless little boy going up the stairs to the rooms carefully holding on to the bannister, a teen-aged girl also in purple who always shows up in the house staff’s kitchen at 6 pm but with her back turned. I just hear banging and footsteps or voices in the huge living room, or piano keys played but have never actually seen anything until two weeks before my grandmother’s death.
I had come home quite late from work. The only light kept open at the ground floor of the house at this time of the night is this antique ceramic lamp that sat on a table in the hallway. I’m already feeling creeped out arriving this late, it was raining so I asked the elderly driver to just drop me off at the front door and to not assist me with my bags from work (purse, laptop, document bag), he drove off to the garage behind the house and I just tried to enter quickly before the automatic portico lights shut off. From the front door I crossed over to where the old piano was to turn on a floor lamp next to it and read the notes left for me by the house staff (about my grandmother’s needs, groceries bought, etc,) look through the mail, bills, packages, all that. From the moment I got out of the car I had this feeling of someone waiting for me, watching. It didn’t feel unfriendly, just a sense of being waited for. The feeling was stronger as I walked over to the piano, it came from the upstairs rooms which was to my right from where I was reading the messages by the piano. I was too scared to even look and was wondering how I was going to go up to my room if something was there. But because I can’t exactly just stand there forever, I eventually looked up and saw a little girl of about 3 yrs old in height, she had on an old-timey polka dot dress. The dots were big and brown(?) and her dress was creamy white that went all the way down to her shins, it had this sailor’s collar (that’s why I thought it was old-timey), and puffed sleeves. I didn’t feel scared anymore when I saw her, just fascinated. I looked and she looked and then I heard like soft echo-ey gasp, I saw her jump like she was startled, step right into the top bannister of the stairs and hid behind it, and when I made a slight move towards the stairs, I saw her glide quickly across the second floor hall into the bathroom. This was all of five seconds tops, mostly in darkness with dim yellow lights from the ground floor.
I may have imagined all of it because at first I really thought I did. But after her I’ve seen more ghost children, one even ended up in a picture I took of an old car.
The house stood for a while after my grandmother’s death. The gardener said he saw her about two years after she died looking out from her bedroom window and from the dining room window probably watching him care for her favourite flowers. When the house was eventually abandoned to be sold the neighbours let us know that on certain nights nearby dogs would be barking and howling at the house. One neighbour said he had even seen a dark shadow standing by the gate of the house. And another reported looking over from his second floor bedroom and seeing what looks to be light from a tv flickering in the dining room. The house was still full of my grandmother’s things but we brought everything down to the second floor for the movers including an old tv that was placed on the dining table. Sometimes they could also see yellow light shining from the front room of the house. The whole property was sold 2 years ago and is now an 11-door apartment complex.

I mean we all know they're guilty of killing all those people. We know it's a government run by absolute monsters deserving of the most severe legal punishments known to any just court of law.
But then you see protests dotted with people who are CLEARLY there for the wrong reason. You see shithead bigoted conspiracy theorists who are being touted as activists in the fervor. You see groups of people, hell countries full of people who don't give a rats fuck about the middle east and have no connection to the conflict whatsoever all of the sudden REALLY caring about Israel and you have to ask yourself....hmmm where does that come from.
Then comes a very pervasive intrusive thought. You see some guy in a crowd with a "To find out who rules over you..."sign or someone with parentheses in their twitter bio being shared by a left wing commentator, and you just think "Wonder what the look on that guys face is going to be when they get acquitted of all charges", "Wonder what the look on that guys face is gonna be when Israel wins the world cup"
I'm convinced that is what a lot of support for Israel is at this point.

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.

hi ladies. thank you so much for creating this thread. I've been debating writing this post for a long time but it's been on my heart and my mind for a while so I am going to share my experience with the Universe Guru. I think that after I share this, I can finally move on energetically instead of constantly checking this thread, and move forward with my life completely mina Iran free.
​
I found Mina's content at a very vulnerable time in my life.... and honestly now looking back it is obvious that she profits off women's vulnerability. when I saw this woman on the internet talking about how "it gets to be easy" and "100k months are easy" and what not and I was mesmerized. so I spent a while just watching her livestreams then I decided to buy the $222 drop the struggle course in like feb '22 when I had no job or no money, I literally had to take out a credit card to get it, which is ok to mina because she actually promotes that (which I am now realizing is all a marketing tactic for her followers to break the bank in order to purchase her subpar over priced courses).
​
Anyway so I got the end the struggle bundle and it was ok I guess. my life was still a struggle, but I guess now that I had Mina's 2 hour live streams to binge on as a distraction, I just ignored it.
​
maybe if I get millionairess then I will unlock the secret to making boku amounts of cash In my business like mina. I thought.
​
So next I got the millionaires course for $333 I think and was SEVERLY DISAPPOINTED. I thought to myself "maybe if I play it in the background of my life, as I am growing my own online business it will change things" and once again, no results came from her courses but at this point I was sucked in and following her teachings like gospel even though my intuition was telling me something was off, especially now that I started to get a bunch of courses when she was doing flash sales (once again using a credit card bc I was still on a warehouse wage and my business wasn't profitable at all at that time).
​
In her course content she would often
1) contradict herself
2) spend the whole time talking about her life instead of giving actual teachings
3) record a zoom call with a bunch of women who were clearly going through a hard time in life, asking her questions and her making it a module. which no shade or disrespect to the women, I just found it quite annoying how I paid all this money to be taught by Mina yet I am met with conversations from women who are seeking the same teachings as I am!
Things started to feel really icky for me but I just still followed her blindly because I was completely blinded by the "if you don't have results yet its because there is still a lot of inner work to do" marketing tactic.
​
I think I have about 10-12 of her courses, I don't exactly know because I haven't been on my course dashboard for months and I don't plan on ever logging back in. Ironically the only course I got value from was intoxicate, which was one of her lower priced offers at the affordable price of $333. but the biggest teaching in there is make your man feel like a hero, and honestly this information can be found in any relationship experts book. But anyway... my final straw was WIFED. I used pretty much the last bit of the life insurance I got from my dads passing (who ironically was trying to talk me out of going to the Dubai intensive before he died when I told him about it because he looked her up and said she was an obvious scammer) to buy the course.
​
sidenote: I think my dad - from the other side - protected me from going to Dubai (I live in America) because I was in such deep grief from my dads sudden death that I didn't have the time or energy to plan or pay for my accommodations and I didn't end up going (I emailed the team that I couldn't come, they ignored me then I sent another email and they finally responded giving me a 1111 credit for what I already paid for the course- I got CASH which was a Total waste of my time). but Im glad I didn't go to Dubai looking back, but anyway back to why I was done with her after buying wifed.
​
I didn't even get half way through the course when I realized that there is no value in this course. she basically just tells you that if you are age 20-29 you can get any man you want and get him the sign the dotted line and then after you're married "do whatever you want". Also around this time I started buying Amanda Frances courses and content and ALOT of Minas teachings (esp around money) are literally VERBATIM from Amanda's book or courses. like she even says some of the same things in the same tone or cadence as Amanda, yet has NEVER acknowledged her work that I know of. some of the things I noticed she copied were:

1. Amandas "what's beneath the surface" journaling prompt
2. energetic minimums and Maximums when it comes to receiving money
3. "truth testing"
4. the "I am no longer available for;;;" boundary setting things

I know mina copied off Amanda because Amanda states she doesn't follow any other coaches / gurus besides her coach at the time which was not Mina. it was all just weird and icky. and when Amanda does mention teachings that are not her own, she credits where she got them free. Mina NEVER does this. she acts like her teachings are all her own, which in itself is a red flag.
​
I got the wifed course during her sale in 2023 (for like $1800) and at the time of writing it is may 2024. I am not married lol. (turns out I actually don't care to be married right now- im 27 & childless and was tricked into thinking im doing it wrong because mina says you should be married and have babies before 30 - this is not even what I want. I do want marriage and kids just NOT NOW. Minas content centers around making marriage the holy grail- hence why I thought I desired it now when I really didn't!)
​
The way she markets the course on the sales page is totally different than the content in the course. I can't believe I bought a course on how to get wifed by a woman who obviously is unhappy in her marriage as she feels like she settled. She constantly talks about how she should have married the multi millionaire that her mom liked and how she wishes she did. I think she used her husband for his stability and to make babies with his "provider DNA" because she was so traumatized by the relationship with her ex husband. I found it really weird and disgusting how she would trash the father of her child in her courses over and over again like it was some sort of badge of honor. plus I know her oldest son works for her and it always made me wonder if her son would listen in to the courses and hear the horrible things she was saying about his dad.
Anyway, I stopped listening to her way before Chris was in the picture but she would still come up on my recommended and just the vibe of Chris I could tell that he will have something to do with the truth about her coming out. I am so happy that her dark and manipulative tactics that she uses to prey on women and their deepest desires (money and love) and capitalize off them without ACTUALLY helping them to attain their desires. its literally all smoke and mirrors. I saw her as a mother figure for a while and it wasn't until I really accepted the fact that my own birth mother is narcissistic that I realized that the reason why I latched on to mina was because her constant criticsm, "all about me", "my children/students are my world but only to the extent that they can benefit me", was familiar to me. which in itself is toxic. but as soon as I started to become aware of the affects having a narc mom has had on me was when I realized that Mina had become my toxic internet narcissistic mom who was making me feel even more shitty than better! I remember on one of her live streams when she was marketing divinely Soul'd and she was bragging about how easy it is to make money online and how "you have to try hard to not make money online" and that really hurt and offended me because I was not having the same ease with calling in sales and money that she was and I constantly felt like my business/ content was not good enough because I wasn't making money as easily has her even though I had done my "inner work".
​
Turns out that building a business that is based on VALUE and customer satisfaction takes time, energy and effort. of course making money online is easy when you are scamming women out of 1000s of dollars for your own personal gain.
​
In conclusion, here are the things that "thought leader" and "guru" Mina as taught me:

1. how to spot an internet scammer
2. how to spot a covert and communal narcissist
3. how not to run a coaching business if you actually want to have a good reputation and long term recurring clients and customers
4. how believing your own lies actually makes them true in your life , but makes you look very suspicious and psychopathic to others - like in the teaching someone posted on here about how she says everyone lies .... like who is everyone? I literally don't lie ever lol even when I am intentionally doing things to protect myself and my "DNA"

​
Here are some things that I have changed and shifted in my life since cutting her teachings out;

1. I no longer glorify the "provider man" because literally any healthy man that loves you will provide all he can for you. it doesn't take a coach or a teacher or 1000 manipulation tactics- it will just come naturally
2. I am happy to be single right now and focusing on me, and when the time is right I will attract a man that is right for me and I won't have to date 50 men on rotation to find him (rotational dating has never been my cup of tea)
3. that I actually want to have a business that provides value and satisfaction to my customers and clients

​
this was a long one, but I already feel better after typing this out! I AM NOT AVAILABLE to be manipulated by narcissists for their personal gain anymore. I hope this post helps someone. if you are struggling financially, a student, or just starting out in your career, DO NOT spend 1000s on her courses, instead invest in ACTUAL education... as PROFESSIONAL CERTIFICATIONS on courser are only like $50 a month, and you can get some ACCREDITED UNIVERSITY degrees for less than her university bundle! and of course self help books are like $30 max.
And as someone who creates digital courses online that provide original information and actual value, do not discount all the amazing coaches and entrepreneurs out there who ACTUALLY CARE about their clients and customers, who actually have value to give. Don't let one rotten apple rot the whole tree.
​
I hope this helps someone!
​

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.
---
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

Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott
Episode 10: Masters of Disasters
"Last time, on Total Drama Action! The world's toughest Chef used spoons to bring out Brick's killer instinct!"
“It was no thanks to Brick that Justin and Millie had the bejeebies scared out of them. Victory seemed within reach, as Brick won the scream-off. MK won the challenge for the Screaming Gaffers by not falling for any of the Grips’ feeble attempts to scare them.”
“Just as the Killer Grips casted their votes, Brick's conscience, along with a planned push from Justin, finally got the best of him. Brick called himself out as a cheater, hopped into the Lame-o-Sine, and rode off into the sunset.”
The scene flashed to Chris walking through the lot, eventually reaching the cast trailers. "How will the contestants survive without Brick's gourmet cooking? Was it coriander or tarragon he used in that casserole? Discover all that and more in another thrilling and filling episode of Total! Drama! Action!"
(Theme Song)
The episode opened with a shot of the blue and partly-cloudy sky before quickly panning down to the craft services tent. The scene zoomed in and cut inside, showing a close-up of a bowl of roach-infested gruel. Scott took a trembling scoop of the food, pausing with wide eyes as Ripper took a bite of his own.
He immediately gagged and spat the food back out. "I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss Brick," he said. "His cooking was a massive improvement over Chef's."
On the other side of the table, Anne Maria poked her food with a spoon. "Topher cooked spaghetti and meatballs for us once, and despite it being a bit soggy, I'd eat his cooking over Chef's," she said.
“Not that I care, but why did Topher of all people make something for you and how did this all happen?” Scott spoke up from his table.
“Well, if you must know, me and Topher are currently datin’ right now,” Anne Maria revealed happily, shocking the others. “What?”
“How did you two even hook up with each other that quickly?” Scott asked in astonishment.
“Remember when we were out looking for the briefcase? Me and Topher were partners, and we had a good time being together,” Anne Maria detailed. “We also managed to have some conversations with each other at the Playa thanks to you guys votin’ us out first,” the Jersey woman added, saying the last part grumpily. “And even though we started off as friends, we developed feelings for each other and eventually became an item between TV seasons.”
“But wait. Wasn't our break from competing two weeks?” Millie asked her teammate.
“I know what you're all thinking. Two weeks is too fast for a relationship to get on board, but since we'd be separated with him not competing alongside me, we decided to get together and confess our feelings before it was too late,” Anne Maria told the contestants.
Confessional: Izzy
“I'd like to call Anne Maria's bluff to her face, but I don't think she's the type to lie about juicy stuff like relationships,” Izzy explained. “And I'd likely receive a humongous blow to the face if I straight up accused her.”
Confessional: Justin
“Well there goes my plan of having Anne Maria as an alliance buddy somewhat,” Justin moaned. “With how much she's been ignoring my affections, it's obvious that she won't commit infidelity just for me.”
Confessionals End
“So yeah. That's about it when it comes to me and Topher,” Anne Maria concluded.
“I can totally see why you two would be joined at the hip, given that you're both equally self-absorbed,” MK commented snidely.
“Watch your mouth, MK,” Anne Maria warned her and then turned to Jasmine staring down at her food. “What's got you so slumped?”
“She's still upset about the alliance Brick had with Chef before he got eliminated,” Millie mentioned.
“Oh yeah. I really could care less,” Anne Maria shrugged.
“I'm not mad about the alliance,” Jasmine corrected. “I'm mad about the fact that he kept it a secret until he quit. And this came from a guy who claimed that honor was key. How can I trust Brick after that?”
“I feel you,” Justin said. “I wouldn't be impressed if someone was keeping something very important from me.”
“Exactly my point, Justin,” Jasmine said.
“Brick did do something wrong, but he felt bad enough for it,” Millie told Jasmine. “And given how Chef is, he was likely threatened into the alliance.”
“That may be true, but I don't want to focus on this subject anymore than I do,” Jasmine said authoritatively. “I'm moving on from this.”
Confessional: Jasmine
“I don't know how Canadian boys flirt or socialize with girls normally, but if telling lies is part of it, then I may call romance flawed and superficial,” Jasmine grumbled stubbornly. “But enough after that. I have to focus on opening my dream school with the money I'll likely win.”
Confessional: Justin
“To those of you that weren't already aware, I knew that Brick and Chef were in cahoots together ever since I saw Chef hold Brick back before the beach episode,” Justin said. “I started picking up the clues more and more, and now that I've turned Jasmine against Brick, I can gain her trust for the future challenges.”
Confessionals End
Ripper then spots a cup of bendy straws next to him. “Hey, does anybody know why these bendy straws are even here?”
“Nope, but if you're planning to shoot spitballs with them, don't target me, Ripstick,” MK advised.
“You never know who I'm gonna target, Brain Girl,” Ripper said, stuffing the straws into his pocket. “I'm keeping the straws, only because they seem useful.”
“More than you,” MK snorted quietly.
"Howdy folks!" Chris said as he walked into the tent with his usual smile. "Hope you enjoyed your lunch, ‘cause you won't be hanging on to it any longer," he told them with a laugh.
"And what torture do you have for us?" Scott asked with a deadpan expression.
"Oh, nothing," Chris answered mockingly. "Just that your day will be a total disaster. Get it?" he asked the room. "It's a disaster movie theme! Y'know? Like in disaster flicks?"
A dangerous and hectic tune began as the scene flashed to Chef Hatchet running against a featureless white background. "People running for their lives from volcanoes," a magma-oozing volcano dropped down onto the scenery just barely missing Chef, "earthquakes, asteroids," a fissure formed in the ground just past the volcano, expanding towards the running man before a small asteroid just missed striking him, "tidal waves," Chef ran headlong into a large wave which crashed over him and washed him away.
The scene flashed back to a close-up of Scott and Izzy gaping in their seats, followed by a similar shot of Justin and Jasmine. "The more disastrous, the better."
Confessional: Millie
"Like we haven't gone through enough disaster already," Millie groaned. "If this keeps up, I'll have to write about how being on Total Drama is more than, if not as, dangerous than bungee jumping into a volcano without a cord!"
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back to Chris standing in front of some sort of machine console as a few deep and ominous notes were struck in the background. "Your first challenge is," he said, "the Earthquake of Inevitable Pain!" The camera moved left and out, revealing the giant playing field that had been set up outside. It consisted of a platform resting at an angle on scaffolding and several pistons with a ladder set up at the high end. On top of it were a series of obstacles arranged in two identical rows: tires, traffic cones, monkey bars over a pool of water, a large metal tube, a balance beam over a pit, and a wooden wall to the far left near the top.
"Each team has to run the course," the host explained as the camera panned across the stunned faces of the cast, "challenging your dexterity," a close-up of the tires was shown, "maneuverability," a shot of the cones was added in a horizontal split-screen, "and other mad monkey skills," he finished as the monkey bars were added to the split screen.
A flash took the scene to Chef standing on top of the ladder at the end of the course. He picked a brick up out of a sack by his side and tossed it around with a vicious grin on his face, and the camera cut back to the host. "First team to the top wins! Best out of two earns today's reward."
The camera focused on the Screaming Gaffers. "Cool!" Chase said with a sudden smile. "This'll be just like the boot camp obstacle course from the first season, only this time, I get to actually compete in it."
"The course does have earthquakes though," Izzy brought up.
"An obstacle course is still an obstacle course," Chase shook it off.
"Enough with the chitty-chat," Chris interrupted with a brief frown of his own. "Take your marks!"
Both teams were shown assembled along the bottom edge of the platform. "This is gonna be easy," Scott boasted as Chase jogged in place.
"I can't wait to swing on the monkey bars!" Millie declared happily while Jasmine limbered up.
"Aaaaaannnnd," Chris said as a few deep notes heralded the beginning of fast-paced challenge music, "Action!"
He sounded a small air horn, and the shot cut to the four Grips as they ran up the platform and immediately into the tires – Jasmine in the lead, then Justin, Millie, and Anne Maria at the end. Panning over to the Grips, Izzy and Chase were out first, followed by Scott, Ripper, and MK.
"How easy is this?" Izzy asked enthusiastically after a close-up of her easily stepping through the tires.
"Are you READY to ROCK?!" Chris exclaimed with an excited cackle before pulling one of the levers on his machine console. The pistons immediately began to extend and contract, shaking the platform and causing Izzy and Chase to stumble and fall into one another.
“If you break it, you buy it!” Izzy said playfully and laughed.
Jasmine and Justin had gotten to the beginning of the cones, but lost their balance too and Justin had to yank one of the cones off his head. Millie and Anne Maria jumped up onto the Grips' monkey bars, and the scene cut over to Chef on the ladder.
"Perfect time to get rid of some old junk," he said with a vicious grin and a dark cackle, reaching into his sack and taking out a football. He tossed it from hand to hand, then reared back and threw it at the girls on the monkey bars. It hit Millie in the face with enough force to knock her back into Anne Maria and both off the obstacle.
"My face!" Millie cried out as she fell out of sight.
Chef was shown casually throwing out several objects from his bag without looking – a kitchen sink, a bowling ball, a hammer, a rotary telephone, each with appropriate sound effects when they inevitably hit something. He paused when he took out a tiny rubber ducky, squeezing it a few times and smiling at its squeak before looking at the camera sheepishly and throwing it away.
"Are you kidding me?" MK said after the duck hit her on the nose while she was on the monkey bars.
The camera briefly cut back to Chris as he smirked and pulled the lever again, putting an end to the shaking. Izzy, Chase, and Scott were shown regaining their balance at the start of the monkey bars, and Izzy groaned in relief. "Finally, a break!"
"AFTERSHOCK!" Chris exclaimed with a happy laugh, pulling the lever again. The platform resumed shaking, causing Scott to stumble to his knees behind him.
The dirt boy threw up, and looked at the puddle of vomit with a disgusted grimace. "Why was that lunch even worse coming back up?"
"Oh yeah," Chris said with a sly look, "that reminds me. It's lava time!" he announced dramatically, slamming his fist down on a button that caused more shaking and some ominous mechanical whirs that made Chase and Izzy look around nervously.
A pair of slots opened up just past the walls at the top of the course, and a steaming red liquid poured out of them. Chef bent down and touched the liquid with his fingers, taking a quick taste. "Tomato soup?" he said with a surprised look below, where the soup was being siphoned out of a large metal drum with a tomato on the side. "That was supposed to be for supper."
With the soup already closing in on the monkey bars, Anne Maria and Justin were forced to quickly jump back up to them, while nearby Millie quickly grabbed the top of the metal tube. MK and Izzy were also shown clinging to the top of the bars for safety.
"Pheeewww, wee!" Chris exclaimed as the camera cut back to him fanning himself with one hand. "Is it getting hot in here? How 'bout a cool, refreshing, hailstorm!" The shot pulled back to show him standing on the seat of a cart-mounted gun platform which was attached to a golf cart being driven by Chef, who honked the horn with a dark grin. "Golf ball-sized hail is bad," the host said matter-of-factly as he sat down and grabbed the handles of the gun, "but, hail-sized golf balls are even worse!" He laughed and opened fire, a clear canister on the top of the large weapon feeding golf balls into it. Izzy, back on the ground, tried to dodge the balls as they dashed towards the metal tube, but the sheer number knocked her into it.
"I got one!" Chris cheered happily.
"Don't get cocky, kid," Chef told him with a smile. The host continued to fire with a vicious grin on his face, and cries of pain from nearly every castmate were heard off-screen.
"Hey, watch the face!" Anne Maria cried out before several golf balls struck her in the face, and Chris continued to shoot.
Confessional: Anne Maria
The tanned woman was now shown to be bruised from her face all the way down. "That schuck is really askin’ for a beatdown if he thinks he can bruise my body, but I still got it." Anne Maria attempted to pose for the camera, but quickly winced in pain.
Confessional Ends
The host shot off a few more golf balls, then held up a button on a cord. "After-aftershock!" he exclaimed as he pressed it, starting up the shaking once again. Izzy lost her own footing and slipped backwards into the metal tunnel. The camera panned back to the tube's beginning, where the other Gaffers were standing. To their shock, the platform began to crack and split perilously close to them.
"We have to get a move on," Ripper said.
MK ducked into the tunnel but was forced out moments later when a screaming Izzy tumbled back through it, knocking into the small woman and sending both over the edge of the crack in the platform. Chase managed to dive and grab onto Izzy's flailing arm, and the camera panned down to show that MK had managed to cling onto her teammate's legs.
"Man, did Chris go all-out with these disasters," Ripper said with worry.
"Pull us up or else I may see the afterlife!" MK cried angrily as Chase struggled to heave his teammates out of the crevice.
"Coming," Scott said before he and Ripper bent down to grab Izzy's other arm.
The scene cut to the Grips as Jasmine made her way across the balance beam, with Millie and Justin coming out of the tube and following her. Chris fired another volley of golf balls which knocked Justin off his balance, and the camera moved back to the Gaffers still at the entrance to the tunnel and also coming under heavy fire.
"We have to keep moving!" Ripper shouted while he sheltered his team. Once his teammates were in relative safety, he began to shield the entrance with his girth. “I believe someone should be yelling “fore!”,” he shot an annoyed glare at the host.
"Fore!" Chris shouted gleefully, pulling the trigger but getting nothing but clicks – he was out of ammunition. The shot cut back to Ripper, who raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and jumped into the tube.
"Chef," Chris said in annoyance, "do something!" A few beeps from the golf cart signaled the hulking man's compliance as he rapidly reversed all the way to the ladder, crashing the gun platform and Chris along with it before quickly climbing up.
He resumed throwing objects at the castmates, starting with a flower pot that knocked Millie off the balance beam just as Jasmine made it to the finish line and Anne Maria made it to the top of her team's wall.
"Hurry up. We're almost there!" Chase called to the rest of the Grips as Scott gave MK a boost over the wall. Izzy climbed down the other side, and Ripper emerged from the tunnel and narrowly dodged a blender. The rough man rushed across the balance beam to the scheming farmer on the other side.
"C'mon. I'll give you a lift," Scott told him.
“Have you seen me?” Ripper raised an eyebrow. “I'm much heavier. I'll lift you up.” He then kneeled down and held out his hands as a foothold.
“Okay, fine,” Scott accepted the boost as bricks and pliers and even a cat in a football uniform were thrown at them.
Chef viciously tossed what appeared to be some sort of bomb, though the lack of an explosion when it landed off-screen suggested it was a dud at best. Regardless, the man smiled when he pulled out the next object: a very large hardcover book. "Ahh, my unpublished manifesto," he said happily.
The dramatically fast-paced challenge music faded into something more deep, tense, and threateningly monotonous as Scott was shown hauling himself up to the top of the wall with Ripper supporting him.
"I've lived a lot of years!" Chef declared before tossing his tremendous manifesto with two hands. The music sped back up as Scott spotted the heavy book flying at him with a gasp.
The shot closed in on the manifesto, and the footage slowed down as it slammed into Scott's right arm, knocking him clear off the wall and onto his back across the balance beam. “Ugh! That hurts!” Scott groaned and clutched his right arm.
"Oh shoot!" Ripper exclaimed in shock and ran over to his groaning teammate. "Your arm is not looking fine right now."
"My editor was right!" Chef told the camera on him proudly. "My life really is dangerous."
Scott began to sit up and used his right arm for support, but then winced in pain and flopped back down with a moan.
Confessional: Millie
"Did Scott actually break his arm?" Millie asked in disbelief. "That is so unfair, even if it is Scott of all people!" She sighed and looked up. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did that to Chase."
Confessional: Chase
"I can't believe Scott just wiped out his arm!" Chase told the confessional camera. "And because of a manifesto of all things!" He sighed and looked down. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did that to Millie."
Confessionals End
As Scott continued to groan in pain on the balance beam, one of the camera men was shown approaching him for a close-up.
"Chris!" Jasmine exclaimed angrily as the shot cut back to the Grips, Chef, and Chris, the host now on the ladder and framing a shot with his hands. "Aren't you going to send the crew over to help him?"
"Yeah yeah," the host said dismissively as another cameraman walked by in front of him, "as soon as we're done getting every shot. The good news is, it looks like Scott won the challenge for the Screaming Gaffers!" He looked over to MK, Izzy, and Chase as they gave a few celebratory cheers, joined in another shot by a smile from Ripper and even a thumbs up from Scott.
"Oh no he did not!" Anne Maria exclaimed.
"Yeah," Millie added sternly. "We got our entire team across the finish line first!"
"Serious injury trumps all," Chris told them with an impish shrug.
"You're just making up the rules as you go along," Jasmine said in frustration.
Chris gave a smug look, then smiled at the camera. "I love my job!"
A close-up of a flashing red siren took over the scene, and Scott was wheeled into an ambulance on a stretcher. "The wounded Scott," Chris said dramatically as the ambulance doors shut and it drove off, leaving the four Gaffers to watch with varying levels of concern. "What will become of him?" The shot zoomed out, showing the Grips standing nearby as well looking worried. "Stay tuned to find out!" Chris said, popping up in the foreground with a grin on his face, earning a glare from the remaining castmates.
(Commercial Break)
The deep and dramatic music continued as soon as the footage cut back to a shot of a water tower, the camera slowing panning down to the film lot's waterfront area. A submarine had been suspended from the arm of a crane, which ran along the top of the screen and was supported on the right by a structure built adjacent to a dock where the cast and host stood. Two sections of the submarine's outer wall had been made transparent, allowing full view of a pair of rooms within; there appeared to be hatches on the top and bottom leading into and out of each compartment. In the water below the submarine were two inflated rafts, roughly aligned with the 'windows'.
"How's Scott doing?" Izzy asked with concern as the camera focused on her.
"Oh, Scott's fine," Chris reassured the group. "A broken bone, but it's all wired shut now. Shouldn't take more than six to eight weeks to heal!"
"Oh," Ripper said, "it's that bad?!"
"I mean," Chris quickly corrected, "he's doing fine!" None of the cast looked like they believed him.
Confessional: Chris
"That's what release forms are for," Chris whined in the confessional trailer, holding up one of the forms. "Correctamundo?" he asked the camera.
Confessional Ends
"Alright!" Chris said as the camera began to zoom out. "Now it's time for the second disaster-themed challenge." The two teams were shown to have boarded the life rafts, the Gaffers on the left and the Grips on the right. "Who's excited?"
Neither the Grips nor the Gaffers gave him any response other than an annoyed glare, and cricket chirps were heard as the camera panned from one to the other.
"Because of Scott's win," Chris continued with a smile, "the Gaffers have the advantage of getting this handy-dandy piece of paper for the second disaster challenge." He took a seemingly blank piece of paper out from behind his back, rapidly folded it into a paper airplane, and threw it over to the team who'd won it. The camera followed it as it flew through the air, passed over the heads of the four Grips, made a loop-the-loop, and eventually got snatched out of the air by Chase.
He unfolded it, showing a small string of roman numerals, and quickly furrowed his brow. "Hey, it's just a bunch of numbers! How's this supposed to help us?"
"Perhaps it's some sort of code," MK suggested after a bit of thought.
"Okay, time to get inside!" Chris announced.
"You do know that I have claustrophobia," Jasmine refused.
"Would you do it for a million bucks?" Chris asked with a sly look.
Jasmine sighed. "I hope there's enough air to last a lifetime."
The footage flashed forward, showing each team in one of the submarine's two visible compartments. "Does anybody else have a bad feeling about this?" Jasmine asked her team as her eyes darted around the room. The sound of sonar pinging in the background was quickly joined by the wailing of a klaxon as lights around the submarine began to flash red. Various shot of hatch wheels, pipes, each team's feet, and the startled faces of Millie, Ripper, and Izzy were shown.
"What's going on?" Justin asked with a hint of panic in his voice.
"It's too dark to see," Chase said. "This isn't good."
"For this challenge," Chris announced over intercoms in each room, "you've gotta get out before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" Millie asked as the footage changed to a monitor feed of the Grips, the camera pulling back a few other monitors next to it showing close-ups of Ripper, Chase, and MK. Chef was sitting in front of them inches away from the camera, looking back at the monitoring console out of the corner of his eyes.
"Oh, you'll find out," Chris told them with a laugh as Chef nodded.
The viewpoint shifted to show the host and his assistant sitting at a table playing cards in the control room. "Pick up two," Chef said, placing a card on the table himself as the handsome host drew another pair.
"You mind cranking that lever?" Chris asked, and his hulking associate quickly complied.
As soon as the lever was pulled, water began to flow heavily through a network of pipes, causing them to drip at various joints. More ominously, water started pouring into the submarine's compartments via a grate in the floor. It quickly began to pool around Justin's feet, and he looked down with shock and unease.
"What is that?" he asked worriedly.
“This is just great," Anne Maria said. "The one person who would've been able to break us out of here had to quit!"
"Well, Brick's not here," Jasmine panicked as she began trying to look around the poorly-lit room. "If we start to drown, not only will we be trapped in here, but we'll die!"
The scene flashed to Ripper trying to turn a hatch wheel on the wall to no avail while Chase stood nearby. "We're stuck in the dark, the water is filling up the place, and one of our teammates is stuck in the infirmary," Chase recapped. “How much worse can this get?”
"The water is freezing?" Ripper replied. "How are we supposed to bust out of this sub?"
"No worries," MK told him. "I've got great night vision. Side note, the things I do sometimes occur at night." She noticed a cardboard box sitting on a nearby table, and opened it up with a grin. "This should help!" she said, taking several flashlights out of the box and turning them on.
"Let's get to work everybody!" Izzy whooped as she caught the light that was tossed to her.
The scene cut to Jasmine and Millie attempting to open two of the wall hatches without success.
Jasmine was focused on as she tried to force her hatch wheel to turn. She gave another grunt of exertion and slipped, falling forward into the Grips' cardboard box. "Brilliant!" she exclaimed in delight, holding up the flashlights she'd accidentally discovered. "Okay cobbers, let's get our heads in the game!" she declared, tossing each of her teammates a flashlight.
"Hey, I think I found something!" Anne Maria said as she shined her light on the ceiling hatch.
"Same here!" Millie added as she illuminated the floor hatch. "This could be the exit!"
The camera cut to a close-up of Chase turning the dial on the floor hatch while Izzy stood behind him shining her light down on it. "Bad news," he said as he finally let go, "it's a combination lock!"
"The numbers on the paper!" Izzy said immediately. "That must be the combination!"
"Oh yeah," Chase said blankly, taking out the crumpled-up note for MK to snatch it and shine her light on it.
Ripper walked up to the AV girl. "Go on, techmaster. Tell us the numbers," he told her expectantly.
"Give me a second," MK replied in annoyance as she flipped the note upside-down and back again.
"We don't have a second!" Chase said in rising panic, the water already up his legs and nearly covering the floor hatch.
"It's either...," MK squinted, "3-1-11-3-6-2," she rattled off before flipping the paper again, "or 2-6-3-9-1-3. It's hard to tell with this bad handwriting."
"Well, get cracking already!" Ripper demanded.
“Guys, now's not the time to fight right now,” Chase reminded them.
MK crouched down by the dial and groaned after looking over it for a second. "These numbers are tiny! Somebody give me a light."
"I'm on it," Izzy told her, shining an extra light down on the dial. "Now which number are we going for first?"
"Let me double check," MK told her, taking the note back out of her pocket only to accidentally lose her grip on the note. MK groaned and picked up the now soggy and unreadable note out of the water.
Confessional: Izzy
“If today's my last day in this world, I'm thankful that I'm not surrounded by loons,” Izzy told the viewers. “Well except for Ripper, but he's not risking all of our lives.”
Confessional Ends
The scene flashed over to a close-up of the Grips' dial as Anne Maria turned it back and forth and her teammates watched in silence. The water rose above her head and she came up. "This ain't working!" she said in frustration. "I can't figure out the combination with the water rising up!"
"How about we boost each other up there?" Millie suggested, her light shining on the ceiling hatch.
"Worth a shot," Jasmine shrugged. The Outback girl held out her hands to give Justin a foothold, boosting him up onto her shoulders before Millie climbed up them to the top.
She strained to reach for the hatch, but it was still too high up. "Almost…there!" As Millie spoke, she made another attempt at reaching out, but only managed to cause the three to lose their balance and collapse into the water.
"Now what?" Justin asked in annoyance just before Anne Maria emerged from the water.
"What are you all doing?" she asked them.
"We were trying to open the door on the ceiling," Millie said. "And how are you able to stay underwater for that long?"
“My lungs are waterproof, duh,” Anne Maria answered. “And if we're gonna use the hatch up there, let's just wait for the water to reach us to that point.”
"Does anybody else have a plan to get us out?" Chase asked his teammates, all four floating idly in the water.
"Of course!" Izzy exclaimed. "We forgot about that hatch!" She pointed to the ceiling hatch with a grin, and with the current water level was able to grab onto it along with Ripper.
"Open sesame!" Ripper bellowed out as he and Izzy pried the hatch cover open.
A shark stuck its head out of the opening with a roar, and the two Gaffers who had opened it quickly closed it again, eyes wide with shock.
"No good. Any other ideas?" Izzy said, backing away from the hatch slowly.
"I got it!" Jasmine grunted as she forced the wheel of the ceiling hatch to turn, and when it finally opened, she immediately shrieked and slammed it shut when a jet of fire came forth from the opening. "That wasn't safe at all!"
The scene cut to the control room, with footage of the Grips continuing what they'd been doing on the monitors.
"Fire, huh?" Chris said with a hint of nervousness. "Don't you think that's a bit much?"
Chef shrugged.
Confessional: Chef Hatchet
"Seriously, I'm just not in the mood!" Chef told the confessional camera angrily. "Busting my hump for a bunch of snot nosed…" He slammed a fist onto the table, scattering a few make-up brushes. "Don't I deserve a little me time?"
Confessional Ends
Close-ups of Jasmine, Izzy, Justin, and Anne Maria were now being shown on the monitors, each one looking with dread at the water that was now up to their necks or shoulders.
"Really, it might be time to end the challenge," Chris said with rising concern. "The water's getting pretty high, and, uh, those kids are terrible swimmers!"
"Focus!" Chef shouted. "I want my chips back," he said calmly, pointing to a tall canister on the table, "I'm starvin'." He casually tossed a single chip into his mouth.
"This is getting serious," Chris told him. "Tur-turn off the water!"
Chef reached for the lever, but it quickly snapped off in his hand, and Chris gasped. "We've gotta get the cast out of there!" he said, standing up in panic. "Simple formula! No more contestants equals no more episodes equals no paycheck, and the end of my luxurious lifestyle!"
"I don't want them to die anymore than you do," Chef said after dropping the broken lever and shuffling their deck of cards, “but the lever is broken, so it's up to them to rescue themselves.”
A shot from just below the surface of the water showed the Gaffers treading it.
"If we make it out of here, the first thing I'm gonna do is break Chris for endangering our lives," Ripper told the team and pulled out the bendy straws from breakfast, “and that's gonna happen thanks to these straws!”
“Why didn't you whip those out earlier?!” MK reprimanded.
“I obviously forgot about them, but I still remember the numbers,” Ripper rolled his eyes and stuck one straw to another. “Now do you want to complain or survive?”
“Alright! I'll help you make a snorkel,” MK took hold of the straws. She watched Ripper put a straw into his mouth and sink underwater, prompting her to stack one straw after another as he sank.
The footage cut back to the control room where Chris was watching the Gaffers with tense worry. "Brilliant!" he said with relief. "Ripper's gonna save the day! Once the hatch is open, it'll drain the water out of both the rooms, and I'll still have a paycheck!" He quickly hugged Chef, who'd been playing cards by himself and looked annoyed at the sudden contact.
An action song began to play in the background as Ripper got to work turning the handle with a serious look on his face. Chris was shown watching nervously from the safety of his control room.
The clip moved to shots of the Grips submerged in water with only their heads surfacing, and Chris was shown covering his eyes in fear and anxiety, peeking out just long enough to gape.
MK kept putting more straws onto the snorkel as the water rose up. "Come on, Ripper!" Chase cried out as his head began to sink. "There's not much time left!"
A shot of the top half of Izzy’s head staying afloat was presented, and as Ripper turned the handle in opposite directions, he adjusted his snorkel before resuming his progress.
Chris was tensely biting his nails while Chef was calmly playing solitaire. However, Ripper got to the last number of the combination, and after yanking at the hatch, it flew open. A large cloud of bubbles briefly covered the screen, and when they dissipated, Ripper signaled his team to get out, and he took off the snorkel and swam out the gap with Izzy, MK, and Chase following after.
Back in the control room, the background music came to an end as Chris started to celebrate. "Wooo-hoo-hoo! Yeah, mmm, mmm!" He cheered, doing a joyous dance around the room while Chef watched in annoyance and ate his chips.
The scene cut to the Grips as their compartment's water drained out and they were left soaking wet.
“Does this mean…” Justin began to wonder.
“Yes. We lost,” Anne Maria looked down in disappointment.
A flash took the scene to a close-up of a roaring fire outside the cast trailers. It was now dark out, and all eight who had competed in the second challenge were furiously sitting around it in bathrobes, the Grips on the left and the Gaffers on the right.
"Well, that was a pretty exciting day, huh?" Chris told them as he walked past the glaring Grips. "Looks like another reward win for the Gaffers. Seems like the Grips are a tad overdue. But," he paused to laugh, "I wouldn't hold my breath!" Jasmine and Millie glared at him and his pun.
"And now let's see what the Gaffers have won!" Chris said once he stopped laughing, pulling a card out of his shirt. "Ohhh!"
The shot flashed to Chef in his sparkly pink dress standing in front of a curtain that was quickly pulled back to reveal a scene of a city on the water, with mountains in the background and a totem pole in the fore. "An all-expenses paid trip to beautiful British Columbia!" The shot flashed again, now showing a close-up of a small cabin bathed in red light and steam, an odd and low bubbling noise in the background. "That's right, you'll be staying at the luxurious inn, 'On the Volcano'!" The camera pulled back, revealing that the cabin was indeed located so far over the mouth of an active volcano that it looked like it would fall in at the slightest provocation. "A charming lodge, teetering on the edge of a little-known active volcano, on Vancouver Island."
The Gaffers looked at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "To get you there," the host continued as the scene flashed to Chef, dressed in a traditional German costume and accompanied by an unseen yodeler, hiking up the side of a mountain. "You'll be enjoying an exhilarating eight-day hike up the craggy, treacherous-"
Both the host and the various background sounds were interrupted by a record scratch and an angry outburst from Chase. "No way!"
Confessional: Chase
"We were actually going to drown back there!" Chase said in the confessional. "These producers are insane if they want us to stay at a volcano."
Confessional: Ripper
"I was going to give Chris a thrashing, but after some careful consideration, I realized that it could get me kicked off the show,” Ripper explained and smiled arrogantly. “And there's no way I'm leaving without lording over the fact that I saved everybody's lives over their heads.”
Confessionals End
"We'll just take some snacks and drinks for our reward," MK told the host. "And make it a stash."
"Suit yourselves," Chris replied, putting the card back in his shirt pocket. "More money for my end-of-the-year bonus!"
Confessional: Izzy
"Okay, I'm not above covering myself with poison ivy, but there's no way I'm gonna go on a vacation after I almost died," Izzy confessed with rare fury. "That's just extremely messed up."
Confessional Ends
MK and Ripper clinked soda bottles together as they, Izzy, and Chase enjoyed their reward at the picnic table outside the rebuilt craft services tent. The camera quickly panned to the left past the sulking Grips, and stopped on Chris walking alongside Scott. The redheaded boy's right arm had a sling, and he was looking rather miffed.
“Remember when I said I'd sue you in the first season? That was just an empty threat,” Scott angrily whispered, frightening Chris a bit. “If this was an elimination episode and I got the boot, I would do so as soon as I got home. I have an uncle who's a lawyer.”
"Umm…" Chris whispered to him timidly, "please don't. I promise to get you compensated for your broken arm as soon as possible."
“Okay,” Scott looked at Chris suspiciously. “I'll go celebrate with my team, but you guys better provide me with benefits or you and Chef are getting a lawsuit.”
“Enjoy!” Chris regained his happy demeanor after watching Scott walk off. "And with that, we are at the end of another awesome episode. What disaster lies in store for our teams next time?" he asked the camera with a smile. "I'm your host, Chris McLean, asking you to tune in, turn on, and find out right here on Total! Drama! Action!"
(Roll the Credits)
(Bonus Clip)
“Look at all the food we won,” Scott demonstrated what was on the table - soda, chips, chocolate bars, marshmallows, gumballs, and crackers. “Why offer us a disaster themed vacay when we can just stuff our faces in?” He took a gumball with his left arm and swallowed it in his mouth. “But that doesn't mean I'm letting my injured arm go. Those guys were the ones who broke it, not me. And if I'm not treated at all, charges will be pressed on them.” He then blew a bubble, and after it got too big, the bubble exploded and the embarrassed teen had his entire face covered in gum.
Eva - 14th
Geoff - 14th
Izzy - RETURNED
Trent - 12th
Sky - 11th
Brick - 10th
Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott

I (20F) am a first year college student and stays in a hostel with a shared bedroom (3 girls in a room). When the classes began, I quickly became friends with my two roommates A and B, and the girls in the room next to us, C, D and E. Now, we used to be quite friendly in the beginning. We used to share snacks, talk until late at night, wake each other up, have movie nights, and..just being normal.
Me being the dumb naive bitch that I am, was always doing stuff for us. Bought a broom, a mirror, a waste bin, and mat for my room two sets of hangers, sugar, salt, asked my parents to bring food for all 6 of us, always bought 6 of every snack and shit so that we could share. I even used to stand in line at the college store, sometimes for hours, to buy us lab records and log books and I always made sure to buy 6 for all of us.
But I noticed that im just..not a part of most conversations. Im not in most of our photos. Im the last one to know about things. C and D would barely acknowledge me unless the others were also present. B would hug everyone except me. A would invite another friend, F into our room and A, B and F would talk for hours, cuddle on the bed, play fight, joke, watch netflix and all that shenanigans, while I would be in the room and without inviting me even once. They would pretend I don't exist. Once i just tried joining them but their body language made it clear that they did not want me joining. C, D, and E bought some books just for themselves, even though I asked then for a favour and to get me one too. They would walk together without me and im always left alone to the point that even a professor started noticing it before I did. (Shoutout to Dr.S for opening me eyes)
I am kinda awkward and have trouble remembering faces, so I don't have any other friends. People think I'm rude but I'm just not able to recognize most people's faces. I'm also accidentally rude to people because I don't know when to start or stop talking and often end up unintentionally interrupting the other person.
Now, to the incident that was the last straw. I've been asking to go to a shawarma shop just outside campus and on 2 occasions, B would make some excuse and say that she would not be able to go and the rest of them would cancel the plan because of that. One day I had a severe asthma attack and was in the emergency department alone for 6 hours and came back alone to the hostel. I did text in our whatsapp group what happened. Not one of them called or even texted me. I was at the hospital alone and had to ask one of the nurses to accompany me so that I could pay the bills while he kept watch so that I didn't faint. And in the evening when they came back to the hostel, none of them even asked a word. And worse, I find that they all went to eat fucking shawarma without me. They didn't even tell me, I found it later from another classmate.
I slowly stopped interacting with them. I feel so betrayed. C, D and E don't even notice that I'm no longer there with them. B is acting like I shouldn't be in the room anymore and gives dirty looks when I make something for myself (cup maggi, coffee, boost).
I am sad now. I wanted a friend.

One wrong turn.
That’s all it takes to completely flip what should be a routine, normal road trip on its head. I’m fairly certain most of you reading this have made the mistake. You’ll be driving along, not a worry in the world beyond what you’ll eat later on or where you’ll stay for the night, guided by a paper map, or, more commonly these days, by the GPS navigation in your car or phone. But then, you’ll look up and realize: Either the GPS routed you the wrong way or has lost reception entirely, or you lost track of which roads you’ve taken on a paper map. And that’s when you do it. You make the fateful decision to turn one way or the other, and end up in the middle of Nowheresville. Population: Who the hell knows?
Most of the time, it’s no big deal. You’ll realize you messed up, pull over and choose to turn around. All that happens is you lose a few hours, and at worst, you’ll end up reaching your destination late with a bit of a humorous story to laugh about for months and years to come.
But sometimes, just sometimes…the consequences can be far more terrifying.
My job requires me to travel all across the eastern United States to act as an in-person liaison for my employers. I’ve spent most of the last eight years behind the wheel, driving from state to state. I developed what I always believed to be an infallible sense of direction, and due to a distrust of most modern technology, I never used any electronic form of navigation. “Just give me a paper map and I’m golden!” That was what I always said. Never before had I any reason to doubt myself; after all, I had never gotten lost before.
That was, until that night.
I'd just finished up a meeting in Pittsburgh that evening, and after a quick supper, received word to head for New York. From the moment I hit the road, I knew it was going to be a rough night. After getting onto I-76, I found myself surrounded by slow-moving traffic due to a bad accident up ahead. By the time I was waved around the scene just outside Monroeville, the bright orange digital dash clock told me it was close to midnight. Great, and I’ve still got a good two or three hundred miles to go. Not wanting to deal with any more traffic, I consulted the tattered map on the passenger seat. I’ll hop on over to the 30, take that east to Breezewood, and then hop back on the 76. It’ll be slightly longer, but whatever. I’d rather deal with that than this jam-up.
My decision made, I found the interchange and put my foot down. Thankfully, it was far less packed than the 76, and I made it to the Breezewood by two-thirty. The town was tiny; according to the welcome sign with a population of just over a thousand people, and aside from the gas stations, all the buildings were dark as their residents soundly slept in their beds.
I felt a slight pang of jealousy at the thought as I stood under the buzzing fluorescent lights, leaning against the car as I watched the numbers creep up on the display. I sighed. “There are times I wish I didn’t have to go all over the gaff” I muttered, using the phrase I’d learned from a pal in London. It wasn’t the first time I’d felt it; I knew for a fact I couldn’t do this forever, and after almost a decade, I was beginning to consider seeking a transfer to a different department. When I get back to Boston, I’ll ask Hargrieve if there’s any openings I can jump into in the near future.
The sound of a rumbling engine tore me away from my thoughts, and I looked up to see what a black muscle car pulling into the station. As it slid under the lights, I caught a glimpse of the Pontiac logo adorning the grille, as well as the GTO badge on the quarter panel. I let out a soft, low whistle. Man, that’s nice. Either a ‘66 or ’67, by the look of it. The car stopped at the pump opposite me, and what I can only describe as two Greasers straight out of the fifties or sixties stepped out. They both wore black leather jackets, along with faded denim jeans and engineer boots, and their hair had been slicked back into place with what appeared to be a pound of pomade each. Almost instantly, I felt a sense of wariness fall over me. I could tell these were the kind of people that parents often warned their teenager children about growing up. The kind from the wrong side of the tracks. The driver turned in my direction as he slammed his door shut, eyes sliding over my car and lingering a few moments longer than I liked. My wariness increased. Even though my car was thirty-six years old, I knew the BMW logo on the hood and wheels often drew people’s attention, and not always for the best reasons.
I turned away from the pair, looking again at the readout on the pump. Come on, man. Hurry the hell up and finish. The numbers continued to increase. I tapped my foot impatiently on the concrete. Behind me, I heard one of the men walk away, no doubt heading inside to pay. For a few more seconds, all that could be heard was the buzzing of the lights, and the buzzing of insects in the grass around the station. Then, with a loud click that sounded more like a gunshot in the stillness, the pump shut off. Thank God, took freakin’ long enough. I pulled the nozzle from the car and replaced it in its cradle, turning back to screw the gas cap in. Flipping the fuel door closed, I stood up and cast a final look around the station.
And reflexively took a step backwards.
The driver was still standing exactly where he had when I’d seen him eyeballing my car earlier. Only now, his gaze had shifted to stare straight at me. The expression that adorned his face was intense and beyond unpleasant; it was not far off the same a cat wears when it spies a mouse darting around with no place to run. I felt a huge chill shoot up my spine, and for a split second, I swore something about his eyes changed. To this day, I couldn’t explain what, but I’ll never forget the sudden, bone chilling surge of fear that rushed through my body. Even though I stand at six feet tall and well built, I suddenly felt like I was twelve years old again, cornered by the school bullies in the locker room with a horrible fate in store for me.
I blinked my eyes a few times, shaking my head. For a moment, the feeling remained. Then it dissipated. I risked another look up. The man was still looking at me, but the expression on his face had gone. If it had even been there to begin with. Instead, he gave me a slightly amused and perplexed look. “You okay, man?” he asked. His voice was deep, the gravely tone in it giving him away as the two pack of Marlboro a day type. I let out a deep breath, then nodded curtly at him. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. Just a long night” I turned away, giving my head another fierce shake as I rubbed my eyes. You were just seeing things, Michael. The combination of late night driving and the lights made you hallucinate. You didn’t actually see that.
“Maybe you should grab a coffee or something before hittin’ the road again, then. Seen far too many nasty wrecks from people who fell asleep at the wheel” The words the man spoke had been similar to the ones I’d been thinking, and I swung my gaze up again. The amused expression remained, but I thought I could see a trace of concern beneath it. For a moment, there was silence between us. Then I spoke. “Yeah. Yeah, that might be a good idea” I turned towards the gas station, then stopped, turning back to nod more pleasantly at the man. “Thanks” He had turned away to stare at the pumps, and in response, he raised a hand over his head. Maybe I made a mistake with my first impression. I still get the feeling he’s a dick, but he’s not the Stephen King-like antagonist I originally thought him to be. Just goes to show you appearances can be deceiving.
A few minutes later, I emerged from the store with a steaming Styrofoam cup in my hands. Crossing back to my car, I opened the door and slid behind the wheel. The hot liquid immediately snapped me awake, and after a few sips, I sat it in the custom cup holder I’d rigged up on the air vent. Sliding the key into the ignition, I twisted it, and the car growled to life along with a few sharp electronic chimes. Reaching over, I snapped the radio on; along with the coffee, music would help keep me focused. A low wave of static spilled out of the speakers, indicating I’d long since driven out of range of the station I’d listened to last. Figures. I stabbed the scan button, then settled back in my seat. After a few sharper bursts of static, the speakers filled with a loud radio stinger, followed by a man’s voice.
“Attention, wives! Win five dollars cash this Mother’s day on WWDS! May 12^th, when you get the signal, call WWDS and record your voice. If your husband or son can identify the sound of your voice when played on the air, you win! Now, on to number 28 on WWDS’ Fab’ Forty, up a notch over the past week, Roy Orbison!” The opening chords and lyrics of In Dreams filled the car’s interior. I let out a small chuckle and shook my head. Good song choice, but holy crap, this county must be stuck in the sixties with that kind of contest. Five freakin’ dollars. Continuing to laugh softly, I put the car into drive and pulled out of the station, noting vaguely that the greasers had already left. Approaching the road back to the 30, I reached over and picked up the map, unfolding it on my lap to see where I was, and more importantly, how to rejoin the 76.
My chuckles morphed into a loud groan. A large tear, one which had been hidden from me, took up a large space in the bottom of the paper. Directly through the area I needed. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me…” I shot a quick glance around. I had slowed to about five miles an hour, and though nobody else was merging back onto the road with me, I didn’t want to turn around and head back to ask for directions. I hissed through slightly gritted teeth. “Shit” Then I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. Just relax, man. There will surely be a sign indicating when the change will be coming up. Just keep your eyes peeled for it, and you’ll be golden. Nodding to myself, I pushed down on the accelerator, the V12 growling as it downshifted, and I flew out of Breezewood. Passing by a hotel and a few other gas stations, I stared intently through the windshield.
The low, looming shape of what had to be a church and accompanying cemetery was approaching rapidly on my left when I spied it. It was set far off from the side of the road, almost completely obscured by tall grass and reeds. But caught in the beam of my headlights, the numbers were unmistakable, as was the arrow that angled off to the left. “Yes!” I whispered softly. I slowed the car, flicking on the blinker as I saw what had to be the entrance, which angled slightly up a hilly incline. Making sure that nobody was approaching in the opposite lane, I gunned the throttle and merged onto the turnpike.
I found myself on a four lane highway, the two opposite lanes divided by a well-kept grass median. Streetlights were set along both sides in intervals of several dozen yards, the dull, orange glow of what had to be high pressure sodium bulbs seeming to shoo the surrounding darkness away and momentarily illuminating the BMW’s interior every time I flashed under one. In Dreams was ramping up to its climax, and Orbison’s falsetto was calming, allowing me to relax back into the seat and stare out the windshield. After a moment, though, something clicked in my brain, and I quickly looked around. With a sense of surprise, I realized I didn’t see a single other car or truck on the road. Well, it is getting on to close to three in the morning. Especially in a rural area like this, not many are going to be out driving. They’re all in bed.
The song ended, and the announcer’s voice came on again. “Well, folks, I hope you enjoyed that tune. As for me, I’ll be signing off for the night, but for you night owls and late-night travelers, stay tuned, because up next we have the dynamic duo of Elvis and Jayne, who will be discussing Pennsylvania’s spookiest events and taking your calls. We’ll see you tomorrow morning with the AM newscast!” I let out a snort. “This should be interesting. At least it’ll definitely keep me awake” I picked up the cup of coffee and took another sip, sparing a glance down at the speedometer. The needle sat almost dead on at sixty-five miles an hour. Hopefully I made the right call and won’t encounter any more accidents. Early morning Manhattan traffic is hell on earth.
My attention focused back on the radio as organ music began to spill from the speakers. I couldn’t help but let out another snort; it was obvious the music was meant to evoke a spooky atmosphere, but in reality, it sounded more like what you’d expect to hear in a low budget haunted house. After a few more moments, it faded out, and what I can only describe as the sultriest women’s voice I’ve ever heard began to speak. “Hello, all you late night listeners. To all the night owls, graveyard shift workers, wandering travelers, and of course, all the ghosts and ghouls tuning in. Welcome once again to Late Night Spooks. As always, I’m your host Jayne, and I’m joined by my eternal co-host Elvis. We’re here to fill the witching hour with tales that will leave you lying in your beds, blanket tightly tucked up around your chin as you gaze around. Wondering, what may be staring back at you from the darkness” Now I let out a full-blown laugh. “Oh my good God, this is so fucking cheesy, man!” I slapped the steering wheel a few times. “I already freakin’ love this!”
The man-Elvis-cut in. “That’s right folks. We’re here to tell you tales that will send shivers straight up your spine, and make you wonder just how real the supernatural truly is. And, of course, as the show goes on, we will be taking calls from you to discuss our topic tonight. Jayne, you want to tell that what that is?” The woman spoke up again. “Absolutely, Elvis. Tonight, we are going to be focusing in depth on some of the most unexplainable, eeriest disappearances of people in Pennsylvania. We have cases to share with you, ranging from long, long ago, to, well, shall we say recent memory. Up first, let’s discuss the strange disappearance of a judge in 1930-”
The woman continued to speak, but my attention was pulled away as the car rounded a slight bend. Ahead of me, I saw a small, white sign sitting next to the side of the road. Single Lane, Keep Right. Swinging my gaze farther up the road, I spied the unmistakable, gaping maw of a tunnel. Two lights set at the entrance by what had to be the air ducts illuminated lettering which spelled out the tunnel’s name. Rays Hill. I lightly tapped the brakes, slowing the car to about forty as I saw that the highway did, in fact, narrow into two lanes. Inside, I could see the tunnel was lit up by dozens more lights. I felt a slight sense of discomfort well up inside me; I always had a small case of claustrophobia whenever I had to travel through any tunnels, whether they went underground, or in some cases, underwater. Watching films like Daylight as a kid really didn’t help. It's fine, man. Just drive through it, and you’ll be fine. I took a deep breath, then with a loud exhale, I stepped back on the gas and entered the tunnel.
As I slid inside the concrete behemoth, the woman’s voice faded, replaced instead with the soft hiss of static. I caught a tiny snippet of what she was saying. “Elvis, would you provide us with some backsto-” I groaned. “Oh, what?! Come on, man! Just when it was getting interesting?!” I hit the button to raise the power antenna in a vain attempt to regain the signal, but it was no use. There was too much ground and concrete in the way to get reception. Of. Fucking. Course. Sighing, I turned down the volume but did not shut the radio off completely; once I made it out the other side, I wanted to pick up the show immediately. With nothing else to occupy my concentration, I focused fully ahead on the road. It was just wide enough for two cars to pass by each other, though I wouldn’t have been surprised if many a side mirror had met their end in here. I’m glad there’s no eighteen wheelers coming the opposite way. That would be a nerve-wracking experience in itself. I let out a soft chuckle at the thought, but the truth was, the silence that had filled the car’s interior with the absence of the radio was beginning to become uncomfortable. Wanting to have some form of audile stimulation, I hit the button to lower the driver’s window.
The sound of the tires humming along the pavement immediately met my ears, along with the soft hum of the exhaust as they bounced off the walls and ceiling. It relaxed me somewhat, and I felt the tension slowly ease away. A yawn escaped my lips, and I blinked my eyes at the sudden sense of fatigue that settled in its place. Coffee. I leaned over and picked up the cup, sparing one quick glance ahead before tilting my head back and taking a large gulp of the rapidly cooling drink. I returned my eyes to the road-
-And almost spit the coffee that remained in my mouth over the windshield. Sitting directly in the middle of the road was what appeared to be a man and a woman. They both straddled bicycles with handlebar mounted lights, their gaze fixated as they stared around and aimed flashlights at the ceiling. FUCK ME! I slammed both my feet on the brake pedal, dropping the cup and snatching for the emergency brake. The tunnel was filled with the sound of screeching tires as I yanked, the rear wheels locking up and the car beginning to slide sideways. “Shit!” I screamed, trying desperately to pull the wheel back straight and laying on the horn. For a split second, I saw the couple snap their heads in my direction as they involuntarily aimed their flashlights through the windshield, blinding me for a moment. Their faces filled with shock and horror, and they attempted to leap off their bikes and out of the way.
I jammed my eyes shut, not wanting to see them reduced to road kill, but kept my hands tight on the wheel as I felt the car begin to slow. A moment later, it skidded to a halt, rocking slightly on its suspension. For a few moments, the sound of my tires continued to echo in the confined space, and then it died away, replaced with an eerie silence. My heart pounded in my chest, and I felt my breathing coming in short and shallow. Thoughts raced through my mind with all the speed of a Le Mans racecar. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. I’m going to jail, man. I’ m going to jail and I’m going to lose my license and my job on top of the fact I probably just KILLED two people! Every fiber of my being screamed at me not to open my eyes. But I knew I eventually had to. Bracing myself for the scene that would be there, I forced my eyes open.
There was nobody there. No bicycles lay spilled and dented in front of my car. No bloodstains covered the hood and windshield. No crumpled forms lay in the beam of my headlights. For a moment, I simply stood there, shock numbing me as my eyes darted around. “I…what…?” Confusion joined the shock, and I stabbed at the seat belt release, yanking on the handle and practically kicking the door open. Leaping out onto the pavement, I gripped the top of the door as I peered over the hood. The road was empty. I spun around, looking behind me. Two long black marks which had been the rubber of my tires stretched away from me; back about eighty feet or so. Aside from that, though, there was nothing. No sign of any other living being.
That’s…that’s freakin’ impossible. I know I saw them there. I saw them look at me as if they hadn’t seen or heard me approaching. They should be here, either screaming at me or…they should be here. What the hell is going on?
A sudden, sharp chill shot up my spine, and on reflex, I shot a look behind me. A few hundred feet ahead, I could see the end of the tunnel and the darkness beyond. The soft sound of crickets chirping, punctuated by the sudden call of some nocturnal bird echoed down to me. Far from bringing me any sort of comfort, though, it made the sense of eeriness and paranoia which had suddenly fallen over me increase. I felt like a character in one of the books I loved to read as a kid, suddenly knee deep in something he couldn’t understand or comprehend. “Calm down, Michael. Calm down” I muttered to myself. As I stood there, still holding on to the top of the door, a new sound reached my ears, back the way I’d come. For a moment, I was unable to place it, then my mind connected the dots as I heard the rumble of an engine in the distance. A car. There’s another car approaching the tunnel.
Shooting a final glance around the tunnel, I quickly dropped back into the driver’s seat and swung the door shut. Sliding my seatbelt back on, I lowered the emergency brake and put the car back in drive. A moment later, and I was shooting out the exit into the night. Trying to calm myself, I reached up and hit the button for the sunroof, the panel pulling back and allowing more cool air into the car. As I settled back, I suddenly became aware that the radio had picked up the station again. The static had been replaced by the woman’s voice, almost inaudible over the rushing wind. Wanting to distract myself, I reached over and turned up the volume. “Well, thank you for your insights on that, Mrs. Clemens. That was truly a treat to discuss the case with you, thanks for the call. Coming up after the break, though, we’re going to discuss one of the stranger, more recent cases we’ve heard about, so stay tuned!” A commercial for a local amusement park began, and I tuned it out, vaguely aware of the amplified sound of the distant car behind me as it entered the tunnel.
There was something that had been incessantly repeating over and over in my mind since I’d stepped out of the car. It kept flapping around like the loose end of a film reel in my head. I shook my head. Knock it off, Mike. That’s beyond insane. You were panicking and your mind overloaded. Even if you…you just came across some unexplainable and terrifying, that’s still ridiculous. But it continued to gnaw at me. The image danced behind my eyelids when I blinked. Something I’d seen when the two had aimed their flashlights at me, blinding me. Just for a second, I thought I’d seen the tunnel…
I slapped the steering wheel, hard. “Knock it off! You didn’t see shit!” The irritation temporarily consumed the mental freak out happening in my head, and I looked out ahead of me. The turnpike had returned to four lanes, and I allowed my foot to press a little harder down on the accelerator, seeing the speedometer rise to seventy. Breathing deeply, I felt myself begin to relax a little. Outside of the tunnel in the open air, everything had rapidly begun to seem like a hallucination brought about by fatigue. I began to mentally chide myself. If they’d been real, you would be on the chopping block for involuntary manslaughter right now. Let this be a lesson to you: No matter what, if you’re tired, pull over and rent a motel room. Better to have Hargrieve chew you out than kill someone.
The commercial ended, and the sound of Jayne’s' voice returned, drawing my attention as I shot under an overpass of some sort. “Welcome back, listeners. I hope you enjoyed hearing about Hanson’s. Remember to get your butts up to Harvey’s Lake next weekend to take advantage of their two-for-one deal! Trust me; the Speed Hound is more of a scream with a friend! Now, let’s move on. Elvis, you want to introduce our next case?” The man spoke up. “It’d be my pleasure to, Jayne. Now, listeners, you know we love a truly spooky unsolved mystery here on our show. We’ve already covered some tonight. But this next one, is one that boggles my mind for sure. We’re going to discuss the disappearance of a man out near Breezewood!” I took my eyes off of the road for a second to glance down at the radio, letting out a strained chuckle. “Oh, boy. After what I just went through, hearing about something so close to where I’m at is gonna be freakin’ lovely” I ran a hand through my hair. Then I laughed a little more genuinely. “Wonder if it’ll be about any missing cyclists?”
The dark humor helped me relax further, and I reached down and flipped on the heated seat. A sudden bright stab of light reflected in my rear view mirror, and I cast a glance in my side mirror. A pair of headlights had appeared about a half a mile back, what must have been the car I’d heard in the tunnel. Feeling comforted by the sudden appearance of another person, I returned my attention to the show. “Now, folks, listener discretion is advised, because this is truly one hair-raising case. It begins at a gas station just off Route 30 in Breezewood. The time? Very close to right now, actually. According to authorities, the man showed up on surveillance footage pulling into the station and purchasing gas and a cup of coffee. The cashier stated that he seemed tired and a little frazzled. He stayed in the station for about fifteen minutes, before slowly pulling back out onto the road and out of sight”
At the man’s words, a huge chill ran up my spine, causing me to shiver. “Ugh. Jesus, this is quite literally hitting a little too close to home. I mean, I know that thousands of people do the exact same thing every day, even at gas stations like around here, but the similarity is eerie as hell” Off to my left, I saw the forest pull away, revealing what looked to be the darkened shape of a lake in the distance. The sight reminded me of better days; days of being a child and going for a swim in Walden Pond, watching my parents waving to me from the shore. Jayne spoke up. “That’s correct. Now, there are a few things that bother me about this case. The first is, after he left, he just seemed to drop off the face of the earth completely. Nobody recalls seeing him driving down the road after he left that night, and he never hopped onto the highway, either. The second is that according to the police, a second car was seen pulling in shortly after him and also getting gas. Let me just check my notes here…it says it was some sort of muscle car”
My eyes widened, and I felt the blood drain from my face. It felt as though I’d been hit by a truck, and a heavy pit had formed in my stomach. The paranoia and terror I’d felt back in the tunnel returned, but this time for a much different reason. Wait…a muscle car…that’s what those…oh, God. I spoke aloud. “Please, for the love of God, don’t say it was a Pontiac. Please, anything else” My prayers were not answered by Elvis’ next words. “I see here according to my own notes that the cashier claims it was a Pontiac of some sort. Either a mid sixties LeMans or GTO” The lump that had settled into my stomach rose into my throat, and for a moment I thought I was going to be ill. The fact I had seen, less than half an hour ago a car identical to the one being described in a missing person’s case was not just fear inducing- it was downright horrifying. I remembered catching the look the driver had given me, remembered feeling as though I were staring at a predator.
I might’ve locked eyes with a fucking murderer…
As Jayne began to speak again, I quickly flashed a look in the rear-view mirror. The car behind me had closed the distance, showing whoever it was, they had the pedal to the metal. It was still too far away for me to see anything beyond the headlights, though. I again focused my attention on the show as the woman continued to speak. “-and don’t forget that the cashier also mentioned how the man seemed more than a little disturbed by the two men in the Pontiac. He even said he felt something was off about them himself. According to him, the men were dressed in matching leather jackets, jeans, and boots. Both appeared to be in their early to mid-twenties as well” I was doing my best not to panic, but with each word the hosts were saying, my fear was compounding. Any doubt I’d been face to face with the same men had vanished with Jayne’s last words. A sudden, sharp stab of clarity broke through my mind.
I’ve got to call the cops.
Reaching down, I fumbled for my cell phone, which had slid across the passenger seat. Snatching it up, I tapped the home button, the screen flashing to life. And let out a massive groan. No bars were displayed in the upper right corner. “Fucking dead zone…” I hissed, throwing it back onto the seat. I pushed down harder on the accelerator, watching as the needle began to flirt with eighty. I began to mutter to myself “Okay, calm, Michael. Calm. You don’t need to panic and get yourself into an accident. Just get yourself out of the dead zone, and then call the police. Tell them you saw them back in that town, and what gas station you were at. They’ll be able to get the camera footage and nail these fuckers” I took several deep breaths, then focused back on the road. Elvis had started to speak up again, when the BMW jolted forward sharply. My head snapped forward, and I felt a sudden ache in my neck from the whiplash as it slammed back into the headrest. What the shit?! My eyes flickered to the rear-view mirror-
-And almost screamed at the sight that greeted me.
The car that had been far behind me had caught up to me somehow. It sat right on my ass, the headlights lighting up the interior as though it were suddenly daytime. The source of the jolt was immediately clear; they had driven straight into the back of me. That fact was terrifying enough. But it was the sight of the Pontiac emblem in the mirror that caused my heart to almost stop. I snapped my gaze to the side mirror, and felt another surge of terror as I saw the face of the man from the gas station behind the wheel. The expression adorning his face froze my blood in my veins, as did the shark like smile he wore. For a split second, it almost felt as though I were unable to look away from him. Then the car leapt forward with a roar again, bumping into me and causing my car to lurch forward again.
“Fuck me!” I shouted, the trance broken as I slammed the accelerator to the floor. For a moment, there was no response, and then the car downshifted, the V12 changing from a growl to a roar as the accelerator began to rapidly climb. To my relief, the car began to create some distance with the Pontiac, and I caught sight of the passenger finally. He wore an equally vile grin as his buddy, and he seemed to be gesturing for him to get after me. Not today, motherfucker, I thought. I kept my foot down hard, seeing the speedometer climb to ninety-five miles an hour. The wind from the open window and sunroof tore at my face, and I took one hand off the wheel for a split second to stab the buttons to close them. A second later, and the world outside became muted by the double paned glass. I returned my gaze to the road, occasionally sparing glances in the rearview. The muscle car appeared to falter for a moment. Then I saw it begin to close the distance again.
“Shit!” I’d hoped I’d be able to keep the gap between us, or even widen it. But the two must’ve clearly souped the GTO up, because it was managing to keep up just fine. I shot a glance down at the speedometer again. I felt my heart flutter as I saw I was now doing over a hundred and ten miles an hour. As I looked back up, I heard the muffled roar of the car behind me. A third jolt, this time a little less severe rocked the car on its suspension. I felt the back end step out slightly, and horrific images of sliding off the road to slam into a tree or rolling flashed in my mind. God, please let me survive this! Please let me escape these fuckheads in one piece! A flash of white suddenly captured my attention, and I looked up to see a sign zooming towards me. It flashed by a moment later, but I’d been able to see what it had said.
Sideling Hill Tunnel, 3 miles.
My grip on the steering wheel tightened. If I make one mistake in there at these speeds, I’m dead. I need to keep absolutely focused, and remember all the lessons from those defensive driving classes Dad forced me to take. As I began to try and formulate a plan that would help me survive until I reached civilization, I suddenly became aware that the radio was still on. Elvis’ voice spilled from my speakers, oblivious to the horror that was repeating itself mere miles from his broadcast station. “Oh, Jayne, before we begin to take any calls about this case, we almost forgot to mention the man’s name and what kind of car he was driving!” Realizing that it would be a distraction, one that could end up being fatal to me, I spared a glance in the mirror. The Pontiac was still far enough away. I began to reach out to snap the radio off.
But my fingers froze midway at the woman’s words.
“Of course, how silly of me! According to the police reports and surveillance footage, the man was driving a dark green 1988 BMW 750il, and had Massachusetts license plates”
The world seemed to slow to a crawl, as though somebody had hit a button on a VCR remote. I stared at the radio, feeling a sense of shock unlike anything I’d ever felt before wash over me. I….wait…what…?
All these weeks later, I can still perfectly remember the horror I felt at her next words.
“And it says here that the man’s name was Michael Goggins!”

Scenario: Gau Floral Store, Bedtown — 12:00 PM
Slow days. Man, Konan really missed slow days.
Ever since the destruction of the Hymnal Bazaar, his business had been on the rise. That wasn’t an issue, obviously – Konan would prefer that the flowers he spends most of his time cultivating do get sold – but the sudden uptick from maybe 5 deliveries a week to as many as 50 was beginning to make his head spin. That wasn’t even counting the people who would come into the store itself, meaning that his schedule had been drastically changed to revolve around having to actually tend the shop during the day.
The botanist sighed with relief as he ushered out the last panicked husband of the day, a quickly-made bouquet in hand and a half-hearted wish that his anniversary date goes well. Konan never realized how stressful this would actually be when things got serious, but he wasn’t complaining about the extra money he was raking in from all of the business.
“...Hm. Should have a few hours to myself now. No appointments ‘til 5, and it's noon now...” Konan spoke to himself as he went about tidying his store, stopping for a moment to admire his indoor-grown lotus exhibit. They were no easy task, but it felt rewarding after seeing them sell so fast. A lot of things started to feel rewarding recently, he thought. Thus Konan was ready to start maintaining the aquaponic pool he used to keep the lotuses healthy. It was his favorite part of the day, so he made sure to really prepare himself for it–
Tinny music blasted through handheld speakers, disturbing the peace with industrial clangs and drum hits as a distorted instrumental growled over bestial roars. The other hand held a cellphone as its owner tramped through the flower shop. Not like a bull, but more like a: “BOAR WALKIN IN, GONNA GORE YOU DEAD; COME TO OUR TOWN, WE’LL PUT YOUR ASS TO—o-oh!”
Gesticulating aggressively to her camera, she swung her arm as if to punch the lens, winding up and knocking a vase off of its table. All the domineering bravado vanished from her mean mug as she dove for the porcelain with a loud “Kyaaah!”, catching the vase before it hit the ground. Unfortunately, this jostled several other display tables, knocking their flowers to the ground instead.
She looked up to Konan, colorful petals and ceramic pieces strewn all about her. Baingan had spent the day walking through the streets of Bedtown, filming herself and her surroundings for an impromptu music video. Whether she had a license to do so was unclear, but even she had to acknowledge that making a mess of the flower store couldn’t be walked off with a string of apologies and promises to not be so loud next time. She took out a small black rectangle. “Uh... can you put it on Night Train’s card?”
Konan stared at the boisterous rap star, a single eyebrow quirked in response to the card shown to him. If this had happened at any other point in the past, Konan probably would have blown up in response to the accident. Luckily for Baingan, though, all he did was sigh and give her a frank look before speaking.
“Look, uh... Baingan? I think that’s you.” After a swift nod from Baingan herself, Konan continues. “Money won’t fix this. Those were deliveries I was going to make. Unless Night Train is cool with covering the expenses of...” Konan silently counted all of the remains on the floor, drooping a bit as he did. “...30 ₹2650 deliveries, the ₹1325 apology refund for the deliveries being late, and ₹1000 for each of the 30 decorative vases, we’re gonna have to work something else out.”
Baingan began to put the card away after she finished her mental math, knowing just how much of a scolding she’d get for having spent that much money in one place during an unapproved recording session. Baingan didn’t let her nerves bother her though, and placed two firm hands on the botanist’s shoulders.
“Let’s make those fuckin’ bouquets again, then. I’ll help you and everything!” The sneer formerly on her face had been parted by an energetic grin, paired with her bouncing up and down ever-so-slightly. Though still a bit sour looking, Konan couldn’t help but smile a little bit. He gingerly took Baingan’s hands from his shoulders and guided them back to her sides. By the looks of it, he wasn’t much of a physical person. The grimace on his face told Baingan that much, at least.
“...Sure. Fine. Thanks.” Konan turned to go grab a broom, curt words hiding the relief he felt that he wouldn’t be redoing the work all alone. It was stressful enough to wake up and see he had thirty deliveries to make today. Once he returned with the broom, he began to sweep as he spoke with the woman who just volunteered quite a bit of her time to him.
“So... what are you doing here? Doesn’t Sing Now! keep all of his employees squashed under his thumb?” Baingan could detect some disdain for her boss in the man’s voice, which was a thing she had gotten used to by now. She brushed the rather heavy topic off with a vague shrug, an answer that was seemingly also enough for Konan.
“I’m doing a music video! I was singing and everything, yeah?” Baingan pointed to her phone, then her face, then her phone, then her face. The peppy motion seemingly stunned Konan for a moment, his eyes confusedly darting between the two items for several seconds after Baingan stopped. Paired with Konan’s stark white hair, an outside viewer would likely question if these two were really just one year apart in age.
“I... didn’t say you could, but fine. Whatever. You can get back to doing that AFTER we finish getting these arrangements remade and delivered.” Konan wouldn’t ever admit it, but he wasn't letting Baingan record in his shop just for helping, but because he was actually a huge fan of the musician himself. Regulars of the Gau Floral Store could recount the many times her songs would come up on the store’s speakers, the botanist himself often caught humming them to himself when he wasn’t particularly busy.
“Awright! We’ll get these all done and then you can feature in the video too!” Baingan’s face was streaked once again with confidence. She shot Konan a thumbs up, too. Konan offered little more than a nod before he rounded up the materials they needed, and they set to work. Konan spent a surprisingly patient few moments with Baingan as he instructed her on how to create the arrangements, the direction being much more gentle than someone who knew Konan might expect.
“Okay, that’s all of them. Now let’s go.” Konan led Baingan out of the store to an alleyway between Gau Floral Store and his grandmother’s apartment, where a spare bike was laid in wait for a situation like this. “You can ride on that bike, I’ll bring mine around. C’mon.”
Scenario: Near the bridge to Sapatibhatt, Bedtown — 12:11 PM
Carol hadn’t had a day off like this in a long time. Ever since that fateful day when she’d been put on trial by the Nightblooms, she’d been nonstop occupied with every sort of task, whether it be recovering from her injuries to helping out with the reconstruction process of the museum. Her coworkers seemed to be busy with their own affairs as well, leaving Carol with much of the menial work of trying to find anything that Marvin considered “strange” enough to be an exhibit, not to mention their already existing exhibits continuing to go missing by themselves.
And on this free day, she was wandering aimlessly about Bedtown, looking for a clue. The lady in the bright orange coat walking down the street with her head in the clouds was already enough to turn a couple heads without the bright yellow and purple dots adorning her skin, a parting gift from the Nightblooms. All the eyes on her made her ever more conscious of the rashy feeling all across her body, but she resisted the itch and walked on, arms at her sides. She had someone she was looking for. At least, that was a generous way of putting it. She’d heard from a talkative crowd member after show hours about one of his students, a floral store owner focusing on Nightbloom botany. Unfortunately, that was about the only thread she had at the moment. She had been so out of it the last few months, even as she declared to help out around these streets...
As she waved calmly and merrily at passersby, attention drawn to her like a gravitational field, she lamented this directionless wandering. She felt like an alien in the city she called home; this was Rākinnagarh, just as much as anywhere else. The city she vowed to help protect, make happy with those acts of hers. And here she was, utterly lost in its streets. She tried to bat away those helpless thoughts – she was here to learn more about herself and the city, after all – but there wasn’t much she could do by herself to assuage that deep fear.
As she moved to take another step in her aimless journey, Carol gasped as her foot failed to make purchase with the pavement, causing her to fall squarely onto her face. If people were staring at the comedian before, they were certainly hiding it now. Perhaps they figured she’d had enough embarrassment for one day. Maybe they didn’t really care. Carol groaned as she lifted her upper body slightly off the ground. Nothing seemed broken, but something was off. Had she run into something? Her answer came just as quickly as she had asked it, as she noticed the large stick laying on the sidewalk, directly under her legs. Beside it was a small man in a large, green coat, knelt down and turned away from her. The comedian frowned at the man’s apparent lack of awareness, as he seemed to be busy doing... something else? It was hard to make out from her position. With another groan, she hoisted herself back onto her feet, tapping the old man on the shoulder with stern intent.
“Hey, uh, do you mind?”
The man’s head perked up at the touch, a startled look in his eyes. “Oh? Pardon me, ma’am. What seems to be the–”
His eyes instantly glanced over to the stick, and then back to the woman, a blush forming under his mutton chops. He turned fully around before picking up the stick with one hand, cradling something else in the other. As he rose, he lowered his head.
“You have my apologies, miss. Are you hurt?”
Carol looked over herself for a moment, just to make sure. Nothing was terribly wrong, the benefits of being covered almost head to toe. She shook her head. “Just be careful where you put that thing next time, yeah? This is a public street after all, anyone could’ve tripped over it.”
“Yes, yes, I agree. That was quite careless of me.” The old man frowned.
Carol raised an eyebrow, noticing the cloth the man was cradling in his other hand. “Just what were you doing kneeling down on such a busy walkway, anyhow? This isn’t really a place to tie your shoes at.”
“Hm? Oh no, no. Nothing like that,” he said, gesturing lightly to his sandaled feet. Setting his stick beside a nearby wall this time, he gingerly unwrapped the cloth in his hands, revealing a porcelain tea cup, with a few chunks from the top scattered around it.
“I had just noticed this lying on the sidewalk, you see. The craftsmanship is remarkable, though it's certainly seen better days,” the old man grunted. “It’s a miracle no one’s stepped on it. I only caught wind of it after a shard nearly wedged its way into my toes!” The man’s apologetic visage seemed to have given way to a grimace. “Talk about careless.”
A sigh escaped from the comedian. “Right, well that’s rather kind of you. Do you want me to find a trash can or something for it?”
“And just throw it away?” the small man protested. “What a waste!”
Carol raised her arms in surrender. “Alright, I hear you.” After a moment of pause, though, she crossed them. “What do you intend to do with it then?”
“Well... I haven’t quite decided yet,” the man hemmed, replacing the wrapping over the broken cup. “I could use it to fill in one of my tiles back home. Oh, I could always try to fix it up, too! I’m sure it'd look lovely as a vase for my little Syngonium.”
Carol’s eyes perked up at the mention of a flower. “Oh, are you good with plants?”
The man grinned a sly grin. “Well, my garden wouldn’t use such words, but I’ve been working with plants for well over a few years now.”
“Oh! Maybe you can help me then.” Carol was beaming. Could this be the lead she was looking for? “I’m looking for a guy around here. He runs a flower store around these parts.” She rubbed her left arm, feeling the dots underneath her coat. “Allegedly knows a few things about... Nightblooms, too.”
The man raised an eyebrow while stroking his chin. “Hmm, a flower shop, eh? Well, there are a few around this part of the city.”
Despite the crowd, the short man paced back and forth, hemming and hawing audibly. Carol watched as passersby tried to maneuver around this guy, one almost running square into him. Finally, a lightbulb goes off.
“Oh! I wonder if you’re talking about the Gau Floral Store? Meixiu’s grandson runs it. I think his name was... Kodan? Nonan? No, that can’t be right…”
The man’s questions devolved into mumbling, forcing a small smirk from the comedian. “Hey, no need to sweat the details. I think that’s just the place I’ll look. Thanks a bunch!”
Carol gave a small bow as she turned to start her journey. She took a few more steps before turning again. After another set, she stopped. The old man had tapped her shoulder with his stick. “I can lead you there, you know. It’d be no trouble.”
“Oh, no. That’s okay,” Carol said. “I’ve already taken up enough of your time. Besides, what makes you think I don’t know where I’m going?”
“You look lost.” The man shrugged.
The comedian’s shoulders slumped at having been called out so easily. “Alright, lead the way, Mr...”
Carol blinked a few times, a sudden realization blushing red through her cheeks. “Oh wow, I hadn’t even asked you your name yet.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “How careless.”
“Nonsense!” The old man smiled, holding out a palm. “Gotam. Gotam Sodhani.”
“Carol.” She accepted the handshake, matching his smile with her own. “Nice to meet you!”
Scenario: Streets of Bedtown, 12:57 PM
A meander through the streets of Bedtown managed to turn into a surprisingly jaunty stroll with Gotam’s aid. As she was led along by the old man, Carol got to know him more and more through bits of small talk. While conversation repeatedly turned to talks of the ever growing rumbles that seemed to be happening across Rākinnagarh, like the terrible incident that happened a few weeks ago down at the community center, as they conversed, it was becoming clear to Carol that Gotam wasn’t your run of the mill geezer. He was a generous soul who had a genuine love for his community. He rambled about all the kind faces he’s been fortunate enough to meet throughout his decades of city living. He even shared a few winding tales of daring aid, such as when he chased and caught a wild boar that had run off with a poor fool’s walker stuck to its face.
Carol couldn’t help but laugh. She was pretty certain some of these stories were made up, but she knew better than anyone that any good story worth its salt was entertaining first and foremost. As the two walked, she felt her shoulders relax. Though she was never good at voicing her innermost feelings, she still felt them. This guy was honest, and clearly grounded in the streets he was leading her through. In the process of exchanging stories, she almost found it easier to smile. Almost.
Gotam stopped abruptly, moving his stick out in front of Carol, the latter raising a brow at the sudden shift in movement.
“What’s up? Did we find the shop?”
The old man was facing forward, a bright smile on his face. “No, it would seem ‘the shop’ has found us!”
Two figures approached, both atop their dual-tired steeds, though one was clearly weighed down by the basket behind her, as it was practically filled with flowers. The leading figure got off of his bike, taking off his helmet to reveal a pile of stark white locks underneath. Gotam met him halfway, arms open wide. “Kolan, my boy! It’s been too long.”
The botanist expertly dodged any attempt at an embrace, the grimace on his face reminiscent of someone who’d just eaten something far too sour. “Konan,” he said with a frown. “And, it’s good to see you too... I guess.”
With introductions out of the way, Konan waved Baingan over, prompting the rapper to walk her bike up next to the botanist. “This is the last guy, boss? With all the flowers?”
“Stop calling me boss...” Konan slumped a little with embarrassment, looking away from every involved party as he regained what little composure he had left after such a stressful day. “And... Yes, this is the last order of the day.” Konan replied, putting his hands into his pockets.
He turned back to the old man. “Now, Mr. Sadhani, given the quantity of your order, and the ‘complicated’ nature of your living situation, I’m going to need you to sign a few forms.” As he spoke, Baingan produced a series of documents seemingly out of nowhere, complemented by a pen and a ‘stern’ look, though the pout splayed across her face was more reminiscent of Konan’s comical expression when confronted with physical affection than genuine malice. “Sound good?”
Gotam simply chuckled, giving Konan a pat on the arm as he walked over to Konan’s new “employee”. Carol glanced over at the large pile of flowers, an astonished gleam in her eyes. Just what was this old man going to do with all those flowers? And how was he going to carry them all? She figured these were questions that would have to go unanswered for the time being. Besides, she had a more pressing matter that needed to be addressed, and she finally had the opportunity to act on it.
She smoothly approached Konan, and made the tasteful choice of a wave rather than a handshake or the like. That seemed to fully place Konan’s eyes on her, and a change in expression made it clear he recognized her somehow.
“You... were in that one livestream. The Nojus one.” The college student cocked his head to the side, examining Carol with curiosity. “You uh... Are you okay? They cut you open pretty badly,” he added. Carol could tell that he had better intentions than the rather insensitive remark would indicate, and decided that she’d just politely nod in response instead of addressing it fully.
“That’s... Me!” Carol tried to offer an enthusiastic response, but it was hard to mask the slight bitterness she had regarding that entire situation. For one, it seemed like her comedy career was now overshadowed by that glorified workout stream, and secondly, it left her covered in the strange dots Konan’s eyes would drift toward.
“I actually wanted to talk to you about something. I’ve heard that you’re pretty good with flowers– well, that much is obvious.” She gestured to the healthy-looking bunch of flowers being prodded through by Baingan and her newly-made friend, the two sharing mirthful smiles as they admired Konan’s care for the plants.
“But I also know that your main area of research is Nightblooms, right? Your teacher pointed me towards you for this kind of thing.” Well, she didn’t approach his teacher directly, but having overheard him talk about Konan was close enough, right?
“Uh... Parabotany, but yeah.” Konan offered another embarrassed sigh as he began to explain the more in-depth parts of his interest in supernatural plants, but a look of confusion grew on his face as he was met with engaged nods instead of rolled eyes. The pair stood there for a solid eight minutes discussing Carol’s affliction and other supernatural plants around Rakin, before eventually circling back to the main topic.
After a few moments of intense stares from all angles, Konan realized that he was now encircled by the other people he had run into during the day. Pushing the old man and Baingan away, he gave what he was about to say some more thought.
“...Well, I think the best way to figure out how this is affecting your body would be... Hm...” As Konan considered his next words, he noticed an expectant glance from his new... business partner? Is that what Baingan was?
Well, he was getting stared at, and he didn’t like it, so he might as well just say the idea to make it stop.
“Weshouldrecreatethecircumstancesleadinguptoyougettingthosemarks! A friendly spar or something, I think!” Though the first part was mumbled quick and quiet, the latter part was loud and clear. An intrigued glint shone in the eye of Carol Brown, and she put a finger to her chin as she thought about the proposition. Before she could speak, though, Baingan’s rather concerned voice rang out.
“Wouldn’t we get hurt? We still have a music vid to shoot, and... Well, it’s just dangerous! I don’t think we should be throwing down just for the sake of it!” She crossed her arms and frowned a bit more genuinely than she was before, a look that seemed to send Konan directly into damage control mode.
In a flash, Konan presented the three would-be combatants with pendants emitting a strange Stand energy. “I already thought of that! These are...” Konan stopped to think. “I made them. From a Stand material. They can patch up wounds after we’re all done... no issues, right?”
With a nod from every other person possibly involved in this little bout, Konan handed out the necklaces and cleared his throat, urging Carol to speak up now that the concern was dealt with.
“For a second there, I thought you were just looking for an excuse to fight...” She put a finger in the air to stop any protests Konan may respond with. “...But I’m pretty sure you’re being genuine about wanting to help, ulterior motives or not.” When Carol met Konan’s eyes, a palpable determination glowed from the both of them.
This was the perfect moment to have a take two on that fight with Nojus. This time nobody would be grievously injured and she’d have an opportunity to learn more about what happened to her in the process. She can finally prove to herself that she’s grown past that fateful night.
Turning to look at Gotam, Carol sees the question she was about to ask was already answered: the old man was constructing his bow and arrow, shooting a meaningful look to Konan as the fellow archer readied his compound bow. Carol chuckled a bit at that, before she made her way over to her partner.
Konan, on the other hand, looked back to Baingan. Similarly, she had already summoned her Stand, the gada shining in the afternoon sun. For the first time, Konan initiated the shared smile between the two. He walked over to her, nodding with wordless respect as the two sides of this friendly skirmish faced one another.
“...Baingan, can you do the– the thing? The one people always do before a Stand battle starts.” Konan whispered a bit awkwardly into his partner’s ear, causing her to practically light up like a firework. She hadn’t had the opportunity to be her larger-than-life self for an entire 40 minutes, and that just wasn’t right!
With an enthusiastic nod to her “boss” she took a step forward, cupping her hands around her mouth. “ALRIGHT, BEDTOWN! WE’RE ABOUT TO THROW DOWN, AND WE WANNA GIVE YOU ALL A NICE SHOW... BUT YOU KNOW THE RUUULES!” The jubilation in her voice was electric, making its way to the small crowd that began to form a perimeter for this nice little spar. “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN, EVERYBODY! SAY IT WITH ME ON THE COUNT OF THREE!” Even her fellow combatants prepared to join in with her. On the count of...
“ONE!”
“TWO!”
“THREE!”
“OPEN THE GAME!”
Location: A few two-story apartment buildings, with various stalls and food trucks out front in green. The map is 30x72 meters, with each square being 2x2 meters. The apartments' second floor can be reached by stairways, and there are stairways in the back that lead to the roof. The roofs are made of several planes, and in red are satellite dishes, chimneys, and other similar protrusions. The interiors of the buildings are not reachable.
As for the blue dots, they are various NPCs, all of whom have 222 physicals. The ones running the stalls have Salesman: 3, and the rest have a mixture of 3 skills that apply to a variety of different careers; however, they have to be talked to for a few moments before their specific skill can be gleaned. In other words, Carol has a wide variety of potential Skills open to her, but must spend time to figure out who does what with the exception of the people actively plying their trade. The stalls have some selling food, and some selling accessories, bangles, and other similar fare.
Goal: RETIRE your opponents!
Additional Information: The NPCs may be talked with, moved around, and generally interacted with however the players would like; however, there is an important restriction. Intentionally harming any NPCs is considered a LOSS condition, due to being out of character for either Gotam or Baingan to abide by and turning the fight into an unwinnable 3v1. Attacking pieces of Carol's Stand or otherwise stopping her from scaling out of control is fine, and they may not be actively used as human shields or similar. Otherwise, they'll generally move away from bizarre goings on and have Just Trying To Relax After A Hard Day's Work: 3, meaning that they're unlikely to be convinced to do anything that would get them involved actively in the fight, even with Carol's 5 Skill.

Team	Combatant	JoJolity
I.M.P.A.C.T.	Konan Gau with Baingan Bharta	“I've found the perfect inspiration for my manga!!” Now that the day’s work is done, it's time to keep a promise. Get good footage for a music video!
Gallery of Wayward Reverie	Carol Brown with Gotam Sadhani	“In order to grow, we must defeat the mistakes of our past.”” You’ve come a long way from your first Stand battle. Show your growth!

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