Finger food desserts

Here's a problem with believing the NHI stories that I haven't seen mentioned.
In all the 100s or more of encounters with NHI that have been reported, seen, etc. we've yet to see any of their stuff. By "stuff" I mean food, drink, trinkets, clothes, jewelry, etc. They are biological organisms and yet they never have anything with them -- not even clothes! Their craft have nothing in them. Where are the empty Doritos bags? The syringes? The Coke cans?
Imagine the case with humans. In our craft, you'd find tons of shit: hydration, food, clothes, keys, phones, etc. How is that these various forms of NHI never have anything at all with them -- ever!
Furthermore, the only time we report objects with them are by people who were abducted. Yet their recollections are always so vague. When did somebody see something beyond a tool that they were prodded with? And even these recollections are often vague with no discerning details of said objects.
I should think that by now we would've found or seen something that indicates these are biological/sentient beings.
Like, who can imagine an alien going home. What would the home look like? Can you imagine it even ingesting any nourishment? How would it do ANYTHING with those 3 long useless "fingers?" How does it repair or upkeep the craft it flies/swims in with hands like that?
Something to consider.

Haven't been to Rio for awhile, have a couple of quick questions if anyone can help. Anyone know of any cheap gyms with air con? Last time I found either very very expensive gyms or there was one very cheap one in Copa on the 2nd floor, probably on R Domingos Ferreira or possibly it was on Av Nossa de Copa... anyone know if that one was still open? Tons of weights and machines jammed into a pretty small space (considering all that was in there), the front desk was to the left as you entered and it was all pretty much just 1 big room. Anyone know if that gym is still open?
Anywhere that is quick and easy to get a sim card set up? Preferably not having to go into the companies shop and sign up, just buy a cheap sim and package from someone on the street or a small shop if possible
Also happy to get any food recommendations, restaurants, ice cream, desserts etc.
Thanks if you can help

“I told you there would be nothing in that military check point,” Barrett said. He cleaned his hands from bloodbug residue. “Only abandoned cars and empty cigarette machines.”
“Okay, I was wrong!” Simon admitted. “Is it my fault that I have hope?”
“No one ever knows out here,” Kevin chimed in.
Simon affectionally grabbed his youngest brother by the shoulder.
“See, Barrett, this is what a supportive brother sounds like.”
Barrett grunted.
The three brothers continued to follow the broken asphalt road. In time, the sky above them disappeared behind the ruins of an interstate highway. Its massive concrete columns towered over the horizon. It had cast a long shadow over their route.
Kevin stopped his brothers.
“Is that an elevator?” He pointed to the yellow cable lift that ran up to the overpass.
“I’m not using that,” Barrett quickly responded. He touched his stomach unconsciously, cognizant of his size and weight.
“Yeah, that might be an adventure for another life time,” Simon said, noting the precariousness of the cables that rose up to the ruins of the highway overpass.
Kevin pursed his lips with a modicum of disappointment. As the youngest and smallest of the three, he possessed more daring than his brothers combined. Perhaps this difference was due to the inexperience of his age or the simple fact that Kevin had a different mother than Barrett and Simon. His courage may have been a genetic inheritance that the others lacked.
“House!” Simon spotted the wooden building before his brothers, who still focused on the elevator and the possibility of ascending it.
“Let me guess, there’s going to be treasure inside of it,” Barrett said sarcastically.
“There could be!” Simon replied.
As the young men approached the building, it became apparent it had been apart of a long abandoned settlement. From their higher-ground perspective, they could see the ruins of several buildings roll down the landscape and into the consuming waters of the Charles River. The houses closest to the river had flooded and slowly rotted in the river’s murky water.
“We got a lot of work to do,” Barrett said. His siblings could hear the smile in his words. They knew that there would be at least one piece of worthwhile loot among these buildings. Barrett, however, wanted more than the natural greed of survival. The big man itched for a real fight.
“Raiders, Ghouls, or Mirelurks,” Kevin asked.
“Five caps on raiders,” Barrett said. His hand dropped to the pipe pistol holstered to his thigh.
“Five for mirelurks,” Simon said.
“I guess, I take ghouls.”
The three men moved closer to the first building. The residence, once a beautiful suburban home, had decayed over the two hundred and twenty years since its owners died in the nuclear fallout. Yet, despite the age of home, its door seemed to have been freshly repaired.
Simon, as per usual, approached the entrance with military tact. Barrett positioned himself behind his older brother. He placed one hand on Simon’s shoulder and the other around his pipe pistol. Kevin checked their flank and readied his pipe rifle.
Simon lifted his hand. He counted silently with his fingers.
One. Two. Three.
He grabbed the door and yanked it open. Barrett entered the building, his pipe pistol scanning the interior of the house.
“Clear!”
Simon followed Barrett. Kevin slowly backed into the building. He closed the door behind him.
“Stairs,” Barrett said to his brothers.
Immediately, the big man took the lead, scanning the floor above him with his pistol at eye-level. Simon followed in the wake of his larger brother, keeping his eyes straight to the top of the landing. Kevin stayed on the first floor. He found a corner, pressed his back into it, and crouched. He kept his eye on the front door.
“Clear!” Barrett’s voice rang through the structure.
“Nothing for nobody,” Kevin said, standing from his position and letting his rifle hang limply in his hands. He thought at least one ghoul would be hiding in the house. Their fraternal bottlecap wager would have to wait another house.
“Cheer up! Better luck in the next building.” Simon said as he walked down the stairs. “Right now, we have some time to loot.”
The brothers began the careful examination of the residential building.
Despite two centuries of rain and snow the building seemed to be in good condition. Clearly, since the bombs fell, a series of squatters had made improvements and adjustments over the years. In fact, the house seemed almost luxurious compared to the standards of the Wasteland. The floors had been redone with new planks of wood. The walls had been scraped of their original wallpaper and painted a light seafoam green. Although the glass from the windows had been long destroyed, curtains hung over the wooden shutters that secured the windows from the exterior world.
“Ooo!” Barrett exclaimed upstairs.
“What’d you find?” Simon called out. He stood at the bottom of the staircase and waited for a sign.
“Caps stash!” Barrett appeared with a grey tin can. He shook it and a number of caps inside of it pleasantly jingled.
“And you thought there wouldn’t be any treasure?” Simon laughed to himself.
“And the fridge is full!” Kevin called.
Barrett rushed down the stairs and joined his brothers at the fridge. Together, they drank a bottle of mostly clean water, each taking sips and passing it to the others. Then, they finished a plate of crispy squirrel bits.
“Almost fresh,” Barrett said, shoving a large handful into his mouth.
Simon continued his perusal of the house as he chewed his last portion of squirrel meat. He went to the living room section of the main floor and rummaged through a chest of drawers.
“Women’s clothing?” He lifted a dress from the chest of drawers and showed his brothers. The light green dress seemed to be in relatively good condition. The clean herbaceous smell of carrot flowers wafted into his nose.
“Someone might still live here,” Barrett said, looking at a bouquet of fresh hubflowers on the table.
Kevin looked from one of the windows. “I think he’s just arrived.”
Before Simon and Kevin could arm themselves, the door opened. An old man entered with two buckets of water. At the very moment he saw these three men, he dropped the buckets on the floor and rushed out of the building. One of the buckets spilled its contents across the floor, slowly dribbling down the front steps. Meanwhile, the old man pressed his back against the exterior wall of the building.
“What are you doing in my house?”
“We didn’t know!” Simon shouted back. “We didn’t mean to trespass!”
“Well, you did. Now, what are you going to do? Kill an old man and take his home?”
“Not if you let us leave unharmed!”
“How do I know that you’re not raiders?”
“You can’t,” Simon shouted back. “You can only make a leap of faith.”
“And why would I that?”
“Well, for one thing, there are more of us than there are of you.”
“Send one man out.”
“No!” Simon responded. “How do I know you’re not just going to shoot him the moment he leaves the building?”
“You can’t,” the old man shouted back. “You can only make a leap of faith.”
Simon felt bested by the old man’s negotiating skills.
“I’ll go,” Kevin said to his brothers.
“No, I will.” Barrett put his hand on his younger brother. He would gladly die in his place.
“There’s less of me to hit,” Kevin bantered.
Barrett grunted, but he could not stop himself from smiling.
Simon thought about dissuading his brothers, telling them that no one was going to leave the house, but this show of trust needed to be made. If things went well, there could be a chance that the three of them could profit from this encounter. Perhaps, they could spend the night sleeping inside a warm house and finally be able to get a proper night’s rest.
“I’m coming out,” Kevin shouted to the old man.
“Unarmed. With your hands up! If I see so much as a big iron on your hip, the deal is off.”
Kevin placed his pipe rifle and his switchblade on top of the chest of drawers.
Simon stepped close to his brother and embraced him.
“If he harms you, I will make sure he suffers until his very last breath,” Simon whispered.
Kevin squeezed his brother tightly and went to the door.
“I am approaching the door now,” Kevin shouted. “My hands are up.”
Kevin stepped over the spilled water bucket and crossed the threshold of the house.
“Keeping going,” the old man commanded.
Once Kevin descended the front stairs and reached the hard ground, he felt the old man sweep behind him and check for weapons.
“Do we trust each other?” Kevin said, letting the old man pat down his sides. “I’m alive, so I know I can trust you, but there are still two men inside of the house.”
“Two, huh? I thought there’d be more of you.” The old man met Kevin gaze. His face was wrinkled, freckled, and scarred. His neck-length beard, once nearly black in colour, had become streaked with grey. His moustache faired slightly better, but it too had begun to pale in his old age. Overall, the old man seemed hardened by his experiences in the wasteland, but, despite this hardness, Kevin noticed a softness behind his eyes. They reflected no bitterness or resentment.
“Now what?” Simon called from inside of the house.
“I’m going to come inside with your friend as collateral.”
The old man drew his 10mm pistol and pressed into Kevin’s lower back. Kevin straightened his posture with a reflexive fear. He climbed up the stairs and back into the house, the pistol never losing contact with his spine.
“Welcome to my home, gentleman,” the old man said. “The name is Duncan. I hope you make yourselves comfortable, although, by the looks of yesterday’s dinner, it seems as though you already have.”
Barrett glanced back at the empty porcelain plate. He wiped his greasy hands on his pant legs.
“Watch it, big guy,” the old man said. “You don’t want to make too many sudden movements.”
Barrett looked into his brother’s face. Kevin seemed calm on the surface, but Barrett could see the fear beneath his composure.
“My name is Simon. This is Barrett, and the man you currently threatening is our brother Kevin.”
“Pleasure, gentlemen.”
“We’re travellers. We’ve no particular destination. We’re just trying to survive.”
“Yes, that always seems to be the story. Why aren’t you getting comfortable in Diamond City or Goodneighbor?”
“We’re new to the Commonwealth,” Simon replied.
“Just arrived,” Barrett added.
“Boys, I’m happy to be your first experience in these here parts, but you’re going to have to leave. I can’t risk any trouble.”
“We won’t be any trouble,” Kevin said, looking behind his shoulder.
“Truly, I would like to believe you boys, but you best be going.”
Duncan stepped aside and positioned himself to the side of the room. He tilted his head toward the door with a quick gesture, encouraging Simon and Barrett to leave.
“Now, please.”
“Can we at least get Kevin’s weapons over there?” Simon asked.
“I’ll toss them to you once you’re out of the door. Just go.”
Simon and Barrett complied. They walked out of the house and down the steps. Duncan led Kevin from his house, allowing the young man to move away from the pistol.
“Grandpapa!”
The men turned to see group of three women approaching the house. Two of them carried heavy bags of harvested food, while the third held a tactical submachine gun in her hands. The three of them kept staring at their grandfather, who kept his pistol held toward the brothers.
The woman with the submachine gun lifted the stock to her shoulder. She knew that with her large drum magazine, she could cut down these three intruders without the need to reload.
“We had a small misunderstanding, ladies,” Simon said with a winning smile. He looked at the woman with the submachine gun. Her short dark brown hair swooped over one of her eyes. She flipped her hair out of the way. “We’ll be on our way,” Simon continued, “once your grandfather hands us our weapons.”
“How about you head on out without them?” the woman with the gun said.
“That’s not fair,” Kevin said. He stepped forward as he said it, causing the woman to swivel her sights on him.
“On more step and you’ll have lost more than your weapons.”
“Woah, woah. Okay, message received,” Kevin said, putting his hands back into the air. “Let’s go, guys. It’s okay. We can find kinder hosts somewhere else.”
“Or, at least, a better fight,” Barrett said with a sniff of his nose. “An old man and three little girls hardly constitute a challenge.”
“I can wipe the floor with you, big boy,” said the woman with the machine gun.
“Audrey!” Duncan reprimanded.
“I’d like to see you try, girlie. Unarmed, one-on-one, you stand no chance,” Barrett said. As he spoke, he took a deep breath and inflated his already imposing figure. The muscles beneath his shirt could be seen flexing.
“Want to try me? Or are you scared of losing to a girl?” Audrey responded.
Barrett roared with laughter.
“Audrey, that’s enough!” the old man said. “Do not aggravate them. They’re on their way.”
“Wait!” the smallest of the three women called to her grandfather. “Can’t they stay? If they wanted to hurt us, they would’ve already.”
“It’d be too risky!” Duncan replied.
“But you’ve always said that people need to come together and rebuild this world,” she said.
Duncan flashed her a quick scolding look.
“Sylvie’s right,” the third woman added. “They can help us around the property.” Her eyes danced over Barrett’s large figure. While her middle sister seemed ready to harm him, she merely wanted to be held by him.
“Audrey, talk some sense into your sisters!” Duncan exclaimed. “You ladies know that we can’t invite people at random!”
“We’d be happy to help,” Simon interjected.
Kevin locked eyes with his young counterpart. Sylvie broke eye contact and looked at her feet.
“Yeah, we can help,” Kevin said a little absent-mindedly. He continued to admire the woman before his eyes.
“Wait a minute,” Barrett said, “This guy pulls a pistol on you and you want to help him? What are you going to do? Fetch him water?”
“We made him to spill it,” Kevin said with a shrug.
“Are you guys out of your mind? How can we trust them? What if the old man and these she-devils are planning to kill us in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, now you’re afraid of me!” Audrey teased, loosening her grip on the submachine gun.
“I ain’t afraid of anything,” Barrett snapped.
Simon bursted in laughter. “Buddy, you know you’re agreeing with the old man, right? He doesn’t want you around because he thinks your going to do to him what you think he’s doing to do to you.”
Barrett squinted his eyes, trying to parse the sentence.
“I don’t like it,” Barrett said.
“Neither do I,” Duncan agreed.
“Well, they’re not staying in the house,” Audrey said. She tilted her swooping hair out of her eyes again. “Give them the rotting house.”
Duncan stayed silent. Everyone looked at him as though it was his decision which made everything final.
“Fine, but I’m standing guard during the night. If one of these boys come creeping in the night, I’ll make sure our walls get a nice new shade of red.”
Barrett nodded his head in agreement. “And I’ll take first watch at our place.”
Audrey turned to her sisters. “Morgan, Sylvie, take the food inside. I’ll show these men their residence.” She adjusted the tactical submachine gun in her arms.
Her sisters did what they were told.
“Gentlemen,” Audrey said, leading the men down the slight hill, “Your new abode.” She kicked the front door, which broke free from its hinges. The wood from the door had rotted from the moisture in the air. Wet dust flew from the ground and an acrid smell spewed from the interior of the building.
“Enjoy.”
Audrey left the three brothers and returned to her home.
The three of the brothers exchanged uncomfortable glances and looked at the building. Kevin approached the doorway and peered into the darkness.
“Ghoul!” Kevin shouted.
His brothers ran into the building with their weapons drawn. Kevin threw his arms around his brothers as they looked at remains of a feral ghoul. It had died a long time ago.
“Pay up, boys!” he said with a smile. “Five caps each.”

“I told you there would be nothing in that military check point,” Barrett said. He cleaned his hands from bloodbug residue. “Only abandoned cars and empty cigarette machines.”
“Okay, I was wrong!” Simon admitted. “Is it my fault that I have hope?”
“No one ever knows out here,” Kevin chimed in.
Simon affectionally grabbed his youngest brother by the shoulder.
“See, Barrett, this is what a supportive brother sounds like.”
Barrett grunted.
The three brothers continued to follow the broken asphalt road. In time, the sky above them disappeared behind the ruins of an interstate highway. Its massive concrete columns towered over the horizon. It had cast a long shadow over their route.
Kevin stopped his brothers.
“Is that an elevator?” He pointed to the yellow cable lift that ran up to the overpass.
“I’m not using that,” Barrett quickly responded. He touched his stomach unconsciously, cognizant of his size and weight.
“Yeah, that might be an adventure for another life time,” Simon said, noting the precariousness of the cables that rose up to the ruins of the highway overpass.
Kevin pursed his lips with a modicum of disappointment. As the youngest and smallest of the three, he possessed more daring than his brothers combined. Perhaps this difference was due to the inexperience of his age or the simple fact that Kevin had a different mother than Barrett and Simon. His courage may have been a genetic inheritance that the others lacked.
“House!” Simon spotted the wooden building before his brothers, who still focused on the elevator and the possibility of ascending it.
“Let me guess, there’s going to be treasure inside of it,” Barrett said sarcastically.
“There could be!” Simon replied.
As the young men approached the building, it became apparent it had been apart of a long abandoned settlement. From their higher-ground perspective, they could see the ruins of several buildings roll down the landscape and into the consuming waters of the Charles River. The houses closest to the river had flooded and slowly rotted in the river’s murky water.
“We got a lot of work to do,” Barrett said. His siblings could hear the smile in his words. They knew that there would be at least one piece of worthwhile loot among these buildings. Barrett, however, wanted more than the natural greed of survival. The big man itched for a real fight.
“Raiders, Ghouls, or Mirelurks,” Kevin asked.
“Five caps on raiders,” Barrett said. His hand dropped to the pipe pistol holstered to his thigh.
“Five for mirelurks,” Simon said.
“I guess, I take ghouls.”
The three men moved closer to the first building. The residence, once a beautiful suburban home, had decayed over the two hundred and twenty years since its owners died in the nuclear fallout. Yet, despite the age of home, its door seemed to have been freshly repaired.
Simon, as per usual, approached the entrance with military tact. Barrett positioned himself behind his older brother. He placed one hand on Simon’s shoulder and the other around his pipe pistol. Kevin checked their flank and readied his pipe rifle.
Simon lifted his hand. He counted silently with his fingers.
One. Two. Three.
He grabbed the door and yanked it open. Barrett entered the building, his pipe pistol scanning the interior of the house.
“Clear!”
Simon followed Barrett. Kevin slowly backed into the building. He closed the door behind him.
“Stairs,” Barrett said to his brothers.
Immediately, the big man took the lead, scanning the floor above him with his pistol at eye-level. Simon followed in the wake of his larger brother, keeping his eyes straight to the top of the landing. Kevin stayed on the first floor. He found a corner, pressed his back into it, and crouched. He kept his eye on the front door.
“Clear!” Barrett’s voice rang through the structure.
“Nothing for nobody,” Kevin said, standing from his position and letting his rifle hang limply in his hands. He thought at least one ghoul would be hiding in the house. Their fraternal bottlecap wager would have to wait another house.
“Cheer up! Better luck in the next building.” Simon said as he walked down the stairs. “Right now, we have some time to loot.”
The brothers began the careful examination of the residential building.
Despite two centuries of rain and snow the building seemed to be in good condition. Clearly, since the bombs fell, a series of squatters had made improvements and adjustments over the years. In fact, the house seemed almost luxurious compared to the standards of the Wasteland. The floors had been redone with new planks of wood. The walls had been scraped of their original wallpaper and painted a light seafoam green. Although the glass from the windows had been long destroyed, curtains hung over the wooden shutters that secured the windows from the exterior world.
“Ooo!” Barrett exclaimed upstairs.
“What’d you find?” Simon called out. He stood at the bottom of the staircase and waited for a sign.
“Caps stash!” Barrett appeared with a grey tin can. He shook it and a number of caps inside of it pleasantly jingled.
“And you thought there wouldn’t be any treasure?” Simon laughed to himself.
“And the fridge is full!” Kevin called.
Barrett rushed down the stairs and joined his brothers at the fridge. Together, they drank a bottle of mostly clean water, each taking sips and passing it to the others. Then, they finished a plate of crispy squirrel bits.
“Almost fresh,” Barrett said, shoving a large handful into his mouth.
Simon continued his perusal of the house as he chewed his last portion of squirrel meat. He went to the living room section of the main floor and rummaged through a chest of drawers.
“Women’s clothing?” He lifted a dress from the chest of drawers and showed his brothers. The light green dress seemed to be in relatively good condition. The clean herbaceous smell of carrot flowers wafted into his nose.
“Someone might still live here,” Barrett said, looking at a bouquet of fresh hubflowers on the table.
Kevin looked from one of the windows. “I think he’s just arrived.”
Before Simon and Kevin could arm themselves, the door opened. An old man entered with two buckets of water. At the very moment he saw these three men, he dropped the buckets on the floor and rushed out of the building. One of the buckets spilled its contents across the floor, slowly dribbling down the front steps. Meanwhile, the old man pressed his back against the exterior wall of the building.
“What are you doing in my house?”
“We didn’t know!” Simon shouted back. “We didn’t mean to trespass!”
“Well, you did. Now, what are you going to do? Kill an old man and take his home?”
“Not if you let us leave unharmed!”
“How do I know that you’re not raiders?”
“You can’t,” Simon shouted back. “You can only make a leap of faith.”
“And why would I that?”
“Well, for one thing, there are more of us than there are of you.”
“Send one man out.”
“No!” Simon responded. “How do I know you’re not just going to shoot him the moment he leaves the building?”
“You can’t,” the old man shouted back. “You can only make a leap of faith.”
Simon felt bested by the old man’s negotiating skills.
“I’ll go,” Kevin said to his brothers.
“No, I will.” Barrett put his hand on his younger brother. He would gladly die in his place.
“There’s less of me to hit,” Kevin bantered.
Barrett grunted, but he could not stop himself from smiling.
Simon thought about dissuading his brothers, telling them that no one was going to leave the house, but this show of trust needed to be made. If things went well, there could be a chance that the three of them could profit from this encounter. Perhaps, they could spend the night sleeping inside a warm house and finally be able to get a proper night’s rest.
“I’m coming out,” Kevin shouted to the old man.
“Unarmed. With your hands up! If I see so much as a big iron on your hip, the deal is off.”
Kevin placed his pipe rifle and his switchblade on top of the chest of drawers.
Simon stepped close to his brother and embraced him.
“If he harms you, I will make sure he suffers until his very last breath,” Simon whispered.
Kevin squeezed his brother tightly and went to the door.
“I am approaching the door now,” Kevin shouted. “My hands are up.”
Kevin stepped over the spilled water bucket and crossed the threshold of the house.
“Keeping going,” the old man commanded.
Once Kevin descended the front stairs and reached the hard ground, he felt the old man sweep behind him and check for weapons.
“Do we trust each other?” Kevin said, letting the old man pat down his sides. “I’m alive, so I know I can trust you, but there are still two men inside of the house.”
“Two, huh? I thought there’d be more of you.” The old man met Kevin gaze. His face was wrinkled, freckled, and scarred. His neck-length beard, once nearly black in colour, had become streaked with grey. His moustache faired slightly better, but it too had begun to pale in his old age. Overall, the old man seemed hardened by his experiences in the wasteland, but, despite this hardness, Kevin noticed a softness behind his eyes. They reflected no bitterness or resentment.
“Now what?” Simon called from inside of the house.
“I’m going to come inside with your friend as collateral.”
The old man drew his 10mm pistol and pressed into Kevin’s lower back. Kevin straightened his posture with a reflexive fear. He climbed up the stairs and back into the house, the pistol never losing contact with his spine.
“Welcome to my home, gentleman,” the old man said. “The name is Duncan. I hope you make yourselves comfortable, although, by the looks of yesterday’s dinner, it seems as though you already have.”
Barrett glanced back at the empty porcelain plate. He wiped his greasy hands on his pant legs.
“Watch it, big guy,” the old man said. “You don’t want to make too many sudden movements.”
Barrett looked into his brother’s face. Kevin seemed calm on the surface, but Barrett could see the fear beneath his composure.
“My name is Simon. This is Barrett, and the man you currently threatening is our brother Kevin.”
“Pleasure, gentlemen.”
“We’re travellers. We’ve no particular destination. We’re just trying to survive.”
“Yes, that always seems to be the story. Why aren’t you getting comfortable in Diamond City or Goodneighbor?”
“We’re new to the Commonwealth,” Simon replied.
“Just arrived,” Barrett added.
“Boys, I’m happy to be your first experience in these here parts, but you’re going to have to leave. I can’t risk any trouble.”
“We won’t be any trouble,” Kevin said, looking behind his shoulder.
“Truly, I would like to believe you boys, but you best be going.”
Duncan stepped aside and positioned himself to the side of the room. He tilted his head toward the door with a quick gesture, encouraging Simon and Barrett to leave.
“Now, please.”
“Can we at least get Kevin’s weapons over there?” Simon asked.
“I’ll toss them to you once you’re out of the door. Just go.”
Simon and Barrett complied. They walked out of the house and down the steps. Duncan led Kevin from his house, allowing the young man to move away from the pistol.
“Grandpapa!”
The men turned to see group of three women approaching the house. Two of them carried heavy bags of harvested food, while the third held a tactical submachine gun in her hands. The three of them kept staring at their grandfather, who kept his pistol held toward the brothers.
The woman with the submachine gun lifted the stock to her shoulder. She knew that with her large drum magazine, she could cut down these three intruders without the need to reload.
“We had a small misunderstanding, ladies,” Simon said with a winning smile. He looked at the woman with the submachine gun. Her short dark brown hair swooped over one of her eyes. She flipped her hair out of the way. “We’ll be on our way,” Simon continued, “once your grandfather hands us our weapons.”
“How about you head on out without them?” the woman with the gun said.
“That’s not fair,” Kevin said. He stepped forward as he said it, causing the woman to swivel her sights on him.
“On more step and you’ll have lost more than your weapons.”
“Woah, woah. Okay, message received,” Kevin said, putting his hands back into the air. “Let’s go, guys. It’s okay. We can find kinder hosts somewhere else.”
“Or, at least, a better fight,” Barrett said with a sniff of his nose. “An old man and three little girls hardly constitute a challenge.”
“I can wipe the floor with you, big boy,” said the woman with the machine gun.
“Audrey!” Duncan reprimanded.
“I’d like to see you try, girlie. Unarmed, one-on-one, you stand no chance,” Barrett said. As he spoke, he took a deep breath and inflated his already imposing figure. The muscles beneath his shirt could be seen flexing.
“Want to try me? Or are you scared of losing to a girl?” Audrey responded.
Barrett roared with laughter.
“Audrey, that’s enough!” the old man said. “Do not aggravate them. They’re on their way.”
“Wait!” the smallest of the three women called to her grandfather. “Can’t they stay? If they wanted to hurt us, they would’ve already.”
“It’d be too risky!” Duncan replied.
“But you’ve always said that people need to come together and rebuild this world,” she said.
Duncan flashed her a quick scolding look.
“Sylvie’s right,” the third woman added. “They can help us around the property.” Her eyes danced over Barrett’s large figure. While her middle sister seemed ready to harm him, she merely wanted to be held by him.
“Audrey, talk some sense into your sisters!” Duncan exclaimed. “You ladies know that we can’t invite people at random!”
“We’d be happy to help,” Simon interjected.
Kevin locked eyes with his young counterpart. Sylvie broke eye contact and looked at her feet.
“Yeah, we can help,” Kevin said a little absent-mindedly. He continued to admire the woman before his eyes.
“Wait a minute,” Barrett said, “This guy pulls a pistol on you and you want to help him? What are you going to do? Fetch him water?”
“We made him to spill it,” Kevin said with a shrug.
“Are you guys out of your mind? How can we trust them? What if the old man and these she-devils are planning to kill us in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, now you’re afraid of me!” Audrey teased, loosening her grip on the submachine gun.
“I ain’t afraid of anything,” Barrett snapped.
Simon bursted in laughter. “Buddy, you know you’re agreeing with the old man, right? He doesn’t want you around because he thinks your going to do to him what you think he’s doing to do to you.”
Barrett squinted his eyes, trying to parse the sentence.
“I don’t like it,” Barrett said.
“Neither do I,” Duncan agreed.
“Well, they’re not staying in the house,” Audrey said. She tilted her swooping hair out of her eyes again. “Give them the rotting house.”
Duncan stayed silent. Everyone looked at him as though it was his decision which made everything final.
“Fine, but I’m standing guard during the night. If one of these boys come creeping in the night, I’ll make sure our walls get a nice new shade of red.”
Barrett nodded his head in agreement. “And I’ll take first watch at our place.”
Audrey turned to her sisters. “Morgan, Sylvie, take the food inside. I’ll show these men their residence.” She adjusted the tactical submachine gun in her arms.
Her sisters did what they were told.
“Gentlemen,” Audrey said, leading the men down the slight hill, “Your new abode.” She kicked the front door, which broke free from its hinges. The wood from the door had rotted from the moisture in the air. Wet dust flew from the ground and an acrid smell spewed from the interior of the building.
“Enjoy.”
Audrey left the three brothers and returned to her home.
The three of the brothers exchanged uncomfortable glances and looked at the building. Kevin approached the doorway and peered into the darkness.
“Ghoul!” Kevin shouted.
His brothers ran into the building with their weapons drawn. Kevin threw his arms around his brothers as they looked at remains of a feral ghoul. It had died a long time ago.
“Pay up, boys!” he said with a smile. “Five caps each.”

[INDEX]
I banked the fire and stared into the golden eyes of Beatale before I crept into my makeshift tent.
I still had my auric vision running and couldn’t help but notice the thin silver cord that ran from me to Horse. Firming up my aura, I reached out with my hand and grabbed it. I could feel the nearly imperceptible vibration between my fingers as I used my mind to probe at the thread. I could feel a bright spark of intellect, a light at the end of a tunnel. Pushing with my mind, I slid down the thread until the spark grew larger and eventually filled my inner vision with a hazy white light. Horsey thoughts nudged at me curiously.
I slid into the haze and immediately lost all sense of direction. If it wasn’t for the silver thread, I’d have no idea how to exit this shifting white fog. Horsey thoughts got stronger as I followed the thread while the haze thinned and cleared to reveal an endless prairie of green grass. I found myself standing before a naked man wearing a horse mask and I stared in shock. It was obviously me wearing a cheap costume horse mask — there was no mistaking my tattoos.
“What did you expect?” Horse neighed at me. “I am you and you are me and we are all together. Goo goo ga joob.”
Horse made a shooing motion with his hands and I accelerated backwards through the white haze and slammed into my own body with a gasp. I stared at the tarp overhead for a long minute, processing this new revelation. Horse was a part of me, a piece of my spirit. Whatever psychic stuff I did with that silver cord lead me into a house of mirrors where I got to look at myself pretending to be a horse. I can’t even deal with that right now.
Rolling into my blankets, I dropped off to sleep.
*Ding*
-=- - Welcome to the Dreamworld - Included in the Psychic Skills pack, the Inner Sanctum is your psychic domain. It is the mental fortress that you must secure and maintain to defend against psychic and spiritual assaults. All of your neurosis and fears are symbolised in this realm and must be defeated or subjugated before you can become master of the domain. Good luck. -=-
I banished the pop-up and looked around. I knew I was asleep, but everything was just as real as when I was awake. I was breathing, I could feel the floor under my feet, and if it weren’t for the pop-up, I would have sworn I had been teleported. The room I was in resembled an oversized luxury prison cell, maybe a thirty foot cube. No windows. Rough stone walls with thick mortar. Large brass wall sconces were set directly into the stone and suffused the room with a warm, golden light provided by glowing rocks. The stone floor had colourful Persian rugs tastefully placed. A high plaster ceiling was painted with a rendition of Michelangelo’s ‘Creation of Adam’, depicting me as both Adam and God.
There was a comfy sofa in front of a large screen television that hung from one wall and an ornate grandfather clock ticked loudly in the corner. It was currently 10:08 PM. Another wall was a floor to ceiling bookshelf, stuffed with books of varying sizes. The third wall was covered with pictures and I could see at a glance that they were images from my life. The fourth wall had a thick riveted steel door on the right side, a full sized mirror on the left, and a computer workstation in the middle.
The picture wall was my first target. A few were quite large, nearly life sized, while others were tiny prints no larger than the palm of my hand. Scenes of my life were displayed in each one. The largest was me riding Horse with a shit-scared expression, shooting at a pack of wolves. Others were smaller, each with different frames. Some ornate gold or silver, others plain wood, a few wrapped in briars or barbed wire. Nanny Ramsey holding me as a young child. My dog Jean with a red ball in his mouth. My parents, screaming at me. I turned my attention to the books. Books are safe. Books don’t judge you.
The sweet, musty scent of a used book store filled my nostrils as I drew close to the honey coloured shelves. Hundreds of volumes filled the wall from floor to ceiling, with a ladder that could be rolled along a rail to access the top. I smiled at the sight. I had always wanted a library like this. I pulled a book at random and read the title, “Confused Fantasies about Joseph Harris, part XXIV of the Middle School Years”.
I slid the book back onto the shelf. Let’s see what’s on TV.
The remote was a slim, futuristic looking affair with a minimum of buttons. I pointed it at the television and moments later the huge screen came to life and presented me with a simple menu for movies, divided into six categories: Happy, Surprised, Afraid, Disgusted, Angry, and Sad. I scrolled through the offerings for a minute, reading the titles and reviews about the movies of my life. It really bothered me that there were so few selections in the Happy section.
The number of Sad movies increased by one.
I walked over to the mirror and noticed there was a small sticky note pasted to it. “Astral Realm. Experienced users only.” I shoved the note in my pocket and stared at my image. Sturdy black boots, black denim jeans and shirt with mother-of-pearl buttons, deep brown gun belt slung at my hip, red bandanna and black felt hat. All I needed was a pencil moustache and I would look like the stereotypical villain in any spaghetti western. At that very moment I decided to grow out a goatee. I’d rather be mistaken for a bad guy than a victim.
So how does this astral realm thing work?
The mirror appeared to be nothing more than a mirror. It was cold, smooth glass surrounded by a wrought iron frame, and reflected my image. I didn’t necessarily want to go walking into danger, but I wanted to know how it worked. I pushed and prodded the glass in frustration until I noticed my image grinning at me. I jumped back in surprise and it doubled over in silent laughter.
“Hilarious, dude. You got me,” I huffed. “So how do I get in?”
My mirror-self tipped his hat and stepped to side.
I reached up to the mirror again and my hand passed through, vanishing as if cut off. Okay, just a quick peek and we’ll explore the rest of the room. I stepped through and the world shifted around me. I was standing back at the campsite. My body was insubstantial as a ghost and the tarp was a wisp of substance running straight through me. Non living things don’t seem to have much presence in this realm. Glancing down, I saw my sleeping body rolled up in the blankets, a thin silver thread running from it to me, and another thread running to Horse.
Looking around, I surveyed the campsite. My astral vision seemed to be on and had an unlimited range. I could see the life all around me, the distant forest was a sea of greenish-gold, grasses and brush nearby glowed with spectral light. Tiny ghost insects scurried while ghost mice nibbled at whatever ghost mice nibble on. Ghost seeds and ghost insects, I suppose. I turned my attention overhead and gaped at the sight of a monstrous serpentine spirit flying through the inky void. I dropped back through the tent and rolled inside my body. That was plenty enough for now.
I rolled through the mirror and landed flat on my back, staring at the fresco on the ceiling. Vinnie-God winked at me and Vinnie-Adam grinned. Climbing to my knees, I brushed non-existent dust from my trousers and watched mirror-me doubled over in soundless laughter.
“Hey, laughing-boy!” I yelled at him. “You’re like the guardian or something, right? You got it covered?”
Mirror-me stood and saluted with a smile, then gave me two thumbs up. A moment later, his face took on a serious expression and he wriggled his right hand in the ‘maybe’ motion. Then he pointed at me, tapped his wrist, and then a finger to his head.
It all depends on how fast I learn stuff, I guess.
Two thumbs up and a winning smile reflected back to me.
A large cork board was mounted to the wall over the computer and a small note was pinned to it. “Note to self: Don’t fuck with the Elvish womens.”
The computer screen featured a screensaver of me as Vitruvian Man doing callisthenics over the words ‘HumanOS’. I tapped the spacebar and was rewarded with the sound of powerful fans kicking to life as the computer emerged from sleep mode and prompted me for a password. Should I assume it’s the same as the password on the computer I pawned in my previous life?
Password: *******esi
I was rewarded with a sweet R&M desktop and a couple of icons. System, NeuralNet, My-Tunes, My-Movies, My-Office.
System was just what I expected, lots of .dna files and other confusing scariness that allowed me to tweak my physical body and mental state. My-Tunes was a collection of every song I’d ever heard and My-Movies was a collection of every movie I’d ever seen. Not that I’m complaining, but it would have been nice to have “My-Games” so I could play RDR. My-Office was a clone of the popular software by a similar name. I have no idea what I’ll ever need a spreadsheet for in this world.
NuralNet opened up a search engine called Me-Seeks, featuring a familiar blue guy.
I typed in “beer” and several thousand results were displayed, anything I’d ever read, heard, or watched about beer, including how to make it. This right here made the price of admission totally worth it, access to an exact copy of everything I’d ever read, and I was a voracious reader. Sadly, most of the stuff I read was futurology — solar panels, electronics, biotech advancements, quantum computing. The material for steam engines, blacksmithing, farming and the like, were slim pickings. That’s okay though, I could still reproduce the Gutenberg press, the cotton gin, simple internal combustion engines, and basic batteries along with some sketchy knowledge of metal alloys, acids, bases, and other things I had read over the years. All that wasted time watching “How Things Work” was finally going to pay off. I copied a few likely money makers to My-Office, saved the file, and exported to my Notes, just in case they didn’t exist on Aerth.
A popup covered the screen.
📱 [New Upgrade Available!] 📱
🎉 Enhance Your Experience with the Latest HumanOS Features! 🎉
🌟 Features Include:

• 🧠 Memory Booster: Increase your Memory for smoother multitasking and improved performance.
• 🔋 Energy Optimizer: Extend your battery life with advanced power-saving techniques.
• 🛠️ Utility Upgrades: Access new apps and utilities to enhance your daily life and adventures.
• 🗺️ Advanced Mapping: Never get lost again with enhanced GPS and location tracking.

🔥 Special Offer: Only 2000 credits for version 2.0 or 5000 credits for version 3.0! 🔥
[Upgrade Now ✅] [Remind Me Later ❌]
Apparently I could upgrade myself, which reduced the cost of using my Utilities while providing other minor benefits. My Utilities would level up as I used them, which would increase their battery cost, so if I didn’t keep pace with an update to the OS they could become prohibitively expensive to operate.
Stupid pay-to-win world.
So, do I pay 2000 credits for version 2.0 or 5000 credits for version 3.0?
I selected version 3.0 and klicked [Install]. After watching it download the update, it popped up another screen that asked if I wanted to update now, or wait until Midnight for the mandatory update.
I selected [No] just as the grandfather clock chimed 10:30 PM. I wondered if time ran slower in here, because it seemed like I had spent a lot more time on the computer than 15 minutes. Walking over to the imposing steel door, I noticed a bronze key with a thin chain in the lock. There was another sticky note on the door. “Subconscious. Please keep the key with you at all times.”
That’s not scary at all, is it?
I unlocked the door with a loud clunk and pulled it open to reveal a bedroom straight out of some royal castle. I could tell immediately that it had seen better days. The tapestries on the wall were frayed and fading. The canopy over the bed had a few holes in it. A thin layer of dust covered the mantle of a small fireplace set into the wall. There was a window letting in bright sunlight and I moved over to look outside.
I was on the third floor of a keep surrounded by the walls and turrets of a modest castle. A castle that had fallen into serious disrepair. Did this represent the state of my inner mind? One tower was shattered and the curtain wall under it damaged. The lower bailey was full of litter. I could see a few soldiers walking around the allure, keeping watch.
I have people in my subconscious?
Someone behind me cleared their throat.
Whirling, I discovered a familiar old man standing in the door of the bedroom. What was left of his hair formed a white halo around his head, his face was unshaven and covered with several days of growth. He was dressed like a poor and tattered manservant, but carried himself with a dignified air.
“Woodhouse?”
“It’s nice to see the master at home,” He said with a proper English accent. “There are many matters that require the master’s attention.”
“Uh, sure,” I said, hanging the key around my neck and tucking it in my shirt. “And who are you again?”
“Your personal manservant, of course” he said with a slight bow. Walking over to the steel door, he pulled it closed and it locked with a solid thunk. “Master should always keep his inner sanctum closed. One never knows if something nasty will creep in.”
“Thank you, uh, Woodhouse. I’ll remember that,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “So what needs tending and how do things work around here?”
He smiled and beckoned me with a white gloved hand. “If master would be so kind as to follow me, I’ll introduce him to the staff and explain the duties and obligations of his domain.”
I’m 99.9% certain that everyone here is just me wearing a mask, so I shrugged and followed Woodhouse out of the bedroom and into the rest of my subconscious.
Five minutes later I was on the ground floor and seated on a shabby throne with the cast of a popular —and probably very copyright protected— animation in front of me. Woodhouse was the head butler and my personal manservant. Pam was the cook and demanded that I start importing sugar and alcohol before she was shushed by Woodhouse. Carol was a maid. Krieger was chancellor and Cyril was the steward. Archer and Lana were in charge of security. Ray was the marshal in charge of everything from the stables to the blacksmith.
I stared in disbelief at the motley crew kneeling in front of me. No wonder my inner mind was in such shambles. I was overcome with an irrational sense of anger at myself.
“Arright, listen up,” I barked, my voice echoing around the room. “I swear to God that I will fire every single one of you and hire circus clowns to replace you if you keep fucking things up. No joke. Circus clowns, got it?”
I ran a hand over my face as Ray pissed himself. “The only reason I’m not putting a boot in your asses right now is because I realise that you’re aspects of me, and the people you represent are pretty damn good at their jobs when they give enough of a shit to actually do them. As a team, you’re dysfunctionally fantastic and always seem to come out ahead no matter the odds.”
Heaving a sigh, I continued. “Things have changed and I need to get my shit together. I’m going to need every one of you to pull your weight and help me help you. Get back to your duties, I’ll meet you one on one later.”
My subconscious caretakers scurried out of the room.
“I’ll have one of the maids tend to the piss,” Woodhouse assured me.
“Never mind that,” I snapped. “I honestly had no idea my mind was such a shit show. I’m very disappointed in myself.” I pictured the Angry, Sad, and Disgusted counters on my personal movies clicking up. “Show me what needs to be done and let’s get started.”
During Woodhouse’s walking tour, everything clicked into place. This was some altered version of Bodiam castle, a location that was on my bucket list of places to visit. The royal council room, located behind the throne room, contained a “living” tapestry on the wall that showed the castle and surrounding land in real time. The castle was located in the middle of a small lake, and a single wood bridge led to the mainland. A small town surrounded the lake and a wall encircled the town. Outside the wall, the land was an irregular patchwork of forest and field, with a stinking swamp to the south. The entire “kingdom” was maybe ten miles across, surrounded by impassable mountains with innumerable creeks that fed the lake which drained into the southern swamp.
“Zombies are the problem, sir.” Woodhouse said, as I surveyed the living tapestry of my mental domain.
“Zombies?” I prompted.
“Yes sir, Zombies” Woodhouse continued. “Nasty bitey things that come in from the mountains and harass the peasants. They’ve gotten especially worse over the last few months. The soldiers do what they can, but they seem to have lost all motivation. Probably because they haven’t been paid.”
“And who pays them?”
“Typically chancellor Krieger is in charge of financial matters, although Steward Figgis has taken over the duty, sir.”
“Then let’s make Figgis our first stop.”
“Very good, sir.”
The office of the steward was run by Cyril Figgis, who managed the kingdom in my absence. It was overflowing with paperwork and charts, books and scrolls piled high on every flat surface. Cyril was desperately attempting to tidy things when Woodhouse and I walked in.
“Yo..you..your majesty,” Cyril stuttered, bowing low. Scrolls fell from his overloaded arms, spilling across the floor. He dropped to his knees and scrambled to gather them up. “I didn’t expect you to visit so soon. Please forgive the mess, housekeeping has been slacking…”
This was the guy who ran things while I was conscious.
“Shut up, Cyril” I said. “You’re responsible for everything in this office. That includes keeping it organised and tidy.”
“Y..yes milord.”
“It’s my understanding that you’re in charge of making sure everyone gets paid. So why aren’t we paying people?” I asked.
“We’re nearly out of Fuks, your majesty. I’ve been saving them for emergencies.”
“Fucks?”
“Fuks,” Cyril explained, pushing a pile of books off a large chest and opening it. Reaching inside he pulled out two small bags and emptied them on top of his cluttered desk. “Gold and Silver Fuks, the currency of the kingdom. I can’t maintain the kingdom when I have no Fuks to give.”
Behold the subconscious kingdom of Vincent J. Carter, it runs on Fuks.
“So how do I get more fuks?” I asked, examining one of the coins. It had an image of me on one side and symbol on the other that could be interpreted as “peace among worlds”.
“You kill the zombies, your majesty.”
Of course I do.
Woodhouse and I left Cyril’s office and headed towards the office of the chancellor where Krieger worked. It seemed that Cyril took over financial matters when Krieger became erratic and proposed luring all the zombies into the city and setting it on fire. Not sure how that corresponds to my own self-destructive behaviour, but I’ve had some dark thoughts over the last couple of months and I’m sure they’re reflected here.
Krieger’s office was much neater in comparison to Cyril’s, but it wasn’t by much. Shelves lined the walls and were filled with an array of questionable items, including a still snapping zombie head in a jar. While the office of the chancellor was supposed to be in charge of financial matters, it looked more like a dodgy rummage sale.
Krieger was launching sword blades at a pig carcass when we walked in.
“What exactly are you doing?” I asked, standing in the doorway.
“Hm? Oh, your majesty!” he said, turning around and bowing deeply. “I’m testing a new invention. It’s a spring loaded hilt that shoots sword blades. Very useful for our soldiers.”
“Stupidest idea ever,” I snapped. “I hate everything about it.”
“Okay,” Krieger said, tossing the hilt into a nearby pile of junk. “But don’t blame me when you need to shoot a sword at a zombie and don’t have one.”
“So why aren’t you managing the financial affairs? Collecting taxes, paying people, stuff like that?”
“Because the population has declined so much none of that matters?”
“What do you mean?”
“Wellll, the population represents things you care about,” Krieger said, going into lecture mode. “And the zombies and other monsters are real or imagined problems in your way. Since you don’t care about too many things the population has shrunk to just what’s needed to keep everything running on the bare minimum of fuks. And since you don’t seem to have any long or short term goals, there’s no need to kill off the zombies and get more fuks. Everything is fine just the way it is.”
“No, it’s not Krieger” I said, grinding my teeth. “My mind is in a shambles. It’s a joke. I want it fixed. No, I want it better than fixed. I want it improved.”
“Oh! I’ve got just the thing for that!” He said, digging around in his pockets, “It’s a spring-loaded hilt that shoots swords!”
Pam and Cheryl were hanging out a gallery window jeering at Archer and Lana sparring in the inner courtyard.
“What the hell are you doing!” I snapped
They whirled in surprise and then dropped into deep curtseys.
“Your majesty!”
I took a deep breath, trying to regain my centre. “Get to work cleaning this place up. Find a room, clean it, and move on to the next. Start with my bedroom, then the throne room and the council chamber, then everything else.”
Cheryl spoke up. “Can’t do it. We got no fuks to clean with.”
“You need fuks to clean?”
“Gotta buy stuff,” Pam said. “Cleaning supplies, food. You wanna eat, you’re gonna have to spend some fuks.”
“Talk to Cyril,” I ordered. “Tell him I said to get you supplied.”
They ran off in the direction of the stewards office.
I watched Archer and Lana bashing each other enthusiastically through the window.
Several minutes later the sparring couple stopped and bowed when Woodhouse and I stepped into the inner courtyard.
“Your majesty”
“My liege”
“Enough,” I said. “If you have enough energy to smash each other, you have enough energy to smash zombies. Tell me what I need to know so I can start gathering fuks.”
Archer shrugged and spoke first. “You just kill the zombies and other monsters. They drop fuks.”
“Anything special about the zombies?” I asked. “Are they fast? Do people get turned into zombies when bitten?”
“Nope,” Lana said, resting her wooden sword on her shoulder. “Most of them are slow shamblers and just need a good wack to the head to kill them.”
“Some are special,” Archer interjected. “Occasionally you’ll have some fast ones, or those that need holy water to kill. They’re just bad memories, figments of your personality that need to be eliminated. Some are worse than others.”
“The zombies are bad memories?” I asked, imagining all the bad memories that I had.
“Memories, thoughts, insecurities, metaphysical mumbo-jumbo,” Woodhouse supplied. “They are endless, but constant vigilance can keep them under control.”
“So let’s get started,” I said. “Lead the way.”
Lana and Archer lead me up to the parapet over the front gate where I looked over at the dozens of zombies milling about aimlessly in front of the entrance to my mind. Pulling out my gun, I began to pick them off, easy as shooting fish in a barrel. The crack of my spell pistol attracted more zombies and I dispatched them with ease until no more were left around the gate. As I fired each shot I could feel some sort of existential energy flowing from me, draining some hidden reserve.
“Gather up the Fuks,” I commanded. “And Lana?”
“Mi’lord?”
“There’s no excuse for this. From now on, I expect the walls to be clear of all zombies.”
“Yes mi’lord,” she said, giving me a small bow.
Turning to Archer, I shook my head. “You’re obviously my personal narcissism, so just try to stay out of Lana’s way, or better yet - try to kill more zombies than her. If you think you can.”
Archer scoffed. “No contest. I took top marks in sharpshooting.”
“That means I should expect to see results by tomorrow. I look forward to it.”
Archer looked panicked for a moment then smiled. “Sure, I can give you results.”
Turning back to Woodhouse I said “Show me what else need attending.”
Woodhouse led me through the town that represented my mind, pointing out each business that had fallen into disrepair, suggested others that needed improvements, and additions that would benefit me. In the distance, I could hear Lana and Archer shooting at the crowd of zombies and with each echoing shot I felt a tiny bit better about everything.
[INDEX]

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

Recently after i did my workout I decided to compare my progress today with my previous workout and my current workout was almost essentially the same with the previous and for some I did less reps than before. I don't know why I'm possibly getting weaker or staying stagnant. I have been using the ideal routine for about nearly a year and I've definetely made progress on some muscles and i feel I've made little to none progress. I'm not sure if its because my rest days aren't long enough, if I'm not eating enough or if I'm not working out intensely enough.
I'm 17 years old and weigh around 67kg, 5'7-5'8ish
My rest days
Following the ideal routine's recommendation, I take 4 days rest sometimes 5 or 6 depending if I'm busy and have something so I cant go to the gym
Diet
when it comes to diet I try to eat as much as possible but sometimes, actually quite a lot I struggle to eat enough for a calorie surplus. I'm not even sure if I am at a calorie surplus, I live in a very east Asian household and the foods I eat are Asian foods that are generally not high in calories, most of my calories generally comes from rice + some food with meats, or Asian foods such as shomai. Previously, I've tried to record my meals with MyFitnesspal by weighing my foods and putting it in to see how many calories I'm getting. But my parents don't like me doing that and keep telling me to "just eat enough" they don't like that I'm trying to bulk, especially my mum who worries a lot that I'll get fat and repeatedly keeps asking me "check if you have a double chin" ,"you're not going to have a jawline" and "you're going to get a belly." I admit sometimes just to get her to stop I will try to reduce my portions. They keep repeating to me that "you'll grow stronger eventually." but I don't feel like I'm growing stronger, when I compare my progress to my friends I see their lifts growing big, I only manage to lift around half their weights, looking at what I've accomplished really bums me out seeing that. It's really conflicting when my parents keep telling me I eat too much and I'm getting fat but when I'm with my friends who also lift they tell me I'm literally a skeleton and have made no changes to my body or basically I'm still skinny. Personally I think I'm more on the skinny side and am weak. I've tried explaining to my parents you need a calorie surplus to build muscle, but they don't listen and insist ill just build muscle by eating maintainence to caloric deficit amounts. They don't exactly like me and the gym because they believe I'll become shorter by going to the gym. Also they think me living a Western lifestyle will lead to me dying sooner in comparison to the Eastern Asian lifestyle. Should I try to go back to counting calories to ensure i'm getting enough calories?
calories
when calculating the amount of calories I think the amount needed for a small 200-300 calorie surplus would be around 2800 calories. This is because I walk to school and back for around 15 minutes to and back and I also do a bunch of walking at school, on my phone which calculates my steps I average around 8,000-10,000 steps and when I go to the gym i walk around 20 minutes to and back + taking the train and my steps easily reach 20,000.
Workout Intensity
I try as much to go as hard as I can, when doing my sets at the start I do 2 sets of warms up that progressively get close to my hardest lift. Then on the 3rd or 4th set I do my final set and push as hard as I can. Sometimes I doubt if I've given it my all so I do a drop set and reduce the weight by a little bit and keep going until I really can move the weight, Ill try and push the weight to move, at this point I usually am able to move the weight a little bit around 25-50% of a rep but am unable to finish this I try twice and then If I really can't I move on to the next exercise. After I finish my workout I feel like I could've done more but when I think about what I did I think I couldn't have done more. For example when I was doing my squats, It was quite intense where I was heavily breathing and took small pauses after every rep, when I finished my set I felt like I should've been able to do 2 or maybe 3 more reps, but I was feeling a tiny bit lightheaded and had to sit down. Whenever I'm leaving the gym this doubt plagues me. I noticed when doing my workouts my biggest problem is my hands/ fingers being unable to bear the weight, so when i'm doing my set my hands give up earlier than the actual muscles being targetted.
Here is my progress list:
WU - warmup
DS - drop set
ES - each side
The exercises used are at the top of the list and I shorten them
[ for example Smith Machine Incline Bench Press -> SMIBP ]
day 1: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1suLtXZIbPggtLJaFXHy_jH-VHXjr-uR8smVclBHV0X0/edit?usp=sharing
day 2: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1v-6HjZczwhEio2KMrKI0pLybNTYL6LNxiiLM9r6kg8c/edit?usp=sharing
day 3: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1bp-RrkwjVOBC87b52KlhCcDjOY1axAmuoEe-Jp1vkwY/edit?usp=sharing
day 4: https://docs.google.com/document/d/10S1E0jVk7MXFHme-WHKorlLlGPTfVFgsqqZP_EWVqTI/edit?usp=sharing
here is my physique: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1MzzpQV6wH2l34iDaZosPZg7SIieeJWh8wNfTWiNMh24/edit?usp=sharing
sorry about me uploading my physique in google docs, i'm personally not very comfortable with showing my body on the internet
if you've made it this far, thank you so much for taking the time to read me essentially ranting about my lack of progress and any advice is appreciated :).

Ingredients: - 2 ripe avocados - 1/2 cup unsweetened cocoa powder - 1/2 cup erythritol or preferred keto sweetener - 1/4 cup coconut cream - 1 tsp vanilla extract - 1/2 tsp ground cinnamon (optional) - Pinch of salt - Fresh berries and mint leaves for garnish
Instructions: 1. Cut the avocados in half, remove the pit, and scoop the flesh into a blender or food processor. 2. Add the unsweetened cocoa powder, erythritol, coconut cream, vanilla extract, cinnamon (if using), and salt. 3. Blend until smooth and creamy, scraping down the sides as needed to ensure everything is well incorporated. 4. Taste and adjust sweetness if necessary. 5. Spoon the mousse into serving bowls or glasses and refrigerate for at least 30 minutes to let it set. 6. Before serving, garnish with fresh berries and mint leaves for an extra touch of color and flavor.
Nutritional Information (per serving): - Calories: 200 - Protein: 3g - Fat: 18g - Carbs: 9g - Fiber: 7g - Net Carbs: 2g
This creamy, rich, and indulgent keto dessert is sure to catch on with its surprising use of avocado, making it both a delicious and healthy treat.

Manisha and I have been alone at home for over a year now. The COVID-19 lockdown had forced everyone to stay indoors, and we had stocked up on enough food and medicines to last us for two years. We were both in our twenties, and we made the most of our time alone. On one hand, I was 21 years old at that time while on the other hand, my cousin Manisha was 25 years old.
Manisha was a beautiful woman, with long black hair and a curvy figure. I'm a good-looking guy myself, with a muscular build and a charming smile and she's still unmarried.
One day, while we were both lounging on the couch, Manisha turned to me and said, "Since it's two of us alone here, so why don't we play a game? We've been cooped up in this house for so long, I think we could use some excitement."
I raised an eyebrow and asked, "What kind of game?"
Manisha grinned and replied, "A naked game. We take turns spinning a bottle, and whoever it points to has to do something sexual to the other person."
My eyes widened, but I couldn't help but feel a stirring in my pants. I nodded, and we both stood up and stripped naked...completely naked. No undergarments, no clothes and none of us was covering up our bodies.
Manisha spun the bottle first, and it pointed to me. She walked over to me and whispered in my ear, "I want you to lick my pussy."
My cock instantly grew hard as I knelt down in front of her and began to lick her wet folds. She moaned and ran her fingers through my hair, pulling me closer to her.
After a few minutes, Manisha came on my mouth and then, we switched places, and it was my turn to make a request. When I spun the bottle this time it pointed to Manisha. I looked up at Manisha and said, "I want you to suck my dick."
Manisha eagerly obliged, taking my thick shaft in her mouth and swirling her tongue around it. I groaned and closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of her warm mouth on my cock.
We continued to play the game for hours, weeks, months and even for a year until the lockdown came to an end, taking turns pleasuring each other in every way imaginable. We fucked on the couch, on the kitchen counter, and even in the shower. We explored every inch of each other's bodies, learning what made each other moan and scream with pleasure.
As the weeks turned into months, our sexual escapades became more and more daring. We experimented with anal sex, pussy sex, using toys and props to enhance our pleasure.
But no matter how many new things we tried, nothing could compare to the simple pleasure of being naked together. We loved the feeling of each other's skin against our own, the way our bodies fit together perfectly.
As the lockdown finally came to an end, Manisha and I knew that our relationship would never be the same. We had shared something special, something that only we could understand. We'd fucked each other's brains out for an entire year, and we wouldn't have it any other way.
As we packed up our things and prepared to leave the house, Manisha turned to me and said, "I'm gonna miss this fun. I'm going to miss us."
I smiled and replied, "Don't worry, we'll find a way to keep the magic alive. We'll always have our memories, and we'll always have each other."
And with that, we walked out of the house, hand in hand, ready to face the world together. We knew that we had something special, something that no one could ever take away from us. We had each other, and we had our memories of a year spent in blissful nakedness.

A small sightseeing helicopter with one passenger was flying over the sea when it encountered a violent atmospheric disturbance and crashed into the sea before it could send out a distress signal. Fortunately, due to the buoyancy of the wings, the helicopter did not sink immediately, giving the pilot and passenger a chance to inflate the liferaft and move onto it.
The sea was calm. The liferaft was designed for four people, so it was more than sufficient for the two of them. There were five cans of emergency food on the raft, two of which were juice cans, to be used in place of drinking water.
"If we drift like this for two or three days, a search plane will probably come to rescue us. No need to worry," the pilot reassured the passenger.
However, half a month later, an international cargo ship discovered the liferaft, and both the pilot and the passenger were dead. The pilot had been stabbed to death with a knife, while the passenger had died of starvation, inexplicably clutching an inflated air tube with one finger of his left hand. On the raft, there was a bloody knife and four empty cans of food, with one can remaining untouched.
"These two must have fought each other with the knife over the last can of food, right?" "If that's the case, why didn't the surviving attacker eat the can of food and instead starve to death?" The crew of the cargo ship found it all very puzzling.
Can you deduce what happened on the drifting liferaft?

So...this is likely going to be a long post, I apologize in advance as I kind of just have a lot of my mind to expand upon.
I am a 33 year old male, I first got Covid in late December 2023. It was rough, What complicates this for me is that I didn't feel good before Covid. For years I dealt with major fatigue issues, what some would consider similar to adrenal fatigue type symptoms, low blood sugar feelings every day, anxiety, all kinds of weird stomach/chest sensations, lack of energy, heat sensitivity, anxiety and more. The only things I previously had been confirmed to have that could have contribued to this were low Vitamin D and a hiatal hernia. Over the last few years I've had a batery of heart tests, stomach tests, all never really found much other than the hiatal hernia.
Covid was rough on me for sure. Had the worst cough I've ever had for weeks. Though oxygen remained normal, the worst muscle pains I've ever had, and stomach issues, frequent bowel movement. In the weeks following Covid I felt like my hiatal hernia had been made worse as I was just noticing symptoms in there more. I also feel sleepy way more than I did before Covid. The coughing stopped, but I dont know that any of it totally went away, there were periods of time where I forgot I had Covid and even thought I was totally over it a few times, but right now I am reconsidering it.
The last few weeks I have really been just not been feeling rough..and its nothing new to me totally but it all feels worse.
Muscle pains and soreness...I dont have horrible muscle pains, but I have pains that are just there that I didnt notice before, arms, legs, ribs, back, chest. Now weird feelings werent new to me, but its all so much more noticeable after Covid. Its almost like...My muscles are all just a little heavy/sore, like if I want to go on a walk, its like starting an old car, something at 33 I dont think is the norm, just sitting here typing this paragraph I've noticed a strain/muscle pain in my left knee, upper thigh, fingers, and left wirst. They are low on the pain scale like 2 or 3 out of 10, but they are there. It is similar to the muscle feelings you get when you are sick but not quite on that scale, just a lower level daily 24/7 version of it.
My hiatal hernia has felt so much worse in the last few weeks. I am noticing so much more pressure around it, its almost like a baby kicking in my lower chest/upper stomach when I move positions or lean wrong, or strain. I've had lots of nausea last few weeks also going along with it, it also goes along with the low blood sugar feelings I get which are fixed by foods (not sugar), and sometimes its hard to tell if I am sick or hungry or what.
Along with the theme of stomach issues, and this one gets a little more graphic...I haven't been normal with bowel movements since I had Covid. Atleast my usual. I was..pretty regular pre-covid. Every couple days, maybe once a day, but it was..simple..relatively the same...Since I had Covid, its extremely irregular, much more frequently it can be more diahhrea like, usually very soft, sometimes multiple times a day which used to be extremely rare for me, and where I used to be able to hold it before, it seems to come on much more suddenly for me now.
For a weird one, I feel like my anxiety is worse again since Covid...now I had anxiety for years which was actually caused by all the strange symptoms I had over the years. But it had been maintained and stable before Covid. Now it feels like any adrenaline release at all absolutely screws up my body. Good or bad energy. Watching a sporting event and getting excited = feeling bad...Even gaming...I am an eSports compeititor, mainly with sim racing, but I enjoy other games. I've noticed that if I play a game like Fortnite now, when I get done if its a tense game, I am borderline panic attack and my body freaking out for literally no reason, and it comes on out of nowhere once i'm done. Fortnite seems to do it worst of all games.
There are more things im sure I am forgetting but its very late, and this really hit me today that maybe somehow Long Covid is playing up all of these things after all. I did have an episode of my heart racing last month and they said it was POTS..I had an EKG while it was going, EKG was normal, Chest XRay was normal...I dont necessarily believe it was POTS but I also cant rule it out as I have had other POTS like symptoms before.

I was the firstborn girl to my parents, who were both in their early 20’s when they had me.
We lived in an apartment during much of my remembered youth, just us and my brother. It was rough going, my dad had a vicious temper and my mom tried to protect us but he scared us almost every day with his red faced anger.
My mom demanded academic excellence from us because our school performance directly affected his mood. I was depressed, anxious, isolated and felt like a failure. I felt like if I didn’t do well then I had put my mom in the path of his rampages.
I’m not sure if it was conscious, but my mom started treating me worse too.
My only real solace was that every Sunday I would sleepover at my Grandmothers house, and I continued to do this until I left for college.
My grandmother was a wonderful woman, she gave me a quiet home to live in once a week- she was patient and gentle with me. She and her fiancé showed me how kind and soft love could look between married people.
She taught me how to apply makeup, she spent time with me and listened to my thoughts. She made me feel safe and loved and appreciated- she was someone I could talk to about anything, even her son (my dad).
She would hold up a finger and say to me “never let anyone make you feel less than you are, dearheart”
We spent hours side by side reading books, and she didn’t criticize me for being a quiet person. It was just perfect acceptance and presence without fail.
In high school, her fiancé passed away and she slipped quickly into Alzheimer’s. Her sons planned to take her from her home and place her with a hoarder. I refused to let them take her where she wouldn’t be safe or feel familiar and they fought me but I raged like my father would rage and they agreed that so long as I lived with her and made sure she was safe that she could stay in her home.
So I did, and though they were sad days they also were very happy ones spent together.
Eventually my parents forced me to leave her to go to college, and the brothers moved her out into an apartment with a caregiver- and her eldest son took over her house and tore out all of her things and replaced them with his own.
I was so angry, because all of her familiar things would be gone, and with Alzheimer’s they need to feel things are like usual.
Thankfully she had a great caretaker who I felt we could trust. When pandemic hit, we couldn’t see her and I was always worried she would get sick. She couldn’t remember me anymore but on the last occasion I saw her eyes open she was only looking at me out of the whole family, like she was trying to focus.
She entered a catatonic state not long after, and per her request, she was allowed to pass in her own time by food and water denial- just morphine and water swabs for her dry mouth.
She slept, and she persisted for two weeks, and I never left her side for longer than a few hours to shower or get clothes. I stayed on a cot next to her bed, and held her hand, let her hair, and played her favorite music. And when they put her in a bag I placed her blanket we often shared on top of her.
I miss her so much, especially when my parents are around. I feel like my mother died, and tonight I found myself thinking of her again even though it’s been two years.
I laid down to sleep with my partner and wondered who I would have been if I hadn’t had that love in my life to guide me when I needed it so badly.
And I marvel at how my grandmother made me feel so chosen at a time when my folks made me feel like I was no one at all.
Would I have my partner of 3 years and this wonderful relationship, if my grandmother hadn’t modeled for me what it was supposed to be like?
She died but the gifts she gave me never stop giving themselves again and again and all I feel is this immense gratitude, but I never got to show her as an adult how wonderful those gifts were and that is my greatest remorse. I wish she could know how she altered the trajectory of my life and infected it with joy.

Silly question but when I pick up my heart rat he, licks my fingers a few times every time I lift him. None of the other ones do it. They brux and boggle on their own time though so I am sure they are content in some form. Are these rat kisses or is he looking for food. Also I love taking a deep smell of their fur because their scent is very calming.