[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]

Please excuse me as I know this isn't a hiking query but thought to ask here as this subreddit generally gives the most valuable suggestions.

What I am about to explain was incredibly traumatizing and stressful for me, the entirety of the call including after the end of the call.
Here is the story: I get a call from a fake or spoofed number (I will call this phone ICE) that claims to be from an ICE (Immigration Customs Enforcement) office somewhere in Minneapolis. I personally freaked out because it was also named "Prison/ Jail". He asked first if I am speaking to (my real name) and states my real address (I didn't give any identifying information yet). The caller, who claims to be an officer, claims that I was involved in serious criminal activity including money laundering, drugs, and having a fake identity. Obviously, I am legally born in the United States and have never immigrated to the U.S. I was literally shaking during this entire call.
Then, I explicitly state that I haven't committed any of these crimes, and they say that it could be identity theft (which is real thing and happens everywhere). That what I thought it was at first. Either way, they told me to go to the real .gov website to read the documents and what laws I have violated. He also interrogated me with some other questions as if it was almost a real interrogation with actual law enforcement and that there was a real reason he was doing this. Then an hour into the call, another number (I will call this phone number SLPD) called me three times, and the person behind that spoofed number claimed to be the SL Police Department. The person speaking claimed to be the sergeant for the department, and would threaten to arrest me. First off, she was very rude, in which this would not be how a real police officer would act talking to someone for the first time. So I told the ICE person that there was another "agency" involved in the same case and here is where things start to get messy.
The ICE person claimed that she would threaten to arrest me and I was given two choices: either self surrender to fill out an immigration bond containing a certain amount of money (this is where the real purpose of the scam comes through).
I went with the second option since I didn't want to risk getting arrested and being put on records. In order to complete the immigration bond in such a tight time, I was forced to go to a store to purchase a couple gift cards, each worth a lot of money. While the cashiers were making weird looks at me, I was still forced to do the purchase anyway and lie to them I had to celebrate my family's birthday or something. I went to other stores to look around for gift cards (yes, it does seem very dumb, but at this time my adrenaline was very high and I wasn't sure what I was getting myself into). After all the purchasing the SLPD person claimed she would come to my apartment in Santa Cruz, but first off she doesn't even know the address of my place. The ICE person claimed that I was not allowed to use any sort of web browser, to make phone calls, or talk with others about this "investigation". Then this was where I realized where something was off and what real trouble I was getting into until the SLPD person "visited" my place.
They also told me my phone was being tracked, but it wasn't.
Then after I thought about what was going on, then I realized that ICE (nor any of the well known agencies) DOES NOT call you directly about being arrested and ask you for money over phone calls. Then I realized the stupid thing I did over the past few hours of the day. I also browsed over reddit and confirmed that people have had similar calls.
After having some real thoughts, this was my state:

• I have never felt so angry, out-of-place, and frustrated with wasting so much time for this non-sensical scam call and giving out my money for "compliance".
• My entire day was gone as I was initially planning to work on some final projects and work on some homework.
• Nearly half of my bank account was drained (Please don't ask me how much I gave out).
• As mad as I was, my parents were not proud of me at all.
• I am currently having a lot of bad afterthoughts and I cannot seem to focus on my schoolwork. I also need to deal with how to recover from the scam.
• Lastly, I have never felt so stupid falling for such a non-sensical act, where people claiming to be someone else are just trying to trick people into getting money, though a very (I mean very) elaborate process. I must say they did it well and can easily catch victims off guard.
• I don't know if my parents will ever have the same trust with me as they did before.

Some of my learning and what can be the takeaway

• Never Ever transfer money with a random person through a phone call, not even if they threaten you to. If they ask for money, it's an automatic scam.
• The ICE nor the SLPD (or any other police departments) will never call you and immediately threaten you with arrest. They first need to have a probable cause, and they sure would've had started an investigation way earlier in person.
• If you think you have ran into a person threatening you, just nicely tell them that you need to go to the bathroom. Then what you actually do is hang up and completely turn off your phone. Go on your parents' or friend's phone to call the real agency or other people you trust to see what's the real deal. If there's nothing from the real agency, it's a scam.
• I would highly suggest blocking the number the scammers call you through.
• I need to learn to be more skeptical for this situation and look out for any early signs of a scam or malicious intent.

However, one good thing was that my gift cards still had its full values, so I was able to freeze them. While I didn't really lose the money, it definitely costed me the time that it could have not went through.
I haven't fell for any other scams, ones that simply say that you have an arrest warrant or a charge on your bank card, but this one was so elaborately done and this caught me completely off guard.

I'm a 27-year-old man who recently ended a three-month relationship with a sweet girl, 24. We had been friends for a year before we started dating, and I fell in love with her quickly. Having grown up with a mother who has BPD and not having had a relationship in four years, I hadn't experienced much love in my life. Our relationship was long distance, but we spent significant time together when she stayed at my place. Initially, everything seemed perfect, and our dynamic was very intense and affectionate. I often complimented her because I was genuinely happy to have her in my life, and she reciprocated.
However, things took a turn when she started criticizing me about how I sat, ate, and more. It felt like she was trying to change me. Eventually, during a call, she expressed doubts about our relationship, saying our differences were too significant and that she needed to reconsider her love for me. This was confusing because we had previously confessed our deep love for each other. Was her love ever genuine?
Before this call, I had visited my parents for a week, and leaving them always triggers massive anxiety for me due to past trauma. I realized that I might have unconsciously relied too much on my relationship with her to cope with my anxiety, placing an unfair burden on her. Despite her doubts, we went on a city trip together, but I felt anxious and lost confidence around her. It seemed like she dissected and questioned everything I said, making me feel like I was walking on eggshells.
On our way home, we decided to break up. I got drunk and horny, sat next to her, and asked if she wanted to have sex one last time. She agreed, which made me angry. I pushed her further, suggesting things like a threesome and doing dr*gs, to which she didn't object at all. She seemed excited to do so. It made me even more angry. I started throwing insults at her, bringing up her past infidelity in her previous relationship and calling her a nymphomaniac. I wanted her to feel the hurt I was experiencing. I grabbed her, choked her (as she liked it), kissed her, and left to sit at another row. She started crying, and I felt good in the moment but awful the next day. I called to apologise the next day, and we said goodbye.
A week later, she texted me wanting to try again. We talked but eventually agreed it was best to part ways. During our final conversation, she mentioned having a nice talk with a male work colleague she met at the gym. I told her I hadn’t thought about her that day and was happy as a reply. I heard her gasping through the phone. She wanted to remain friends, but I declined and blocked her everywhere.
Now, I can't get over her. She broke my heart, and all I want is for her to disappear from my thoughts. Why is it so hard to move on, even though it was a short relationship? Why do I feel like it’s my fault, and she is the victim?

Navigating Turbulent Waters: Understanding Investment Fraud and Protecting Your Interests
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She died last May (in a very odd way, I’ll get to that later), and since then so much has been coming to light.
I’m going to call my mom “R” and my grandma “E”.
• R thought she had a tumour in her brain until she was 40 years old, when she called the children’s hospital (whom she described had “experimented” on her, which turned out to be all E’s doing) and they told her they didn’t find anything wrong based on what E said, but that R did have severe ADHD, which she was never aware of. Obviously this affected her deeply, but not in the ways E claimed; which was essentially brain damage, among other things.
• R had me as a teen so E has always had control over us. For as long as I can remember I’ve been “sick”. As a child I felt in my heart that I wasn’t going to live long. I was always in the hospital, on meds, getting scans, pokes, tests; you name it. And I, to this day, have no idea why. I’ve been healthy since I left home. Mentally, I’m a wreck. But I have a shit ton of trauma. My therapist has suggested that the “health issues” I remember experiencing as a kid were likely the effect of high cortisol and adrenaline. Along with “cult-like” manipulation tactics.
• I am diagnosed with CPTSD, OCD, ASD, and ADHD. I also struggle with chronic panic attacks and health anxiety.
• E was a social worker and specialized in psych. I remember her pouring over the DSM, and proudly armchair diagnosing and lording her knowledge over people. I remember one time she told me about Munchausen by Proxy, and she was fascinated by it. It’s burned into my brain. I’d find myself reliving that moment and remembering the light in her eyes as she explained it. When I found out she likely had this disorder my blood ran cold and that moment flashed back. It’s crazy to think my nervous system has been trying to tell me all this time.
• Further to the last point, E knew R and I were neurodivergent; I suspect my great grandma was as well, and E hated her mother for being “ditsy” and “messy”. Which is partly why I think she tried to manipulate us. I stopped talking to E two years ago because I found out, after a lot of therapy (which she disapproved of) that I had all these undiagnosed mental conditions. AND SHE KNEW. I had been assessed at a young age by a friend of hers (she could pull all the strings being in her profession, it was a small town, and she was highly esteemed) and I tested highly for ASD. E somehow covered it up, and I didn’t find out until I was 27. What’s worse is she forced me to mask by essentially experimenting on my brain with various therapy techniques and fear tactics so I didn’t get noticed and diagnosed. This also made me enthralled to her because I needed her constant reinforcement to function “correctly”.
• E taught me to be constantly afraid for my health and of other people. I wasn’t to trust the government, the police, or any healthcare professionals. She even deliberately put rifts between me and friends/boyfriends. She did the same to R.
• I was on certain medications for years for no reason. She especially enjoyed giving suppositories. She forced me to take Advil all the time; the huge extra strength ones, and I’d cry and try to get away, screaming I don’t have a headache. And she forced it into my mouth and held my mouth and nose until I swallowed. I have severe anxiety taking medicine to this day.
• E told me I had asthma, underdeveloped lungs, chronic infections, tooth decay, and various autoimmune disorders. Anytime I got sick with a cold she told me I’d die. During H1N1 she told me I was definitely going to get it and die, so I spent most of that year in the hospital. She constantly took me to the dentist for various unnecessary procedures. I have no idea how it was allowed. By the time I was 19 none of my back teeth were intact, and when I moved and got my own dentist they were shocked and asked many questions. I told them I had soft teeth and I always had to get them fixed - to which they said tooth softness is a temporary state... I nearly fell over. I still don’t know how to process it. Because of all the intervention my teeth cause me a lot of issues to this day.
• Once I became an adult and moved out, E started to lose control of R and I. She became more and more sick herself, which caused R and I to run to her rescue. She was always having the craziest things happen to her. Heart attacks, severe infections, severe pain, injuries such as falls and deep cuts. For almost 5 years she was in the hospital every other week. During the height of Covid she told me the hospital put her in the Covid ward by accident and gave her Covid. I was enraged because myself, my partner, and my little sister had visited her, allegedly in the Covid ward. I was going to write a scathing letter to all the appropriate boards, and suddenly E turned tail and said “that’s not what happened”. It floored me. That same year I caught her in a heart attack lie, which made me remember the first one she had where no doctor could figure out what was wrong with her and I remember fighting with the doctor out of confusion and desperation asking why no one would help her… and I remember the pained look he gave me…
• I started putting the pieces together a few years before E died, and I just removed myself more and more, and the sicker she got, and the more crazy the situations. She starting sending relatives to reach me, and she’d tell them she was dying, so they would go to every effort to reach me - and not understand why I wouldn’t respond. She even convinced nurses and careaids to track me down. When that didn’t work, she started overdosing herself. Which was real, and scary. Unfortunately R got dragged in, and it broke her irreparably.
• Last May E overdosed and ended up in long-term care. She had a stroke and then lost control of her hands. She was so damaged by this point, and no one would take her on, so she was put in palative. She was there two weeks. Then she put a DNR in place. The next day was Friday, and sometime in the evening they suspect she had another stroke, right when no one was around, and she wasn’t found until a day later. They couldn’t do any tests because of the DNR or help her recover. The doctors never gave me a straight answer, and the whole thing wreaked of what I’ve been going thru these past years. E left us all the nastiest messages you’ve ever heard just before, and unfortunately my little sister listened to hers.
• My mom, R, died two month later of an overdose. I know E is at fault. She did this to us. I’ll never know what happened in those last few months they were together, I only have little bits and bobs of pure chaos - during which time R lost her house, all her belongings, and ended up on the street.
I really don’t know how one recovers from all of this. Not enough is known about this disorder and it’s victims. I’m in trauma therapy, but there’s too much, and no one can really know this form of evil unless they’ve experienced it. I’ve never put this all out there like is this, I dont know what to expect or what I hope to gain. Maybe just understanding. Thank you if you read it all.

FYI I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THIS POST I WAS ASKED TO REPOST ... SORRY AITA… Am I the AITA for, I ( 36f) want my 17 year old son to know the truth, that his father didn’t just let him come live with me, I fought for him tooth and nail, spent over $15000s (not that the money means anything at all I would do it 100 times again if necessary) and many more truths he is completely oblivious of. My main goal is not to put his father down and make him look bad ( he can do that just fine on his own ;)) my main goal is for my son to understand that I never gave up trying to get him, trying to find him, tried to bring him home, and that not one minute ever went by that he wasn't on my mind. MY SON (17) has resentments with me and he is having a hard time adjusting to life not knowing the truth I feel. A therapist discouraged me from telling him " my truth" Let me share some facts before you judge. Almost 9 years ago my sons father (my ex that I was never married to, which is an important fact later on) took my son for a weekend visit, ONE OF THE FIRST WEEKEND VISITS IN OUR SONS ENTIRE YOUNG 8 YEAR OLD LIFE, and then took off out of the state. This began the UNIMAGINABLE journey of parental abduction and alienation, my son being moved to over 30 locations, some of those were living in a car, over 12 states that my son can remember, and 8 years of trauma and awful experiences that no child should ever be exposed to. Again Before you judge when I realized that they had taken off and were not at the address that was provided to me the first thing I did was notify the police. This contact with the police would set the tone for the next 8 years. The police absolutely made me feel like I had done wrong like I was guilty of some horrific crime by allowing my son to visit with his father because The father and I were not married and we did not establish any kind of set custody in the courts because up until this point my son had always been with me the father had not been really involved in his life the police informed me that this was a family court issue I needed to take it to the courts. I was extremely confused I thought that because I was his birth mother that I had custody, I continued to press the matter with the police and question them and ask them for some kind of direction or help or what can I do? Can they do anything? They said sure do you have an address to where they are? do you know where they're located right now? Not knowing or having any idea where they were they said there was nothing they could do and since I couldn’t prove that they even left the state or had intentions to leave the state that FBI couldn't help either. Also keep in mind I was in my early to mid 20s at this point very naïve a distraught emotional wreck and just clinging on to any kind of hope that the police were going to help. So a brief Cliff notes to the next about six years of hell I would artempt to go to the courts to establish emergency custody but unfortunately because I had no idea where they were I could not serve my son's father with court documents. I spoke to a judge off the record where he informed me to hire lawyers and a private investigator find where they are located have a welfare check done to make sure eyes are on my son to make sure he is OK and while that is going on start the process of having him served with court documents. Again being in my young 20s an emotional wreck not in my right mind at all because my baby boy was abducted hiring a lawyer not only where I lived, but also in the state they were hiding at in that time and private investigator on top of that just was not financially possible for me. My family and I however were able to hire a private investigator. This started another game of cat and mouse. I was trying to do this the “right” way. I was trying to obey the laws and go down this “checklist “ so to speak of what I needed to do, but whoever made this “checklist “ did not understand the mind of a narcissist Every time the private investigator would locate my son he would contact me immediately and just like the judge he would suggest to have a welfare check done to make sure my son was OK physically and also hope by some off chance that maybe the police would pick up on something illegal and that they could intervene in some way. (YA RIGHT THIS MAN IS WAY TO GOOD AT ACTING AND MANIPULATING TO BE CAUGHT SLIPPING,) Of course as a beyond worried mother all I NEEDED TO KNOW at that moment was is my son ok? Well IMMEDIATELY AFTER police or department of children and families would make contact before the court documents could be accepted by the courts my sons father would disappear with our son once again! My son was coached And taught how he was to respond to any kind of authorities when they were interviewing him, what to say if he was asked if he was safe, if anyone hurt him, he was told what to say to every possible question. I would request have DCF go and interview my son at school in hopes he would be comfortable to tell the truth away from his father, but it turns out that he was more afraid of repercussions from his father.( These interviews at the school turned out to be extremely helpful and a god send to my son. They were the only glimmer of hope my son told me he had that myself and my family were still looking for him, still loved him, and still even wanted him) there were a few instances when the planets would align and I was able to get the appropriate documents submitted before they would move again, but only to find out that because they had not lived in that jurisdiction for at least 6 months that the courts did not have authority to rule on the matter. More or less the courts didn’t want to deal with a case with so many variables. There are a ton more awful things I could and I may say at a later time but long story short my sons father finally stayed in one place long enough for the courts to have to claim jurisdiction, I was finally able to pay a lawyer To get the process at least started for me to a point I could take over, and it got to a point where my son was going to finally be able to speak to a court appointed guardian ad litem and that scared the father to death because he would end up with not only a child abuse investigation but possibly loose the other children he had and was receiving financial aid and benefits for. The Judge granted me full custody after realizing the reasoning and apologized that system failed us for so long. Now I have an extremely confused teen, who defends his father out of fear, still afraid of what his father could do to him, and he doesn’t know anything close to the truth of our horrible experience So I ask, AITA FOR WANTING MY SON TO KNOW AT LEAST SOME OF THE FACTS? Let me know if you would like more details or questions answered. Parental abduction is an unbearable situation that affects so many people for their entire lives. You would think there has to be help or organizations that can help, but at the end of the day money is the main factor and it is the victims that have to spend the most money to receive any bit of justice! :(

Finn Tresscoat, a 20-year-old with short dark brown hair, brown eyes, and a pale complexion, strolled down the sidewalk of his small town. He wore a light brown leather jacket over a black shirt, paired with black jeans and black-and-white sneakers.
As Finn ambled along, he glanced at the many shops lining the main road of the town's bustling center. He wasn't searching for anything in particular; he simply wanted to enjoy the rare day off from his job, one of the most perilous occupations in the United West (U.W.).
"Finn! Oh, Finn!"
Finn turned his head to the right and spotted Ms. Tori Elortor, or simply Ms. Tori as he called her. She was an older lady in her early fifties, though her youthful appearance often surprised the townsfolk. With long white hair cascading down her back, pale skin, and bright hazel eyes, she was a striking figure. Today, she wore a navy blue sundress over a pair of tight blue jeans and brown cowboy boots.
Ms. Tori, the local bakery owner, was considered quite attractive and often caught the eye of the younger men in town. Her curvaceous figure and active lifestyle, including regular yoga sessions in the park, only added to her allure. However, Finn saw her differently. Having known her since childhood and feeling like part of her family, he saw her as a maternal figure rather than anything else. He was also close to her son, Eric, feeling like an older brother to him.
Despite his demanding job, which kept him busy for nearly twenty-four-seven, Finn always tried to visit Ms. Tori and Eric whenever he could. Today was a rare opportunity for him to relax and reconnect.
"Ah, hi Ms. Tori! How are you today?" Finn greeted her with a warm smile.
Ms. Tori returned his smile. "I'm just fine, Finn. The real question is, how are you? I haven't seen you in months!" Her tone shifted to one of concern. "I was worried, and so was Eric. You do have quite a dangerous job for someone so young," she added.
What kind of dangerous job did Finn have, you might ask?
Well, Finn was a "Gaunt Hunter," a member of a specialized group tasked with safeguarding the small towns outside the major cities in the United West from creatures known as Gaunts.
These slim, humanoid creatures had leathery black skin, no eyes or nose, and wide mouths that drooled a strange dark green liquid. They had emerged after the cataclysmic "Decade of Winter."
The Gaunts varied in form and capability. Some were very muscular, while others had bat-like wings, allowing them to fly. They were also cunning, often creating weapons from scavenged materials and hunting in packs.
Disturbingly, these were just the common variants.
There were tales of Gaunts resembling animals and some that could even speak, though Finn himself had never encountered such anomalies.
Despite the ominous title of Gaunt Hunter, Finn's role wasn't as glamorous as one might imagine.
He wasn't a high-tech, gadget-wielding hero. Gaunt Hunters received training similar to regular police officers, focusing on the use of firearms. However, since firearms were not commonly traded or shipped to the smaller towns outside the major cities, Gaunt Hunters were also taught to wield swords, knives, and other melee weapons, as well as trained in close-range combat.
Finn had been trained to fire a pistol but also learned to fight with a machete, which was more practical for their needs than a traditional sword. On duty, he carried a standard-issue Glock-17 and a machete strapped to his side. He also wore the standard protective gear issued to United West Security Forces (UWSF) officers.
Returning to the conversation with Ms. Tori, Finn let out a lighthearted chuckle. "Dangerous for most of the veterans on the job, but I'm young and fit! Practically invincible!" he said with a grin.
Ms. Tori gave Finn an unimpressed look, raising an eyebrow. "Is that right?" she asked. "Then what's this I hear about a Gaunt nearly taking your head off just last week?"
Finn's face flushed with embarrassment as he recalled the incident. A Gaunt had caught him off guard and nearly decapitated him with a makeshift axe. "Okay... yeah, fair enough," he admitted, looking down.
Ms. Tori's expression softened, and she gave him a few light taps on the shoulder. "Oh, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, Finn, I'm just reminding you that your job is dangerous… You need to be careful," she said gently.
Finn looked up at her and nodded. "I know, and thank you for caring," he replied. Inwardly, he thought, 'It's not like anyone else does'
"Of course, I care, Finn," Ms. Tori said firmly. "Do you know how devastated I'd be if you got hurt or, heaven forbid, died? I'd be heartbroken,” she told him. “Eric would be even worse off, after all, who would play with him?"
Finn felt a wave of warmth at her words. Despite not wanting to worry Ms. Tori or Eric, it was comforting to know there were people who cared about him, and who wanted him to stay safe and come back home. "I guess you're right," he said with a soft smile. "I'll try to be more careful out there, I promise,”
Ms. Tori nodded, her smile lingering. "Good,” she said. “Now, how many days do you have off?" she asked.
"Not many," Finn replied with a sigh. "Just today,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in shock. "Only today? Why?" She asked.
Finn's expression turned serious. "Many of the other Gaunt Hunters are either dead, retiring, or switching to become cops... There are only ten of us left in the entire town,"
Ms. Tori's eyes widened in horror. Gaunt Hunters were the primary defense against the Gaunts. The law across the U.W. dictated that local law enforcement dealt with human issues, leaving Gaunt-related threats to the Hunters. The thought of their numbers dwindling was terrifying.
Each town was supposed to have a contingent of Gaunt Hunters, given that small towns were the primary targets for Gaunt attacks.
Major cities, in contrast, rarely had to deal with Gaunts.
The dense populations of these urban centers acted as a deterrent, scaring off most Gaunt packs. Even if a small group of Gaunts did manage to attack, the cities were equipped with heavy weaponry and advanced defenses, making Gaunt Hunters unnecessary there.
This starkly contrasted with the dire need for Gaunt Hunters in the smaller, more vulnerable towns.
Ideally, each small town would have around fifty Gaunt Hunters, a number intended to ensure adequate protection against the Gaunt threat. However, the reality was far grimmer. The inherent dangers and heavy responsibilities associated with the job dissuaded many from becoming Gaunt Hunters. The perilous nature of the work, combined with the constant threat of death, resulted in a severe shortage of recruits.
As a result, the numbers in many towns had dwindled alarmingly.
"Only ten?" she repeated her voice barely above a whisper. "That's... alarming… What happens if more Gaunts come?"
"We do our best," Finn said, trying to sound confident. "But it's tough… Every day, we’re stretched thinner,"
Ms. Tori took a deep breath, trying to process the gravity of the situation.
Finn felt a lump in his throat. "I promise, Ms. Tori. I'll do everything I can to stay safe," he said, trying to remind her if his promise mere moments ago.
Ms. Tori wanted to argue with Finn's comment, but deep down, she knew he was somewhat right. The town was struggling—trade had slowed to a trickle, and many residents had moved away. The constant threat of Gaunt attacks made living there increasingly untenable. Even Ms. Tori had considered leaving to ensure Eric’s safety and to give him a chance to grow up in a more stable environment where he could interact with other children and experience the broader world.
However, she couldn’t bring herself to leave.
Her late husband was buried in this town, and even though years had passed since his death, she felt tied to the place where he rested. She had loved this town deeply, and in a way, staying felt like keeping a part of him alive.
Seeing the conflict in her eyes, Finn decided to change the subject. "Hey, why don't I come over for dinner?" he suggested with a soft smile. "I'm sure Eric would be happy to see me after so long,”
Ms. Tori was pulled out of her thoughts by his offer. She smiled, grateful for his willingness to spend his rare day off with them. "That would be lovely, Finn," she said with a quick nod.
They walked together to Ms. Tori's home, a modest three-bedroom house with a large attic. Inside, they found Eric sitting in front of the TV, watching cartoons. Hearing Finn’s voice, Eric turned, his face lighting up with excitement. He jumped out of his seat and ran to give Finn a hug.
Eric was about 11 years old, with brown hair like his deceased father but hazel eyes like his mother. He was wearing a dark black and blue striped shirt, dark gray pants, and black slip-on shoes.
Finn hugged him back, smiling. "I've got some stories to tell over dinner," he said, which made Eric's eyes sparkle with anticipation.
He loved hearing about the world beyond their town, even if it was mostly filled with woods and the ruins of an old world.
Finn then followed Ms. Tori into the kitchen to help prepare dinner. He found what he could and handed the items to her, glad to be of assistance. Ms. Tori thanked him and asked if he could help chop vegetables, which he was more than happy to do.
As they worked side by side, Ms. Tori glanced at Finn, her expression a mix of gratitude and concern. "You know, Finn, this town means a lot to me,” she told him “It’s where I built my life with my husband, and it’s where I want Eric to grow up, despite everything,"
Finn nodded, understanding the deep attachment she had. "I get it, Ms. Tori. This place has a lot of memories, and as long as I'm here, I'll do my best to keep it safe for you and Eric,"
Ms. Tori smiled warmly. "I know you will, Finn... Thank you,”
Dinner was a warm, lively affair. Eric listened intently to Finn’s stories, hanging on every word. The laughter and conversation filled the small home, creating a moment of normalcy amidst the chaos of their world. For a brief time, the threats outside seemed distant, and they enjoyed the simple pleasure of being together.
After a few bites, Eric looked at Finn eagerly. "Can you tell me one of your stories, Finn?" he asked, his eyes bright with anticipation.
Finn nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Well, a couple of days ago, I was out with two or three other Hunters, we had just finished fighting off a few Gaunts, once they were dealt with, we decided to explore the area since it was the site of an old abandoned amusement park,” he began. “Some of the rides were still standing, though most were broken and destroyed, it was interesting to see the tech they used to have back then," Finn recounted.
Eric's eyes widened with excitement. "Wow! That's awesome!" he exclaimed.
Finn grinned. "It was pretty cool, but it’s nothing compared to some of the parks I saw in Salton Lake City! Those places are amazing,"
Eric's eyes gleamed at the mention of the nearby city. "Man, I want to go there someday!" he said enthusiastically. "Maybe when I start my training to be a Gaunt Hunter," he added with a big smile.
Finn chuckled. "So, you want to be a Gaunt Hunter, huh?" he asked. "You think you’ve got what it takes?"
Eric nodded vigorously. "Uh-huh! I know I can be a Gaunt Hunter! I bet I can even be better than you!" he declared, pointing at Finn.
Finn raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh really?" he said. "Who's to say I'm not the best of the best, huh?"
Eric gave him a smug smirk. "Because if you were the best Hunter, you'd have already gotten rid of all the Gaunts!" he said confidently.
Finn chuckled. "Well, you got me there," he admitted. "But hey, if you think you can be the best and get rid of all the Gaunts, then I say go for it, dude."
Eric chuckled and resumed eating, his enthusiasm undimmed. Ms. Tori watched the two with a fond smile, marveling at the brotherly bond between them. It warmed her heart to see how close they had become. She knew that Finn cherished this connection just as much as Eric did, especially since Finn had grown up without a family of his own, raised in the local orphanage.
She recalled those early days when a young Finn would walk into the bakery, clutching a few coins. His eyes would light up with wonder at the sight of the treats and goodies lining the shelves. Something about him had touched her heart, and she began offering him free treats for him and the other orphans whenever he visited. Her late husband had also taken a liking to Finn, treating him like the son they never had. When Finn decided to become a Gaunt Hunter, it was her husband who had helped him prepare for the rigorous training, getting him into shape and offering constant encouragement.
After her husband's death, it was Finn who helped her grieve and find the strength to carry on. She had felt terrible about leaning on him during such a hard time, knowing he had his own sadness to deal with, yet he remained steadfast and strong. He had been there for her and for Eric, helping the young boy understand their loss and navigate the difficult times that followed.
She was truly grateful to have Finn in her life.
Suddenly, Finn's phone vibrated insistently in his pocket. He quickly reached for it and saw a text message from work. He opened it, dreading what it might say.
[~Finn, we need you tonight. Jon and Gary quit out of the blue, so we need someone to fill in.~]
Finn sighed, frustration bubbling up inside him. 'Great, now we're down to eight Hunters,' he thought. 'And Jon and Gary were both my age and in better shape than the veterans at the station.'
Ms. Tori noticed the change in his expression and knew immediately what it meant. "Does duty call, Finn?" she asked gently.
Finn nodded, his expression weary. "Yeah, looks like Jon and Gary quit. They need me to cover tonight."
Ms. Tori sighed, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Finn. I know how much you were looking forward to some time off."
"It's alright," Finn said, forcing a smile. "I knew it was a long shot anyway. The town needs all the help it can get."
Eric looked up, concern etched on his young face. "Do you have to go, Finn?"
Finn ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yeah, buddy. Duty calls. But I'll be back, and we’ll have more stories to share. I promise."
Ms. Tori gave him a supportive nod. "Just promise us you'll stay safe, Finn."
"I will," Finn assured her. He stood up, preparing to leave. "Thanks for dinner, Ms. Tori. It was great, as always."
As he left the warm, comforting atmosphere of Ms. Tori's home and headed out into the cold night, Finn felt a renewed sense of purpose. Despite the exhaustion and the ever-present danger, he knew he had to keep fighting. For the town, for Eric, and for the memory of the man who had helped him become who he was.
Once at the station, Finn entered and immediately spotted Dick Cortez, a veteran Gaunt Hunter who had been safeguarding the town for as long as Finn could remember. Dick, now in his 50s, had graying hair, deep-set wrinkles, and perpetually tired eyes. He was wearing the standard-issue armor that all Gaunt Hunters received, though each Hunter was allowed to customize their armor with different colors and modifications.
Dick's armor consisted of a high-collar black shirt beneath a modified, pure black chest plate that covered his upper abdomen, along with similarly-colored bracers. Both the chest plate and bracers were trimmed with white and featured matching shoulder pads. He also wore gloves with small metal plating on the fingers, dark navy jeans, black and white metal knee pads, and dark brown boots.
Dick noticed Finn and offered a small smile. "Heya, Finn," he greeted.
"Hey yourself, Dick," Finn replied with a nod.
"Sorry about having to bring you in on your day off," Dick said, his tone genuinely apologetic.
Finn walked over to his locker, where his armor and weapons were stored. He glanced at Dick and shrugged, giving a small smile. "It's alright, Dick. I understand why, and I'm not angry—well, not at you, but at those two," Finn said, referring to Jon and Gary.
Dick nodded in understanding. "Trust me, I'm disappointed in them too, but I can see why they left so suddenly," he said.
Finn nodded back, opening his locker to reveal his armor. His armor was similar to Dick's but differed in color and the clothing underneath. Finn wore his usual attire beneath the armor, which consisted of a dark brown chest plate trimmed with black, matching bracers, shoulder pads, knee pads, and gloves.
He took the armor out and quickly dressed, securing the pieces in place. He then grabbed his Glock and its holster, strapping it around his waist, and added his machete in its sheath. Once fully suited up, he turned to Dick with a raised brow. "Which side of town am I patrolling tonight?"
"Outer wall, west side," Dick stated, his voice firm.
Finn nodded, mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. The west side of the outer wall was notorious for Gaunt activity, a hotspot for their attacks. It was going to be a long night.
As he headed out, Dick called after him, "Stay sharp out there, Finn. We can't afford to lose any more good Hunters."
Finn turned back and gave a resolute nod. "I will, Dick. See you in the morning."
Once outside the city, Finn couldn't help but take in the grim sight of the outer wall. It was marred with deep scratches and chips from relentless Gaunt attacks, stained with the dark green goo that dripped from their slavering mouths, and speckled with bloodstains that would never fully wash away. The stark contrast between this battered exterior and the inner walls of the town was striking. Inside, the walls were adorned with chalk drawings from children and vibrant murals from the town's artists. These cheerful images served as a reminder of what he was protecting, and why he had chosen to become a Gaunt Hunter in the first place.
Reaching the west side of the wall, Finn began his patrol, moving back and forth to ensure no Gaunts were attempting to scale the barrier. For now, the night was quiet, and he hoped it would remain that way.
As he walked his beat, his thoughts drifted back to dinner with Eric and the boy's enthusiastic declaration about becoming a Gaunt Hunter. While part of him felt honored by Eric's admiration, another part was deeply troubled. The life of a Hunter was dangerous and filled with horrors that no one should have to witness, let alone a young boy like Eric.
Finn's mind flashed back to a particularly gruesome memory from a past patrol. He and another Hunter had been called to assist in repelling a large pack of Gaunts. They had rushed to the scene, only to find their comrades dead, slaughtered in horrific ways. One Hunter's skull had been cracked open, with Gaunts eating from it as if it were a bowl of grapes. Another Hunter, still alive, was being disemboweled and devoured. Finn could never forget the man's agonized expression as he watched his own entrails being torn apart and consumed. The sight had been so revolting that Finn had vomited on the spot, paralyzed by shock until his partner snapped him back to reality.
Then there were the stories he had heard from veterans like Dick. Dick once recounted an incident where a Hunter had been speared to death by multiple Gaunts. They hadn't even eaten him; they had just impaled him repeatedly, leaving his body to rot in the woods for days. Such tales highlighted the Gaunts' malevolence and complete lack of empathy.
Finn shuddered at the memories. He didn't want Eric to face such nightmares. The boy was full of life and potential, and Finn couldn't bear the thought of him enduring the same horrors he had.
Since that harrowing incident and the chilling story Dick had shared, Finn had sworn to himself that he wouldn't meet a similar fate. He vowed to go out fighting, to not end up like those other hunters. He couldn't bear the thought of becoming another victim, especially after what happened to his sister.
The sudden howl nearby jolted Finn out of his grim thoughts. The sound was close—too close. Instantly alert, he scanned his surroundings. Just then, something whizzed past his face, slicing his cheek. He turned to see a makeshift arrow embedded in the wall. Spinning back around, his heart sank as he saw ten Gaunts emerging from the tree line.
"Shit!" Finn cursed, his eyes widening in horror. This was a dire situation. He quickly drew his Glock and aimed at the advancing creatures. Before he could fire, a sharp pain seared through his left side. He glanced down to see a small dagger lodged in his torso.
'What the hell?' Finn thought, bewildered. 'Did one of the Gaunts throw this?'
"Sorry, but it's nothing personal," a strange voice echoed through the darkness.
Finn's gaze snapped forward, and he saw a figure emerging from the shadows. They wore a long black cloak that seemed to envelop them completely, giving the eerie impression that they were gliding across the ground rather than walking.
The figure approached him, their face obscured by the cloak's hood. "My, you are a handsome young man," they purred in a sultry tone. "Such a fucking shame that my babies must eat. We've been on the run, and they haven't had a chance to rest and eat until we saw you." They giggled, a chilling sound that sent shivers down Finn's spine.
Fear gripped Finn, but he managed to look up at the cloaked figure with a raised brow. "W-Who are you?" he stammered, his voice wavering.
The figure tilted their head slightly as if amused by his question. "Who am I?" they echoed. "I am their mother, their caretaker. I ensure they survive, even if it means feeding them humans like you." The figure leaned closer, and Finn could just make out a twisted smile beneath the hood.
Finn's mind raced. He needed to think of a way out, and fast. The Gaunts were closing in, and he was injured and at a severe disadvantage. Summoning his remaining strength, he clutched his Glock tighter and tried to steady his breath. He couldn't let this be the end.
The figure's giggle echoed eerily through the night, sending a shiver down Finn's spine. "Oh! Now I'm regretting stabbing you," they remarked with a twisted amusement. "It's not every day a handsome young man asks me my name, you know? Most prefer a no-name policy." Their tone was cryptic, and Finn couldn't shake the feeling of unease that settled in his gut. "While I would love to give you my name in far better circumstances, I'm afraid I don't have the time," they continued, their words dripping with urgency. "As I said, we're on the run from a rather unpleasant girl."
Finn's confusion only deepened. The figure's response didn't provide any clarity, leaving him even more perplexed. As the figure began to back away, Finn's eyes widened in shock as the Gaunts beside them moved in unison. ‘She can... control them!?’ he realized, disbelief washing over him.
"Go ahead, babies... EAT!" the figure commanded, her voice chillingly calm.
With a sickening lurch in his stomach, Finn watched as the Gaunts surged forward, their hunger palpable in the air. Determination surged within him, driving him to fight against the odds stacked against him. Ignoring the searing pain from his wound, he raised his gun and fired at the approaching Gaunts. Despite his efforts, only one was hit, and even then, it didn't slow down.
Finn gritted his teeth, preparing for the inevitable close-quarter battle with the monsters. "Come on!" he growled defiantly. "I'm right here!"
The Gaunts closed in, their predatory instincts driving them forward. Just as they leaped toward him, ready to strike, something unexpected occurred.
Thorny vines erupted from the ground, snaking around the Gaunts with incredible speed. Finn's eyes widened in astonishment as the vines ensnared the creatures, halting their advance. The vines twisted and contorted, slamming the Gaunts into the ground with brutal force, tearing at their flesh and rendering them helpless.
" Damn! How did that bitch already find us!?" the figure exclaimed, frustration evident in their voice.
Finn's gaze followed the figure's gaze as a new figure emerged from the shadows.
Her appearance was striking, to say the least. With a spiky red Mohawk and piercing red eyes devoid of any white, she exuded an aura of fierce determination. Smudged mascara framed her intense gaze, adding to her wild and untamed appearance. Her lips were painted black, a stark contrast to her fiery red hair and eyes. Clad in a black leather crop top vest that accentuated her slim, athletic frame, she exuded an air of defiance. Arm bands encircled her wrists and biceps, resembling the wraps worn by boxers, hinting at her combat prowess. Around her neck, she wore a large choker, adding to her rebellious demeanor. Her attire was completed by tight leather pants and high-heeled platform boots, giving her an imposing presence.
"Found you, ya freaking cunt!" she spat, her voice laced with venom.
The cloaked figure retreated, increasing the distance between them and the girl. "Ugh, don't you ever give up?" they retorted, their tone tinged with irritation.
The girl leveled a fierce glare at the figure. "After the shit you've done!? I ain't letting you go!" she declared, her voice dripping with disdain.
The figure let out a mocking giggle. "Is that so?" they taunted, gesturing toward Finn who lay wounded on the ground. "Not even to save his life?"
The girl's gaze shifted to Finn, her expression softening momentarily as she registered his injuries. Before she could react, a shrill howl pierced the air, drawing their attention back to the figure.
"What the hell did you do!?" the girl demanded, her voice trembling with rage.
"Oh, just called in a few friends over for dinner," the figure replied casually.
"You bitch!" the girl seethed.
With a swift motion, she thrust her hand forward, summoning a massive vine with thorns protruding from its surface. The vine lunged toward the figure, but they evaded the attack with agile grace, darting away through the forest.
"Have fun~!" they taunted, their laughter echoing through the trees as they disappeared into the darkness.
Driven by determination, the girl pursued the figure, her footsteps echoing through the forest. However, her path was suddenly obstructed as a horde of Gaunts emerged from the shadows, blocking her way with menacing snarls and bared teeth.
"Get out of my way!" the girl cried, her voice ringing with determination.
In an instant, a smaller thorned vine shot out of the ground with startling speed, piercing through the approaching Gaunts like a bullet. Lifted into the air by the force of the vine, the creatures were hurled aside, crashing into trees with bone-crushing force.
As more Gaunts emerged from the shadows behind her, four shots echoed through the air. Finn's aim was true, striking the advancing Gaunts and causing them to writhe in agony as they fell to the ground. The girl glanced back to see Finn's timely intervention, offering a silent nod of acknowledgment before focusing her attention back on the remaining threats. Summoning more vines, she ensnared the creatures, tearing them apart with ruthless efficiency.
Satisfied that the immediate danger had passed, the girl turned back towards Finn, who was now sitting against the wall, applying pressure to his wound.
Bending down beside him, the girl flashed a smile, revealing sharp triangular teeth reminiscent of a shark. "Nice shooting there, dude. Really saved my ass back there," she remarked.
Finn managed a weak chuckle. "I should be thanking you. If you hadn't shown up, I'd be Gaunt food," he admitted.
"Let's call it even, then, eh?" she suggested. "What's your name?" she inquired.
Finn met her gaze, taking a moment to catch his breath before responding. "Finn, Finn Tresscoat," he introduced himself. Curiosity burning in his eyes, he posed a question in return. "Who are you? No... What are you?" he asked, unable to shake off the mystery surrounding her.
The girl maintained her enigmatic smile, meeting his gaze with her striking red eyes. "The name's Rachel Rose," she revealed. "As for what I am, well... I can answer that once you're all patched up," she added cryptically.
Summoning another vine, Rachel gently lifted Finn to his feet, supporting him as they began to make their way back towards town. With each step, Finn's mind buzzed with questions, the mysteries surrounding Rachel and her abilities swirling in his thoughts. Who was the cloaked figure? How did they control the Gaunts? And most pressing of all, who—or what—was Rachel, and how was she able to command those vines with such ease?
As they walked back toward town, Finn couldn't help but feel the weight of exhaustion settle upon him, both physically and mentally. His thoughts swirled with questions about the events that had just transpired—about Rachel, the cloaked figure, and the unsettling abilities they both possessed. Yet, amidst the chaos of his mind, one pressing question emerged, demanding attention above all else.
'When the hell am I gonna get another day off? Because I can sure as hell use it right now...!' Finn thought to himself, his weariness palpable.
Rachel, walking beside him, seemed to sense his inner turmoil. Casting him a sidelong glance, she offered a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Finn. You'll have your chance to rest soon," she assured him, her voice carrying a note of empathy.
Finn managed a weary smile in return, grateful for the reassurance. Despite the gravity of their situation, her words offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed over them…

Hello, it's my first time entering this subreddit and coming to think about it, this conflict really. I live in Toronto and of non-Middle Eastern background, so much of our media covering the conflict is painted in a way that Israel is the victim and Hamas is the perpetrator and vice versa, therefore leaving a very ambiguous grey zone. Before I go on, I must inform you that I have very little knowledge to the conflict itself and the history behind Israel and Palestine, so sorry in advance if I offended you in any way.
So when Hamas attacked Israel on October 7, news outlets informed the public in a way that Israel was the victim. The next following days, protests were held at campus in support for Palestine, many of which were large and often times disrupting many people from moving anywhere. When I asked my lab partners (one of whom is an international student from Saudi Arabia, and two are Canadians following Islam) about the conflict, and why people are supporting Hamas despite them attacking first, I was called ignorant. I was taken aback since none of them told me any historical context and later told me that I was a zionist for not expressing my support. I retorted back to them that they never expressed any support for Ukraine, Hong Kong, the BLM movement, and the Indigenous people when their conflicts were huge. They proceeded to say that Israel is purposefully killing Palestinians and water down the Russian-Ukraine conflict as territorial expansion.
The term zionist felt off because since October 7, I've seen pro-Palestinians toss that word around with no clear definition (and I don't trust Wikipedia). So in my views, anyone is a zionist if the person a) has origins in Israel, b) is Jewish, c) not showing support for the protests, or d) anti-Hamas. University colleagues I follow on Instagram who were in support of Palestine spent the next following months repost horrific tragedies about the conflict on their stories, and while I felt sympathetic for their side, also felt annoyed at how often they're posting it. I am too afraid to say anything to them with the fear that I am pro-genocide when really I just want to watch a manatee video without any worries in the world. Same goes with TikTok. The amount of posts I've seen with comment sections filled with pro-Palestinian comments regardless of the post's relevancy to the conflict is both infuriating and annoying. For example, the Oscars, despite their controversies, had posted a video featuring a Pow Wow during the ceremony, a huge milestone in Indigenous representation. The comment section? "Yazan Kafarnah would have enjoyed this." Lady Gaga held a concert in Israel in 2013? "Blocked. All eyes on Rafah." A literal middle income American family making a seafood boil? "Children in Gaza could have been eating that." I understand many of the comments are pushing and sharing awareness on the conflict, but at this point it's so oversaturated that it feels almost forceful and tiresome because on one hand, yes Israel is targeting civilian areas, but on the other hand, you are telling me to block Lady Gaga just because she had a concert in Israel 11 years ago when no one protested at home or gave attention to the tensions.
Same goes with protests in the city. While many of them were peaceful and had good intentions, many also tend to sour the movement and cause. Near December around the winter break, a protest gathered near Zaras and after evolving into a riot when police were involved, some people chanting "death to the Israelites." Same goes with February this year when protests were marched down Hospital Avenue (nicknamed after the establishments of 4 hospitals on a single avenue, creative I know), most hospitals were unbothered except for the Jewish-founded hospital (Mount Sinai) where protesters obstructing entrances and exits, which is illegal, with some chanting antisemitic rhetoric while also waving the Palestinian flag on the property. I have family in Montreal who are Jewish (by marriage) who fear going to school and visiting the local synagogue after reports of shootings and stabbings near their place of worship, places that were supposed to be sanctuary to them. These protests were so severe that even the Prime Minister and mayors had to condemn them and label these protests as antisemitic. We can all acknowledge that the examples are from extremist views and that the majority of supporters would condemn these protests (I hope), or that I am cherry-picking. However, I have yet to see a Pro-Israel protest in person that does not include some online troll trying to toss fuel into the conflict on social media. I don't know, over these past months I was and still condemn genocide, however my support for Hamas never existed and felt Israeli-leaning as I started on a neutral stance, again, ambiguous grey zone. It's really hard for me to explain it but it follows along the lines of "I support you, I see you, but there's nothing I can do." I'm not surprised if I get a bombardment of downvotes since this whole post is biased in some way, I admit, but I am genuinely curious and want to know more.

AITA… Am I the AITA for, I ( 36f) want my 17 year old son to know the truth, that his father didn’t just let him come live with me, I fought for him tooth and nail, spent over $15000s (not that the money means anything at all I would do it 100 times again if necessary) and many more truths he is completely oblivious of. My main goal is not to put his father down and make him look bad ( he can do that just fine on his own ;)) my main goal is for my son to understand that I never gave up trying to get him, trying to find him, tried to bring him home, and that not one minute ever went by that he wasn't on my mind. MY SON (17) has resentments with me and he is having a hard time adjusting to life not knowing the truth I feel. A therapist discouraged me from telling him " my truth" Let me share some facts before you judge. Almost 9 years ago my sons father (my ex that I was never married to, which is an important fact later on) took my son for a weekend visit, ONE OF THE FIRST WEEKEND VISITS IN OUR SONS ENTIRE YOUNG 8 YEAR OLD LIFE, and then took off out of the state. This began the UNIMAGINABLE journey of parental abduction and alienation, my son being moved to over 30 locations, some of those were living in a car, over 12 states that my son can remember, and 8 years of trauma and awful experiences that no child should ever be exposed to. Again Before you judge when I realized that they had taken off and were not at the address that was provided to me the first thing I did was notify the police. This contact with the police would set the tone for the next 8 years. The police absolutely made me feel like I had done wrong like I was guilty of some horrific crime by allowing my son to visit with his father because The father and I were not married and we did not establish any kind of set custody in the courts because up until this point my son had always been with me the father had not been really involved in his life the police informed me that this was a family court issue I needed to take it to the courts. I was extremely confused I thought that because I was his birth mother that I had custody, I continued to press the matter with the police and question them and ask them for some kind of direction or help or what can I do? Can they do anything? They said sure do you have an address to where they are? do you know where they're located right now? Not knowing or having any idea where they were they said there was nothing they could do and since I couldn’t prove that they even left the state or had intentions to leave the state that FBI couldn't help either. Also keep in mind I was in my early to mid 20s at this point very naïve a distraught emotional wreck and just clinging on to any kind of hope that the police were going to help. So a brief Cliff notes to the next about six years of hell I would artempt to go to the courts to establish emergency custody but unfortunately because I had no idea where they were I could not serve my son's father with court documents. I spoke to a judge off the record where he informed me to hire lawyers and a private investigator find where they are located have a welfare check done to make sure eyes are on my son to make sure he is OK and while that is going on start the process of having him served with court documents. Again being in my young 20s an emotional wreck not in my right mind at all because my baby boy was abducted hiring a lawyer not only where I lived, but also in the state they were hiding at in that time and private investigator on top of that just was not financially possible for me. My family and I however were able to hire a private investigator. This started another game of cat and mouse. I was trying to do this the “right” way. I was trying to obey the laws and go down this “checklist “ so to speak of what I needed to do, but whoever made this “checklist “ did not understand the mind of a narcissist Every time the private investigator would locate my son he would contact me immediately and just like the judge he would suggest to have a welfare check done to make sure my son was OK physically and also hope by some off chance that maybe the police would pick up on something illegal and that they could intervene in some way. (YA RIGHT THIS MAN IS WAY TO GOOD AT ACTING AND MANIPULATING TO BE CAUGHT SLIPPING,) Of course as a beyond worried mother all I NEEDED TO KNOW at that moment was is my son ok? Well IMMEDIATELY AFTER police or department of children and families would make contact before the court documents could be accepted by the courts my sons father would disappear with our son once again! My son was coached And taught how he was to respond to any kind of authorities when they were interviewing him, what to say if he was asked if he was safe, if anyone hurt him, he was told what to say to every possible question. I would request have DCF go and interview my son at school in hopes he would be comfortable to tell the truth away from his father, but it turns out that he was more afraid of repercussions from his father.( These interviews at the school turned out to be extremely helpful and a god send to my son. They were the only glimmer of hope my son told me he had that myself and my family were still looking for him, still loved him, and still even wanted him) there were a few instances when the planets would align and I was able to get the appropriate documents submitted before they would move again, but only to find out that because they had not lived in that jurisdiction for at least 6 months that the courts did not have authority to rule on the matter. More or less the courts didn’t want to deal with a case with so many variables. There are a ton more awful things I could and I may say at a later time but long story short my sons father finally stayed in one place long enough for the courts to have to claim jurisdiction, I was finally able to pay a lawyer To get the process at least started for me to a point I could take over, and it got to a point where my son was going to finally be able to speak to a court appointed guardian ad litem and that scared the father to death because he would end up with not only a child abuse investigation but possibly loose the other children he had and was receiving financial aid and benefits for. The Judge granted me full custody after realizing the reasoning and apologized that system failed us for so long. Now I have an extremely confused teen, who defends his father out of fear, still afraid of what his father could do to him, and he doesn’t know anything close to the truth of our horrible experience So I ask, AITA FOR WANTING MY SON TO KNOW AT LEAST SOME OF THE FACTS? Let me know if you would like more details or questions answered. Parental abduction is an unbearable situation that affects so many people for their entire lives. You would think there has to be help or organizations that can help, but at the end of the day money is the main factor and it is the victims that have to spend the most money to receive any bit of justice! :(

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

For context: I’m 31F, my partner “P” (stepsons legal father on his birth certificate but not biological) 37M, my stepson 14M “S”, my oldest son “L” (9M) and youngest son 5M “O” (has epilepsy and autism) from my previous marriage, and my daughters “R” 3F and “M” 1F with P all lived in the same house since January 13th 2023. S came to live with us right before I got custody of L. In the beginning it was great! We all got along and we all had fun and enjoyed each other.
March of 2023 S started acting out I’m at home. I’m a SAHM and P works full time and his schedule isn’t normally the same when he gets home. He works as a master mechanic for a major company and also does side work. Usually I’m home when S got off the bus and P always asked me to make sure S got his homework done. I’d ask him if he had homework and he’s always say no so I never checked because he had decent grades. Come to find out he lied more than 75% of the time about having homework. So since I was home it was my job to make sure he got it done. I was told to look at his school laptop and make sure he got it all done. When this started he began getting an attitude with me every single time I asked about it and checked.
As the year progressed he got more and more verbal towards me about his work and I’d tell P and he’d talk to S and afterwards he’d be fine for a day or so then go right back to being mean.
During summer break I’d ask him for help, like moving furniture to clean with me or picking up dog poop or take the trash out or put the dishes away, very basic things. He always found an excuse for getting out of it either being a bathroom trip that lasted 30 minutes or so or just straight up ignoring me and call me names and say I was a bad mom because I couldn’t do them. Again I’d talk to P and same outcome. My hair started to fall out from stress and I had no voice for 7 weeks from anxiety. I had to go see a therapist who diagnosed me severe anxiety and moderate depression and made me start taking medication which helped. Because of everything I’d have to tell P during the day because of S being mean or rude to me and the other kids it interfered with his job. We almost broke up.
2023 he started high school. Until September he went to all his classes and then started skipping with the wrong kind of people. He went off campus so many times we had to put a tracker in his backpack and I’d have to watch him on my phone to call the school if he wasn’t there. Because of online applications for his school I got a notification every time he wasn’t in class or was late or left without asking. So I’d call him and tell him to go to class and so would P. I caught him smoking in the parking lot and even picked him up from a local park where he was skipping and brought him back to the school.
All of the instances I had to bring R and M with me because I have a small circle and they all work days and so I can’t take them to them.
In October his verbal abuse was so bad to me in front of my kids that one day I yelled back at him and he started screaming at me “what the fuck are you gonna do about it!? You fucking gay loving freak fucking me dad!” And came at me and so I had to defend myself (2nd degree black belt) to get him away from me. When P showed up he said it was my fault and I even apologized for what I did even though if I wouldn’t have he would have hurt me. S was fine other than his ego. We almost broke up.
In December he physically bullied another student and robbed him, which is a very serious federal offense. He was charged and put on parole. In January he went back from break and was doing good for about a week before he started skipping again. His doctors adjusted his meds (ADHD, ODD, and something else I can’t remember) and he started to do better again but still in February is was getting bad again. I’d have to go find him because P was working.
S blamed me for everything that was happening. He’d lose privileges because of his behavior towards me that P set down. He wasn’t given the can money we take in for extra cash because he been so cruel to me with his words and actions by P. P and I both agreed he shouldn’t get a job because they would fire him fast because he has no work ethic. He isn’t allowed sugar because he gets a little more off the rail than normal. He could ride his dirt bike because he was so mean to me by P.
He had his phone privileges taken away because he was just playing on it in class and stole L’s switch and played on that also. P asked me to put a password on it so he could only use it for emergency calls if he needed it. He ended up retrieving his passwords and putting a new one in without us knowing. When we found out we put a different one in and changed some settings so he couldn’t get the password back or it would wipe the phone.
Before he left for school one day I went to check his location on his phone and it didn’t show up. So when P handed it to me to check it had been wiped. He made a new account for it and don’t tell us. P got mad and broke the phone and had an altercation with because of this, he was mad that he just wasn’t getting it and snapped. S ended up not going to school that day and stacked bricks in our backyard all day, his parole officer approved of it. S blames me for it.
Things quieted down except for him not hearing anything I say until the last month of school where he was skipping again. His parole officer was angry and told him if he didn’t do the bare minimum that everyone single adult is asking him to do in his life he will make sure he doesn’t leave the state for any reason. His mother lives in Florida and we had thought about going down there for him to visit. He still didn’t listen.
His mother and grandmother are defending him to the point of enabling him and blaming us also for his behavior. He also lies to them about us saying we beat him all the time or play mind games with him. He gaslit me for the past 12+ months, lied to my face, called all the horrible names, and even bullied L and denied it and makes fun of people with special needs like O. They just let him and it kills me that someone would let their kid be mean like that.
The last week of school at 9:30 in the morning he pulled a knife out on another student that he stole out of Ps truck. He refused to walk out of the school with me and instead got escorted out in cuffs by two police officers. If he would have walked out with me that wouldn’t have happened. He went to juvenile jail and just got out but the judge refused to let him be released back to P because he doesn’t want the kids to get hurt more than they already are from his behavior. P is devastated but puts on a face for it. The judge said he had to go back to Florida with his mother and not get in trouble for 2 years for anything at all and they’d expunge his record. S blames me for that also.
He blames me for letting the cops take him, he blames me for “letting him” get the knife, he stole it. He blames me for literally everything. I had done every single thing P wanted me to do for him. I would tell P in absolute detail what had transpired when it happened and S hated me for it. I had to record it most of the time otherwise he’d lie abut it to make me look like a monster and he’s a victim. He even said he knew he treated me horrible and didn’t care.
My family went to see him tonight so we all could say our goodbyes and he wouldn’t look at meat all and walked away when I was trying to talk to him to clear up some air before he left. I left in tears because I just wanted to wish him luck and hope he does better and he wouldn’t even hear me out.
When we got home I was sad and quiet. I had said to M she needs a change and P thought I was talking to him and mocked me making a mumbling noise and I snapped at him “you aren’t the only one that’s sad and you don’t have to be so mean about it!” And he just made quick cutting short remarks to me the rest of the night like how the freezer was open a little (it was my fault on accident) and other like that. He just went to bed and is currently sleeping what sounds very soundly.
I cried while I was putting M down for bedtime and tried to be quiet. I feel so damn guilty. S blames me for everything. His grades, his chores not getting done, his online access, his phone, his Xbox… his friends, his problems with P…. I’ll admit I called him a bully when he was being one to my kids and it really stung him but he needed it to stop and I have to protect my kids… I’ll admit I’ve had to slap him 3 times total to get him to stop yelling at me and verbally attacking me. I’ve had conversations over and over again with P about how he is still a child and cannot talk to me that way.
He was so terrible to the kids and me so why the hell do I feel so badly about him leaving? And why do I feel like it’s my fault? He won’t help himself. We gave him everything single little thing he needed to do better with his choices and didn’t.
Please any advice would be very much appreciated….

Tenth Moon, 25AC

Pentos
Twenty-three, Twenty-four, Twenty-five.
“You are certain?” Probed Dynohr, but Orys waved him off.
Twenty-six, Twenty-seven, twenty-eight.
“The lord Protector does not need to remind you of your commitments, master Dynohr,” Aeran mercifully answered before he needed to. He had come down to the docks with a splitting headache, and from the moment he saw them, he had to count. He was promised two-hundred and twenty, he would count them, he would be certain.
Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six.
“Even so, surely you have more time, we need not depart so swiftly. The storms… they will be quite terrible this time of year, the sea is not merciful to the hasty,” said the sellsword legate. He was an excellent commander by all accounts, but Orys was earning a second pain in the back of his ear listening to him. He refused to lose his count too. For all he cared, all that mattered, the aged warrior did not need this right now.
Fifty-two, fifty-three, fifty-four.
“And as agreed, we had to depart in the coming days. The timeline does not allow for dalliance, nor does it allow for you to dither,” Raymont snapped, though Orys could hear the stress in his voice. Of all his family, of his sons, of his wife, Raymont was the one to caution him against coming here. He was the one to say that leaving at such a time would be a detriment, that departing just before the feast, the hunt, before the prince’s name day would only lead to a greater divide between who should wear the crown. He was a good lad for it, a smart one. Someone worth being his heir, someone who cared.
Eighty-five, eight-six, eighty-seven.
Their path led them on an incline up the docks, following towards the enormous walls that surrounded the grand old city. He needed a better view, sails were easier to count from so high. And he had already counted those that numbered among the closest to the wharfs.
“I understand your haste, and your needs, young lord, but the tides care little for what we wish to do. Righteousness means nothing to the waves,” protested another, but the Lord protector ignored him. He was a slight fellow, much less present than the rest of the entourage following him. In fact, a glance back barely revealed him from the overpowering shadow of Vyronno. The behemoth of a man gave only a grunt at being glanced at, though the grunt seemed more to be about the leg of chicken he was currently feasting upon.
Ninety-three.
“The haste is well-founded,” Aeran cut in again, his sharp Myrish accent cutting through the conversation like a knife. If there was anger or annoyance in it however, Orys did not register. His only focus were the ships. What a strange figure he must have cast with a band of Essosi at his back, from the free cities, from further East, he was trailed by a dozen figures, all bickering over the course and all the head of the group cared for, were boats.
“And yet if we act too fast, what happens then? If the waves claim half of the ships? What of the cargo then? Of the contents? We’ll be ruined because you simply wished to return while the Queens remained in king’s Landing!” The slight man said, and finally his name came to Orys. Horo Hartion, one of the ship captains from Braavos.
One hundred and thirty-three.
The man was an expert on the waves certainly, but Orys was not able to heed him. Not now. Perhaps a year ago he might have, but not now. Not when ideas came late and solutions later. He had gathered what he needed, he had visited the triarchs, the magisters, the princes and Sealords, and only now had he his ships, his supposed two-hundred and twenty.
“How long before we should leave then? Hm?” Pried his son, blessed Raymot with his well-directed displeasure.
“At least until the winter, the cool air will help keep the sea calm. And perhaps it would make it easier on your home,” said the captain, but Aeran hissed a condescending laugh.
“Winter? If we do that, then we will be arriving in winter, and then having to rebuild in winter and solve the kingdom’s woes in winter. You think it is bad normally? Try it when there’s no food growing,” the man snapped, and the captain audibly shrunk away, his voice growing smaller.
“But…”
One hundred and seventy-five.
He was coming so close to the remaining few sails. He had segmented them by their respective groups, moored together and kept locked side by side to fit the harbour better. It made it far easier to count them, that much was certain. Though he couldn’t help but wonder if there were other dangers to it.
So close, so much wood.
One hundred and ninety-six.
“If not later, perhaps at least a faster route?” Asked the captain, earning a scoff from Aeran and Raymont in unison. And within seconds they were back to bickering. Orys shook his head, the imposing lord rubbing at his temple as he walked to the edge of the wall, trying to rid himself of the headache, and failing terribly at it.
Their bickering picked up, moving from quick-spoken words to shouts and he closed his eyes.
Two hundred and five.
More of the band of followers were joining in, blessedly except for Vyronno. The man’s bellows were simply too heavy for his ears to handle amid the headache.
Orys shook his head, but the voices grew louder, and soon enough he was conscious of the markets below, the sounds of the tides. With a breath, hie attempted to focus on the counting, opening his eyes to the harbour, but finding the world below a blur.
Two hundred… two-hundred and what?
He sucked on his gums… he was close. So fucking close to the end of it. What was that number? He clenched his fists, digging his fingers into the hard stone of the wall, but the elusive numerals refused him. And as his headache grew and the shouting overpowered him. He grit his teeth and slammed a fist against the stone.
“Enough!” He bellowed, and the entourage fell silent immediately.
Anger flooded through him, annoyance in turn and finally, dismay. He was so fucking close to finishing his count, spoiled by his interminable headache and further agitated by the sounds surrounding.
“We sail on schedule, on the course plotted, with all…” he glanced to the captain and then to Dynohr, both men lightly bowing their heads, both averting their gazes slightly. The Lord Protector rubbed a thick hand across hie forehead and leaned into the wall. Gods what he would have given for all the strength of his youth, for the power of the man who bested Argillac. For the strength of the man who helped dragons conquer kingdoms.
“Fuck,” he said quietly, drawing the eyes of his son.
“I do this for it is better to do something than to let it be left a mystery. Better to try to do something right than to hope the alternatives simply work out,” he said and looked over the assembly. At Vyronno, his trusted friend whose enormous, folded arms might have warded off some, but not him. He looked to Raymont, his son as tall as him, a mirror of Aegon’s hand in his younger years. To Aeran, the golden haired Myrish warrior, to the captain Hartion with his wildly styled moustache and elegant hat and to Dynohr, the flamboyantly dressed sellsword.
“Bad weather will waylay us, if it comes, but that is all. We will not be subjects to the fear of the rain or the waves. Not now.”
With a hard look at each of the squabbling men, he finally sighed.
“Go. Leave me,” he finished and the men looked between themselves before silently dissipating. Only Raymont and Vyronno remaining. The behemoth never abandoning his side unless told to by name. And Raymont, for the young Baratheon’s brows remained furrowed. Down there, in the city was the boy’s wife, the Dayne. Orys pondered for a moment, what did she think of this endeavour? Certainly she was of the mind of his son at first, foolhardy and confused. Perhaps directly opposed. But she had yet to raise a word of it.
Subterfuge had gotten them this far, care and caution had kept their plans in place and free of the eyes of others. Syrella’s spies did not reach so far, and the Westerosi were not concerned with what lay beyond their own coasts. Essos was a wild and untamed land to them, just as Westeros was to the inhabitants of the Free cities and beyond. Perhaps it would work against them, perhaps he would be seen as something terrible and unknown. But he had kept the Kingdom running for years, he had conceded to the queens instead of battling them at each turn. He had killed his ego so that the land would heal from the conquest, so that it would recover from massacres in the woods, so that burnt bridges in the Reach and Dragons in the North would not be enough to break Aegon’s dream apart.
But now…
“You haven’t taken the medication they gave you, have you?” Asked Raymont.
“No,” his heavy voice rang plain, and his weary eyes lifted to meet his sons. So full of worry, so full of youth, wasted here, wasted contending with his father’s woes.
“And the headaches have gotten worse, have they not?” He asked.
Orys shook his head, “only here, only where it’s loud,” he sighed, his lean growing heavier against the wall. What he would have given now for his comfortable chair in his office in the tower of the hand. Where he was too high for the city to bother him, where none came to find him lest there was an emergency.
Here… here it was just too loud.
“Here,” Raymont said with a sigh, handing over a small tincture, and holding up his flask. Orys eyed the tincture suspiciously, but he knew its contents. He would not win this battle, however. Orys Baratheon knew when he was beaten, the Lord Protector took the vial from his son, uncorked it and downed the contents. He clicked his tongue and he washed down the awful taste with he offered flask, blessedly it was just water. He had grown sick of the amount of wine in this place.
“Vyronno, how fare the captains?” he asked, the headache already numbing, giving him blessed few moments of clarity.
The large man shifted, and even that motion seemed to be a great effort for the giant.
“They are tired, they are wary. They are afraid. I fear many do not wish to cast off come the day,” the thick-bellied and deep-voiced man grumbled. He had no love for the ship captains, many of which were sellswords themselves, a group in which the behemoth held little regard for.
“How many?” Orys probed.
“Perhaps a quarter,” mused the man, and Orys grimaced. Enough to hamper them.
“Then…” he looked to the harbour now, eyes narrowing on the locked together ships.
“Uncouple all but twenty of the ships,” he said quickly, and Raymont frowned.
“Why?” he asked.
“Because I will motivate them if they will not do it themselves.”
Raymont’s frown held, and Orys sighed, “take Aeren and his men, do it at night.”
His son finally nodded, and then he too finally left as Orys’ headache finally faded.
“I fear he should not come with us,” Vyronno said.
The Lord Protector huffed, but he eventually nodded. Raymont was not destined to be a victim of his father’s sins. At least he would not see it happen.
“Tell Shovi and Salaela what to do,” Orys said, leaving the comment unanswered. Vyronno gave a nod and reluctantly left Orys atop the battlements, watching the harbour, and finally, he was allowed to be alone and count again.
One, two, three…
From the blessed view of the extensive balcony of Orys' manse, he was given a grand perspective of the sea, and from there, he watched the brilliant roar of flames billowing upwards. Though as he watched, he tapped, counting the seconds by as the flames billowed. If they could not control it within the next five minutes, his plan would be a deathblow to his goals, but he had faith. Faith sometimes was enough o quell the burning in his chest, to overtake the distress at a failed idea.
But… he had faith.
And faith was rewarded at times. As his ears itched from the ringing of bells, finally, someone burst into the room. Orys did not look back, but found the voice of Isembard Stassanar addressing him.
“My lord… the fleet… sabotage,” he huffed breathily, but Orys held a hand to him.
“Calm, I know,” he said and he motioned to the window and his view of the docks, where he was given a perfectly adequate view of the slowly dimming flames. They were pretty against the night, but he could not deny how it reminded him of the conquest… though those flames would not have been doused by such attempts. Buckets would not carry enough water to fight dragonflame.
“Thank you for telling me, Isembard… you may go,” he mused and with what was probably the sound of a salute, the man slinked from the room, doors rocking closed quietly after him.
One, two, three.
The halls of his manse were filled today. Three or four hundred men, all as colourful as they were varied. From every free city, from as far as the great grass sea. They were plentiful, and they all looked to him as he entered, raised up on a balcony overlooking the assembled crowd. His headache was back and the tincture did little to help it. But he persevered.
“The fleet’s damage was minimal,” he said plainly, earning some grumbles from one portion of the crowd and sighs of relief from another.
“Our plans however have been put in place, there are those who clearly know of my intentions, which means we may not act with such sloth. Time has come for us to make our final preparations. It is time we set sail,” he spoke plainly, voice bellowing and the crowd’s silence was a surprise. But eventually, from within it came the voice of Aeran.
“Well out you fuckers go!” he shouted and with grumbling voices, the men began to filter out.
“So the die Is cast,” Orys sighed, earning a chuckle from Vyronno.
“So it is…” sighed the behemoth.
“So it is.”
"Oh, and one thing," Vyronno added, earning a raised brow from Orys.
"There was an error on the part of the clerk, there were more than two hundred and twenty," he reported and the raised brow lowered as Orys grinned.
"Thank the gods for small mercies it seems."
May we pray for more

So, just started out, visited a local feed supply store earlier this week that has chicks year round, spoke with the ‘chicken guru’ as I was told, and she offered a ton of advice, including that I should use only hemp bedding, don’t need anything else. Went back today as they just got in their chicks for the week, spoke with another woman, told her what the first woman told me about getting hemp bedding, she nodded her head, rang me up, and I was on my way with my 6 new chicks.
Here I am a few hours in and I noticed a swollen crop on one of the chicks. Start googling, and realize how many people say DO NOT use hemp shavings for bedding when they are this young. I’m PISSED. I had thought to myself once everything was set up that the shavings seemed awfully small, but now I’m terrified that I just condemned my chicks as more than one has an enlarged crop.
What do I do? I’ve massaged all 6 of their crops gently with downward strokes, but I’m concerned. Any advice appreciated.

VEHICLE VOLTRON I: THE MIGHTIEST OF SAVIORS RISE
written by Robert D.C. Barnes III (PeachLover94)
Inspired by "Voltron: Defender of the Universe" created for World Events Productions
by Peter Keefe, John Teichmann and Toei Animation
Based on "Armored Fleet Dairugger XV" created for Toei Animation
by Saburo Yatsude (Kozo Morishita, Masahisa Saeki, Keisuke Fujikawa,
and Shigemitsu Taguchi)
TREATMENT: 07-21-2017 2006.cosmo@gmail.com
NOTE: This proposal is the property of New Frontier Cinema (PeachLover94's production company) produced in partnership with World Events Productions (WEP LLC) and Toei Company, Ltd. Any unlicensed exhibition, copying or redistribution without written consent of the mentioned parties is strictly prohibited. All rights reserved.
Vehicle Voltron I: The Mightiest of Saviors Rise Story Treatment
The Logline
In the Near Universe, an experimental carrier-battleship hybrid starship under the command of fifteen crack space explorers from the Galaxy Alliance of Earth comes under assault by the evil Drule Empire. On a faraway planet, they find fifteen vehicles which combine into the evil-fighting giant humanoid robot - Vehicle Voltron.
Main Characters
1) JEFF ♂ - Pilot of the Command Jet Explorer #1 which forms the head of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Jeff Aki Manabu. Being the leader of the entire Vehicle Voltron Force and commander of the Air Team, Jeff is head-strong, occasionally quick-tempered, yet still a great fighter and a very capable leader, even if he does not always follow the rules. During his time at Galaxy Alliance Academy, Jeff was one of the first to ever beat the no-win scenario test entitled the G.A.S. Zodiac simulation - by reprogramming the simulation to make it possible to rescue the ship and its people. A major source of contention with his peers in the Sea Team's Krik and Land Team's Cliff is Jeff's continuous scoffs at no-win scenarios trying to one-up his older sister Janet.
2) KRIK ♂ - Pilot of the Communications Module #6 which forms the torso midriff section of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Krik Miranda Keats. Hailing from the water planet of Dulcinea (Mu Arae c) with a light blue skin tone and pointed ears, Krik is appropriately the leader of the Sea Team. Speaking with an alien dialect (which can be approximated to possibly being played by an Indian), he has clairvoyant powers that tells him when something bad happens or will happen. Of the five members of the Sea Team, it is Krik who keeps a cool head and is quick-thinking when situations call for it – particularly when he is at the receiving end of a gun or when the security of Voltron Force is compromised. He will often share drinks with the others in victory times.
3) CLIFF ♂ - Pilot of the Jet Radar Station #11 which forms the lower torso and hips of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Walter Clifford Jack. An accomplished sportsman and former racing driver who won many circuits in Australian touring car championships before joining the Galaxy Alliance, he can at times be bad-tempered and reckless. Cliff studied at Sydney University before transferring to Galaxy Alliance Academy, where his own nigh impetuousness led to a clash with authorities over the launching (and subsequent crash) of an unsanctioned rocket he built. Hawkins took charge of the situation, steering the interest toward constructive ends, with Cliff now serving with the Vehicle Voltron Force's Land Team. But sometimes he misses the old days of his racing.
4) ZANDEE ♂ - Pilot of the Multi-Wheeled Explorer #10 forming the left lower leg of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Zandee Barros Carateja. Born to a Boston astronomer father and Brazilian mother, Zandee is boyishly handsome, still long in the process of maturing. An unusual combination, he has inherited from his father the mathematical ability and navigation sense from his mother. He is a phenomenally brilliant mathematician and space theorist. But he has also inherited his mother's Latin temperament, fighting what is his perpetual and highly personalized battle with his technology, suspecting that space is engaging in a gargantuan conspiracy to make his professional and personal life as difficult and uncomfortable as possible in both life and love.
5) CHIP ♂ - Pilot of the blue Advanced Recon Helicopter #4 forming the left upper arm of the Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Chipley Yasuo Mutsu Stoker, and the twin brother of Darrell Hiroshi Suzuishi "Pidge" Stoker or "Pidge I", the first Paladin of Lion Voltron's Green Lion of Forest. Chip is very much the youngest member at 13 of the Vehicle Voltron Force. He can best be described as the brains of the Vehicle Voltron Force, much like his brother Pidge I is or will be to the Lion Voltron Force in the Denubian Galaxy (Far Universe). When he is not tinkering with inventions or fawning over technology and displays of data, Chip spends most of his time with Rocky in trying to find suitable soul mates for Jeff, Cliff and Krik so that they can keep all their stress down.
6) MARVIN ♂ - Pilot of the yellow All-Terrain Space Vehicle #14 which forms the right foot of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Marvin Tasuku Izu. A good friend of Hutch's since childhood and both being members of the Land Team, the two can often be seen together, either playing cards or brawling with each other. Marvin is usually comedic, with his sense of humor being on par with that of Shannon and Cliff's in riling up Jeff and Krik. During most of the operations the Vehicle Voltron Force takes part in, Marvin's specialist expertise is in Demolition, Heavy Lifting and Logistics which he sometimes cracks jokes that are sometimes inappropriate only because he is able to do it so well for such a long time. But his jokes have even started to bug Lance.
7) GINGER ♀ - Pilot of the Falcon Jet Fighter #5 which forms the chest plate of Vehicle Voltron. Her full name is Patricia Ginger Ellington. She is a strong and brave pilot, who has always tried to fight the good fight and to this day maintains a distrust of the arrogance of science ever since seeing her family destroyed in an starship crash when she was young. She is smitten towards her Air Team commander Jeff, and the two still maintain a close professional relationship. With that said, she certainly doesn't hide her jealousy when another woman shows any affection towards him, married or otherwise. When not in the heat of battle, Ginger likes to spend her downtime shopping, hanging out with friends, or helping Cinda and Lisa with science and cartography.
8) LISA ♀ - Pilot of the red Space Prober #7 which forms the left thigh of Vehicle Voltron. Her full name is Lisa Haruka Kaga. She is very knowledgeable in ancient cultures, and always seems to know the right thing to say to others. Born on the colony world of New San Diego, Lisa was enamored with the ocean and all its native forms of life at a young age. This led to her entering the 2976 Olympic Games, and at 16 years old, became the youngest human of the Galaxy Alliance era not from Earth to win the Gold medal in the 400 meter backstroke event. Possessing an unyielding affinity for the undersea animals and environment, this makes Lisa a perfect choice for the Vehicle Voltron Force's Sea Team, as she is able to urgently take command if Krik is unable to.
9) CINDA ♀ - Pilot of the Rotating Personnel Carrier #12 which forms the right forearm of Vehicle Voltron. Her full name is Cinda Moya Qiligasz. Like Lisa, she too is kind and emotional, especially when it comes to nature. She is a Dulcinean like Krik, and the two are the main psychics and mystics of the entire Vehicle Voltron Force. It would not show up on Krik's file, but Cinda was often the only friend he had growing up back on Dulcinea, as young Dulcineans have their fears like human children have of monsters under the bed. Krik often had to have his fears reined in by Cinda, who vowed to banish all the monsters from peoples' lives so that they would not have to suffer like both she and Krik had to suffer. Even as an Alliance world, Dulcinea has hard times for Cinda.
10) WOLO ♂ - Pilot of the red Advanced Recon Helicopter #3 forming the right upper arm of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Shota Wolo Kreutz. He is a blue-skinned Galilean of the Galileo (Kepler-451b) system who is a noted scholar of astronomy and has authored several of the most popular accredited astronomy textbooks in use by the Galaxy Alliance. He is a graduate of the Galileo Polytechnic University with an esteemed Doctorate degree in Advanced Telecommunications. Among his friends, Wolo is known to be exceedingly patient, kindly and gracious and possessive of both great intelligence and poise as the gifts he has inherited from his talented mother through which he is able to take charge at times. The kindness comes from helping raise seven sisters.
11) SHANNON ♂ - Pilot of the Multi-Wheeled Explorer #9 which forms the right lower leg of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Shannon Tatsuo Izumo Cochrane. During his childhood, he piloted a deep-sea bathyscaphe to investigate marine farming methods in making food production on various worlds possible. Of all the Vehicle Voltron Force, Shannon tries to keep things from getting too serious by becoming the funny one, which gives him a tendency to get into trouble with Jeff and Krik over his flippant sense of humor. Even so, he chooses to fight for nobler causes than himself, as his brother was just taken to be a prisoner of what will be known as the Drule Empire on its tribute vassal world of Galra (Planet Doom) in the Denubian Galaxy (Far Universe).
12) HUTCH ♂ - Pilot of the black All-Terrain Space Vehicle #15 forming the left foot of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Kazuto Hutch Nagato. A good friend of Marvin's since childhood and both being members of the Land Team, the two can often be seen together, either playing cards or brawling with each other. In contrast to the comedic Marvin, Hutch is a regular tough guy, always looking for a good fight with any Drule that has the guts to challenge him mano e mano. Outside of space missions, Hutch loves to dance, listen to music, and wear the most extravagant clothes around. His strong, muscular build was put to the test during the 2976 Olympic Games, where he won the Gold medal in the weightlifting event to the congratulations of future comrade Lisa.
13) ROCKY ♂ - Pilot of the Strato Weapons Module #2 which forms the upper torso of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Rockford Kai Shinobu. He is the Brooklyn-accented member of the Air Team, usually described by the Galaxy Alliance and by the Drule Empire as the "Hunk" of the Vehicle Voltron Force, which paints a big target on his back for many of the Drule commanders like the Galvestonian Throk in the Milky Way (Near Universe), the Derinja Bi'Os in the Hyperion Galaxy (Middle Universe) and the Galran Prince Lotor in the Denubian Galaxy (Far Universe). He did not have much family growing up, so the chance to have a spiritual little brother in Chip gives him something missing from his life. He joined the Alliance to be able to make a chart of all the stars.
14) TANGOR ♂ - Pilot of the blue Space Prober #8 which forms the right thigh of Vehicle Voltron. His full name is Saluta Tangor Katz. He is as dedicated to his calling of serving the Galaxy Alliance on Vehicle Voltron Force as any of his shipmates. His off-duty demeanor is at times much less boisterous than most of his male colleagues, indulging in painting and playing the piano. Tangor has, in fact, composed a great deal of lounge tunes on the piano to play so to keep his shipmates relaxed and escape boredom. Some of his tunes he is compiling to be sold as an easy listening album. His and Wolo's species is the blue-skinned Galileans from their planet Galileo (Kepler-451b), who are very noted for their appreciation of the finer arts that speak to the soul about existence.
15) MODOK ♂ - Pilot of the Armored Equipment Carrier #13 which forms the left forearm of Vehicle Voltron. His full given name is Modok MacKenzie "Mack" Chucker. He is one of the few eldest active members of the Vehicle Voltron Force. Stern and serious, Modok focuses on the task at hand above all else. He acknowledges that his gruff approach can lead to conflict with the younger crew, though he always means well, and just is out to ensure their mission is accomplished successfully, safely, and professionally. When not on assignment, Modok is a self-described gentle giant like Rocky from the Air Team who likes to find a secluded spot outside the G.A.S. Explorer/Rugger Guard on planets and spend a day fishing and cooking whatever fish are caught.
16) HAWKINS ♂ - Age: 54. Acting Commander of the Vehicle Voltron Force stationed aboard the new Galaxy Alliance Starship Explorer (the pride of the Galaxy Alliance's project code-named Rugger Guard). His full title is Commander James Shinji Ise Hawkins of the Galaxy Alliance. While it is Commander Hawkins who gives all the orders to the Vehicle Voltron Force, he is Executive Officer who answers to Captain Newley on the mission of the Explorer. When it comes to saving lives, Hawkins is always deadly serious - but subtly cracks a joke every now and then. He's so dedicated to the mission that he constantly remains on assignment, and has very little time for recreation, much to the disappointment of his gentler and relaxed commanding officer Newley.
17) NEWLEY ♂ - Age: 58. Captain of the Galaxy Alliance Starship Explorer who is the Commanding Officer of and a good friend to the Vehicle Voltron Force's Commander Hawkins. His full title is Captain Richard "Dick" Asimov Newley. He regards all the members of the Vehicle Voltron Force as replacements for the son he had lost in battle, and sorely regrets his son's death in battle near planet Likon, along with the apparent death of Jeff's older sister Janet who represented him in court martial over cheating to win the G.A.S. Zodiac scenario, but was lost in a training accident. As a child, he was told of the story of Voltron and became intrigued with the prospect of finding it and bringing it back. Now it seems like that dream shall come true at last down on Likon.
18) PAGE ♂ - Age: 56. Science Officer of the Galaxy Alliance Starship Explorer. Though originally an aerospace engineer (albeit an unsuccessful one), he becomes the ship's primary medical officer. He is good humored and always willing to give advice, but he can become deadly earnest when chiding others' behavior. His full title is Professor Michael Search Page. He frequently sips up coffee whilst moving around speaking at an extremely accelerated rate. Despite his bumbling nature, he is actually very wise and knowledgeable, choosing to learn from mankind's past mistakes so that they won't happen again in the future. Page believes that knowledge is the most powerful weapon from any species' history and seeks the knowledge of the universe for this goal.
The Background
Long in the past of the Milky Way Galaxy, the fifteen-piece fighting humanoid robot known as the Vehicle Voltron was known as Dairugger XV by the peoples of the planets the robot visited. Dairugger XV or Vehicle Voltron was a sentient being, renown across the galaxy for its feats of heroism and bravery. Ultimately, this led to Voltron developing something of an ego, as it challenged both a reincarnated wicked Zaar King Drolmacht Dolmen and the goddess Arcadia to battle it for supremacy. Arcadia, having sensed the egotism brewing in Vehicle Voltron/Dairugger XV out of simple ignorance of its own power and not out of sinister malice, defeated but spared the robot as she pondered what punishment would do it best to teach humility/sportsmanship.
In a rage, the dying King Drolmacht disguised himself as Arcadia and tried to destroy Voltron while succeeding at slaying Arcadia. With her last acts, a mortally injured Arcadia managed to save Vehicle Voltron/Dairugger XV by splitting it back up into its fifteen component space vehicles - five joining into the airborne Strato Fighter the Kurugger, another five forming the submersible Aqua Fighter the Kairugger, and another five forming the ground-hugging Turbo Terrain Fighter or Rikurugger - that when all are combined together form Voltron. They were flung through space until they crash-landed on the uncharted planet known as Likon. It is here that the fifteen vehicles will rest until the arrival of the Zaars' posterity in the form of the Drule Empire of Galveston.
The Premise
Historically, the Vehicle Voltron Force story arc of Voltron: Defender of the Universe was adapted from the 1982 anime series Armored Fleet Dairugger XV - but was adapted to be part of a much bigger storyline. We start the Voltron story as a Asimovian science fiction story that is about how the titular machines came to be, used to solve problems, and how their presence affects people for good or ill. Taking the team of heroes premises of the Japanese Super Sentai/Power Rangers series, the galactic journey of Star Trek, the swashbuckling adventure and journeys of Horatio Hornblower, and the appeal of robots found in both the Gundam and Transformers franchises, Voltron is ready to launch with the debut film of a potential cinematic universe of science fiction.
In this four-quadrant five-act mecha science fiction epic, the Galaxy Alliance Starship Explorer launches from Earth in the year 2981 on its mission to chart the Milky Way Galaxy and to find new planets for the Alliance to colonize or terraform to solve problems of scarce food and water supplies as well as both overpopulation and resource depletion. They are forced to land and make repairs on the planet Likon by the forces of the Drule Empire of Planet Galveston, when fifteen of its primary space explorers find fifteen space-worthy ships able to join together to form the mythical Vehicle Voltron - Defender of the Near Universe. Can they join together to stop a Drule attack that threatens a peaceful planet? It may lead to war, but also a step towards evolution.
The Nemeses (The Galvestonian Drule Empire of Planet Galveston)
Aside from normal human squabbles and quandaries that face teams of people trying to survive in the hostile universe, Vehicle Voltron and its team of pilots have to contend with the new horrible menace threatening the Milky Way Galaxy. Many of the Galvestonian Drules of Planet Galveston (also called the Drule Homeworld) fit the tradition of the classic "empire of evil". Most of the Drules are humanoids with light purple skin and red eyes. With fleets of starfighters and space battleships; as well as armies of tanks, super soldiers and Robeast mecha monsters, Galvestonian Drules are aimed at making the Drule Empire a major if not the superpower in the Milky Way Galaxy controlling hapless innocents, with only the Voltron Forces daring to stand in their way.
1) ZEPPO ♂ - Age: Late 40s/Early 50s. Species: Galvestonian Drule. Homeworld: Galveston (Drule Homeworld). Eye Color: Red. His full title is Emperor Zeppo Corsair of Planet Galveston. Like many a major and admittedly rather incompetent dictator, Zeppo rules the Empire with the fists of iron fury, sending others to do his dirty work and harshly punishing those who fail him. With how abusive and destructive he can be towards his many subordinates on a bad day, it is practically insane that there have not been attempts to overthrow him as of yet. A complete and utter sadist by inclination, Zeppo is willing to send his forces to capture slaves from other worlds and force slaves of his own people to fight to the death. His tyranny is only egged on by his followers.
2) ROBEASTS - Wherever one goes in the Empires of the Drules, there will always be such things as Robeasts to challenge the Voltrons and threaten the peace of the Near, Middle and Far Universes. Robeasts from Galveston (Drule Homeworld) sent to battle the Vehicle Voltron are humanoid monsters created through more advanced science and technology, most often from the prisoners of war that are reared in Zeppo's sadistic gladiatorial combat, though some of them are simply giant robots piloted by Centurion troopers. There is often a platoon of fifteen robeasts ready at a moments notice to travel with fighters, tanks, space battleships and or Centurion armies to lay siege to whatever may get in their Empire's way. The Vehicle Voltron Force must take great care.
3) THROK ♂ - Age: Late 60s. Species: Galvestonian Drule. Homeworld: Galveston (Drule Homeworld). Eye Color: Red. Hair Color: White. His full title is Viceroy Throk Al Caponero. Possibly the worst of the worst, Throk is at bitter ends with Hazar, and the loyalest supporter of Emperor Zeppo. It is often rumored that Throk is the one stroking Zeppo's ego to throw him off the scent of Throk's own attempted bids at becoming Emperor of the Drules. A natural-born kiss-up and backstabber, he lives for nothing more than destroying any "invaders" that could make a pass at the Empire and generally making Hazar and his followers out to look like fools, imbeciles and other pejorative words not to be listed. But it is his lust for power that makes Throk underestimate foes.
4) CENTURIONS - Say hello to the mixed organic and cybernetic shock troopers of the Drule Empire. They all serve as the central backbone of the Drule military forces. Their drones have no built in weapons, instead using the same weapons as their mainly organic counterparts. Drones are capable of squad-level infantry tactics and understanding vocal commands. These androids can somewhat resemble fellow Drules, appearing to wear this green-purple armor. In fact, some of the living soldiers appear identical to their own Drones. In addition, Drule Drones can be used for scouting environments full of every kind of hazards, are more durable, and have no fear of utter destruction to claim victory for Zeppo and the Empire. Some are known to pilot their Robeasts.
5) HAZAR ♂ - Age: 40s. Species: Galvestonian Drule. Homeworld: Galveston (Drule Homeworld). Eye Color: Red. Hair Color: White. His full title is Chief Commander Hazar Dorita Teles of the Galvestonian Drules. Hazar is an athletic fellow, able to dodge and move around quickly to evade attacks. This is despite his large size, topping at about six and a half feet. Unlike most other fleet and army commanders in the Empire of the Drules, Hazar is often a composed and rational figure who never has a bad word to say about any of his underlings. He is his own worst critic, as inside, he frequently doubts himself on whether an action he or the Empire takes is right or at least justifiable. Due to this, Robeasts and Centurions alike find him to be more approachable than Throk.
The Heroes and the Twist
Each member of Vehicle Voltron's three teams (Air, Land and Sea) of a super force of space explorers is meant to be reflective of aspects of ourselves that we all have been at some point in our lives - a class clown, a lone wolf, a young genius, a tough guy who is also a mediator, and that young person destined for life greater than their own backyard. At the beginning of the story, the three team leaders Jeff, Cliff and Krik all function as the Id/McCoy (Cliff), Ego/Kirk (Jeff) and Superego/Spock (Krik) found in the Freudian psyche. It is what they learn from each other that they all have to pass down to the other four members of their respective teams in order to effectively come together and operate Vehicle Voltron to save both the Galaxy Alliance and planet Galateia.

11th: Jerri Manthey 1.0 (The Australian Outback - 8th)

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u/SMC0629:
Despite how anyone feels about Outback, I think Jerri is the one character who transcends those opinions. She is a pioneer in terms of Survivor villains, literally the original, and for better or for worse, she had the entire fandom in a chokehold back when the show started. She's super complex and fun to watch, and EASILY my favorite character of the season.
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u/DryBonesKing:
Survivor’s original villain. Man-eater Manthey, the original Black Widow, Survivor’s very first “mactor” casting, the asshole who said Keith couldn’t cook rice, the horrible person who accused Kel of smuggling beef jerky… Honestly, I think Jerri’s gotten underrated nowadays. There’s some meaningful discussion to be had about the extent of how much of a villain Jerri is based on modern day perspectives, but I have also seen it accompanied by takes about Jerri being neither a villain nor “that entertaining”, and honestly, I categorically reject both assertions.
Jerri carves herself a truly unique role in Outback and serves as a fantastic foil to all of the main characters of the show. She’s narcissistic and vain and has very little filter on her thoughts (i.e. her complaints about Keith and her open flirting with Colby), and she’s also very cutthroat with some amazing one-liners. I think Jerri is the first person in the show’s history to make a reference to “making a deal with the devil” and god does she pull it off so well. Her relationship with Colby is genuinely iconic. Her relationship with Tina is also pretty damn amazing as well (especially as it starts with both of them being suspicious of Kel). Her hatred of Keith, her feud with Elisabeth, the forced politeness she and Rodger share… hell, she manages to do the genuine impossible task of actually making Amber Brkich seem entertaining on Survivor! Give this woman an Emmy for fuck’s sake!
The beef jerky, her making tortillas to one-up Keith, her involvement in the Mitchell tribal council as one of his faithful allies, the “drizzle chocolate on a hot guy’s bod”, Colby splashing her with water after Ogakor lost reward, their late “date” at the Great Barrier Reef, her blindside, both Tina and Colby taking potshots at her in the FTC… there’s so much to say about Jerri. And despite all of these iconic moments and being such an iconic villain, she herself has a relatability to her that I think should not be ignored. Truly, one of the best of all time. Someone who should realistically make every Endgame.
Overall Rank – 9/821
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u/Zanthosus:
The original villainess of Survivor. She’s the star of her season, and she has one of the most perfect three season arcs in the show’s history. I adore her in every iteration, but here she’s basically perfect. A true 10/10 character through and through. It’s really telling that the quality of the season goes down considerably after her elimination.
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u/Tommyroxs45:
The original villainess of Survivor. Her dynamic with Colby is iconic for a reason they have some of the best moments in survivor history. And perfectly sets up Colby’s story as well as just being completely tv gold with her beef jerky gate, Hershey bars, whenever she is on screen you know you are gonna get the Manthey experience.
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u/ninjedi1:
Jerri is definitely one of the most well known characters, originally one of the most hated people on the show, and nowadays is one of the most beloved (although not a fan of the revisionist take that she was the hero of the season). From the beef jerky debacle, to her relationship with Colby, with having the ability to tick off a number of people with her attitude without even knowing, she's pretty fun overall.
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u/Regnisyak1:
Jerri Manthey (Australian Outback, 8/16)
Jerri, Jerri, Jerri. The maneater of the show has one of the most important roles in the series and is a necessary character, not just in the history of Survivor, but the history of Reality TV. She shows what happens when a personality clash happens on Survivor. She demonstrates the pride of strong women and how they are immediately ostracized on these TV shows as being a “bitch.” The double standard she expresses, where she is playing a clear strategic game, but is relegated to the position of the camp pariah because of her behavior is endlessly fascinating. But most importantly? She is the true first villainess, the first true flirt of the series, and she is the demonstration of perceived evil in society when in reality people desire scapegoats. She is a stellar character and one of the few characters whom I ultimately question where I have in my rankings - and perhaps one day could be my number one of all time. I love Jerri.
There are about one million things I love about Jerri, so for this essay, I want to frame it in a certain manner that is easy to follow, both for myself and you all. Jerri’s strengths are mainly showcased in her relationships with other people on the island - namely, Keith, Colby, and Tina, and coincidentally, that is the order in which this paper will go. With Keith, we understand Jerri’s humor, bossiness, and personality best. Often, Jerri IS right whenever she complains about Keith - he is simply put, an idiot, and Jerri outshines him in everything. With Colby, we understand a newer facet of Survivor that hasn’t been shown - sexuality on Survivor, and how it's dealt with. With that, Jerri is also deemed as a villain, especially given the situation of Ogakor and their… conservatism. And lastly, Jerri is a free independent woman in the series - which means she is SATAN! A discussion of Tina will take over the last section of this write-up because she is the primary source of Jerri becoming the original villain that we all love and know her for.
I mentioned a long time ago in my Jerri 3.0 cut that I didn’t think that I was able to get her cut for endgame (because at that point, we all kind of agreed Jerri was making endgame), so the fact that I am in this position, to talk about one of my favorite characters of all time, is just an honor. Outback is a very underrated season when it comes to the theming of Survivor, and the fact that I get a chance to deep dive into it as extensively as I will right now is a lot of fun.
Part I: “He Should Keep His Day Job” - Jerri and Her Personality (featuring Keith and other Friends)
Opening right away on the now iconic helicopter scene, Jerri almost immediately came out on the island guns blazing when she reached the camp… by arguing with Keith. Keith in general is a condescending dink, but right away, he begins to suggest things for camp, when in reality they would not work in the context of how they should live - in other words, his ideas are kind of lame. But this culminates in the second when the world-class chef continues to cook the rice horrifically.
Jerri and her tortillas are unfortunately a bigger character than Amber 1.0, but they show so much about her character in such a short amount of time. One is that she is not afraid to speak her mind, both in confessionals and in the game. She complains about Keith not being able to cook something as simple as rice in the middle of the beach, while Jerri can do it with relative ease. She is not afraid to call his ass out on the issue either, because his rice sucked and she knew she could do it better. But it also shows Jerri’s bossy side, which seems to especially come out whenever she is hungry (or wakes up in a bad mood… or doesn’t get what she wants… or is annoyed… or… well you get the point). While Jerri is hilarious in the moment, and right because everyone hates Keith’s rice, people still see her as being negative because she has such a personality clash with the tribe, who tend to be people who follow, rather than lead like Jerri. People like her should be appreciative of what Keith is doing, but she breaks the mold and goes against the line. This culminates in Episode 3 when Jerri mocks Keith AGAIN because she is catching more fish than him without barely trying! Her overconfidence is further a key component in her character, and something that pushes people away.
I’d be wrong to not bring up JerkyGate at this point, which happens in the same episode with Jerri and also shows her abrasive side. We might never know if Kel snuck beef jerky on the show, or was simply munching on grass, but one thing we do know is that Jerri was pissed and led the witchhunt against him. Ultimately, Jerri is not afraid to take the lead on anything, even if the facts are not clear, and while the tribe was pissed at Kel for potentially having food and not being prepared to share with 7 other starving people on the island, Jerri got more flak for the situations due to how harsh she was in the concept. It’s another staple of her character.
Episode 3 is also an interesting episode for Jerri because it showcases one positive trait of her and her game. At the end of the day, while she could get annoyed easily and maybe isn’t the nicest when she is hungry, she is loyal to the people that she is friends with. Mad Dog was one of the most difficult votes for her at that point of the game because she considered her a close friend, but ultimately that was where the chips lay. It further expands to Mitchell in the next episode, where Jerri specifically mentions friendship in the game, and how she is not as close with some on the island as others. This sets off red flags for a particular Tennesseean and something I will go into more detail earlier, but it shows that no matter how the show portrays her if she likes you, she will be loyal to you. What’s important about this scene, however, is that it is a classic example of Jerri speaking before thinking about the words that she is saying. Jerri’s immediate regret in the next episode showcases her fear of the game and shows that she has game awareness, despite not having social awareness. Ultimately, her loyalty takes a front view at the end of Episode 4, as she refuses to vote for Mitchell, which puts her on the outside of the tribe because of Tina’s last-second vote flip on their hike over to the tribal council.
As time progresses, we begin to see more sides of Jerri, and it is up to us as the viewer to construe the positivity or negativity of Jerri. She is constantly complained about for her attitude on the show, whether it is her style of gameplay or her continued attitude on the beach. The gameplay portion of her game is rather important. As the game progresses we see Jerri become more and more paranoid. Jerri is a classic example of a player lacking self-awareness of how their behavior might affect people in the future, but what is notable is that she quickly understands that people do not like her in the game. I don’t think she is ever aware of the extent of the game and her behavior, (which I think explains her bitterness toward Tina in All-Stars) but she does know that people will never take her to the end, either because she is not deserving or because she is playing a good social game. But, that leads to Jerri becoming a paranoid mess, desperate to strategize with almost anything at this point. One notable moment is her strategizing with Colby in the middle night, which is something that he CLEARLY did not want to do. This was yet another strike, but showed that Jerri, while being bossy all the time, is also really game-oriented, but she doesn’t recognize what times she should - it reminds me of a lot of characters on the show, but Jerri is the true example of that, where she is actively seen as bossy AND overplaying.
But Jerri’s bossiness reaches a new height once the Kuchas come over to the tribe. Immediately, the Ogakors look like idiots because that dumbass Keith accidentally took the matches to the old Kucha tribe by accident, leading the women to have no ability to make fire, as their guests meander to their tribe. Further, we get Jerri being incredibly bossy about the rice and such, yet again, as the merge progresses. With this, we understand the entire characterization of Jerri with a simple Rodger voting confessional “Most days she gets up in a good mood, but oh baby, watch out if she gets up in a bad mood.” We get some classic Jerri personality clashes at this point in the post-merge, notably with her complaining about how Elisabeth cooks the food every morning, and how she has a specific way of cooking it.
This scene is especially important because it is a rare time when we see Elisabeth, of all characters, break their character and lose the sweetheart facade for a moment because of Jerri’s sheer negativity around camp. Elisabeth tends to keep her composure throughout most of the season, but you can tell her annoyment in this situation, and it sparks a different side of her character that we did not get an opportunity to see - a more malicious side where she pushes a lot of the Jerri boot in the process. It was yet another personality clash with Jerri at this point, and something that caused another strike because of her abrasion. And what’s funnier is that Jerri came into the merge to hide that attitude. She was attempting to be nice and together with the Ogakors as the other two Kuchas meandered over to their tribe, and she was even going to stay loyal to the final 3, who she never really knew the extent they hated her, but her power on the tribe was just too great, and her attitude finally wore them down. She went home in that episode, for a mix of reasons. Her abrasion, her attitude, her differences from the “good” people on the tribe, and her strategic abilities.
Jerri so effortlessly creates argumentation in the tribe, whether it is deserved conflict or perceived conflict because of her attitude. Her ability to be such a natural villain without over-hamming it up, and just merely due to her negative personality, is beyond impressive on the show, and something that I can’t overemphasize my appreciation for. Ultimately, Jerri is not really that bad, and I think many could even suggest that she is the right half of the time, but she ultimately cannot make that point clear because she just comes off too strongly. But is it her fault? Maybe not. At this point, we have to start looking at the other people in the tribe. Ultimately, Jerri is abrasive, the vitriol she got was just not deserved. It’s due to simple perceptions, initial first perceptions, and perhaps gender roles that created such an intense portion of the game with Jerri, and why she meets the themes of the season so well. But before that, let’s jump into the other character and their dissolution of a potential relationship, to a rivalry that last over a decade. He ain’t no Hershey bar, either.
Part II: “I Am SUCH a Sucker for Cowboys” - Jerri and Sexuality/Gender Roles
The tumultuous roller coaster that occurs between Jerri and Colby is telegraphed so greatly during Australian Outback, and ultimately it is because of one thing, and one thing only. Avoiding the full Freudian comparison, Colby is a MAMA’S BOY!
Jerri and Colby begin the show with having a mutual relationship and liking for each other, while also having their knives sharpened and ready to stab at the correct period. Probably one of my favorite and underrated scenes of Jerri was when she gave Colby the massage on the island. Both give immediate commentary in that they can see right through each other and know exactly what they are doing to each other. Jerri begins the massage but knows that at some point in the game, even though she is attracted to Colby, she will have to stab him in the back. On the other hand, Colby sees right through her sexualization of him and knows that Jerri will be in trouble down the line.
Something that Jerri’s weaponizes is her flirtatious nature. I don’t think Jerri gets enough credit for using that as her strategy and being the first really to use it in such an obvious way, because she is actively using it to win people over, notably her potential boyfriend on the season, Colby. To me, I think Jerri very well knows how she is acting on camp, and using her powers of seduction as a way to convince Colby to move over to her side and be a strong ally for her character. I think she also just has a crush on Colby, but as we’ve seen from her being strategic and understanding game awareness, she knows exactly what she is doing.
Probably, my favorite example of Jerri and her sexuality is the classic scene with her and the chocolate. Chocolate releases endorphins. Poor it over a hot bod. Hopefully, Colby is in her fantasies. I mentioned this casually in my Jerri 3.0 writeup, but her relationship with chocolate is one of my favorite side stories of Jerri because she mentions it consistently in all three seasons she appears. I don’t think it is overshadowed at all in Survivor, but with it appearing in the same episode as Trial by Fire, I do think its placement gets forgotten. She’s on the beach, lying next to a log (wait that’s AMBER?!?) and discussing just so blatantly how chocolate is an aphrodisiac near Colby, whom she admits pretty firmly that she is fantasizing about in her daydreams. Yes, we get the Hershey Bar scene here, but Jerri destroys this scene with how classic she is, just because it was so unique and different to hear a woman like her so blatantly talk about sex in that manner. Like for 2001, that’s SHOCKING. But it is reality, and I think Jerri being the leader in that role is pretty incredible.
But, silly goofy gender roles come into play, and it causes a riff between the tribe because it does make the rest of the tribe uncomfortable. Again, I will go into this more detail down below, but Colby and Tina don’t like how open she is about how she wants it, and I think that is really important contextualization for the tribe because they are a bunch of conservatives on the tribe. They don’t need to hear that, and Jerri, someone they’ve already had issues with, is already annoying as is, and this just adds insult to energy.
But as they progress, we see their relationship continue to tumble down a hill, picking up speed as it rolls down faster and faster. Colby is getting irritated with Jerri at this point, and I think Tina is involved a lot in this position on the season. As I mentioned earlier, Colby is a total mama’s boy, and that is immediately confirmed when his mom comes strolling out on the island after he wins one of his ten million challenges. We question his motives throughout the season, but I think Tina clocked Colby immediately for being someone who respects elders in his life, and her power of acting as a motherly figure for his character begins the general dislike for Jerri because at first they did get along and created an alliance. But they continue to struggle, and whether it is Colby throwing the water at Jerri during the challenge, or his general apathy as the game progresses and lack of interest, their relationship is going down, and a lot of it is due to Tina and her negative attitude toward Jerri and her character.
Their awkwardness of their, for a lack of a better word, “situationship”, culminates into the classic honeymoon scene, as they go to the reefs and slowly ruin a national landmark in Australia (lol). They lounge on the chairs out there, but Colby first issues a rule with Jerri - no one is allowed to talk about strategy out on the reward. This is a time to relax, and he simply has no desire to hear it. It was hilarious how differently the two were on different pages, with Colby not giving any fucks about Jerri (he dragged her along the challenge but did not want to win), while Jerri somehow fell more in love on her honeymoon without sex. The dichotomy of their games, with Colby playing a better social game, but not so much one with game awareness, while Jerri having the exact opposite, became quite clear here.
Jerri’s ultimate lack of understanding of how to use her strategy, and the divide of her negative attitude, something that is very difficult to change at the end of the day, creates a varied strategy that ultimately fails on cylinders. But the more important part is how a woman who has these feelings, basically being a love-sick puppy, gets ostracized by the entire country of America for her behavior. I think the perception of Jerri and her seductive nature is probably the most interesting about her character because it is highly lauded in seasons now, but when it happened then, she was the equivalent of the devil. It represents the double standards of women on Survivor because god forbid a woman shows that she has a strong sexuality. I love how Jerri embraced it, and while she did have issues making it actually… work, it still created some interesting tension among the much more conservative tribe members of Kucha and Ogakor.
Ultimately, I think Jerri and Colby’s relationship ends with fire because he just straight up lies to her when he mentions who he is voting for her because she is so done with her attitude. Jerri isn’t shocked at tribal because early Survivor didn’t understand blindsides, so they likely told her beforehand, but I think you can see she is heartbroken by the decision because Jerri was a mouthy, but loyal soldier. Even at the end, I don’t think anyone expected Jerri’s game because she was trying to fish for answers with her jury questions, and I think there’s a certain tragedy that Jerri was playing a strategically forward game, but was ultimately ruined because of her boisterous personality.
And again, I’d be wrong not to mention the sheer strength of Jerri and Colby, and how their relationship progresses throughout the seasons. From this, we get legendary moments in All-Stars that give the season some semblance of watchability, which leads to an incredible three-season arc for the duo. I wouldn’t go into too much detail because this write-up is already getting to be way too long, but it is pretty great, and watching Jerri get the final word on Colby twice is great.
Part III: “She took the canoe!” - Jerri and The Themes of Australia
Lastly, Jerri symbolizes the themes I’ve talked about loving so much in Australian Outback - understanding what deserving means on the season, and how that turn has no relevance to the season. Once someone gets pegged as “undeserving” it is hard to fight against that reputation, even in a favorable way. The problem is that Jerri constantly gets dogpiled, to the point where she can never bounce back from what people thought of her with her initial perceptions.
Tina’s hatred of Jerri symbolizes that, as she was one of the leaders of the concept of good vs. evil. Throughout the premerge, Tina plays a hidden role, but eventually, we begin to understand the “good people” winning, or those who agree Tina initially perceives as those who are “good.” The entire perception comes from her. This means white people who don’t have an attitude problem. I think Australian Outback is beyond interesting because of that because it shows how the cast can change what people describe as deserving, and that it can be completely subjective depending on the season.
No one on Survivor is truly “deserving” to make it to the end or not. It’s almost entirely luck. But Australian Outback tries to establish that, which makes it unique against the other seasons of Survivor because deserving is never really as vocalized as it is in this season. Tina disguises what being “good” means, and it causes the endgame to work out the way it is. Jerri is only the first victim that Tina has with this march, but the good vs evil marking leads to an interesting dichotomy between the two groups.
Besides that, their relationship reconfirms gender roles of the season, with someone who lives in a more conservative setting, versus one who didn’t and has broader strokes of liberalism with it. Tina is very conservative in her roles in society, as we see with her judgments of Jerri all season, which is described as negative when Jerri begins to talk about sexuality. Of course, there's a right and wrong place to talk about it, and Jerri often did do it at the wrong times, but it clouded Tina’s mind to the point where she couldn’t change her mind.
The conceit of friendship and connections also comes into play with Jerri. Again, at Mad Dog’s tribal she accidentally leaks that friendships do exist on Survivor, and she has quite a few. This immediately paints a target on her back because she admits to having an alliance, but also likes other people more than others. It set off two people, with Tina who already began to dislike Jerri, but also Colby, who understood Jerri could be a loose cannon, and he didn’t like when people ostracized other people on the tribe. Jerri was considered rude in this situation, and this was yet another domino in Jerri’s villain arc.
No one is right or wrong in this situation because putting people into schemas is natural. I don’t want to make a moral judgment about this story, but ultimately, Tina’s story did boil down to her only supporting people who have her views. And I love it. But Jerri as the main villain, when in reality, she was just an outspoken woman on a tribe that has more conservative views is an incredible contrast with one another. I don’t want to make this section about Tina any longer than it should be the ranker will do a great job speaking about her, but Jerri as a concept was through Tina’s perception, and she ultimately became a scapegoat for the tribe person that they can pile on easily.
Whether Jerri deserved the vitriol is up for debate, but ultimately, it’s a reflection on society. Jerri was both right and wrong with her accusations, and most of the time, she was right with her perceptions. But once you get targeted for that negativity, it is hard to shake off what happens for the rest of the time. We naturally look for scapegoats, and when someone falls out of line, they get targeted next to society. Tina perfected this strategy to a T and deserved every penny. And Jerri? She was the first victim in that description.
It’s why Jerri’s common complaint about her game being “tame” in comparison is always a weird take to me. It’s not the point about Jerri. She’s a bitch, but it is not really because of her style of play or how she plays the game, it’s because of how people perceive her on the show. Symbolically, her role in Australian Outback represents such an important facet of society and how people can tend to pile on when first impressions are not met properly. She is supposed to be tame in comparison to the legendary characters because she is tame. She’s just extraordinarily bossy and clashes with other people. Ultimately, this is why I love Jerri. She goes against the grain and gets punished for it, when in reality, how much she deserves it is questionable, and should be up for debate.
Her downfall is legendary from two different angles. One is if you support Tina’s narrative of getting out the negativity on the season. The other is tragic when you understand that Jerri was ostracized because of her personality, and given a chance to grow outside of it because the other tribe members were mum about their feelings. Having a character who has two completely different interpretations of how their boot occurred has a lot of implications for Jerri and showcases how stellar her character is. A lot of it is ambiguous, and while Tina’s side was much more supported in the narrative, I think both are valid takes to understand how Jerri went home.
Part IV: “I don’t know who I am out here” - Concluding Thoughts
Ultimately, as Jerri knows she is going home, she learns that she does not recognize herself out there on the island. And I believe that. Jerri becomes a mess after a while and a lot of factors could have led to that. Whether she does have a bossy personality, hunger on the island, being around people who don’t like her, or being in the same place constantly, could lead to why Jerri became Jerri on the island. But ultimately, it’s the symbolism that surrounds her boot. First impressions mean everything on Survivor, and sometimes you can go down a rabbit hole that evolves into whether someone on the series was deserving or not.
A good character for me is someone that you can spin easily. Spin their meaning into something that relates to society. And Jerri is probably the easiest character to do that for. She has so many implications about whether or not she is a villain, and how that can translate to the larger role of society. It’s a tragic blend of gender roles, personality clashes, good in society, and negativity overall and how that affects the mood. It leads to a beautiful blend of a character that is not only asking all these questions but incredibly entertaining to boot.
That’s something I’ve mostly been quiet about, but whenever Jerri has a personality clash, it’s almost gleeful to watch her be so blissfully unaware, with a top 5 laugh in reality TV (Cirie and Amy Crews from BB4 are also there). Jerri is someone who makes me consistently laugh because she is so detached at times from reality and truly doesn’t understand how these people feel about her. When she complains about tortillas, she is a magnetic narrator, and her annoyance is clear through her emotions. When she discusses sexuality, you can feel a certain emotion from her, as well as the mood shift around the camp. Ultimately, she is one of the most expressive, hilarious, funny narrators in the history of the show.
When she leaves, you can tell the magic nearly disappears because she is a queen of conflict and drives all of it on the season. Jerri was the life and soul of the season, and while Tina dominated the strategy, Jerri dominated the character. She is one of those few characters that makes characters better than they should be. I am so happy that she had the opportunity to make the endgame again, and I am even more overjoyed that I had the opportunity to talk about her in more detail.
Personal Rank: 6/821 <3.
SMC0629: 14
DryBonesKing: 8
Zanthosus: 10
Tommyroxs45: 14
Regnisyak1: 6
DavidW1208: 4
ninjedi1: 20
Average Placement: 10.857
Total Points: 76
Standard Deviation: 5.521 (10th Lowest)

Okay Loren and uzi are separated but why is everyone assuming it’s all uzis’ fault? Loren has a lot of growing up to do she couldn’t seem to cut her umbilical cord she was always visiting her fam leaving her husband alone. Loren is too immature to be a wife, she would spend all day home but couldn’t even clean, she had to hire a cleaning lady, her cooking was bland. On the cooking part she clearly has an eating problem and she would cook her bland safe foods and if you’ve ever been close to someone like that you know how exhausting it is. Honestly uzi is at the age of settling down and starting a fam and I don’t blame him if he realized Loren isn’t suited to be a mother yet. Uzi def had his faults too im sure but everything on here are assumptions bc we’ve never gotten to know him like we have known Loren. Uzi gives off unstable vibes and going for a girl that looked exactly like his ex wife was a huge red flag. But everyone here blaming uzi and making Loren a victim is annoying tbh we don’t know what really happened.

i had my stroke exactly 9 months ago, tomorrow. it was strange waking up, feeling my mouth drooping and my right side non-functional. i had symptoms for about a day and a half, but left them in a vast canyon in my mind where they could be easily ignored, not being in range of sight by my usually very aware consciousness. i spent a month in the hospital, a visit from one friend, and once from my roommate (we were finishing up our falling out). i lived in NC and all my family are in PA. so we decided to transport me to PA in October, where i currently reside with my elderly parents.
my right side (dominant) was badly affected. speech was only affected minimally, and my mind is perfectly fine. when the neurologist (a dude about my age who wears bowties?!?) visited me after all my tests, the first words out of his mouth were: "i don't know what kind of stress you've been under..." i had to process what exactly had been going on. there was no blood clot, no obstruction. it was my own stress that literally short circuited my brain. high blood pressure (i smoked and drank a bit more than i should have), i just lost my job. i had 30 days to move. my best friend and i had a falling out. savings weren't exactly pretty. i did have bare bones of a plan... then my brain popped.
i have been here in PA since early October. I have no friends here. I have no social circle. my mom's idea of getting me out to socialize is to take me to AA meetings. i've been to meetings before. i do not hold their beliefs, or even remotely relate to them. i have some movement on my right side. i can walk like a duck for about 15 minutes, then sit for twenty. i can't play guitar, the love of my life, but i can still play piano left handed. i write. i have no one near my age to talk to. i have no like-minded people around me. i get depressed. i go to physical therapy and work hard at it. i want to be independent. i want to be mobile in the world again, but i can only blame myself for where i am. i want someone to relate to, have witty banter with. talk about sci-fi books we've read, and lament the retirement of Calvin & Hobbes...

Hi dads and thanks for reading.
I've gotten to the point where I have enough after my child support comes out of my paycheck for bills, but not for medications (I had a stroke 2 years ago) and doctor visits (the copays are a killer). One of my options is to earn more money, which I could probably do in a different job, but I like my job and would rather stay. She earns more than me and pays less than me in monthly housing costs, yet I pay her over $900 per month.
Would it be worth it to talk to a lawyer to try to get my support amount reduced? I live in Arizona and just got what I got in terms of levels, but I think the formula they used was based what I earned at a previous, much more lucrative job.
I don't really want to hire a lawyer but my ex has gotten increasingly indignant through the initially amicable divorce process, and now seems to have no sympathy for me at all, health issues or not, and seems to see me as an income source.