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Memory Transcription Subject: Hileen, Krakotl Fugitive Recovery Agent
Date [standardized human time]: November 28th, 2136
It'd been a while since I sat in Marlig's office for a talk face-to-face. Given the agency's secluded location at the edge of the downtown region, it was a chore to drop by when it wasn't for business, but I'd deemed the matter at hand to be worth my time.
I passed by Nampi at her desk on my way to the door and she gave me a coy glare as I carried on. Trying to ignore her risible ear waggle, I turned the corner to the door with my boss’s name painted on the glass panel where I could hear the frantic crumpling of paper.
Quietly, I entered Marlig's office without prompt as I knew he hated to be spooked by knocking. My mentor was surprisingly spry for a bird at his age, sorting through papers with one wing and an eye while using his talons with the other to set away the papers he had splayed out.
“Hileen!” he chirped. “Glad you could make it in today. I was just finishing up my paperwork. Take a seat.”
It was always nice to hear him drop the professional motif for a more grandfatherly attitude when speaking in person. I did as he suggested and took a seat while he grumbled to himself over the sorting. My eye caught a few of the old contracts he was rifling through and saw that some dated back to his days as an agent.
Eventually, he left some sitting out as he sequestered the rest back into their files, sorted by a dichotomy that only he and Nampi could comprehend fully. He motioned with a wing for me to peruse and I turned the first one to face me to find it was my first contract, signed by me in a sloppy fashion. “This takes me back a couple of years.”
“Slick bastard thought he could get away on a forklift but you showed him! Certainly more exciting than my first day!”
“Mm-hmm. And it was when I nearly got impaled that you had the idea to commission all of us utility vests.”
He chuckled, “I really should’ve done so sooner. Cuts and scratches were already a risk, but a forklift was a new one!”
I flipped through the pages of each report, finding that Marlig's notes were filled with praises of my work. There were highs and lows, but I was flattered to find that the grizzled krakotl held my performance in such high regard.
“Flawless interception!” read one footnote about me catching a runner. “Couldn't have done it better myself!”
Marlig waited patiently as I browsed quickly through each page, realizing more and more how the notes also marked improvements in my work. How I found it easier to talk down a rowdy client, or apprehend them in the case that they were beyond helping on my part. Flowery language plastered most pages with him fawning over my work as a doting father would to his prodigal child.
The trend took a sharp turn as the notes became fewer and more critical the closer the dates reached to the present. I brushed the others aside with a wing to peruse the final paper. “And this…”
“Is Tac. Your latest contract. The most recent in a line of declining performance since the interview. This has become a pattern, Hileen, and its consequences are beginning to reach beyond yourself. Paji and Vesek resigned recently for personal reasons, which leaves us even less hands on deck than before. That's four people to cover the entire municipal region, and maybe even beyond, should needs arise. Three, if we include this little probation I have you on.”
“What was I supposed to do? Marlig, these ‘jobs’ you've got us working on overstep the contracts we were signed on with. Our job is to make sure people obey their court-mandated duties, not drag them off to the facilities ourselves!”
“... So the trip we took to the facilities did bother you.”
A sigh clicked in my throat as he reminded me. “Is that what happens to the people we take in, Marlig? Is that what would've happened to your wife?”
His feathers ruffled.
“That's what happens to those who are too dangerous to the general public to be left roaming free. Not everyone we deal with winds up there, but everyone can be subject to it. Miskela sued for her exoneration and proved in court that she was not diseased. I brought you there to show you how it helps the people, but I see now that it was a mistake. I understand why you were so perturbed, really, but it's how things have been for centuries. It's how we've protected ourselves from the dangers out there.”
“You were willing to let Barsul be interned there, too.”
Marlig flinched and sighed as he swept the papers towards himself once I'd signaled I was done. He turned one eye to me while he sorted them.
“There's no room for favoritism, girl. I negotiated for him to be allowed to walk free, and look where that got me. That boy - your neighbor - suffered the consequences of my nepotism. So too would the girl, had nobody intervened.”
“Like Richard.”
“The human, yes. Or you. Or the police. Where does this sudden obsession with humans come from, anyway? I get notifications of you talking about the acceptance of them all the time on forums.”
“Does it even need explaining?”
“Well, I guess not, no, but it's certainly an about-face from the way you used to talk about them with me beforehand.”
“People can change, for better or worse. Which one I fall under remains to be seen.”
Marlig stroked at the plumage on his neck as he finished his sorting. “I hope it's the former, for your sake. Was there any reason you came to talk, or were you just checking that I hadn't gone senile?”
“Well, I was hoping to borrow your secretary for the evening.”
He perked up while his eyes narrowed and he laced his fingers together with curiosity. “You… want to spend an evening with Nampi?”
“It's not what you're insinuating, but yes.”
“I was insinuating nothing,” he warbled coyly. “Go ahead and take her, and make sure to split the bill at dinner.”
“Pain-in-the-ass geezer. I'll keep in touch if your friend causes any more trouble.”
“Keep in touch regardless. Miskela and I get lonely in our old age,” he called back. “Take care.”
I stepped out into the hallway and turned toward the desk where I could hear the secretary's claws tapping furtively at her keyboard. Nampi sat silently with her ears and tail in a relaxed position that implied a bored demeanor. There was barely any response as I stood before her, waiting politely for her acknowledgment that never came.
Hesitantly, I cleared my throat.
An ear raised in acknowledgement, but her focus remained on the screen of her computer. “Mhm?”
“Do you…?”
Her ear rotated toward me, though she still maintained a passive attitude as she continued to glare mindlessly at the monitor.
“Are you free this evening?”
“Well, I'm quite booked, I believe. Why do you ask?”
I was surprised at her curt, dry tone. She hadn't spoken with me like this since we first got to know one another.
“Well,” I started. “I realized something. Every time we went out, whether it was clubbing, or dinner, or even walking around the parks, you always footed the bill. And so…”
Slowly, her other ear perked up and I saw her keystrokes slow down as she listened in.
“I wanted to return the favor?”
Her lips smacked as she opened her mouth, though paused before she spoke. “How could you possibly do that?”
“With a little gesture of friendship.”
Nampi's horizontal pupil turned up toward me and her tail twitched.
I continued, “So that belt you're wearing? It's the same belt you've worn since we first met. And I know you're the pragmatic type who'd never spend a credit more than she needs to, except for all the times you do"- her ears twitched in indignance -"I wanted to see about getting you a little something… extra?”
Her paws raised from the keyboard and she leaned in, resting her snout on her palms. “Go on.”
The bubbly venlil's tail sold out her collected facade as it twitched with anticipation. She was cornered and she didn't even know it yet.
“Well, I found just the place on the other side of town where we can start. It's a place almost as rich and indulgent as yourself.”
“The Platinum Paw? I mean3”
Her ears folded back in embarrassment as she cracked. She wasn't cut out for acting anyway.
“So that's what it's called! Jeez, I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it was called. Now what do you say? We go over there and find you something nice—”
I hadn’t even finished my thought before Nampi had grabbed her bag and was out the door, giving me a playful tail flick that said come and get me.

The place I suggested was in a shopping center on the opposite side of town, though easily accessible because of its proximity to the transport rails. Nampi had insisted on grabbing something to eat beforehand and so now gleefully bit into a bundle of stalks that had been “grilled” as explained from the food truck we'd stopped at.
Her tail flicked back and forth with her usual enthusiasm as we entered the massive complex of stores. The roofless plan allowed the natural, orange sun to flood the upper levels while artificial lighting illuminated the ground level wherever the light couldn't reach.
The place was built in the last decade by the previous City Magister in a bid for popularity, though ultimately for naught as he would lose the vote following a scandal involving an iftali priestess and a carved bar of soap. I had to say that despite being sick in the head, he sure had a great sense of decor.
Nampi snacked away, joining me in admiring the scenery as we continued to the place I’d planned out for us. Aimless chatter all melded together into a single, thrumming murmur as pedestrians navigated the many levels and stores offered in the place.
A troupe of children passed by us, held in a chain of tails and arms as they were escorted by a pair of venlil who I assumed were students and teachers on a school trip. I caught a whiff of a sweet, aromatic breeze and found it to come from a perfume shop on the same level as us; naturally, venlil were not to be found inside.
We passed a fountain where a couple sat on the edge, their tails twined together as they giggled and flirted. I turned and caught Nampi watching them as well, though she awkwardly returned to sucking the remains of her meal from her claws when we made eye contact. Her ears lifted when I raised a wing to signal to the store we were going to stop at first.
“Platinum Paw, The Greatest Fashion Emporium For Everyone!”
The title alone was painfully cliche, taken to the tenth power by the brightly lit store taking up three department slots. Despite the flashy exterior, though, it was the best place to shop for belts, brooches, and bracelets alike. Customers who looked like they earned my yearly salary in a week browsed the higher end brands while I brought my friend to the section I wanted to show her.
Her ears were held up as we stood together next to a shelf chock full of fashionable bags and bandoliers of every variety.
“Pick one,” I told her.
Nampi's ears shot to a straight pose in surprise, “Any?”
“Within reason. I've got a few extra credits to blow and I know nobody better to spend it on.”
With an inviting headtilt, I let Nampi peruse the shelves at her leisure. Her lips pursed together and her tail flicked with glee as she fingered at every piece that caught her eye. I chuckled at her outburst of enthusiasm while turning to find my own items to gloss over.
A breeze from outside nipped at my beak while I considered what I’d like to purchase. The place dripped with an atmosphere of faux hospitality, from the bright blue-stained floorboards to the radio prattling off advertisements in a sickeningly sweet tone to the faint, fruity aroma of scented cleaner. It was oppressive as only a fissan-owned company could be to the senses.
What I wouldn’t pay to see how a human would fare in such an environment.
I knew they were social creatures at least, but I had no doubt that the predatory senses of a human, so honed to hunting, would get overstimulated in this center of gaudy indulgence. Knowing I was something of a predator myself made me sympathize provided that even I had to squint to keep the pale lights inside from searing my eyes. I could only imagine how the arboreal eyes of a Terran would fare. I was so lost in thought imagining how lost the Terrans would be that I could almost ignore the obnoxious giggling and metallic rattling coming from behind me.
Risking a peek at the source, into my sight came a pair of venlil, one a male carrying a pair of bags as well as a couple more strapped to his belt. The bored expression in his eyes was not one of a man who was in high spirits. The other venlil was a woman who was the source of the noise.
Her mottled gray pelt was accented by a tasteful belt design, free of almost any practical functions but not flashy or excessive in garnishment either. At least, that’s what I would say, were it not for the braid of beads that dangled on the belt, jingling with each bounce of the lively woman’s stride. It was clear that such a gaudy accessory was intended to draw attention to her, though why was a mystery. Certainly, the shiny braids seemed designed as decoration first and practical second.
She turned about and I faced back to my browsing before she could catch me staring. Nampi was nowhere in sight, though I figured she was somewhere behind the shelf, sifting through every accessory on the section I'd suggested.
Clink.
Something pelted to my immediate right. I tilted my head to spot a tree nut shell clattering to the floor. Without being able to guess where it came from, I had to wonder what could've launched it over this way. Even with my keen eyesight, nobody in the crowd seemed to be a suspect.
Clink.
Another shell pelted my vicinity, ricocheting off of the floor and hitting the shelf I was standing next to. I ruffled my feathers in frustration - clearly, someone was trying to get my attention, though I couldn't make out who it was. Out of the corner of my vision, the woman from before eyed me curiously as I looked about, though I wasn't interested in engaging with her.
Thwack.
One more shell came flying and, unfortunately, the aim on this one was true, nailing me on the beak. Irritated, I stormed out of the store to find the source of the instigator. I scanned over the bodies to find anyone who could've been responsible for this indignity, eventually concluding that it came from the dining area across the walkway.
Whoever was responsible was in for an earful and I was already structuring which of the offender's family members would be acceptable as fodder for stray words. As I approached, I found the tables were mostly empty save for one, which made my heart begin to drop as I met eyes with the only occupant. Suddenly, I was much less inclined to hurl insults.
“Oh, hi there!” Qitel called out in a sickly sweet tone. “Come, take a seat! We have much to discuss!”
The Exterminator clutched a bag of tree nuts in his claws, a pile of discarded shells already gathered on the table next to him. He grabbed another as I approached, effortlessly prying the shell in half between two claws and tossed the contents into his mouth. “Good protein, these,” he commented as I sat down.
“Must be for that good arm you've got there,” I mumbled. I caught sight of a couple of bags beneath his chair, seemingly from one of the tech stores contained within the center.
“Bah, it's guesswork. So how are you? I haven't heard from you since we worked together!”
“I was just spending time with a friend, shopping and enjoying my time off.”
“Your time off? Oh, am I interrupting something?”
His snide tone irked me, though now wasn’t the time for interjections. “You are, Qitel,” I replied with no shortage of vitriol in my tone. “But I see no harm in chatting for a bit.”
“Good, because I have some merchandise”- he reached into his belt pocket and deposited a couple of items onto the table -“and you’re just the person to look into it, human sympathizer.”
I drew a terse breath in shock, but my worries were quelled when I considered that if Qitel had the power to do anything about it, he would’ve done so instead of approaching me so discreetly. A glance down at the item on the table showed that he was presenting what looked to be a tracker as well as a personal drive. “Found in the garbage,” he told me.
“The guild resorts to dumpster diving when they already have such a bloated budget now?”
“No, featherbrain, I have decided to keep this for myself. These items were found together, sealed in a plastic pouch, and placed in a garbage bin. The city has bans against electronics being placed into public bins, and so I was curious why this wound up in there. Managed to get my coworker, a techie, to crack it open and…”
Qitel reached into his belt again, glowering at me with the same condescending gaze he’d given me when I first saw his face. He seemed to revel in digging for the item as slowly as possible to waste my time. Finally, he found whatever he was looking for and revealed it as a printed piece of paper, folded into eighths. The snobby yotul threw the unfurled paper on the table and rolled it toward me.
I craned my neck to look at the parchment, though I was immediately perplexed by the text on it; it appeared to be some sort of form, going by the boxes with words on the inside, followed by blank lines. “Found on the drive, here,” Qitel told me, jabbing a claw to the storage. “Translator shows it as Terran writing.”
Drawing my holopad from my satchel, I held it over the paper with the translator to get an understanding. Surely enough, the language on it came up positive as a variant of Terran writing and I was affirmed in it being a form of some sort based on the wording of the text. The boxes seemed like an odd sort of job application, asking for the typical name, contacts, and prior work experiences, but quickly took a strange turn as it began asking for where their home on Earth was prior to arrival, what family they had on Venlil Prime if any, and where they worked, implying that they were seeking individuals who were already employed.
I knew little about human employment methods, but I didn’t imagine that sourcing individuals from other jobs was the most efficient way to gain a workforce. Terran service industries already dotted the planet while many humans also found work in local environments. So what was the angle that the creator of this application was going for?
Most concerningly was that the paper had no insignia, identifying marks, or noted address to return the form to. “And where did you find it again?”
“In the garbage, alongside this intact tracker that was activated at the time of recovery. Y’know, when I was dumpster diving. Text on the document showed it was addressed to one ‘Choctaw Nexus’.”
“A pseudonym of some sort?”
“Clearly. Short sorting through the archives shows the first name traces back to the group out east - perhaps you've heard about them. How the name and the items we have here are connected is beyond my understanding, but-”
“Well, this has been an absolutely riveting discussion about your collection of trash, Qitel,” I told him as I stood up to leave. “But this really sounds like an issue to be resolved by your fellow guildsmen.”
The sound of another shell splitting rang out as I turned away.
“I'm not through talking with you, predator.”
The sting as a piece nailed me in the back of the head prompted me to whirl back around, sticking my beak in the insolent yotul's snout. “Perhaps you've forgotten, little man,” I cooed in an equally bittersweet tone to the one he gave me before. “The krakotl never had a problem with settling issues the old-fashioned way before the interview. Try me and find out why I'm in the line of work I am.”
“Oh, we wouldn't want that in such a"- he waved his paw to a group of passersby who had stopped to gawk at my display -”public forum. Please, contain yourself.”
I had to force the feathers on my back to settle and I raised my head away from him. “What else is it you wanted, then?”
“Well, I'd appreciate if you took this merchandise off my paws,” he told me as he brushed the electronics and printout toward me.
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you're closer to the humans than I'd ever care to be, and may be able to find out who this Choctaw Nexus is. Something about the package just feels… off. And I know when to trust my feelings. Besides, we both know that you know where Tac is, don't we?”
“I don't-”
“We have videographic evidence that you conspired with a human - of the aforementioned squatters, no less - and let the kid escape. You're not as sneaky as you think, and if we find this ‘Choctaw Nexus’ turns out to be a bad actor that can be traced back to them - and by extension, you - well, there’d be no talking down my boss from having you dealt with. By helping me find out who this is, you may yet be able to clear your name of any wrongdoing.”
I clenched my beak tightly to maintain a straight face. Qitel stood up with a flourish and discarded the bag he was carrying in a bin.
“See, the krakotl were never special for using threats and bullying to get results. It's because you were good at killing predators,” he jeered. “Now, if you don't mind, this primitive has appointments to attend to… old lady who got trampled courtesy of the humans and all. You stay out of trouble, Hileen, and stay in touch.”
The self-assured marsupial melded into the crowd in a matter of seconds, leaving me with a table containing dumpster trophies and a pile of shells. Reluctantly, I swept the shells into my wing and dumped them into the bin before gathering the other two items he'd left me and stuffing them into my bag. I'd been gone from Nampi long enough and she would notice my absence before long.
Crossing the walkway again, I could spot from where I stood that Nampi was indeed still in the Platinum Paw. I approached, and soon I found that while she didn't seem to have noticed me stepping away, she was definitely in a soured mood based on the sagging of her ears and tail. With my talons clacking on the floorboards, I hustled to her side and her mood chippered up ever so slightly as she heard me approach.
I chimed in, “Find anything?”
“Everything. I want everything, Red, and I can't decide on what I want. They all just look so great!”
From behind, a voice called out, “Nampi!”
We both jumped at the exclamation and turned about to spot the venlil lady I'd seen before spring from behind the shelf. The man poked his head from behind the shelf too, though less enthusiastically and with yet another bag in his clutches. My friend's eyes widened in surprise with her tail and ears perking up in kind. With a light in her eyes, she exclaimed, “Nalek!”
The two embraced with shrill squeals and laughter as Nalek's accompaniment and I traded awkward glances.
“It's been too long!”
“You never stayed in contact!”
The women exchanged giddy greetings and the pompous stranger turned to me, leering over me as though she was sizing me up.
“Who's your friend here?”
“Oh she's actually my-...”
Nampi paused for a moment, looking back to me.
“Yeah, she's a friend.”
“A friend,” Nalek repeated while her eyes flicked between Nampi and I. “Right.”
Somehow, I get the impression that that was judgemental.
“I'm Hileen, by the way,” I chirped, “if names are to be exchanged.”
“Hileen, that's a lovely name! And such plumage to match, it's a wonder you aren't swarmed by suitors!”
Internally, I groaned at the notion. The idea of being approached by someone to state their interest in me made me queasy, to say the least. Thankfully, I never had that issue growing up as most of the other drakes in school were too busy chasing girls who didn't have a lousy pigmentation mutation such as myself.
“I'm flattered,” I told Nalek before turning to the man whose name had yet to be introduced. “May we get your name?”
“Sask.”
His response was succinct and tonally flat, though there was a brief silence as I expected him to elaborate. Nalek's beads jingled as she lashed him on the calf with her tail.
“I'm Sask, Nalek's fiancée,” he added, throwing her a look to see if she was satisfied.
Nampi gasped with her paws over her snout. “Fiancée! Nalek, you're getting married and you never even told me!”
“Well, I felt a little guilty since it technically broke our pact we made when we were pups. You remember that?”
“Of course! Why wouldn’t I? ‘Let she who bonds through betrothal first be cast out unto the world for all to admonish her!’”
Sask and I both gave inquisitive expressions. “You two spoke like that as pups?” Sask asked.
“Well, I'm paraphrasing,” Nampi admitted with a playful ear waggle. “But you get the gist.”
“Indeed, they do, sweet Nampi. Now, may I ask what you're doing bringing your avian friend here into this store on this fine claw?”
“Oh, no no, she's the one treating me! Isn't that right, Red?”
I saw her tail twitch and was sure it took restraint not to tickle my neck with it as we stood before her old friend.
“She's been a good friend,” I explained. “So I wanted to reverse the roles for once and treat her to something myself.”
Nampi skipped over to me and wrapped her arm around me, glancing back to her old friend. “See? We'd all be so lucky to have a… friend like her.”
“So I've witnessed. But perhaps you're a bit stuck, as I've seen you prancing up and down these aisles for a while, no? Maybe you don't know what you want?”
“Nalek, you know I've never been good about making my mind up.”
“Some things never change, you ditz. Tell you what: you and Sask go find us a seat and we can catch up all we'd like when we're not taking up aisle space, yes? So shoo! I'll help Hileen here pick one out for you!”
With a bored grunt, Sask made off with the goods he had strapped to himself, followed by Nampi who gave me one more playful tail flick before dashing off into the crowd. I looked back to the mottled snout of Nalek who watched her friend wander off with a wistful glance.
“She was my first, you know.”
“Your what now.”
“Love. Way back when we were growing from pups into young adults back in private education, we explored much together. We saw each other through a lot, including the less savory parts of finding a mate. When Nampi realized it wasn't the boys she was into, she turned to me, and I offered my hand as her stalwart companion… to a point.”
“You weren't interested in her the same way?”
“I'd grown up seeing her as a sister of sorts, so ultimately, when we split it off, we stayed close as friends and she never seemed to be bothered by it. She struggled to find others in school who had the same interests as herself, but she never fussed about it.”
Nalek's claws browsed over a set of pouched bandoliers made with intricate embroidering. “Have you two… spent the night together? Alone?”
Spiritually, I reeled from the inquiry. The whiplash from that question was equitable to being smacked by a human. “Wha- why? How's that pertinent to the subject at hand?”
“That sounds like a ‘yes’ to me,” she purred with a smug glance my way.
I didn't need to begin to list the different ways such a question was violating to our privacy, and yet this woman was treating it like a game.
“Not really your concern, ma'am.”
Nalek chuckled as she picked out one of the bandoliers and inspected it with her claws. “I'd like to think that she and I still have that old connection, despite everything. And to that end, I know that she's no slag and doesn't trust easy. To see her be so vulnerable around you and to talk so highly of someone who's clearly below her income level as a predator…”
She stretched the bandolier out to appreciate the design in its entirety.
“Well, that's something special. Here"- she foisted the accessory into my wings as I stood gobsmacked -"this just screams her name.”
“This is, like, double my budget.”
“Love don't come cheap, darling. You wanna see good things happen, sometimes you've gotta step out of your comfort zone and grasp for it!”
“I'm being lectured by a rich woman on finances.”
“It's a philosophy that goes beyond money, ‘Red.’ The humans have a saying, in their horrendously predatory nomenclature, that contains a kernel of truth: ‘you miss every shot you don't take’.”
Yep, that's definitely a human phrase.
Nalek's steely braid rattled with every flick of the tail as we proceeded through the checkout.
“You want things to change between you and her?” she continued. “Don't just wait for it to happen.”
She let the conversation rest there as we finished the purchase, possibly to let me recuperate mentally from the damage done to my account. Outside, we found our respective partners sitting at a table with Sask looking up in boredom as Nampi chatted away, though she immediately shut up and turned to me with excited flicks of her tail as she saw what I was carrying.
I held it toward her and she happily shot to her feet, effortlessly removing the tags with her claws and clipping it to her belt. Nalek clapped and waggled her tail as the giddy lady did a whirl about to let us admire the accessory. While I'd have preferred one with pockets to give it a more practical use, I decided to let Nalek have the victory as our mutual friend clearly enjoyed it.
The rest of the paw was a blur as the two friends chatted without end until Sask eventually reminded his betrothed that they had a schedule to attend to. Though Nalek offered to call us a taxi home as a gesture of kindness, I saw through her ruse to determine that she was trying to pull a fast one on me - the clever ear flick she gave as we boarded the automated vehicle sold it for me.
We sat in the seats as the vehicle took the express ride home.
Nampi cleared her throat before she spoke, “Thank you for taking some time to spend with me, I know you've had a lot less free time as of late.”
“It's a prison of my own design, if I must be honest. A feedback loop of working a job that doesn't guarantee a paycheck to pay for rent that keeps going up, and thus needing to work more.”
The venlil giggled and chided me, “You really should've stayed in university.”
“There's a lotta 'should haves’ that've led me to this point. No use wondering what could have been.”
“There's always a use for wondering what could have been, Hileen.”
She wrapped an arm around my shoulder.
“Every decision I make, I always wonder what I could've done differently that it'd have turned out better,” she explained as she waved her free paw to the sky. “It's how you grow as a person, Red.”
Her silky pelt felt heavenly in contrast to the chilly air from outside, making it hard to let her words sink in.
“You rich types seem chock full of philosophy. I wonder if I'll become a brooding orator when I get some cash to my name.”
The cab filled with laughter as we veered around the final corner to my neighborhood, as it was the closest stop. The door popped open accompanied by a chime from the drone, signaling for me to depart.
But before my talons could even hit the pavement, I felt Nampi's scrawny arms wrap around my waist and she let out a pitiful mewl again.
“You don't need to get off here,” she told me with a pouty expression. “We can spend the rest of the paw at my place.”
“I'd love it, but I need to water my plants and get the month's bills sorted before they're due. Again.”
One claw at a time, I plucked her paws from around my waist and the childish venlil conceded, giving me another ear waggle as I departed. “I'll see you tomorrow?” I asked her.
“If you still have eyes by then, then you can bet your ass!”
“I still don't gamble.”
“You'll come around to it eventually.”
I shut the door to the taxi and watched as it carted away the one venlil who I ever truly felt on the same wavelength as. Fiddling with the lock felt like more of a chore than usual at this time as I felt a little voice tugging at the back of my head.
“You miss every shot you don't take.”
The lock felt jammed as I began to jiggle it more vigorously with the electric key. Either the RFID or NFC readers were messed up, as the lock refused to accept my key. I looked up and down the street, though Nampi was now long gone for me to rescind my earlier rejection.
“Every decision I make, I wonder what I could've done differently.”
The door rattled as I grew more and more infuriated with the lock. Qitel's smug expression as he threatened me so boldly in public played back in my head, and I wondered what would've happened had I decided to go through with insulting his mother. Better yet, I wondered what could've been had I not backed down in the face of his unflinching confidence.
Bzzt. The lock rejected my key again.
“Raagh! You fucking useless hunk of junk!”
I squawked in anger and kicked against the door, careless of the consequences of having Markol back down here to admonish another of his tenants for causing a ruckus. The walls were surprisingly sturdy for how ineffective the venlil architecture looked on the surface and I reeled back in pain as my leg throbbed.
Click.
I looked to my left to see that it wasn't my door that came open, but that of the twins. The door cracked open ever so slightly, no doubt nudged by the force of my tirade and I sighed. Nobody was expected to be home at this time, with Vili being away and Luka leaving early to get a head start.
Luka had been given a stern talking-to by the landlord for allowing one of those cats into his apartment through neglect, and I was disappointed that he seemed to have not learned his lesson this time. In fact, it seemed he hadn't even thought to lock the door this time.
I took it upon myself to shut the door for him before turning back to my own apartment door. Grasping the key with one talon, I turned it ever so gently, though the lock still refused to give in.
With a bit more force, the torsion applied to the key felt as though it should've snapped it by now. Markol sure didn't waste any expense for the security for this place, doubtlessly as a result of his history in electronic security, but I wished now that he had provided a way in that didn't rely on privately sourced locks.
Considering my options as I stood trapped outside, I realized that I had never gotten around to paying for a new lock for Tadi. I'd considered contacting her to inform her that Tac had made it out of town safely, but that'd involve also telling her that her son was now in the care of humans, as if that was a better outcome to her.
Stepping out front, I realized that there was one more option I hadn't considered: my window. I usually forgot to lock it after I was through letting air circulate and I was silently grateful to myself for this absentmindedness now more than ever. Sticking a foot on the threshold, I lifted myself in a way that'd allow me to have leverage to force the window open.
The window made me fight for every inch, but I felt a strange satisfaction as it slowly opened up into an entrance that I could squeeze my way through. I let out a sigh as my talons clicked against the cool floor and slid the window shut.
I laid my satchel on the couch and turned back to the door, ready to unleash my fury on the disobedient object. But as I reached for the lock to manually open the door, I noted that the lights on the RFID interface both flashed at once, blinking erratically. Red and green flickered without rhyme or reason, indicating that it was both active and inactive.
As pretty as the colors were, I now knew that Markol's locks were not as reliable as he had touted them about: typically, such would not occur unless the device was damaged deliberately, and yet nothing indicated that I'd had uninvited guests. One could pray that those cats didn't secretly know how to cobble together an ECM jammer, but my personal wager was on faulty equipment.
Settling in, I browsed my favorite soaps on the television. For what was intended to be a day of relaxation and show of affection for a friend, I found myself rather wound up over all the things that added up. Couples threw around flowery words and swooned over one another on screen as I felt the tension diffuse. My holopad rang and I turned it over to spot that Nampi was informing me that she'd arrived home safely.
>>> Feels empty here, all alone.
She made sure to drive the point home with a sticker of a venlil making a pouty expression.
Next time, I thought to myself, I'll get it right for you, Nampi.
[ First / Previous ]

Hi there! Several years ago, I was hired at one of the biggest sign companies in the world as head of the electrical department at the local branch. The previous lead had left to head up the maintenance department at a big, local commercial electrical company.
I was brought in as a temp to hire and was hired in a little over a week. I started to tackle the very large backlog they had, doing field work AND paperwork back at the office after hours. I was doing estimates in the mornings and then going out on job sites in the afternoon. I was on call 24/7 for emergencies.
Everything was working out great. I was turning in estimates that were right on target and all of them ended as signed contracts with customers for new work. I brought in many thousands of dollars in revenue. The gen manager even told me I was killing it and that he was stoked that I was on the team.
Fast forward three months. I now had an apprentice I was training who had gotten to the point of taking his own truck out on calls. I streamlined the estimation process to the point where I was cranking out 2 or 3 every day. I even had customers requesting me by name for service and new construction work. I managed some very big jobs at some high profile sites with great success. The salesmen were bringing me with them to help sell, etc...
I came in one day and this new guy was in my office, sitting at my desk. I introduced myself. He said he was the previous lead electrician, nice to meet you and so forth. I was kind of taken aback at that point. The gen manager called me into his office and told me what the new situation was.
I was now going to be the field supervisor and this guy was in my position as the lead. I had a nice truck to drive around doing estimates. That truck was his now. I had a great office, that was his now. They told me I had to drive a giant service/boom truck. I was no longer doing estimates. I no longer had an office and had to get all my shit out asap.
I told them I didn't want to drive a service truck and that I was not happy with the new situation. He said OK, don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out! Let me know if you would like a reference for your new job search! Have a good day!
I was so shocked I didn't even say anything and just walked out, got my tools and left. I forgot my friggin ladder too. Turns out the scab was the bosses brother in law and he couldn't cut it as the lead at the other company. He came back to take my job away from me.
I was able to obtain a job later on that afternoon. If you don't burn bridges in construction, it's usually very easy to find work. So I wasn't super angry or anything. I know that guy was messing stuff up before I got there, so I am assuming he continued messing stuff up after. This state is "at will" so no recourse really, just to move on...

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"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

Hello all,
I am one of the owners of a new server called Tranquil RP, the list below will tell you about just some of the amazing feature we have implemented in the server and there is so much more to come alongside it, to everybody who took the time to read this and check us out it is much appreciated and we hope to see you around.
~ McLovin
📷 Custom Weapons: Arm yourself with unique and powerful weaponry tailored for your journey.
📷 Custom Drugs: Dive into a world of new substances and experiences with our custom drug system.
📷 New Evidence System: The game is afoot! Unravel mysteries and solve crimes with our revamped evidence system.
📷 Items on Back: Carry more and look stylish doing it – now you can showcase your items on your back.
📷 Custom Emotes: Express yourself in new and exciting ways with our expanded emote collection.
📷 Custom Heists: Plan, execute, and get away with thrilling custom heists that will put your skills to the test.
📷 Custom Prison: Explore a redesigned prison experience with new challenges and opportunities.
📷 Pets: Bring a furry companion along on your adventures – because every hero needs a sidekick.
📷 New Civ Jobs: Discover fresh opportunities with our new civilian job options.
📷 New Custom Cars: Hit the streets in style with a fleet of custom-designed vehicles.
📷 Custom Clothing: Elevate your fashion game with a wide array of custom clothing options.
📷 New Phone: Stay connected with the latest in-game events and features with our brand-new phone system.
AND MUCH MORE. https://discord.gg/2Jb99Sseh4
We also just released a new update for the server just last Friday
New Ownable Gas Stations: Take control of your fueling destiny with our latest feature! Own and manage your very own gas stations across the virtual landscape.
Hunting: Get ready to channel your inner hunter! Embark on exciting hunting adventures and test your skills in the wild.
Trucking: Hit the road and become the king of the highways! Our new trucking feature allows you to transport goods and earn rewards as you navigate through the virtual terrain.
New Economy: Brace yourselves for an economic overhaul! Experience a fresh and dynamic economy system that adds depth and realism to your virtual world.
Retuned Cars: Rev up your engines! We've retuned the cars in our virtual garage for smoother handling and enhanced performance.
New Clothes Coming Soon: Elevate your style game! Stay tuned for an upcoming collection of trendy new clothes to customize your avatar.
New Little Things to Discover: Explore the nooks and crannies of our virtual world and uncover hidden gems and surprises along the way.

Hello all,
I am one of the owners of a new server called Tranquil RP, the list below will tell you about just some of the amazing feature we have implemented in the server and there is so much more to come alongside it, to everybody who took the time to read this and check us out it is much appreciated and we hope to see you around.
~Phantom
📷 Custom Weapons: Arm yourself with unique and powerful weaponry tailored for your journey.
📷 Custom Drugs: Dive into a world of new substances and experiences with our custom drug system.
📷 New Evidence System: The game is afoot! Unravel mysteries and solve crimes with our revamped evidence system.
📷 Items on Back: Carry more and look stylish doing it – now you can showcase your items on your back.
📷 Custom Emotes: Express yourself in new and exciting ways with our expanded emote collection.
📷 Custom Heists: Plan, execute, and get away with thrilling custom heists that will put your skills to the test.
📷 Custom Prison: Explore a redesigned prison experience with new challenges and opportunities.
📷 Pets: Bring a furry companion along on your adventures – because every hero needs a sidekick.
📷 New Civ Jobs: Discover fresh opportunities with our new civilian job options.
📷 New Custom Cars: Hit the streets in style with a fleet of custom-designed vehicles.
📷 Custom Clothing: Elevate your fashion game with a wide array of custom clothing options.
📷 New Phone: Stay connected with the latest in-game events and features with our brand-new phone system.
AND MUCH MORE. https://discord.gg/2Jb99Sseh4
We also just released a new update for the server just last Friday
New Ownable Gas Stations: Take control of your fueling destiny with our latest feature! Own and manage your very own gas stations across the virtual landscape.
Hunting: Get ready to channel your inner hunter! Embark on exciting hunting adventures and test your skills in the wild.
Trucking: Hit the road and become the king of the highways! Our new trucking feature allows you to transport goods and earn rewards as you navigate through the virtual terrain.
New Economy: Brace yourselves for an economic overhaul! Experience a fresh and dynamic economy system that adds depth and realism to your virtual world.
Retuned Cars: Rev up your engines! We've retuned the cars in our virtual garage for smoother handling and enhanced performance.
New Clothes Coming Soon: Elevate your style game! Stay tuned for an upcoming collection of trendy new clothes to customize your avatar.
New Little Things to Discover: Explore the nooks and crannies of our virtual world and uncover hidden gems and surprises along the way.

Back in 2016, I was working at a roadside diner west of St. Cloud, Minnesota. Neat little place, had a bit of a 60’s vibe to it, but without the hairdo. On the slow hours of the day, or whenever we just had locals around, I’d be humming along with the chefs playing radio out of the kitchen. It wasn’t an exciting time, but it was nice to have a workplace that felt like a second home.
A couple of weekends a month, we had an all-night crew to serve passing truckers. You usually never had to do more than one shift though, and we got to make own schedules. Our boss was pretty hands-off. It was during one of those shifts, at the first week of early summer, that my life took a turn for the worse – and I didn’t even realize it.

We were used to having the occasional odd customer during those hours of the day. When this guy walked in, I didn’t know what to think. He was about 6’2, bald, and pale as chalk. He wore this worn-out t-shirt that looked like it’d been on fire. With every step, he dragged his feet, and collapsed in one of our booths, seemingly exhausted.
I looked back at the chef, and he just shrugged. Guy wasn’t hurting anyone, but he didn’t look like he was all there. But a job’s a job, so I went up to him.
“You alright there?” I asked.
He looked up at me like I was speaking a foreign language, then sunk his head back down, gently shaking it.
“Nah,” he said. “I, uh… I don’t think I am.”
He had this voice on the knife’s edge between a hysterical laugh and a howling cry. He was trembling.
“You need me to call someone?”
“Call?”
“Yeah, call someone.”
“How?”

I didn’t understand the question. I figured he was coming down from some kind of binge, and I wasn’t about to take any chances. I asked the chef to get me a side of bacon to keep the guy calm while I called the police.
As I slid the plate over to him, he sunk his face into his hands, sobbing.
“T-thank you,” he cried. “I-I’m… please…”
I sat down across from him, instinctively reaching out to grab his hand. He let me. Even at a light touch, I could feel the scars on his palm and fingertips. Whatever’d happened to him, it must’ve been awful.
“I can’t go back,” he sniffled. “Don’t make me go back. I can’t. Please, I can’t.”
“You’re not going anywhere. It’s okay,” I smiled. “You’re safe here.”
“Can you help me?” he asked. “Can you keep him out?”
“I’m sure we can figure it out,” I nodded. “Just eat up. It’s okay.”

His fingers trembled as he tentatively bit off a piece of bacon. His teeth were black, and he flinched.
“I need time,” he said. “I need time to run.”
“Don’t worry,” I assured him. “We’ve called for help.”
“I just… I just need time.”
We just sat there for a while. He calmed his breathing but kept staring out the window. I could tell he was looking for something – or someone. All I could see was a road and a handful of moths. We sat there for some time, in silence, as he carefully nibbled on the slices of maple bacon.
As two police officers entered the diner, he got up from his seat. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small bundle of scrunched-up trash. A couple of singles, a plastic card, dirt, and something resembling animal bones. He tried to straighten out the bills, pushing them into my hands along with the laminated card.
“Just… I need time. I’ll come back. Please.”
I didn’t understand. I just nodded and accepted it. Seconds later, the officers asked him to step outside and explain the situation. I got busy taking orders from a couple of passing truckers, watching glimpses of the scene through the window. A couple of minutes later, the strange man was taken away.

My shift ended at sunrise. I dragged myself to my car with a yawn, shuffling around my pockets for the keys. I hadn’t thought much about the items he’d handed me, but I took a closer look. I’d thrown away the animal bones and dirt, but there were a couple of dollar bills and that laminated card left. I checked the card first.
It looked like some kind of bookmark. On one side it was completely white, and on the other side there were dried blue flower petals arranged in a spiral. Kinda reminded me of a sunflower. And finally, there were the dollar bills.
I didn’t pay much attention to these at first. Just a couple of singles. But after a closer look, I noticed something unusual. There was a man on the bill that I didn’t recognize. It took me a couple of google searches to realize that this man was Walter Mondale – the man who’d lost to Ronald Reagan’s second run for president back in ’84. Why was this man on a one-dollar bill?

Before heading to bed, I put the items down on my nightstand. In a moment of silent wonder, I looked out the window. What had that man been looking for? What’d he been running from?
There was nothing out there.
Just a couple of moths.

Waking up the next morning, I had a full day off. I spent it cleaning my apartment, watching movies, having dinner with a couple of friends, and ending the night with a couple of drinks at the pub down on the corner. No binge or anything, just got a bit boozy. I was still gonna be in bed by midnight.
I took the scenic route home; a long walk. All the way down main street, past the lake. I took a shortcut through the park by the final stretch, speeding up a bit. That place was trouble.
As I hurried by the fountain, I spotted someone in the distance. A shrouded figure at the edge of the streetlights. I stopped to observe for a second, but as I did, the lights flickered. Coming back on, the figure was gone.
I chalked it up to imagination. I was a bit drunk, after all. Besides – it was small, like a child. What the hell would a kid be doing out at this hour?

A couple of days passed. I didn’t notice anything unusual, but I kept coming back to that distressing feeling of missing something important. Looking back at it now, I just feel dumb. He was there all along. Outside the supermarket. In the parking lot. Off the highway. Hell, he was outside my window at night sometimes, but just too short for me to spot.
I’m getting ahead of myself.
It wasn’t until one morning when I was driving to work that I got a clear view of him. I was crossing a four-way street, taking a sharp left turn, when I had to throw myself on the breaks. There was a kid in the middle of the street.
I hadn’t seen him that clearly before. He was probably around 6, maybe 7 years old. Wearing a plain black shirt and a pair of light blue canvas pants. Short black hair, dark eyes, and no shoes. That particular detail stuck with me. No shoes? Why?
I almost lost control, but I was lucky. There wasn’t much traffic, and I managed to stop further down the road. There were black lines in the pavement from my screeching tires swerving back and forth. Regaining my composure, I looked in the rear-view mirror.
The kid was gone.

But that was just the start.
I’d spot him every now and then. Looking out the window at work. At the gas station. A passing face in the crowd when shopping for groceries. Every now and then, something would pull on my attention, forcing me to whip my head around, looking for the source of that ill feeling crawling up my spine. Sometimes I saw him. And even worse – sometimes I didn’t.
I remember lying awake at night, hearing moths tap against my window. There was nothing else. Nothing outside. I patrolled my apartment six times, checking every window. I’d looked everywhere, and there was no reason for me to feel the way I did. I was growing paranoid.
And yet, in the morning, my front door was unlocked, and slightly open.

It all came to a head one afternoon when I was out on my smoke break. I’d barely slept for the past three nights, and you could kinda tell I was having a bad day. As I stood there, leaning against the side door of the diner, I see the kid again. This time just across the road, maybe 50 feet or so away. I’d had enough. This had to end.
I was furious. I stormed forward, calling him out with every slur and curse I could think of. I was psyching myself up. I was in the right, and I refused to be harassed anymore – kid or not. Didn’t matter. I crossed the road, barely dodging a speeding jeep, and met him face-to-face.
“What the hell do you want?!” I’d yell. “Why are you following me?!”
He was completely expressionless. He didn’t even flinch, no matter how much I pointed or screamed. I snapped my fingers in front of his eyes, and he didn’t even blink. He just stared at me, like a porcelain doll head on a swivel.

I wasn’t thinking about the bystanders though. A couple of middle-aged men stepped up, asking in no kind terms what the hell was wrong with me. I was held back and restrained. Someone called the police. Someone else called my manager – I’d forgotten to take off my apron, so they could see the diner logo. A couple of people filmed it. One of the videos got like 120k views in a day before it fell off the map. I still see it as a react gif sometimes.
It was a disaster. After a couple of officers came by to talk to me, he’d just disappeared into thin air. The officers took me down to the station – not to detain me, but to get me away from the heated crowd. That car ride downtown sobered me up to what the hell was going on. I was being stalked by this kid, but there wasn’t a living soul out there that would believe me.
Well, maybe one.
Maybe.

I was asked a couple of questions and released within about half an hour. They told me to go home and sleep this whole thing off. That wouldn’t be a problem. I didn’t have a job to go back to anyway, according to the (many) texts I’d gotten. I had all the goddamn time in the world.
I was just about to leave when something came to mind. The two officers who’d picked me up were still waiting by their car when I turned back to them.
“Sorry, you picked up the guy I called in about at the diner, right?” I asked.
“Sure did.”
“You got any idea what happened to him?”
The two looked at one another for a moment, shrugged, and turned to me.
“Didn’t have any ID and gave a fake name. I think they took him to psych.”
“Psych?”
“Well, he was saying some, uh… strange things. There were interviews with a, uh…”
The two quieted down and flashed me a smile.
“There’s not that much we can say.”

Coming home, I decided to get to the root of this. It didn’t take me that long to find the place where the guy’d been taken; there aren’t a lot of mental health facilities in this part of the country. Especially facilities that accept involuntary subjects.
But my eyes kept drifting back to the strange dollar bills he’d given me, resting neatly on my nightstand. They were so detailed. A bit old, sure, but that only made them seem more genuine. What the hell was he doing with a handful of clearly fake dollar bills? Like, what’s the purpose? There had to be a purpose.
That unnerved me.

I managed to arrange a meeting. It wasn’t easy, and I think a lot of it boiled down to the police having no idea what could make this guy talk. For some reason, he kept providing them with false information. Maybe a familiar face, for one reason or another, might make him talk.
Just a couple of days later, I was putting my items in a metal bowl on the second floor at a mental health institute in the next town over. I asked one of the nurses if I could keep one of my dollar bills. Apparently, that was okay.
I was shuffled through a couple of locked doors and escorted to an off-white side-room. No décor, no locks. The guy was already there.

He’d been dressed down into these neutral eggshell-white garbs. It was strange seeing him in a lit-up room like this. I didn’t know what to expect.
Getting a closer look at him, he was probably in his 50’s. It’d been hard to tell earlier. I couldn’t get over just how pale he was; it was almost a complete lack of pigment. It looked sickly. His thin arms didn’t help – he looked malnourished. And yet, he was smiling.
“Hello,” he said.
“Hello to you too,” I smiled. “You doing okay?”
“I’m… I’m pretty good,” he nodded. “Thank you.”
I sat down across from him and took out the dollar bill he’d given me.
“I wanted to ask you about this.”
“For the bacon,” he said, matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“Sorry, was that not enough?”
“No, it’s…”
I took a moment to compose myself. I had too many questions.

He sighed, took the bill, and looked it over. Looking back at me, I could tell there was something painful stirring in his mind. His smile slowly faded.
“Sorry,” he said. “I try to forget sometimes. It’s easier than making sense of it.”
“Let’s start with something simple,” I nodded. “Like… your name. Where you’re from.”
“Those things are pretty far from simple.”
He was looking straight through me; his eyes sinking back to deeper, more uncomfortable thoughts.

His name was Samuel, and he was born around these parts in back in the 1970’s. He’d worked as a telecommunications specialist out of St. Cloud back in the 90's. He had a wife, three children, and a four-bedroom house.
“But it… that was all before, see?” he explained. “Then it all just…”
“Just what?” I asked. “What happened?”
He looked at me, opening and closing his mouth, looking for the right words to come out. Nothing happened. He shook his head, trying again.
“It started with the street preachers,” he said. “Hundreds of them, marching on every city. All saying the same doomsday shit as always. World was dying. All coming to an end.”
“I haven’t seen anything like that.”
“Then there were storms,” he continued without skipping a beat. “Some would last for weeks. Others longer. Entire cities would be flooded or torn apart. Earthquakes causing monster waves along the east coast, sending shockwaves all the way to mainland Europe. Then, Yellowstone.”
“Yellowstone?”
“Yeah,” he nodded. “Lights out.”

Samuel was painting this apocalyptic vision of a world undone. Catastrophe after catastrophe. Hooded people marching the streets, screaming for the mercy of a mad god. But there was more to it.
“Then things stopped making sense. It’s as if the rules changed,” he continued. “Roads would stop leading home. Trees would change color. People turned twisted and corrupted. Like… one of our neighbors couldn’t eat anything but gunpowder. There was a woman just down the street who tried to kill anyone wearing glasses. It was… pandemonium.”
I didn’t say anything. What he was saying didn’t make any sense, but he was trying his best to keep his rambling coherent.
“The plants died. Trees too. The only thing that could grow in that environment were these twisted blue things that popped up out of nowhere. But people… people are what got twisted the most.”
He told me of these towering 7-foot-tall humanoid creatures that roamed the forests. Black as night – not even reflecting light. Arms reaching all the way to their knees. Elongated, inhuman things that all used to be someone he knew.

“The doomsayers all said the same thing,” he continued. “That God was a scared little boy, and that he was dying. Everything that was happening was just an expression of that ceaseless, bottomless, existential grief.”
Samuel looked back and forth, finally burying his face in his hands.
“It all broke down. Roads stopped leading anywhere. No power. No water. Julie changed. Ollie changed. Tobie made himself a mask and wandered off into the woods. Ira just… disappeared. And for… years? Has it been years? It’s just been me.”
“But you’re here, now,” I said. “And what you’re describing, it… it didn’t happen.”
“It happened,” he insisted. “Just not… here. But here.”
He tapped his finger on the single dollar bill.
“Somewhere, somehow, I must’ve taken a wrong turn. I slipped through something broken, and now I’m here. And… and he’s coming to bring me back. He doesn’t want anyone to leave.”
“Who?”
“Just! Just…” he chuckled. “Just a sad little boy who’s been told he’s going to die.”
I didn’t know what to say. I just sat with him for a while, holding his hand.

Before I left, Samuel got up from his chair. He looked at me, forcing himself to smile.
“If I go back, I’ll try not to… to be like them. I’ll try. And… and I’ll be the one to say something.”
He let out a painful little laugh, shaking his head.
“Maybe just a… hello.”

I left that day with more questions than answers. I couldn’t picture the world he’d lived through. Then again, how could it be true? None of it had happened. But what was he gaining from lying about it?
That was the last time I saw Samuel. A few days later, he went missing, as if he’d disappeared into thin air. I didn’t know what to think of it. There was nothing on the cameras – no one entering or leaving the building. No quick escapes, no clever plans. He’d just walked into his room and disappeared. Nothing left but a couple of moths fluttering about.
And for a while, that was it. That was the end of the story. I got busy looking for a new job, and all the little items given to me by Samuel was put away into a little box in my glove compartment. Life soldiered on, and no matter how many questions I had, there was no one around to answer them. Even the strange kid that’d been following me was, seemingly, gone.

A couple of months later, I was driving home from a friend’s place. I stopped at a four-way street, waiting for a couple of trucks to pass, when there was a knock on the passenger side window. I almost choked on my own spit. Scared me half to death.
Looking out, I could see that kid again. I hadn’t seen him for some time, and I quickly bounced between curiosity and downright anger.
“What do you want?” I yelled out.
There was no response. Instead, the door just opened. It’d been locked. As he opened the door, he pointed to the glove box.
“You want his things?” I asked. “Is that it?”
He nodded. I wanted to lash out, but there was something telling me I shouldn’t. Instead, I reached over, opened the glove compartment, and pointed to the box.
“Just take it and leave me alone,” I said. “Get it over with.”

He reached in and grabbed the box. So much effort for a couple of mementos. I turned my head back to face the road. The kid backed out. But of course, I had to get the last word in.
“Not even a thank you, huh?”
That made him pause. He looked at me, tilting his head. As he opened his mouth to speak, a moth fluttered out. Then another. And another.
Then – darkness.

What happened next is hard to describe. My memory of it is fragmented. It’s like trying to watch a buffering video, where long stretches of it are just nothing – but you know something was supposed to happen in-between.
Blink. I was sitting in my car. There was a dark blue sky. No clouds, no stars. Figures in the distance. An open field with blue flowers bending to a howling wind. A powerful stench of ammonia stinging my nostrils. Something to my immediate left, ripping the car door straight off the hinges.
Blink. Running. Ruins of a town. It seemed familiar, but there was barely anything left. My leg was bleeding. I was being followed. No matter where I turned, or where I ran, I seemed to end up at the same intersection.
Blink. A three-story building, brimming with life. Glimpses of arm-long antennae through the broken windows. Clickety-clack of bursting wings tapping against crumbling concrete. A loud warning shriek as something rubs its legs together; a call for prey.
Blink. Hiding in a tipped-over trash container. The rain has stopped in mid-air. Raindrops held in indefinite suspension. I suck water drops out of the air to quench my thirst. My hands are shaking from the blood loss.

Countless little images. Some in order, some not. I have no idea how much time passed. In the moment, it must’ve been much longer than I can remember. Days. Weeks, even. There’s no way to tell.
Blink. Walking through a barren field. It feels like walking through a dead forest, but there are no trees. Only those willingly impaled and wailing.
Blink. An abandoned booth by a broken highway. A sign offers phone calls, in exchange for “real teeth”. There are six sizes of pliers hanging on a wall within. All are bloodied – even the small ones.
Blink. The church that had burned down the night before had reappeared. The people inside, too. They couldn’t leave. Tonight, they would burn again.

Somewhere in this nightmarish puzzle-pieced fragment of nothing, there was a constant drive in me to get away. To get out. I knew that if I’d gotten there, I could get back home again. I just had no idea how. Maybe finding the kid. Asking. Begging. Something.
The last fragment of memory from that space was being cornered in a cellar. They were banging on the door. I’d tipped over a wardrobe to keep them out, but they weren’t going to stop. They were never going to stop. I couldn’t let them kill me again – not like that.
One of the Changed ones were coming. I don’t know what that means, or how I know the name, but I knew of it. There was a mirror, and I could see the signs. It stepped out. Seven feet tall, black as night. Elongated arms and neck. Barely a body at all – just a void space vaguely shaped like the remnants of a person.
Except this one felt… familiar. It was the first one to speak.
“H E L L O.”

Blink. Running. A cold hand. If I squeezed too hard, my fingers went straight through it. I had to keep up. He was showing me something.
Blink. They were flooding over the school bus, tipping it by their sheer numbers. Eruptions from the sewer grates. They were famished.
Blink. An open field. Sunflowers facing me, no matter where I turn. It’s not far.
Blink. I look back, as I’m pushed over the edge. He looks just like the rest of them. They aren’t angered by his betrayal.
They feel nothing, as I fall.

In February of 2017, I was found by the side of the road. I’d been gone for months. My car was too. I came back with nothing but the clothes on my back and countless scars. I’ve been told that I didn’t make any sense at first; I was just rambling nonsense. Or maybe it just sounded like nonsense to these people.
Over time, I forgot more and more of these fragmented images. And the less I remember, the more I can move on. Still, I’ve written them down over time, and they paint an ugly, insane picture of what I’d been going through. Some of which I, myself, have a hard time believing. Then again, I know myself well enough to see that there’s no point in lying.

I haven’t seen Samuel, or that strange kid ever since. I think this is all over, for now. There’s nothing left for me to give.
But even now, years later, I still wake up to that feeling at night. That there’s something wrong, or that I’m forgetting something. That there’s something near that I’m looking straight through, or past.
And every now and then, I hear the flutter of a moth’s wing, tapping against my bedroom window.
And I think I know what it wants.
It wants me to go back.

Here is my list of Florida's post Furman execution roster that I wrote for my personal death penalty project. To be clear, the dates given here are a loose timeframe of an offender's first known criminal activities (including misdemeanors and delinquent activities) to their executions, and not at all their years on death row. In a large number of death penalty cases, the offenders were committing high level felonies, even other murders in extreme cases like Ted Bundy, well before the murders that condemned them. I wanted to encapsulate the earlier known or suspected offenses in order to express the scope and scale of their crimes.
As a warning, due how the death penalty is utilized in the United States, many of the surveyed crimes are extremely graphic by nature. Please read at your own risk. On a different note, Florida is the last currently completed list. I'm still working on Texas, and as of now finished 484 entries out of the state's 587 cases to date.
As with my lists for Missouri, Virginia, and Oklahoma, reddit's character limitations forced me to split Florida's roster into two parts. Here is the link to part 2.
The currently 105 executed offenders, cases 1 to 52:
1. John Spenkelink (~1972-1979, electric chair): While on the run after escaping from a Californian prison, Spenkelink picked up 45 year old Joseph Szymankiewicz while he was hitchhiking. Like Spenkelink, Szymankiewicz was a career criminal, and had a conviction for murdering a owner of a furniture store during a robbery. They went on a nationwide crime spree together, but Spenkelink shot Szymankiewicz and disemboweled him with a hatchet while he was asleep in a hotel room. He claimed that the killing was done to protect himself from a sexual assault and being forced to play Russian Roulette, but this was rejected by the courts. Spenkelink had several previous convictions of armed robberies, some of which he was serving when he escaped from California.
2. Robert Sullivan (1973-1983, electric chair): Sullivan and his accomplice abducted 38 year old Donald Schmidt from a Howard Johnson's he managed. They bound Schmidt's hands behind his back, and drove him to a remote swamp in the Everglades. He was beaten with a tire iron and shot four times in the head. The pair then took Schmdit's watch and his credit cards from his body.
3. Anthony Antone (~1970s-1984, electric chair): Antone, a high ranking mobster, was hired by a crime boss to arrange the murder of Richard Cloud, a 33 year old private detective. He arranged for two of his associates to gun down Cloud on his own front porch. Although he wasn't directly present at the crime itself, Antone bore the harshest penalties due to his employer and one of his triggermen committing suicide in custody and the surviving triggerman agreeing to testify against him.
4. Arthur Goode III (~1960s-1984, electric chair): Goode lured 9 year old Jason VerDow into a forest, and raped and strangled him to death. The next day, he abducted Billy Arthe, a 10 year old Guatemalan immigrant, and took him on a journey to Washington D.C. On their way through Virginia, Goode kidnapped 11 year old Kenny Dawson. Both boys were sexually abused, and he strangled Dawson to death with a belt in front of Arthe. Arthe was rescued when a passing woman recognized him from the news coverages. Good was notorious for being a shameless pedophile who openly flaunted and defended his predations of young boys to any listening ears. When he acted as his own attorney during the proceedings for VerDow's murder, Goode's defense entirely hinged on pedophila apologetics and advocacy. He started victimizing younger boys in his early teens, and dealt with several accusations of sexual assault throughout high school. His execution was somewhat controversial, as Goode was cognitively disabled and had the mentality of a young child.
5. James Adams (~1962-1984, electric chair): During a burglary of a ranch, Adams beat the owner, 61 year old Edgar Brown, to death with a firepoker stick. Several of the undisclosed items Adams stole in the robbery were discovered in his wife's car. Prior to the murder, Adams had a rape conviction that gave him a 99 year sentence, but he managed to escape from prison.
6. Carl Shriner (~1962-1984, electric chair): Shriner shot and killed Judith Carter, a 32 year old clerk, while robbing a convenience store. He was involved with petty crimes since he was 8 years old, and Shriner was on parole for armed robbery at the time of the murder.
7. David Washington (1976-1984, electric chair): Washington started his crime spree by fatally stabbing a minister, 69 year old Daniel Pridgen, during a robbery of his home. A few days later, he broke into a home that had 64 year old Katrina Birk and her 3 sister in laws inside. He tied up all four women, and stabbed and shot them. Birk was killed, but her sister in laws survived with crippling injuries. The day after Birk's murder, Washington and his accomplices kidnapped 20 year old Frank Meli from a university, tied him to a bed, and tried extorting a ransom from his family. When that failed, he stabbed his captive to death. In his 10 day long murder and robbery spree, Washington stole jewelry, a car, an undisclosed amount of some money from Pridgen, and $8 from Birk and her sister in laws.
8. Ernest Dobbert Jr. (1972-1984, electric chair): Dobbert routinely tortured his children with beatings, poking their eyes with his fingers, dunking their heads in bathtubs, and burnings with cigarette lighters. Two of them, 9 year old Kelly and 7 year old Ryder, were strangled to death during one of his daily beatings and torture sessions.
9. James Henry (~1965-1984, electric chair): Henry invaded the home of Zellie Riley, a 81 year old Civil Rights activist. He tied up and gagged Riley, slit his throat with a razor blade, and stole $64. A few days later, Henry shot and wounded detective Ronald Ferguson in a confrontation. He previously shot and injured a man in one incident and non fatally stabbed a man in another, and alleged in both cases that the circumstances were self defense. However, the apparent victims made identical claims that Henry was trying to rob them.
10. Timothy Palmes (1976-1984, electric chair): Palmes used his girlfriend to lure her employer, a 41 year old furniture store owner named James Stone, to her apartment and knocked him unconscious with a hammer. Palmes and his other accomplice, Ronald Straight, bound him with wire and locked Stone in a wooden box they specifically made for him. They tortured their captive by slowly cutting his fingers off, and stabbed him 18 times with a machete and knife. The trio dumped Stone's body (which was still trapped in the box) into a river and stole his watch, car, and $2,800 from his store. Palmes tried to blame the killing entirely on his girlfriend, but she was granted immunity in exchange for testifying against him and Straight.
11. James Raulerson (1975-1985, electric chair): Raulerson and his accomplice robbed a restaurant at gunpoint, and raped one of the female employees. When the responding officers arrived at the scene, the pair engaged in a shootout with them. Both Raulerson's accomplice and a policeman, 23 year old Michael Stewart, were killed in the skirmish.
12. Johnny Witt (1973-1985, electric chair): Witt and his accomplice frequently stalked random people they could in the woods, as they were thrilled by the prospect of hunting other human beings. On a whim, the pair ambushed 11 year old Jonathan Kushner while he was riding his bike. They incapacitated Kushner by hitting him in the head with a drill star bit and gagged him. After they tossed him in the back of their truck, Kushner suffocated on the gag. Witt and his accomplice then cut the boy's stomach open to prevent bloating, engaged in intercourse with his body, and buried Kushner in a shallow grave.
13. Marvin Francois (1977-1985, electric chair): During what is now called the "Carol City massacre", Francois and two other men, Beauford White and John Ferguson, forced their way into a drug house. They tied up the 8 men and women inside (who were all between 24-45 years old), and shot them all in the head. Only two of the victims, 45 year old Johnnie Hall and 24 year old Margaret Wooden, survived. A total of $800 was stolen in the attack. Accomplice Ferguson (who was executed in 2013) also committed a series of unrelated murders that Francois wasn't involved with. These crimes are discussed in depth under Ferguson’s section (case 78) in Part 2 of this list.
14. Daniel Thomas (1976-1986, electric chair): Thomas and his accomplices, dubbed the "Ski Mask Gang" by the media, went on a rampage that involved the burglaries of 16 homes and the rapes of 5 women. The husband of one of those women, 49 year old Charles Anderson, was shot dead in an attempt to protect her. Other murders attributed to the Gas Mask Gang include 20 year old Henry Kersey (shot to death while trying to defend his wife, who was then tossed off a bridge) and 70 year old Tessie Henderson (succumbed to injuries received in a beating). Another woman was blinded after members of the Ski Mask Gang poured liquid plumber into her eyes.
15. David Funchess (1973-1986, electric chair): Fuchess was fired from a liquor store due to the owners suspecting him of stealing money. A year later, he assaulted his former workplace with a knife. He stabbed two employees, 62 year old Bertha McLeod and 52 year old Anna Waldrop, and a customer, 56 year old Clayton Ragan. Waldrop and Ragan were killed at the scene, while McLeod died from complications relating to her injuries two years after the attack. Fuchess left the store with several canceled checks that total around $6,000. He had several misdemeanors and minor felonies on his previous record that included theft, loitering, obstructing traffic, public intoxication, and disturbing the peace. Fuchess also attracted some public sympathy due to him being a Vietnam combat veteran that was diagnosed with PTSD.
16. John Straight (1976-1986, electric chair): As mentioned in Timothy Palmes' section, Straight took part in the torture murder of David Stone, and the robbery of his furniture store.
17. Beauford White (~1963-1987, electric chair): White was another participant in the "Carol City massacre" that the previously mentioned Marvin Francois was involved in. He had a lengthy criminal history dating back to the 1960s, and one of his past convictions was related to an attempted rape.
18. Willie Darden (~1970s-1988, electric chair): Darden was convicted of the shooting death of 54 year old James Turman and the non fatal shooting of a 16 year old neighbor while robbing Turman's Furniture Store. Turman's wife was also raped in the robbery. Some supporters had citied that he was tried by an all white jury, and used it to push a narrative that Darden, a black man, was condemned out of racism. He had several previous convictions, which included assault, forgery, theft, and the attempted rape of a 70 year old woman. Darden was on furlough for the latter conviction during the time of Turman's murder.
19. Jeffrey Daugherty (1976-1988, electric chair): While on a road trip with his uncle and girlfriend, Daugherty murdered at least 4 women and one man, 68 year old Carmen Abrams, 50 year old Betty Campbell, 49 year old Lavonne Sailer, 28 year old Elizabeth Shank, and 18 year old George Karns. The victims were slain through either shootings or stabbings at grocery stores, gas stations, and restaurants they worked at, but Sailer was attacked while hitchhiking. Daugherty mostly murdered for personal enjoyment, but he often stole coins, clothes, and watches from the victims.
20. Theodore Bundy (~1970s(?)-1989, electric chair): Across multiple states, Bundy kidnapped, raped, and murdered a bare minimum of ~20-36 females between the ages of 12-26. Although his true body count is uncertain and heavily disputed, most experts agree that it well exceeds official estimates. Bundy's abduction tactics were diverse, and ranged from grabbing targets by force, pretending to be a cripple in need of help, posing as emergency workers, seduction, and luring them in through hitchhiking. On some occasions, Bundy broke into the residences of victims, and assaulted them in their bedrooms. After an abduction, the victims were bound with handcuffs, raped while they were alive, and he engaged in acts of necrophila with their bodies. Most of his killing methods were strangulations with cords or beatings with tire irons and other blunt instruments. Several victims were also decapitated, and he kept their heads as trophies. Bundy disposed of corpses by dumping them in deserts, mountains, swamps, and other remote wilderness environments accessible to him.
21. Aubrey Adams Jr. (1978-1989, electric chair): Adams lured 8 year old Trisa Thomley into his car by offering her a ride home from school. He tied the girl up and dragged her to a remote forest. She was then raped and suffocated with a plastic bag.
22. Jesse Tafero (~1960s-1990, electric chair): A pair of patrolmen, 39 year old Phillip Black and 39 year old Donald Irwin (who was also a Canadian constable), found Tafero sleeping in his car with his wife, their children (which consisted of a 9 year old son and a 10 month old daughter), and a friend. What exactly occurred next is heavily disputed, but Tafero or his friend shot both officers dead, after they noticed a gun on the dashboard and asked the group to climb out. The group then fled in a police car, disposed of it, and kidnapped a man to carjack him. Tafero's execution was controversial, as his head caught on fire during the electrocution, and his supporters cited evidence of his friend (who was sentenced to life, but was released in 1994 on good behavior) being the triggerman in the shootings. He also had a long history of armed robbery, rape, and sodomy. Tafero's wife was initially condemned for the murder, but her sentence was reduced to 25 years to life on appeal in 1981, and was released with an Alford Plea in 1992.
23. Anthony Bertolotti (1983-1990, electric chair): Bertolotti enticed 46 year old Carol Ward into his home with the promise of helping her make a phone call. He held Ward at knife point, demanded money, and raped her. She was stabbed to death during the assault, and Bertolotti drove away with her car. In the trial, Bertolotti alleged that Ward offered him sex in exchange for stopping the robbery, and used it to claim that his angry girlfriend made him kill her for it.
24. James Hamblen (1984-1990, electric chair): Hamblen shot and killed 34 year old Laureen Edwards during a robbery of her store. Despite forcing Edwards to disrobe, Hamblen left he unmolested. He then fled to Texas and quickly started a relationship with 20 year old Debbie Abbott. A month later, Hamblen shot Abbott dead during a heated argument.
25. Raymond Clark (~1964-1990, electric chair): In 1964, Clark beat Marshell Taylor, his landlord's 14 year old son that he groomed and abused, to death with a pipe. After his parole at an undisclosed date in the 70s, Clark groomed another 14 year old boy into an illicit relationship. He recruited him in the abduction of David Drake, a 49 year scrap dealer. With the boy's help, he kidnapped their victim at gunpoint with the intentions of ransoming him back to his family. The pair forced Drake to write them a $5,000 check, and shot him in the head. When he wasn't able to cash in the check, Clark dropped his accomplice off at his home to avoid being charged with the boy's kidnapping, fled to California, and tried to trick Drake's family into paying his ransom. However, a series of calls was traced to his accomplice, and he implicated Clark to the police.
26. Roy Harich (1981-1991, electric chair): Harich kidnapped two teenage girls, 18 year old Carlene Kelly and 17 year old Deborah Miller, after luring them into his van from a beach. The pair were then both sexually assaulted. He shot Kelly dead, slit Miller's throat, and dumped them on a highway. Miller survived the attack and dragged herself to safety.
27. Bobby Francis (~1970s-1991, electric chair): Suspecting him of being a police informant against his drug trafficking enterprise, Francis abducted 35 year old Titus Walters. He tied him up and forcibly injected drano and battery acid into his body for a span of two hours. Despite Walters' pleas for his life, Francis shot him in the head and heart.
28. Nollie Martin (1977-1992, electric chair): Martin and his accomplice robbed a convenience store at knifepoint, stole $90, and kidnapped the clerk, 19 year old Patricia Greenfield. She was then raped and stabbed to death by her captors.
29. Edward Kennedy (~1977-1992, electric chair): In 1977, Kennedy and some partners shot and killed 33 year old Robert Brown, during a robbery of a motel. He was given a life sentence for the murder. Four years later, Kennedy escaped from prison. While on the run, he broke into a house in hopes of stealing money and guns. The homeowner, 32 year old Floyd Cone Jr. returned home with his cousin, 35 year old Robert McDermon (who worked as a state trooper), and unwittingly intercepted Kennedy. He shot them both dead, fled to a neighboring home, and took a 21 year old woman and her 4 month old son hostage. After a hour long standoff, Kennedy released his captives and surrendered himself to the police.
30. Robert Henderson (~1964-1998, electric chair): In December of 1982, Henderson went on a month long rampage across 6 states. He raped, robbed, and murdered a total of 12 people between the ages of 11-79 through shootings. Three of the victims where his wife's parents, 61 year old Ivan and 57 year old Marie Barnett, and her 11 year old brother Clifford. A few other victims were women, like 50 year old Dorothy Wilkinson, 37 year old Cheryl McDonald, 30 year old Jerilyn Stanfield, and 21 year old Lucinda Russell, that were kidnapped from their workplaces and homes and raped. A couple more were men, such as 79 year old Murray Ferderbe and 61 year old Sam Corrent, that he killed while robbing their homes and businesses. Henderson's last remaining murders were a trio of hitchhikers, 27 year old Vernon Odom, 23 year old Frances Dickey, and 18 year old Robert Dawson, that he killed together. Last but not least, Henderson bound an unidentified woman and her 12 year old daughter at gunpoint during a break in of their home. After Henderson raped the mother, he tried to do the same to her daughter. The mother then broke free from her restraints, and chased him away from her home. Contemporary media reports noted that the mother "fought harder for her daughter then she did for herself." Henderson had prior convictions of growing marijuana, assaulting officers, and stealing license plates.
31. Larry Johnson (1979-1993, electric chair): During the robbery of a gas station, Johnson shot and killed the clerk, 67 year old James Hadden. Like David Funchess, Johnson enjoyed a considerable amount of public sympathy due to him being a combat veteran of the Vietnam War.
32. Michael Durocher (1983-1993, electric chair): In 1983, Durocher made an agreement with his girlfriend, 31 year old Grace Reed, to conduct a murder-suicide pact involving her 5 year old daughter Candace and their 6 month old son Joshua. Although he shot and stabbed them all to death, Durocher backed out of his end of the pact. He later shot dead 27 year old Thomas Underwood while robbing a decorating story in 1986, and beat his roommate, 38 year old Edward Childers, to death during an argument in 1988.
33. Roy Stewart (1978-1994, electric chair): 77 year old Margaret Haizlip invited Stewart into her home. When she caught Stewart stealing a gold watch from her medicine drawer, Haizlip tried to evict him. In the confrontation, Stewart raped and strangled her to death with an electrical cord. Her body was found with 8 broken ribs, a fractured larynx, bite marks on her thighs and breasts, several contusions, and a torn vagina.
34. Bernard Bolender (~1970s-1995, electric chair): In a drug deal gone wrong, Bolender and two accomplices abducted their dealers, 39 year old John Merino, 38 year old Rudy Ayan, 33 year old Nicomedes Hernandez, and 25 year old Scott Bennett, at gunpoint, and robbed them of their jewelry. All four men were beaten with baseball bats, stabbed, and burned with heated knifes to extort an additional source of cocaine from them. Most of the hostages died in the 2 hour long torture session, but Merino was still alive when Bolender burned him and the other hostages' bodies in a car. Although most of his criminal history is murky, Bolender was heavily involved in the drug trade during the 1970s at the bare minimum.
35. Jerry White (~1962-1995, electric chair): White robbed a grocery store, and held the owner, 53 year old Alex Alexander, and a trio of customers (which consisted of 34 year old James Melson, an unidentified man, and the man's 12 year old daughter) at gunpoint. He shot and killed Melson, wounded Alexander, and tried forcing the father and daughter into a freezer. When the pair refused, White tried to shot them, but his gun misfired. The man and his daughter were able to flee with their lives and called the police, while White ran off with $338. White had 9 previous convictions, which included attempted murder, armed robbery, theft, and burglary, and was first arrested at the age of 14.
36. Phillip Atkins (1981-1995, electric chair): Atkins kidnapped 6 year old Antonio Castillo and molested him in a forest. When Castillo threatened to tell his parents about the abuse, Atkins bludgeoned him to death with a pipe.
37. John Bush (~1970s-1996, electric chair): Bush and three other men kidnapped 18 year old Frances Slater from a gas station she worked as a clerk at. They stabbed her to death and stole $100 from the register. Slater's murder attracted national attention due to her being the granddaughter and heiress of renowned singer Frances Langford and the outboard motor mongrel Ralph Evinrude. Bush's previous convictions include rape and robbery.
38. John Mills Jr. (1982-1996, electric chair): Mills and his accomplice tied up and abducted 30 year old Les Lawhon after ransacking his trailer for any valuables. They took him to a nearby abandoned airport to hideout. Lawhon then was beaten with a tire iron and shot in the head execution style.
39. Pedro Medina (1982-1997, electric chair): Medina tied up and gagged 52 year old Dorothy James in her home. He stabbed her to death and stole her car, which he was captured sleeping in by investigating police officers. His execution was a source of controversy, as Medina's head burst into flames as he was electrocuted on the chair. Medina's case and similar incidents led to Florida gradually phasing out of the electric chair in favor of lethal injection.
40. Gerald Stano (~1960s-1998, electric chair): Stano was convicted of murdering 22 women and girls between the ages of 12-35, though he admitted to 41, and is suspected of a total of 88 killings. His victims were all lured with promises of rides, payment for sexual favors, or abducted through force. The methods he used were diverse, and included drownings, shootings, stabbings, and strangulations. Most of the sources noted that none of his victims were raped, and that Stano seemed to have murdered out of an enjoyment for killing. As a child, Stano was charged with fasley pulling fire alarms at school and throwing rocks at cars. He was also fired for stealing from coworkers in one of his jobs.
41. Leo Jones (1981-1998, electric chair): Supposedly out of revenge for being brutalized by policemen, Jones was convicted of killing Thomas Szafranski, a 28 year old officer, in a sniper attack. Szafranski was driving his patrol car when he was ambushed and murdered. His execution was contested, as Jones claimed that he was coerced into confessing by investigators through beatings, and one of the apparent witnesses allegedly recounted his testimony.
42. Judy Buenoano (~1957-1998, electric chair): Over the course of 11 years, Buenoano poisoned her husband, 32 year old James Goodyear, her son, 19 year old Michael, and her boyfriend, 39 year old Bobby Morris with arsenic to collect their life insurance policies. She also made an attempt to poison another boyfriend after he was injured in a suspicious explosion, but was foiled by a police investigation. As a young girl, Buenoano assaulted her father, stepmother, and stepbrothers, and served a two month sentence for it.
43. Daniel Remeta (1985-1998, electric chair): Remeta and his accomplices shot and killed 5 people, 60 year old Mehrle Reeder, 55 year old Glenn Moore, 42 year old Linda Marvin, 29 year old John Schroeder, and 27 year old Larry McFarland, across Kansas, Arkansas, and Florida. The victims were all murdered in convenience store, restaurant, and gas station robberies.
44. Allen Davis (~1970s-1999, electric chair): Davis broke into a home with the intentions of raping 9 year old Kristina Weiler. Although no sexual assault occurred, Davis tied Kristina up and shot her in the head. He also struck her pregnant mother, 37 year old Nancy, 25 times on her head and face with his pistol, and left the body "bruised beyond recognition." When Kristina's sister, 5 year old Katherine, tried to escape, Davis shot and bludgeoned her to death. He then sacked the home for any belongings. Davis was a long time felon, and had several previous convictions of burglary, child molestation, and involuntary manslaughter. His execution caused significant controversy, as his nose bled all over his body during the fatal shocks, and he suffered burns to his legs, head, and groin. The backlash, combined with other botched incidents like Pedroa Medina and Jesse Tafero, resulted in Florida replacing the electric chair with lethal injection.
45. Terry Sims (1977-2000, lethal injection): George Pfeil, a 57 year old deputy and WW2 veteran, walked into a pharmacy that Sims and his 3 accomplices were robbing, to pick up a prescription. Upon seeing what was happening, Pfeil pulled out his gun and engaged the robbers, but was killed by them in the shootout. Although Sims was injured, he managed to escape the scene, and was captured a month later while trying to carry out another robbery in California.
46. Anthony Bryan (1983-2000, lethal injection): Bryan and his accomplice kidnapped a night watchman, 60 year old George Wilson, and used his keys to rob a bank he guarded. They drove Wilson to a remote forest and shot him in the head. The pair dumped his body in a creek and drove their car into a lake to destroy any evidence.
47. Bennie Demps (~1971-2000, lethal injection): Demps received his first death sentence in 1971 when he shot and killed a real estate agent, 54 year old Robert Brinkworth, and his client, 64 year old Celia Puhlick, while the victims were trying to engage in a house sale. He also wounded Celia's husband, 62 year old Nicholas, and stole a safe from the house. However, his first death sentence was lifted from the brief nationwide capital punishment ban from the Furman decision. Two years after his first death sentence was commuted, Demps was given a second death sentence when he fatally stabbed another inmate, 23 year old Alfred Sturgis, on the behalf of the Perjury Incorporated prison gang. Sturgis was in prison for murder, and he was targeted due to Perjury Incorporated's suspicions of him of being an informant.
48. Thomas Provenzano (1984-2000, lethal injection): In retaliation for being charged for disorderly conduct months earlier, Provenzano stormed a courthouse, and shot and killed Arnold Wilkerson, a 60 year old deputy that was a veteran of WW2, Korea, and Vietnam, on the scene. Two more policemen, 53 year old Harry Dalton Jr. and 19 year old Mark Parker, were also hit by gunfire, and they both died from complications relating to their injuries years after the attack.
49. Dan Hauser (1995-2000, lethal injection): Out of a desire to kill somebody, Huser enticed a stripper, 21 year old Melanie Rodrigues, into a motel room with the promise of payment for sexual services. After they had intercourse, he strangled her to death. Hauser was also caught stealing a truck months before the murder.
50. Edward Castro (1986-2000, lethal injection): Castro lured three homosexual men, 57 year old Austin Scott, 50 year old George Hill, and 46 year old Claude Henderson, from gay bars. The victims were all tied up and stabbed to death in their homes. After each killing, Castro left with valuables such as cars, watches, rings, money, and wallets.
51. Robert Glock II (1983-2001, lethal injection): Glock kidnapped 34 year old Sharilyn Ritchie from a mall parking lot and forced her to withdraw $100 from an ATM. He then drove Ritchie to a forest 60 miles away and shot her in the head. Ritchie's wedding ring and purse was also stolen in the attack.
52. Rigoberto Sanchez-Velasco (1986-2002, lethal injection): Sanchez-Velasco raped and fatally strangled Katixa Ecenarro, his girlfriend's 11 year old daughter. While awaiting execution for Ecenarro's murder, Sanchez-Velasco got into a fight with fellow condemned inmates, 41 year old Charles Street and 30 year old Edwin Kaprat, and stabbed them both to death. Kaprat received a death sentence for the sexual abuse and torture-killings of 4 elderly women, while Street was sentenced to death for the shooting murders of two police officers.

The results are in for Match 21. The winner is…
Mahimit was dragged across the battlefield by ｢Young Lives｣, the Stand filling him with a vigor to fight, to please his father who was watching from above—and that vigor filled him with each slash of its claws, keeping the son awake as he was marched down towards the trailer.
The two Stand Users had made their way down there last—secluded within a small container, cornered. The Stand’s puppet had been worn down for certain, but this was the time to finally finish things. As they approached, they saw through the window the older woman pull out her phone, and immediately Mahimit’s arm was raised to aim his gun right for it. As they made him pull the trigger, he couldn’t fire before she had spoken to her allies on the other end:
“Yeah, we figured out who the perp is, it’s Thomas Kent. Singh didn’t even show up, sent a lackey instead. He should be…”
The rest of her sentence faded out as Mahimit stalled…stopped.
The Stand roared in panicked fury as its user lowered his gun, unable to control them with the ease it once had. Mahi barely noticed—neither did they react to Windy’s warm, draining embrace of as ｢Young Lives｣ attempted to claw her off of him. As his eyes began to close, the longcoat of his Stand’s prior form disappeared and revealed the real one beneath, he managed one thought before falling into a deep sleep.
Of course he didn’t. Why did I think otherwise…

Sonika Singha and Windy, with a score of 72 to Mahimit “Hira” Rākin’s 56!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Sonika Singha and Windy	27 (14+2) - 3 (0+2)	A shutout victory for the players!
Quality	Mahimit “Hira” Rākin	17 (6 5 6) - 20 (7 7 6)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Mahimit “Hira” Rākin	18 (6 6 6) - 23 (8 7 8)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

The results are in for Match 22. The winner is…
Club Naraka, the site of a hellish pile of bodies and accidents, was practically on fire that night. Thankfully, Sulka, along with a group of armed guards, had brought a fire extinguisher with them. They stormed the ground floor, taking a moment to spread themselves out. “Alright, we’ve-” A hail of gunfire cut the man off. “—THEY’RE HERE!”
A few of the nameless guards rushed in towards Sulka, to catch any strays that might come his way. Sulka himself pulled the nozzle end up, and heard another single shot fire from another nearby pillar. “There’s an accomplice, circle—” Something crawled up his thumb, and bit into the extinguisher, just as a stray bullet drove a dent into the metal casing. “—AUGH!”
The fire extinguisher burst in his hands, filling the room with a heavy white smog. The hip-firing moved, and it came long, low, and in mobile spurts. “Fire back—” As if on cue, fire jettisoned into the cloud of smoke, “—SPREAD OUT, QUICK!” Through blurred vision, Sulka watched one of their own leave through the front door. “Not that far, damnit!”
With the guards spread out along the floor around him, some wearing gouts of fire, some drenched in the liquid refuse of their extinguisher, and others still riddled with bullets, Sulka turned to one of their dead men, and ripped a pistol from their side. They watched the last moving object head for the door, and pulled the trigger, twice. An employee badge caught the edge of his blurred vision.
The cool night air filled the ground floor, and fed the flames atop the burning men. Sulka’s arm fell to his side, letting the gun clatter against the floor.
A spiral of thoughts took him. First, he’d need to make a casualty report, followed by a loss statement. The sheer number of clients who may not come back after an incident like this would likely drive the place out of business. Between that, the viscera, the dead workers, the dead clients, and all the ammunition costs—let alone the licenses he’d have to put in for—his head shrieked at him. For once, he shrieked back.
It was a low, horrid thing, much like a growl or snarl, but loud enough to make itself known against the billowing call of night. A cool hand slicked his hair back, and the night air stopped pouring in through the shutting door. He turned to one of the guards, who’d taken to putting out another with a blanket. “Take everyone alive and go look for everyone else alive.” Sulka sauntered away. “I’ll be in my office.”

Reese McGuffin, with a score of 72 to Markov's 69!

Category	Winner	Point Totals	Comments
Popularity	Reese McGuffin	13 (3+2+2) - 17 (5+2+2)	An even voting period right up until the very end!
Quality	Markov	23 (7 8 8) - 22 (7 8 7)	Reasoning
JoJolity	Tie	23 (8 8 7) - 23 (7 8 8)	Reasoning
Conduct	Tie	10-10	Nothing to report!

Somewhere in the night, a Club Naraka coat and hat, usually only worn by guards, lay in a trash can. A woman, caked in blood and all manner of horrors, pressed herself against the wall beside it, and fished through her pocket for a coin. She’d found it there, in the elevator, on her way to her shift. Moonlight danced across its surface, letting the coin shimmer madly in the low light. ”Hah… you… y-you saved me…” Emile was shuddering, clutching the golden coin tight, for fear of dropping it. “I-I don’t know why, but… w-whatever you want of me, I’ll gladly give it in return… p-please, tell me…who…who are you?”
“…aha!” the voice chuckled. “How…terrible of me! In all the commotion, our…introductions com-pletely slipped my…mind.”
The air in front of Emile began to shift and shimmer. As she pulled her gaze away from the coin, she saw something phase into existence—a feminine form, long purple wires for hair, and a peering red eye gazing back at her beneath them.
It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen.
“My name is Markov. And your ad-mir-a-tion is payment…enough.”
Emile stared, gazing in wonderment at the hovering figure. Whether from exhaustion or reverence, she dropped to her knees, tears beginning to streak down her face. She thought of the ordeals she’d just faced. The people she’d passed. The people she’d fled. The people she’d killed. There was something else, though—the figure’s eyes seemed to- “That…hole in your shoulder.” Emile’s own head turned to match the figure’s gaze. “Do not fret. I can…teach you how to…take care of that.”
From the roof above the pair’s heads, one couldn’t hear the quiet murmurs and shivers of a woman ripping apart her own viscera-caked clothes to seal her wounds. Other things were certainly on the mind of its occupant, one Reese McGuffin.
Before him were two rats. Before them was a whole litany of ghostly creatures. His hand pointed towards the rat to his right, “Alright everyone, this is Splinter—” before it moved to point at the rat on his left, “—and this is Remy!”
Remy waddled up to a Utahraptor first, and started sniffing at it. “Oh, lemme introduce you to pieces, Remy!” Reese put a hand between the ghost animals, and casually shuffled it back and forth as he spoke. “Remy, Pieces! Pieces, Remy!” He turned on his heel to see Splinter eyeing up Finn, the shark. “Hey! He’s a friend, not food!”
A comforting quiet filled the night air as the ghostly animals circled one another, introducing themselves in their own little ways. The only thing left on Reese’s mind was a single odd question, one that had been eating at him since he left. “Where did I put that coral?”
Slowly, Mahimit awoke to the morning sun’s light. They could have sworn that they had a nightmare that night, but they felt refreshed as if waking from a peaceful slumber…
That wasn’t a nightmare, was it? He thought he could manage it all but in the end he just…broke as soon as he saw Ajay lying there with a bullet through his shoulder—wait, is he okay? Was he brought to safety? Did the Suite now think he was involved?
“Hey, don’t worry—you're safe here.”
Mahimit blinked, finally taking note of their surroundings. They were lying in a plain white bed, first aid boxes and equipment scattered about—the architect remembered the claws raking at their back throughout the night. Their torso had been bandaged up thoroughly: their long coat was laid out across a table, while their shirt was currently in Windy’s hands, who must have paused in stitching back up one of the tears when she noticed them awake.
“W-where am I?” Mahi asked. “Is Ajay safe? Where is he?”
“Jon got him to a hospital as soon as he could,” a voice called out from the door. Mahi looked over to see who looked like a detective walking in, followed by the two he recognised having gone after Zafar back then—no, not Zafar. “Had to be more careful with you given how well known you are, Mahimit—or do you prefer Hira?”
The architect sighed with some relief at that, not finding any deceit in the answer. “Either’s fine…not sure which one’s more ‘me’ anyways.” He looked around at the group settling into the room. “…Where’s the other person who was with you? Is she okay?”
A silence filled the room as the four recalled what Windy recounted once they regrouped—Sonika had lost hope, and ended up attempting to kill an unconscious Mahimit before she was stopped by Windy which caused the PI to run off.
Steric didn’t look it, but he was probably one of the most affected within PINDROP. While diving into his work wasn’t the healthiest coping mechanism, he had been increasingly concerned for Sonika’s health and disposition—so to hear that she not only ran off, but wanted to dispand PINDROP was crushing. “She…she ended up leaving.” He refocused onto Mahimit. “You said you’re unsure about yourself—would you be willing to answer why?”
Hira chuckled. “I guess I do owe you some answers. Well, I first went out as ‘Hira’ right around when I manifested my Stand—but then I ended up going out as them more often. Started to look into stuff about myself without the pressure of being the perfect son on my back…haven’t felt I’ve had the chance to really do so since I came back to Rakin.”
“Because of Zafar?” Inago asked, taking a nearby seat. “You don’t have to answer more than you’re comfortable with, but…you only went berserk after you thought he had just shot your friend.”
“Yup,” Windy nodded, setting aside the shirt and needle. “And I couldn’t help but notice ya stopped letting that Stand control ya once Sonika said out loud that it wasn’t your pa.”
Mahi winced. “…Yeah, I thought it was Zafar. He was a great parent and I never wanted to let him down, but things got so out of hand that when that last piece dropped I just…shattered, I guess. Though even if he was told it probably wouldn’t matter…”
“And why’s that?” Steric asked, jotting down some notes.
“He’s stubborn, sticks to how he thinks things are. If anything challenges his view on a friend or ally of his, he’ll just ignore it and carry on. He’s going to learn that I was Tamas and he’ll shrug it off and forget about it, as usual. Probably the sole reason he’s still in the Metro is because he truly believes that they’re doing what’s best for the city—something I found quickly wasn’t the case.”
Drippy stepped forward. “About that: why were you in there in the first place, and for how long? And what do you know about the Middleman?”
“…I can’t tell you anything about them.” Hira spoke, eyes glancing away from her.
“W-why!?” Drippy almost yelled out. “What reason do you all possibly have to not want them stopped?!”
“Well, you plan on killing them once you know, aren’t you?”
“Yes! Perhaps if you actually told us then maybe we could see why we shouldn’t put down this person taking utmost glee in murder. I don’t get why you and Rasna are willing to protect this guy.”
“…Trust me, if I could have stopped them I would have years ago. But if Rasna’s refused to tell you, you should be able to figure out why, right?”
“…they’ve suffered a lot, haven’t they?” Inago asked somberly. “That must be why they’re how they are today.”
“Oh, so they can get off free after everything they did?” Drippy retorted.
Steric put his hands between the two lest things escalated. “We can discuss this later—at the very least that is a lead.” He turned to the guest. “As for the other questions?”
Mahi nodded. “It was a month or two after I began working towards getting into the City Planning Board. Things weren’t looking as good as I hoped, when my father decided to bring me down to see these friends of his. I was offered a deal: they would pull some strings to help get me onto the board as long as I was willing to put forward some things they wanted…even then I figured something was off, but if it meant I could help this city I thought it was worth it. Oh how wrong I was…”
Steric sighed, finishing up with his notepad before putting away his pen. “I think that will be all then…thank you for your time. We’ll leave you to rest now.”
Inago followed the PINDROP members out, looking over his shoulder one last time: “Before I forget, anything you want for breakfast?”
Mahi thought for a moment. “Pancakes?”
Windy hopped off her chair and walked closer to Hira. “You’re a kind soul deep down, aren’t ya? Even as violent as you were, ya never tried to kill anyone…”
“But I just tried to kill you! It wasn’t me but it was born from me…messed with my thoughts as well as my body. So glad my therapist is a Stand user, thank fu—dge.”
She chuckled at the self-censorship. “But you fought back in the end, didn’t ya? I think I understand the feeling of getting puppeted though, and I know Luna and Alex should be able to help with the memory stuff. If you ever want to talk about it, feel free—we’d be happy to.”
“Sure,” Mahi nodded, lying back down into the bed as they allowed themself to smile. “…Thank you.”
Scenario: Verve Residence, Sapatibhatt — 10:23AM
Clink.
The teacup rattled against the table, empty. Idly, Gioia Arancini glanced over the lid, curious to see the shape of her future reflected in the tea leaves. She didn’t believe in that stuff, but Fate had taken stranger forms. Besides, Evergreen had done a lot these past few weeks. She couldn’t help but wonder…
“You were right, Gioia!” Soichi piped up from beside her, sipping on his own cup, “this is really good!”
In front of them, Vasant Verve sheepishly wrung his hands, giving them both a little smile. “I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch, haha…! It really is the least I can do, while you’re here.”
They could not meet at Urban Hymns, as the estate had been closed since Gioia and Charvet fought the man a few weeks prior. Though she had expected the two of them would get arrested, Verve himself had told the authorities that he would not press charges. In return, Gioia had been checking in with him, making sure he was back on his feet, and that ｢Cage The Elephant｣ was well and truly gone.
“Mm,” Gioia nodded, “give Vasudha my thanks as well,”
“No problem, dear!” a woman shouted from another room. Verve had little desire to return to his cabin, so in the meantime he was staying in his younger sister’s house.
For a moment, there was silence. Verve was perfectly still, as if one wrong move would shatter this tenuous peace. Soichi was content to drink in the cozy atmosphere. Gioia was staring at the tea leaves. What shape did they form?

The peace on Mount Parapollah was just as tenuous. Muuru had returned to the mountain now that the sand worms slumbered and the shifting had stopped. There was once a being who was to the Mountain as Muuru was to the City. The being was gone, now, and the Suite was filling in the gaps with trucks and bulldozers. As Muuru watched, a woman with a flute sat down beside him and smiled. Whatever happened next, the Mountain and the City moved together.

Gioia was drawn back to reality as Soichi spoke. “So, what have you been doing during your time off?”
“Oh?” Verve blinked. “Not much, I suppose! Just some odd jobs, here and there, mostly in the South. Just trying to help the rebuilding efforts, you know? Fix what I broke.” He grimaced a moment, before deflecting back to Soichi.
“What about you? It’s usually just Gioia checking in, I haven’t seen you since, you know…”
“The whole New York thing?” Soichi chuckled. “I’ve been alright, yeah. As rough as it was, we ended up making friends with those Riders! Sometimes you need an unlikely situation to help you come together, you know?”
Evergreen had certainly faced unlikely situations before. Gioia mused on this as she looked at the leaves.

The flute was not the only instrument that echoed through Rakin. As Deacon Blues wandered through the Sapatibhatt, the song of his trumpet followed behind. The land, once torn apart, was being rebuilt. The scars from his battle with the weaponsmith were fading, but the man still taught him a valuable lesson. The hand that wields a weapon can also wield a tool. Maybe this was the nature of potential. Whatever it was, Deacon figured it was worth a song.

Gioia glanced up from the cup, giving Verve a smirk. “Tough times help you realize who your real friends are. You’ve realized that too, I’m sure. Thanks to our efforts, the Metropolis Suite is having a tough time of their own. I wonder how quickly they’ll turn on each other?”
“Xen was already convinced they were out to get him. He kept going on about this Stand, ｢Diamond Life｣. No matter what he did for the Suite, it never told him who its user was. It drove him crazy–I think he was trying to solve that one himself.”
“Did he succeed?”
“I don’t think so. It’s not like he could strike a deal with The Gossip, he didn’t have anything ｢She｣ wanted. I’m sure that drove him crazy too.” There was still a sorrow in his voice.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Soichi smiled quietly, patting the man on the arm. Gioia nodded in turn, before she continued.
“Have you had any contact with him?”
“Not really. His assistant texted me, apparently the folks at Hymnal are on indefinite paid leave, until I figure out what to do. I guess that’s on me.” Verve paused a moment, grimacing. “Apparently he might still be at the cottage? I don’t know—I’m not going to—I’m not ready to talk to him, yet.”
“You don’t ever have to talk to him again,” Gioia responded. “I’m sure he’s cowering in the dark now that we’ve exposed his true nature. The other members of Metropolis should realize they’re soon to follow.”
Indeed, the members of Evergreen might not have the same methods…but they were united in this cause. Would this define their future? Gioia glanced over at the tea leaves.

The immortal had lived through countless riots, but the Bedtown Takeover was one of his favorites. He had returned to the area, replaying his grand speech, looking at the bloodstains that marked this territory. Sure, now that Aco’s child had appeared, VULTURE was considering new leadership. But that didn’t matter to Ouroboros, content to remain the (Self-Appointed) Secret Lord of Bedtown. Behind him, Honeydew was simply content to dismantle car batteries.

Gioia glanced back at Verve to see his brow furrowed.
“I can’t believe I ever got involved with those bastards,” he scowled. “Deep down, I knew they were trouble—I talked to Xen about Sing Now!, he just said…sometimes the only way to reach a common goal is to work with people you don’t agree with. He almost made it make sense.”
“He was a smooth-talking control freak. I’m sure you’ve realized how empty those words were.”
Verve rested his chin in his hand, staring into his own empty cup. In the end, all he saw were scattered leaves. No one was guiding him now. No one but himself. “…That’s not all he was. I think he really believed it, you know? That he was doing good. I wanted to believe it too, more than anything. But I think he was just trying to justify it to himself. Even when he had his doubts.”
Gioia curled her fingers around the teacup. “What about you, Verve? What do you think ‘good’ is?”
At this, the man laughed bittersweetly. “You think I can answer that? I thought Xen had the answer, and look where that got us. If you think you’re the only guy who can change the world, you’ll just make it worse.”
He looked up at Soichi. “We saw what his world looks like,” then to Gioia, “he would have trapped us both inside, if not for you.”
It seemed the Suite had a lot of cities within cities, living symbols of their control. Gioia took one last look at the symbol in her cup.

Disco D Lune had been keeping up with her contacts at the military base, catching up with the most recent happenings. Apparently, there had been a falling-out between the general and his child: an opportunity to sew doubt and dissent amongst the ranks. Disco had already designed new buildings to replace this one, and they were beautiful.

“You’re a free man, Verve,” Gioia concluded, staring him down. “So what will you do with that freedom?”
Verve looked between the two, but found no answers. Now, his choices were his own. In the end, the answer was simple.
“…I want to make things right. The Suite they… they ruined my home, they ruined him, they ruined me. I’m tired of seeing kids get pulled into this. Rasna, Ichi, and now poor Mahamit…” Behind him, warm air sang with the soft trumpet of ｢Bitter Sweet Symphony｣. “It needs to end. Those kids, my nieces, all of them, all of us. We all need a city that we can call home.”
Gioia smiled, closing her eyes contentedly as she felt the heat roll over her. Beside her, she could feel Soichi resting a hand on her shoulder. She didn’t even need to see his smile to feel its warmth. She didn’t need to see the leaves to know the shape of her future. She had known many homes, many stories, many tragedies and triumphs. But right now, home was a tree, Evergreen. Seasons changed, and yet its leaves would always flourish.
Soichi glanced at the cup in her stead. To him, the leaves just seemed like a weird square. But soon that shape was washed away, as he poured them all another cup of warm and fragrant tea.
“Well said! This calls for a toast. To new friends!”
Clink!

Scenario: Hymnal Bazaar, Reshmerasta — 8:58 PM
The market was closed for the evening. This curfew was in place ever since the Middleman attacked. The Bazaar was already struggling—if people were too scared to walk around at night, then why bother staying open? Even when the Bazaar was open, the stall for Urban Hymns stood empty. But for a broom, only a lone figure stood there. Verve used to sweep while his employees handled everything else.
His boyfriend once asked him why he did that.
’It makes me feel like I’m doing something–” he had laughed, “I’m leaving this place better than I found it!’
Verve had a lovely laugh, the figure recalled, staring at the broom.
Slowly, he knelt down to pick it up.
Then, Xenagoras took a deep breath,
and swept the streets that he used to own.

Scenario: ???, ??? — 9:07 PM
“It’s simple, gentlemen…”
The sound of chatter and slow music. The smell of pristine tobacco and the clinking of glasses. This outlined the leadership of the Metropolis Suite, holed up in a skyscraper that overlooked the whole of Rakin. To their right, a window—one that replaced the whole wall, showing the nighttime lights. It almost looked like an alien world, the way the dark purples and reds of the late sunset stretched across the blinking gleams of windows and signs. A single man spoke, an esteemed guest trying his best to rise in their ranks: Luiviton.
“With a little bit of push, we could completely criminalize a number of traffic violations. Of course, they’re already illegal—but I’m talking perfect driving. Instead of community service, we give fines that cut chunks out of bank accounts. Instead of towing cars, we give jail time. I have contacts in the private prison industry who would be willing to pay us good money to multiply the conviction rates~! All it takes is a little bit of sacrifice from Rakin’s people.”
The table was silent. A voice piped up- that of Sing Now!, media conglomerate CEO and one of the Suite’s primary figures of authority. “That’s an awful idea, Luiviton.”
He blanched. “E-Excuse me?” He asked, flabbergasted. “We could stand to gain-”
Sing Now! interrupted him swiftly and curtly. “It doesn’t matter how much we ‘stand to gain’ from selling our city’s soul to prison moguls. You’re a good friend, but everytime you come up here with a suggestion it’s always some kind of short-sighted scheme to make money. That’s not what this thing of ours is about.”
That earned a couple of nods and a “Damn straight.” from Zafar at his left.
He continued. “If we overcriminalize poor driving, what we’re doing is sacrificing Rakin’s workforce in exchange for…nothing. We would completely freeze important institution who are suddenly bleeding key figures and employees who’ve made simple mistakes. We’re not parasites or petty tyrants. We’re leaders. We do these backdoor deals not to increase our wealth, but our resources which we must use for everyone’s benefit. We must direct the people, not root through their pockets.”
Conversation erupted, primarily economic in nature. Some offered to take care of the market in Xenagoras’s stead. Others offered grants to the arts. Others pointed to the need for construction and repairs. Some tried to give statistics on rising rates of crime and discontent within Rakin’s citizens.
One key figure of the Suite, however, was absent. She stood a few meters away, staring out the window at the city below. Her stance was relaxed, yet firm. As if she was on guard against some invisible threat. She held a small glass of scotch in one hand, occasionally sipping from it. She seemed tired. Very, very tired. This was Zhengqi Dianyou, the CEO of the Rakin Rail Corporation. Occasionally, she’d let out a yawn.
Sitting on a loveseat nearby was Ichi Ni San Go—the charge of Sing Now! who was currently too distracted to really remember she existed. Without a babysitter, she was content to simply exist next to Zhengqi, looking out the window with her at the beauty of the city and occasionally asking simple, childish questions.
They were approached by a figure, glowing in the light. Someone followed close behind.
｢Diamond Life｣, the Stand of the every-mysterious head of the Metropolis Suite. Said user hung close behind. Zhengqi always found her boss’s habit of speaking through their Stand peculiar; she understood it as a security tactic, but it often came up even in casual scenarios. “Enjoying the event, you two?” It asked. Its tone was genuine—the Stand could be a tool of intimidation whenever its user willed it so, and this wasn’t that.
Zhengqi just grunted, turning around and finishing off the scotch. She set the glass down on a nearby table, looking at ｢Diamond Life｣. “I’ve never understood how it’s so easy for you to talk through that thing—”
｢Diamond Life｣ shot forward with incredible speed, shushing the name with a single finger gently placed on her lips. “Careful, Ms. Dianyou. The end of the table. Do you see him?”
Her eyes crept towards the table, landing on a man nodding idly to the talk. Iron Butterfly was a member of the Suite who often remained in the background; to her understanding, he helped keep the Suite in control over a good deal of the crop farming in the more rural parts of Rakin. She looked back at the Stand, and it elaborated: “He’s wearing a wire. Loose lips aren’t ideal tonight.”
Zhengqi just sighed, running her hand through her hair as her other put ｢Diamond Life｣’s hand back down. “I’ll take care of him after the meeting.” She offered. ｢Diamond Life｣ chuckled, willingly pulling their hand back.
“I’d appreciate it- I had originally planned on handling the issue myself. You’re always putting your best foot forward with us—it’s something I value.”
She gave a weak smile. “It’s nothing, really. Just me giving back for everything the Suite’s done for me.”
Ichi piped up, eagerly watching the conversation. “I think Ms. Dianyou works too much…she’s always so tired and never has any time to play games or watch cartoons or do anything!”
Zhengqi did her best to put on a friendly smile. “Ichi…when you get older, sometimes you just don’t have the time for-”
｢Diamond Life｣ interrupted her. “She’s right, you know. You overwork yourself. I was being polite about it before, talking about your best foot forward- but I do worry.”
She looked at ｢Diamond Life｣ sternly. “We don’t exactly have the time to rest. I’m certain you’ve seen the news. People are starting to figure out we exist. People are hiring private detectives and holding protests. Things are starting to unravel. We need to act before things break so hard they can’t be put back together.”
｢Diamond Life｣ stood up straight, looking her in the eyes. “Trust me. I have plans, and they involve you. Both of you.”
Ichi immediately raised a little in her seat, glowing a little. “Me~? Really~?”
A friendly chuckle escaped from ｢Diamond Life｣’s nonexistent lips. “Yes, you.” A dour look plastered across its face as it looked back at Zhengqi. “I’m going to need you to handle…key targets. I want certain people out of the way and key infrastructure mapped and maintained for your “ability”—it’ll be valuable to us should the ire of the populace come to a head. Past that, rest. Allow your subordinates at Zuantou Rail to handle things. Take a long holiday. We don’t need an exhausted zombie, we need you.”
Zhengqi could only reply with silence. She knew better than to argue with ｢Diamond Life｣, but to stop working? It felt alien to her. She was tempted to clutch at her sternum from the thought.
“As for you, Ichi…” The Stand continued. “I want you to gather info for me on some of the Stand users around the city.”
Ichi innocently kicked her feet. “How am I ‘sposed to do that? I dunno any cool spy stuff, and Daddy said-”
“I’ll handle your father, don’t worry.” ｢Diamond Life｣ said, walking forward and cupping Ichi’s cheek in their clawed hand. “I just want you to make friends, okay? Go out. Explore. Meet people, as many as you can. Participate in their lives and conflicts. Tell me everything you see and hear, okay?”
Ichi just nodded, smiling widely.
“Perfect,” replied the Stand. They drew their arm back, clasping their hands together. “But enough about work. Have you two tried the finger food that’s been provided? It’s truly divine.”
Scenario: Mili's Diner, Mist City — 7:37PM
The bell above the entrance rang late into the dusk, announcing the arrival of a certain happy customer. He hummed cheerily to himself, taking a seat behind the counter and giving her regards to the woman behind the counter. His order was the same as it was every time he came here, and yet he always flipped through the menu anyway. He was a cheerful, easygoing man, despite everything.
His name was Steric Lou Farin, recently self-appointed head of PINDROP. He hadn’t been planning on it, but with the sudden departure of Sonika, the team needed someone to step up fast. He was the most experienced in the field of investigation and had the sort of charisma the role required. He didn’t mind taking the lead, either. If anything, it made his work a little easier.
Speaking of work, that was the reason for this visit—good as the food was. He glanced over to the other two customers, talking quietly amongst themselves, and smiled. Both were of particular interest.
The first was one Brighid Rhodes. He’d sparred with her a few months back, and an exchange of business cards had proved extremely wise when he needed assistance in dealing with one Texas Aco. She was the one to finally calm her down in the end—albeit forcefully, but all’s well that ends well.
Speaking of which, Texas Aco sat at the counter now, talking in hushed mumbles to Brighid. The notable thing there being that she was talking now. She had been silent in the immediate aftermath of her rampage, but after spending some time at Brighid’s, Steric had gotten the call today that she’d been ready to speak.
“I hope you all had a safe drive here,” he chuckled to himself. “It’s awfully rainy out, isn’t it?”
“Nothing too bad.” Brighid exhaled, and Texas nodded with her, sipping on a chocolate milkshake. Her misshapen insect arm was hidden under a worn old coat draped over her shoulder. Brighid gave the detective a particular glance, and Steric took that as a sign to get to questioning.
“So, Texas…” He cleared his throat, making sure he had the girl’s attention. “I’m sorry for calling you out so soon. You ever want to stop talking about all this, let me know. I don’t want to do you any harm.”
“Mmm.” Texas nodded again.
“Now, I understand you’ve had, er, a difficult last few months.” That was no understatement: she’d been directly responsible for an attempted VULTURE mutiny. It failed, and drove her off into hiding god-knows-where. “In particular, I’d like to ask you about your relationship to VULTURE. It’s a piece of the puzzle here I haven’t entirely been able to ascertai-”
“I’m taking over VULTURE.” Texas deadpanned. Brighid sighed.
“I told you that isn’t the best idea.” The lawyer attempted to flick her on the forehead. “That’s too dangerous. No way you can get it done on your own.”
“No, I mean, like-” Texas grumbled. “She literally told me I could have it. The old boss.”
Brighid blinked a few times. She hadn’t heard about that. Steric nodded.
“Ms. Kaliya told me she’d been in contact with you. She said you’d been pretty against taking the leadership role, though.” Steric raised an eyebrow. “What changed?”
“…It sucks here, man.” Texas smirked. “Even with all the bullshit charities, shit’s gone bad after Rasna left. I’m sure you caught wind of that. Guys turning up dead left and right—there was a fight at a funeral, right? Whole place got blown to smithereens. What the fuck, man.”
“Ahah, yes.” Steric winced. “Quite the festivity, wasn’t it.”
“The place needs someone to step up. And with that little rampage I went on…” She looks embarrassed, for a moment. “I think I’ve got the rep to fill her shoes. Er. Maybe. I’m not really that scary, but, uh…”
“Ms. Kaliya told me you weren’t of that sort of opinion before.” Steric raised his eyebrow again, tapping his pen against his notepad. “What changed?”
“…Nothing, really. I just.” Texas chuckled, reclining on her stool. “I don’t really think anything I’ll do will have any difference. But I can’t stop myself from trying, either. I don’t think she’d want me to, either.”
Brighid placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder, glancing down at her. “Long as you come back to my place when you’re done. I trust you, but you should have a bed to sleep on.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
Steric grinned. This was a good development! A bit risky, sure, but it gave him in an in. “Say!” He stopped absentmindedly chewing on his pen’s tip. “Y’think you’d be willing to help us out? VULTURE’s assistance would be a great help…and something tells me we’ve got a common goal.”
“I’ll think on it.” Was Texas’s only response. Brighid flicked her on the forehead again. “Ow! Okay, fine, yeah, I’ll help. You guys don’t seem that bad.”
Steric clasped his hands together. One step closer. “Ah, and you too, Miss Rhodes.”
“Hah?” Brighid scoffed. “I don’t think anyone with me is gonna be much help-”
“I think that’s, er, preposterous.” He tapped his notepad a few times. “I did some looking into the work your people’ve done recently. For museum staff, you folks sure are prolific. A boat raid is quite the accomplishment. Hmm, hmm~.”
“Well, er…” Brighid sighed. Her group had had a history of engaging in combat. Entities like Paranoia and Markov were practically built for it, but her group had had similar exploits recently: Ruby’s left her fight with the swordsman at the art college relatively unharmed, and Roxanne had managed to charm an ex-member of Metropolis. Despite how weird all of them were, they were useful in a variety of ways; it made sense Steric wanted their assistance.
“Alright. I’ll get them to help out.” Much as she didn’t trust some of them with heroism, Brighid found herself more involved than she’d anticipated—and getting into the action herself meant she could help keep Texas as safe as possible, despite everything. “But you gotta help out with the museum. We’re, uh, still working on reconstruction.”
“No worries. I think I’ve got a few artifacts here and there. They’d be fit for your collection.” Steric’s phone buzzed—he rose and nodded at the two. “It’s been a pleasure, folks, but the life of a detective is ever so busy. Be seeing you.” With that, he grabbed his coat and strode away, leaving a good third of his burger.
Several oversized flies crawled out from beneath Texas’s coat, nibbling on the leftovers. “You really okay with me, uh, y’know…” Texas made a few vague gestures with her hands. “It’s a big thing to, uh, undertake. I figured you’d try to stop me.”
“I doubt I’d be able to.” Brighid chuckled. “‘Sides, you’re a pretty tough kid. I was pretty rough and tumble when I was your age, and look how I turned out. I’m a lawyer and everything.”
Texas nodded, returning to her milkshake. She was an ant under an elephant’s foot—she’d become well aware of that. But even so; even an ant had its resolve, and a swarm could pick apart a carcass. Even if it was only delusion, she’d do what she could. Mom would’ve liked that.
“Mmm.” She grinned. “Here goes.”

<=TO BE CONTINUED==

Link to Official Player Spreadsheet
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As always, if you would like to interact with the tournament community and be among the first to get updates for the tournament, please feel free to PM a member of our Judge staff for an invite to our Official Discord Server!

Luka instructed us to cycle through three tasks at the start of every chat.
We first had to check on the subscriber’s emotional state—are they happy, sad, bored, excited? After that, we were supposed to perform an activity check—what is the subscriber doing, did they have a tough day? Lastly, and most importantly, we had to find a way to assess how much money they might be willing to spend on photos and videos of the creator we were imitating. This involves titillating the subscriber a bit, then sending them some modestly priced content that they must pay to unlock. If the subscriber makes the purchase quickly and affirms in writing that they enjoyed what they saw, the next step is to introduce more expensive options into the conversation.
Luka also told us to study all the customer data available on Infloww, the software his agency uses to manage its chats.
Infloww tracks how much each subscriber has spent on pay-per-view content and tips, providing chatters with an easy way to differentiate between the two kinds of clients: “brokies” and “ballers.” We were under strict orders to devote minimal time to the former so we could lavish attention on the latter. Our goal with ballers was to “farm” them—to use our dramatic talents to sell the visual aids they need to fuel their gradual journeys toward orgasm. “If you’re able to play with people’s desires, you’re gonna maximize your cash flow, a hundred percent,” Luka said. “We have literal slaves on this account, meaning these people are so in love and obsessed and literally infatuated by anything that the girl does that they will open up their wallet to about $100,000 a month. And they will literally dump it all onto the girl. Just dumping, dumping, dumping, because we’ve done a good job of evaluating these people and dominating them and giving them enough praise.”
Luka seemed to regard all subscribers as chumps and to take delight in outfoxing them.
“I’ve done sales for, like, internet and robotics and all this other fucking shit,” he said toward the end of his lecture. “You always focus on what’s going to make the customer want more right now. You’re selling sex, guys—it’s so easy for you to make sales. But you need to make these relations, you need to make these fucking stories in their head.
I wanted to believe that I would be a less predatory chatter than Luka if given the chance.
But I was starting to worry I might never reach that point: Luka had noted that 450 people had taken the agency’s last qualification exam, which he and his colleagues were grading by hand.
I HAD RESIGNED myself to spending weeks in employment limbo when I caught an unexpected break:
I heard back from a German agency that I’d forgotten I’d applied to, and they were in desperate need of someone to fill the 4 pm–to–midnight shift for one of their creators. The wage was $4 per hour, no commission.
The agency’s manager sent me a background memo about the woman I’d be playing, a purported 21-year-old university student blessed with physical proportions that are in vogue these days. To ensure that my performance was as authentic as possible, I spent two hours committing all of her details to memory: her favorite programming language, her favorite sushi roll, her favorite classic rock band, the width of her rear end. The memo also contained notes regarding her preferred chatting style (I had to strive to be “40 percent girly”) and a pricing guide to all the exclusive content in her “vault.”
When I logged in to the agency’s Discord server at the appointed hour, I found that I was not alone: A polite yet humorless supervisor was on duty, and he walked me through how to install and navigate the CreatorHero software that his firm uses to engage with subscribers.
He also told me to beware of anyone who had a red X by their name—those were longtime brokies who’d worn out their welcome and were thus entitled to only the hastiest of interactions.
I had nearly 100 unanswered messages to sift through when I began, and subscribers often replied quickly when I pinged them back. This made for an exhausting experience as I tried to juggle dozens of simultaneous conversations about various subjects, all without breaking character. I constantly had to remind myself that I was not myself, but rather a woman on the other side of the country whose life had almost nothing in common with my own.
There was one instance in which I was tempted to drop my charade.
A truck driver and single dad told me his son was recovering from an awful night. When I asked what had happened, I was moved by the rawness of his response. “He just has night terrors so some nights are horrible,” he wrote. “He will wake up but he will be screaming with no way of calming him down or anything, it’s really sad.”
The father in me wanted to send a long and heartfelt note in solidarity, to offer some anecdote from my own kids’ younger years to let him know such moments of helplessness are unavoidable parts of parenting.
But I couldn’t do that, of course, since I was supposed to be a 21-year-old sex worker who exudes a sense of carefree fun. “You’re such a good dad for doing everything you can to help him,” was the most authentic consolation I could concoct without betraying my true identity; the subscriber did not reply before my shift ended at midnight.
As I prepared to log off, my supervisor gave me no kudos for being kind to a struggling dad.
He instead gently criticized me for being too meek about selling content to customers who were clearly ripe to masturbate. I could keep the job, but I’d have to get better at valuing commerce over art.
Two days later, I was invited to shadow a star chatter, whom I’ll call Elvin, as he impersonated a jet-setting creator, a woman famous enough to sell hoodies emblazoned with her likeness.
The reason Elvin had been selected as an exemplar quickly became apparent: He was a chatting savant who operated a tick faster than seemed humanly possible. He wove in and out of dozens of conversations with ease, never failing to tailor his writing to each subscriber. In the space of a minute, I watched him quiz one man about Drake lyrics, indulge a second man’s taste for degradation, then provide a third man with a lovey-dovey but manipulative “girlfriend experience.” (“If you want me to be with you, I need your wallet to be with me,” he wrote to that last subscriber. “Forever and always.”) I had kept up with multiple chats, too, but never with such dexterity or style. My gut told me that no matter how much I honed my craft, Elvin would forever be a class above me.
Yet like Luka, he also oozed contempt for the subscribers he was entertaining.
This disdain emerged in his typed asides to me, in which he emphasized that the creator’s moments of sincerity were all for show. “This is so he feels it is not just about the money,” he messaged me after pleading with a subscriber to send a dick pic; he didn’t open the photo when it arrived, and immediately got the man to spend upward of $400 on videos.
The most egregious example of Elvin’s rapacity was his use of “points.”
When one subscriber became hesitant to purchase more content, Elvin persuaded him to press forward by promising to award him another “point” if he spent an additional $200. Perhaps sensing that I was puzzled by his lingo, Elvin used the notes field in Infloww to send me a message about the maneuver he was making on behalf of the creator. “He thinks there is such a thing as points,” Elvin wrote, “and if he earns enough he gets to fuck her.”
I gamed out the various ways in which this ruse might end, and every outcome was depressing.
One day the subscriber will realize he has wasted a fortune in pursuit of a lie, at which point there will be a heavy emotional toll to be paid. Some may think he deserves that comeuppance for getting hoodwinked by such a selfish fantasy, and I understand the moral logic behind that view. But as I watched him succumb to Elvin’s ample literary charms, my dominant feeling was one of pity. And now I worried that if I lingered in the chatting world for much longer, I’d be forced to lose something that so many of us have struggled to retain: the ability to empathize with people we know only through words on a screen.
THE PROS AND cons of self-delusion have been much on my mind since I emerged from the OnlyFans haze.
Though I encountered a few true weirdos while passing myself off as a creator, most of my chat partners seemed, at the very least, like halfway reasonable and competent adults. If they ever were to pause to consider the logistics of the platform where they seek sexual and romantic solace, they’d realize there’s no way the unattainable women they covet have the time or inclination to chat with them. I want to believe these men—and it was only men I encountered, as far as I know—have chosen to avoid such reflection because it would diminish their relief from loneliness.
For those whose use of OnlyFans borders on addiction, the scales may fall from their eyes only after they can no longer afford their preferred means of escape.
-Brendan Koerner, excerpted from I Went Undercover as a Secret OnlyFans Chatter. It Wasn’t Pretty.

I bought Nebraska today and updated the game to 1.50 as well. What immediately ruined my day is the fact my custom truck skins are gone, so is my custom company logo (here I expected it to happen as they changed the UI).
But why don't the trucks work anymore? I have to admit, I'm no pro modder, I've done the mods in a rather unprofessional way by not adding new skins to the game, but using existing skins and simply changing the parameters of them and replacing the original textures with mine. Like this:

• extracting the specific truck DLC .scs file
• only keeping the folders and files I wanted to modify (files containing the information about the truck skin, its name, unlock criteria and price; then the skin thumbnail and the skin itself)
• changing these files (the textures in DTXBmp), packing them into a .zip file, then renaming it to .scs and adding that file to the list of mods in the save directory

With this update, the skins retain their custom names and price, but the actual textures reverted back to default ones. This makes the game unplayable for me and I won't have time and passion until early July to fix my mods (which would then leave me a week or two to do the Nebraska event). For SEVEN years, I did not have to change a thing about this approach (though I'm FULLY aware it was not a good one to begin with). Now, it simply doesn't work. I have a fleet of over 100 trucks, vast majority of them on custom skins.
Pardon me for not checking the files myself first, as I said I'm pretty busy with way more important stuff as I'd rather write this post and ask others if they perhaps experience something similar (though don't really expect that to happen as I'm sure you have your custom skins done properly).
The update was massive, 17 GBs, so it is very much likely that they have modified almost everything.
In case I'm forced to change my mods, what is the proper way of adding a new skin instead of rewriting an existing one under this version of the game? I'd also like to change my company logo again for my own custom one.
Thanks to anyone who can provide any insight.

Moving brokers act as intermediaries between customers and moving companies, helping to facilitate the booking process. They do not own trucks or employ movers, but instead work to find a suitable moving company for the customer's needs. Moving brokers typically do not handle the physical aspects of the move but focus on the logistics.
On the other hand, moving companies are the ones directly responsible for the transportation of goods. They own their fleet of trucks, have their team of movers, and handle the entire moving process from start to finish. Customers deal directly with the moving company for scheduling, pricing, and any issues that may arise during the move.
While moving brokers can provide convenience by finding options and obtaining quotes from multiple moving companies, some customers prefer the control and direct communication offered by working with a moving company. It is essential to understand the role of each when planning a move to determine which option best suits your needs.
Please search every moving company that is handling your long distance move with the Department of Transportation and The Federal Motor Carrier Safety Administration for proper licensing and insurance requirements. Let us know if you have any questions about your choice of moving company.
You can search them by name or DOT Number at this website: https://safer.fmcsa.dot.gov/companysnapshot.aspx

As a leader in the truck rental industry, celebrating our 45th year in business this year, and as the largest independently owned truck rental in the Chicagoland area, we serve our customers with an unparalleled standard of excellence. Our associates get to share in our success and the success of our customers. Since we deal with a lot of startups and individually owned businesses, we are looking for passionate, customer-focused individuals to be a part of our dynamic team.
We are a family-owned business and everyone who works in our organization is part of the family. This family point of view is exactly why we want to take care of you AND your family.
-We do not pay on commission; we offer a competitive base rate with bonus potential based on overall team performance.
-We focus on providing you a time off package that is generous for retail. You accrue 2 weeks of vacation in your first year! The longer you work with us, the more vacation time you earn.
-We offer very competitive Medical Benefits
About the Role:
Your role as a customer service associate is to deliver the ultimate experience for every one of our customers. This individual will be utilizing our web-based computer program, assisting multiple customers both in-person and on the phone while providing the great service our customers have come to expect.
You will be asked to step out into the lot with a customer to show the features on a truck and to pull up and park trucks. Must be detail-oriented with good math skills. Our goal is to ensure our customers receive the highest level of service; the experience YOU create is the reason for their return. If you enjoy providing customers with a great in-store experience and you have high attention to detail, this is the place for you!
Requirements:

• Must have a High School Diploma.
• 1+ year of customer service experience required. (Retail industry experience preferred)
• Polished and professional with a “customer first” attitude.
• Excellent verbal and written communication skills.
• Enjoys process efficiency and is highly detail-oriented.
• Ability to recall transactions and details from earlier in the day, week or month.
• Be able to function in a fast-paced environment with the rest of the team and the ability to stay organized or adjust to changing inventories.
• Must have a Valid Driver's license and be 21 or older.
• Some experience with Word and Excel programs is preferred.
• Be able to lift 25 lbs.

If this sounds like a good fit for you, please email us a copy of your resume to [recon-impacts.0j@icloud.com](mailto:recon-impacts.0j@icloud.com) and tell us why you think you would be a good fit for the positions. We look forward to hearing from you.

Here's my Smuggler's Run Part 2/ aircraft related update idea
VEHICLES

• Cargobob. Always a reliable workhorse even after several nerfs. I think it deserves the first mention above all.
  • Restore its day 1 capability. Lift strength, speed, no invisible walls
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. The standard 3, plus "motorhome" styles. more agencies.
  • Weapon positions. Copilot nose, pilot winglets, side door, rear door (Rear door, due to sacrificing cargo ability, would be unique ultra heavy weapons, such as explosive bullets, tier 3 missiles, flak trailer gun, or utility upgrade such as jammer, emp railgun, etc.
  • Cargo hook upgrades. Standard, extended, magnet. And add bomber view for lining up targets despite having no bombs.
  • Base speed is increased to be fastest heli in game. (aka, realistic)
  • Add ability to float on its pontoons
  • Add rappel ability
  • Add pickup functionality to other vehicles. Aircrafts, mission vehicles, etc. Unlock the fun for the last year!
  • Price increase to incentivize Rockstar. 5 million
• Annihilator. My personal favorite. Of course I have to mention it because it doesn't annihilate and the Stealth Annihilator was... bad.
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Standard stripe (now secondary color). more agencies (police, fire, coast guard, army) "motorhome" styles, etc.
  • Weapon positions. Copilot nose, extra pilot winglet mounts, doors
  • One of the winglet gun options is explosive ammo (but weak)
  • One of the missile pod options is tier 3 (the only aircraft with them
  • Add cargo hook. (Can only lift small vehicles like current Cargobob)
  • Add pontoon landing gear option to land on water.
  • NOOSE uses the standard Annihilator at 5 stars instead.
  • Price increase to incentivize Rockstar. 7 million
• Cargo Jet. One of the most fun vehicles in the game, and we still can't normally use one in free mode.
  • For Rockstar's peace of mind and game stability, only 6 can be spawned at a time, (including taking into account ones that may be spawned from missions such as the 3 from Smuggler's Run air mission) and they can only spawn at the ends of the big runways at LSIA (4 positions). When destroyed, parts lose collision after several seconds and immediately despawn after falling to the void.
  • Add proper enteexit animation. (climbing into the side door, then up the ladder into the seat, or just up the ladder to the seat if already standing inside)
  • Liveries. Go crazy. Including adding glowing effect options like the blimp. All aboard the party plane!
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Dynamic interior extras. Pallets of crates, barrels, etc, vehicle props
  • Price to incentivize Rockstar. 20 million. End game goal.
  • Exclusive glittering gold, money rain and shark card livery for players that buy a shark card after this update
• Sparrow. Probably most player's most used aircraft other than... that thing. It doesn't need much.
  • Functioning landing skids. Someone at Rockstar flubbed when making this thing and forgot to separate the skids from the body and add suspension, so it takes direct body damage from every landing, even the most delicate of them.
  • Merge the sea sparrow with this one. Pontoons as an upgrade
• Skylift. The ultimate transport chopper.
  • Functioning magnet (on a cable)
  • Extremely strong lift capability. Can lift anything with ease
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Not much room to work with. FD, various stripes, etc.
  • Price to incentivize Rockstar. 4 million
• Titan. A legend that gathers dust
  • Expand cargo area to full proportions, window textures become real see through windows. Can see back of cockpit from inside
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. Engine, Armor, Countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Coast guard, fire, more military, go crazy.
  • "Rainbringer" weapon suite. Adds various weapons to the side which can be operated by passengers
  • Current price is fine. The upgrade costs cover it.
• New vehicle. Based on Mil MI-26. Russia's ultra heavy lift chopper. (Savage's big bro). An absolute gigantic beast of a heli
  • Hook and magnet upgrade. Can easily lift anything like Skylift.
  • Complete cargo area which can see cockpit from inside
  • Typical aircraft upgrades, engine, armor, countermeasures, etc.
  • Liveries. Go crazy.
  • Weapons. Copilot nose, pilot winglets, doors, heavy rear door
  • Price to incentivize Rockstar. 12 million
• Frogger and Maverick. The neglected day 1 helis
  • Liveries. Update standard liveries. (They're a horrible pixel mess). Add more liveries. Agencies, civilian stuff, etc.
  • Typical aircraft upgrades. engine, armor, countermeasures, etc.
  • Basic winglet weapon, jammer, or stealth upgrade options.
  • Add pontoon or retractable wheel landing gear (for more speed).
  • Increase base speed to that of the Akula
• General aircraft changes and/or Aircrafts not specifically mentioned
  • More liveries, weapon options, performance upgrades, etc. and all aircraft now have access to them. Mammatus, Velum, Dodo, etc.
  • New heli handling upgrade option. "Junk Energy Jailbreak" which completely removes auto stabilization so you can do flips n shit.
  • Helis can lose their tail boom/rotor without exploding or getting locked into the "spinout" crash. Like in GTA IV when you could still somewhat control where you were going while spinning via well timed throttle inputs and gentle tilting inputs.
  • Turbulence is now based on vehicle weight and base effect is decreased by 25%. Small aircraft still get rocked around a bit, while big aircraft almost completely ignore it.
  • All vehicles with side doors, whether locked in place or as a texture, now become fully functioning doors. Annihilator, Titan, etc.
  • All helicopters with wheels can now roll/taxi around on them.
  • Engine thrust backblast physics returned, added, and increased for all planes so they can launch stuff around for fun! Cargo jet, etc.
  • Parts can be knocked off easier without the aircraft exploding. Such as wings, weapon winglets, tail boom, etc. For vehicles that can take multiple explosive hits, multiple explosions on some parts can knock them off. Example, 3 shots on a Cargo Jet left wing snaps it.
  • Aircraft customization is now accessible at any airport while stationary, and instead of being done in your own hangar, is now done in a new massive empty hangar interior zone which can fit any aircraft and allow full camera movement all around it. (this way you can park stuff like the cargo jet or blimp on a runway and customize them). Can still customize aircrafts in your hangar as usual, but yeah, that's really only useful for smaller aircraft. The new hangar doesn't need to be crazy detailed. Just a few relevant props dotted around. It's all about the upgrading after all.
  • Can now own 2 hangars. Because we've been asking forever.

Missions/Jobs

• Add more of them to hangars, bunkers, warehouses, nightclub, etc.
• Dynamic cargo storage based on vehicle weight. vehicles weighing up to 2k can "store" 1 cargo item in them. 4k can "store" 2, etc. So a solo player can collect a full cargo run on their own without other players helping or making multiple grueling trips.
• Hangar cargo now spawns like other businesses, not based on how many are in the organization.
• You can now order 4 packages in all businesses instead of only 3.
• New moving vehicle freemode events to steal cargo from a train, cargo jet, cargo ship, and semi convoy
• All mission vehicles can now be blown up to pickup their cargo and transport your own way. However, due to "blowing your cover" npc's such as cops or gangs will come and take it if you leave it unguarded. So you can finally be free of the dreadful post op vans and such, but you should still have a buddy to guard it for you if you don't have a big (heavy enough) vehicle to carry them all at once.

Other changes

• Transport vehicles now have a "lockdown" feature which locks other vehicle in place on them for transport in/on their dedicated transport surfaces and works on as many vehicles as you can fit in/on them. A new "vehicle cargo" mesh will have to be made for relevant vehicle models where they would be expected to hold a vehicle. Locking down a vehicle is controlled by holding the exit button when parking a vehicle. Releasing the vehicle is done by entering it or blowing up either the transport vehicle, or the vehicle being transported. Examples, the cargo bay of the cargo jet, titan, cargobob, etc. the beds of trucks such as pickups, cargo vans, flatbed tow trucks/trailers, etc. car hauler trailer, etc. Some vehicles gain features/functionality to accommodate this new feature. such as the flatbed tow truck bed sliding back and down to the ground for cars to drive up on. car hauler trailer ramp and upper deck going up and down. etc. This can be incentivized for Rockstar by making players want to buy more transport vehicles they normally wouldn't, and taking the time to load/unload vehicles would expose players to pvp opportunities.
• DLC traffic and police variety
• Adding randomizer checkpoints to the content creator
• Adding boat customization zones to docks around the map to park at.
• As many vehicles as possible now spawn as close as possible. Spawn system now looks at nearby road nodes, takes the average, and spawns the vehicle in the middle of them instead of on the side of the road. This grants more room to spawn things like planes and helis. If no roads or any path nodes at all are detected near the player, it'll just spawn right next to them. No more getting trapped on mountains. It'll be up to players to determine if an area is big or flat enough to spawn stuff. Boats are included. They now spawn on trailers if called away from water (could add a new larger boat trailer for bigger boats too, and make the single player semi boat trailer functional for the biggest boats)
• Boats can now be reattached to boat trailers, or locked down to other transport vehicles.
• EMP effect lasts far longer, and can carry far more ammo.
• Bring back GTA V's version of the swingset of death. The gate launch.

That's it from me for now. Let's see what you guys got!

Inspired by trolls on posts about congestion pricing on this sub, I wanted to give a guide to folks who are misunderstood, confused, or otherwise apathetic to congestion pricing and give people a guide to push back against the most common arguments.
1) "It'll never work here" - Sure it will. It has worked in London, Stockholm, and Singapore to great success. The London metro area has about 15m people, not far off from the 19m in NYC. There is nothing that unique about NYC relative to other cities to suggest it won't work.
2) "It's just a cash grab." I love this one. Firstly, this implies that congestion pricing will not lower vehicle travel. Firstly, London, Singapore, Milan, and Stockholm all saw 20-30% reductions in traffic. Back to the first argument - what makes NYC so special that this wouldn't apply?
Unless you've taken the time to dive into their 909 page environmental report to see the kind of intensive modeling they've undertaken, then you're talking out of your ass. The review board estimates that 150k less cars will enter the Central Business District (CBD) every day, amounting to a projected 17% reduction in traffic below 60th street. Unless you have some solid methodological argument as to how the modeling overlooked some key aspect they missed in the decade of studying this, then kindly, you have no clue what you're talking about. It's also positioned to improve air quality, increase use of public transit by 1-2%, improve emergency response times, and a host of other benefits.
The other thing I'd like to point out to it being a cash grab is, "So what if it is?" The MTA is required to raise $1 billion per year from this plan, all of which is required to be used for public transit improvements. Let's say in this hypothetical there is 0 reduction in congestion, and the only thing that happens is that the MTA collects $1 billion a year to improve public transit based on monetizing what people are already doing. They're currently polluting the air, hitting pedestrians and cyclists (such that about 10 people die in the district every year), increasing noise pollution for residents, slowing emergency response times, impeding deliveries for local businesses, and a host of other issues. The least we could do is make them pay for these externalities that we all suffer from to rectify the inequity.
3) "But the MTA is corrupt. Where is all that money actually going?" Yeah, probably. But this is a strawman (and I'd encourage you to find a city or state agency that isn't rife with some form of corruption). Once again, we can flip my prior argument around: let's say that in a hypothetical, $0 of money goes to improving public transit or anything meaningful, but we get a 17% reduction in congestion - that is a win for all the reasons I listed above.
But of course, people also love to overlook the fact that it's not actually $1B, it's $1B that can help secure $15b in bond financing, which the MTA has already laid out a robust plan to show where all of that money is going to go - namely, substantial capital project improvements and long overdue maintenance. Not to mention, I don't hear these same people demanding to see where the money from the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, or Triboro Bridge go to. How is this any different? In a time where fare evasion has increased dramatically post COVID, losing the MTA $700m a year - nearly half of all MTA bus riders on local buses skipped the fare in Q4 2023 - it is more important than ever to ensure we have sustainable income to support our crumbling infrastructure. And no, you absolute buffoon, you do not have a right to skip the fare because the service sucks, any more than you have the right to not pay for a sandwich you ate in its entirety because you decided after the fact you didn't like it.
4) "But the majority of car traffic in the CBD is Ubers and Lyfts, why should everyone else be punished?" Let's get a few things straight. In 2018, about 35% of all vehicles in the CBD were personal automobiles and motorcycles. That is compared to 52% that are for hire vehicles and taxis, so yes, there are more taxis/Ubers/Lyfts than personal vehicles, but personal vehicles make up a substantial portion.
Comparing people whose car is used for work vs. a vehicle that gets you to work is disingenuous. Firstly, people who drive to work overwhelmingly don't have to drive to work - they have other options. For the taxi drivers, that is their income. Secondly, let's talk about congestion.
The vast majority of personal automobiles in the CBD have 1 person inside of them. That person will drive in, presumably park on the street or in a garage, go about their day to work, and then drive home. 1 person utilized that vehicle over the course of an entire work day, and for about 90% of that work day, the car sat on the street or in a garage, taking up space and doing absolutely nothing. This is the pinnacle of inefficient transportation usage.
A taxi, meanwhile, never parks. It can pick up dozens and dozens of passengers every single day, making for a much more efficient use of space, fuel, and time. We should be encouraging efficient trips to reduce congestion and not encouraging one-person, personal automobile use to get to the best connected transit area on the continent. And we are - the price during the day for personal automobiles is $15, whereas riders will pay a surcharge of $1.25 in taxis and $2.50 in for-hire vehicles.
5) "Okay, but what about the people that need to drive to Manhattan?" Almost nobody "needs" to drive to Manhattan's CBD, but I'll humor it. First of all, nobody lives in a transit desert in NYC. All areas of NYC except Breezy Point live within a half mile of some kind of public transit service. Let's focus on those that don't: approximately 440k people. Of those 440k, about 34k (7.7%) commute to the CBD. And of those 34k, 5,200 people commute to the CBD by car. And I can hear you trolls seething now: "But living within a half mile of a transit stop doesn't mean the transit is good!!" And you know what can make it good? More investment in the service by raising capital money through tolls on people that can afford it.
6) "But how is that fair to the people in Long Island, upstate, or New Jersey?!" I want to make one thing very clear here: the needs of people that live in the city should ALWAYS come above those who simply commute in and leave at the end of the day. Commerce and jobs are of course important, but nothing is more important than the livelihood of residents that live in the area. And those residents suffer from all the externalities I mentioned before as a result of it, and this is attempting to restore equity. People who live in the suburbs choose to do so, and of course, that's their right to. But because you made the decision to live in a bigger house in a quieter neighborhood well outside of the city, does not mean you get to have your cake and eat it too. You can pay for the convenience and externalities you bring to the residents of the city as a function of your choosing not to live there. Also like... New Jersey is New Jersey. Their state dollars benefit their residents, not us. This is a New York program for New York residents that stands to benefit New York City residents.
Let's talk about New Jersey for a second. It is a complete myth that New Jersey residents need to drive to Manhattan. In the 21 legislative districts closest to Manhattan, just 1.6% of commuters commute to Manhattan by car. Of those 1.6%, the median income is approximately $108k. In other words, they can afford the $15 toll if they choose to not use the many public transit options available to them.
I might add that you are only charged the toll by entering the CBD - if you are someone in New Jersey trying to get to Long Island, provided you stay only on highways and don't enter local streets, you will not pay the congestion pricing charge.
7) "But what about disadvantaged New Yorkers? How are they supposed to afford this?" Thankfully, the subway fare is $2.90, and the Fair Fares program allows that to be cut in half if you qualify. But if you insist on driving into Manhattan as a low income resident, there is the Low-Income Discount Plan (LIPD) which results in a 50% discount on congestion pricing tolls after the first 10 trips in a calendar month, but requires your federal adjusted gross income in the prior year to be less than $50k.
For individuals with disabilities, you have the Individual Disability Exemption Plan (IDEP). To be eligible you must have a qualifying disability that prevents you from using public transit - which surprise surprise, is very, very few people.
Emergency vehicles, buses, and specialized government owned vehicles are also exempted.
8) "Okay, but what about my 130-year old grandmother who lost 3 legs and absolutely must drive to go to the hospital in the CBD?" In all seriousness, public transit exists, but some individuals are too ill or unable to take transit. Many of those individuals are also too ill or unable to drive.
For the few that remain, there are countless city services that can help them. Medicaid and Medicare enrollees cover low-income people and those with developmental disabilities, as well as veterans and some aged 60+ and offer free or discounted transportation to medical appointments. Access-A-Ride provides public transit for eligible customers with disabilities or health conditions that otherwise prevent them from using public buses or trains for some or all of their trip. If you have a Flexible Spending Account, Health Savings Account, or Health Reimbursement Arrangement, transportation costs to and from medical appointments are often reimbursable.
9) "And what about our public servants? They do such important work, why should they have to pay?" They don't! They can take transit and pay the measly fare of just $2.90.
The work they do is incredibly important, which is why we should be investing in our public transit system and improving its reliability to they can get to work easily, on time, and safely, which is exactly what congestion pricing is set to do. But if it's so important they get exempted, then why not exempt them on all bridges, highways, and other tolls? Or all parking fees? Why does the congestion pricing toll represent something so unique that must be exempted?
Fun fact while we're here: the majority of public servants already take transit to work. Census Tract 29 in Manhattan near Canal Street has the highest proportion of commuters getting there by car than any other Census Tract in the CBD. 6,832 workers, over 40% of commuters to that Census Tract, drive to work there, despite it being one of the richest areas for public transit in the entire city. Why is this you might ask? Well, because of all the law enforcement and government buildings: One Police Plaza, Manhattan Criminal Court, New York Supreme Court, New York County Supreme Court, City Hall, etc. In other words? The vast majority of people driving to work are police or other city officials abusing placards to have free parking on Park Row. And surely, you as someone that hates congestion pricing, are incredibly concerned with public corruption, right? (See point 3).
10) "But all this is going to do is push car traffic toward other, less advantaged communities." Firstly, I'm a believer that we should let experts do what they do best and while we should always apply skepticism, we should ultimately trust those who have dedicated their entire careers to study a particular domain area. And one of those domain areas that you and I don't know shit about is traffic modeling, and the MTA published a 900-page document detailing every little bit of considerations regarding traffic flow through robust models. I'm not going to pretend to understand every detail of how or why it works, but clearly, neither do you, and so I think we should let the experts handle this one.
So far, the anticipated effects on other neighborhoods and parts of the city are expected to be small, as people will take to other forms of commuting, like public transit, or driving at different hours than they usually do, etc. The toll credits on bridges and highways will reduce "toll shopping" which will ultimately mean many of those will not elongate their commute to look for cheaper options, and those that choose to drive will overwhelmingly end up just paying the toll.
Perhaps the area most anticipated to be affected is the Cross Bronx expressway, of which there are expected to be about 700 more trucks there than before. It might increase soot from truck traffic 5%, and overall soot by 1%. The MTA is trying to rectify this by spending $25m on an asthma treatment in the Bronx, as well as other initiatives like planting vegetation near roads and renovating parks and green spaces.
To be very clear these are real impacts to people that already suffer some of the worst consequences of congestion. We are trying to do the right thing for the most amount of people, and while Manhattan's CBD congestion pricing will carry a lot of benefits for everyone, and the overall effects on the Bronx are expected to be small, they are not negligible, and require their own attention to figure out. Ultimately, this all comes down to the very thing that we are trying to advocate for - less car reliance, less pollution, less lives lost due to unnecessary driving and unhealthy transit habits. This is step 1 in trying to address these long-term, very serious inequities and is the tip of the iceberg in turning all of NYC into a more livable city for all residents.
TL;DR: Congestion pricing good, trolls bad.
Any thoughts or other arguments you want to see me address? Comment your requests! And thank you if you've read this far - I clearly have too much time on my hands.