I'm writing my first KMK firmware for a Macropad with 12 buttons and two encoders based on this project by @salimbenbouz. https://www.instructables.com/DIY-Mechanical-Macro-Keypad-Ocreeb/
I have the encoders set to control volume & push to mute and the second encoder adjusts the RGB color and pushes to toggle the RGB lights. The keys press, with the help of keyboard maestro, launch apps with tap dance to group logical alternative apps and provide more options. I'm trying to add one add more layer of functionality: When the second encoder is pressed, in addition to toggling the RGB colors it sends the key command "Control + Command + K" which I use in Keyboard Maestro to pause/play YouTube videos. That's working well. The last bit of functionality I'd like to add is that turning the 2nd encoder, in addition to adjust the RGB color, should send "Control + Command + J" when turned counter clockwise and "Control + Command L" when turned clockwise, which, through Keyboard Maestro, will fast forward or rewind the YouTube video. I've had trouble making this work. Currently, pushing the 2nd encoder is working, and turning it changes the RGB but doesn't send the key commands to fast forward/rewind the youtube video. I'm still building a fundamental understanding of how to layout a keymap, the keymaps relationship to the encoder_handler.map, and the pin setup. Here's my current KMK main.py code: Full firmware is here: https://github.com/malpern/macropad

# May 29th. Fully functional encoders, push encoders, and buttons. Re-adding youtube turns. import json from kb import KMKKeyboard from kmk.modules.tapdance import TapDance from kmk.keys import KC from kmk.modules.layers import Layers from kmk.modules.modtap import ModTap from kmk.hid import HIDModes from kmk.handlers.sequences import send_string, simple_key_sequence import supervisor keyboard = KMKKeyboard() modtap = ModTap() layers_ext = Layers() tapdance = TapDance() keyboard.modules.append(layers_ext) keyboard.modules.append(modtap) keyboard.modules.append(tapdance) # codeblock keyboard.debug_enabled = True from kmk.extensions.media_keys import MediaKeys from kmk.handlers.sequences import simple_key_sequence from kmk.modules.encoder import EncoderHandler from kmk.extensions.RGB import RGB import microcontroller rgb = RGB( pixel_pin=keyboard.rgb_pixel_pin, num_pixels=keyboard.rgb_num_pixel, hue_default=microcontroller.nvm[0] ) # Load custom keycodes into a dictionary ck = {} with open('custom-keycodes.json', 'r') as f: custom_keycodes_list = json.load(f) for kc in custom_keycodes_list: if 'simple_key_sequence' in kc['code']: # Parse the string to extract the actual keycodes key_sequence = eval(kc['code'].replace('simple_key_sequence', '')) # Apply the simple_key_sequence function ck[kc['display']] = simple_key_sequence(key_sequence) else: ck[kc['display']] = getattr(KC, kc['code'], None) # Safer alternative to eval def on_move_do(state): if state is not None and state['direction'] == -1: rgb.decrease_hue() else: rgb.increase_hue() microcontroller.nvm[0] = rgb.hue encoder_handler = EncoderHandler() encoder_handler.pins = ((keyboard.rgb_encoder_a, keyboard.rgb_encoder_b, None, False),) encoder_handler.on_move_do = lambda x, y, state: on_move_do(state) encoder_handler.map = [ ( [ simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_HUD, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.J]), # Not working simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_HUI, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.L]), # Not working simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_TOG, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.K]), ], ) ] keyboard.extensions.append(MediaKeys()) keyboard.extensions.append(rgb) keyboard.extensions.append(encoder_handler) # keymap keyboard.keymap = [ [ # Encoder 1 & 2 button push KC.AUDIO_MUTE, simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_TOG, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.K]), # Row 1 KC.TD(ck['ARCH'], ck['GMAIL']), KC.TD(ck['EVERNOTE'], ck['IAWRITTER'], ck['GOOGLE_DOCS']), KC.TD(ck['CALENDAR'], ck['GOOGLE_CALENDAR']), KC.TD(ck['CHATGPT'], ck['CHATGPT-WEB']), # Row 2 KC.TD(ck['CURSOR'], ck['GITHUB'], ck['APPLESCRIPT-EDITOR']), KC.TD(ck['DOWNLOADS'], ck['FLASH-GORDON-STORAGE'], ck['DOCUMENTS'], ck['PREFERENCES']), KC.TD(ck['MESSAGES'], ck['DISCORD'], ck['SLACK']), KC.TD(ck['ZOOM'], ck['GOOGLE_MEET']), # Row 3 ck['FIGMA'], ck['TECHMEME'], KC.TD(ck['TWITTER'], ck['REDDIT']), ck['YOUTUBE'], #Encoder 1: Turn up/down KC.AUDIO_VOL_DOWN, KC.AUDIO_VOL_UP, ] ] # keymap if __name__ == '__main__': keyboard.go(hid_type=HIDModes.USB) 

I based much of this code on the sample from salimbenbouzhttps://github.com/sb-ococreeb-12/blob/main/Peg/Firmware/main.py
It seems like encoder_handler.map and the keyboard.keymap should be redundant, but if I try to exclude the encoder info from the keyboard.keymap (either by dropping it or including KC.NO placeholders) the functionality doesn't work as intended. It's also seems clear that while I included simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_HUI, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.L]) functionality in the encoder.handler.map it doesn't work if it's not in the keymap. I've tried adding it to various places in the keymap, but so far no luck. Right now I feel like I'm groping in the dark. If anyone could help me understand:

1. The relationship between the encoder_handler.map and keyboard.keymap
2. If I should be using just encoder_handler.map, or keyboard.keymap, or both
3. How I could include the:
   1. simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_HUD, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.J]),
   2. simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_HUI, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.L]),

functionality when the 2nd encoder is turned (and keep the simple_key_sequence([KC.RGB_TOG, KC.LCTRL, KC.LCMD, KC.K]), when pressed.

1. How I should understand the dimensions of the keymap (why are both keys and encoders in it? Why is one encoder on top and the other at the bottom of the keymap? I don't have the sequence diagram of this project, maybe they're just wired this way?)
2. How does the pin assignment define expectations for the keymap?

I really appreciate the help. I've spent a dozen hours noodling this with ChatGPT, but it seems equally perplexed.
Thanks, Micah

Whenever I'm playing on DuckStation, my screen goes dark after the time that I've set to "turn of the display" in my Windows power settings. Then I have to move the mouse or press something on the keyboard to turn it back on. It won't happen if I remember to keep moving my mouse every few minutes or pressing some keyboard key to avoid it.
Has anyone else experienced this and found a solution? I'm using Windows 7 (not officially supported, I know) and have had the same issue on 2 PCs, one with a Radeon 7850, and another with a Geforce 960. No other emulators or programs gave me this problem.

This debate about the new M4 iPad Pro screens has been annoying me lately. I've commented on many posts about it, but thought I'd start a new one to lay my thoughts.
The first few days after the new iPads came out, every YouTuber published a review as if they were experts in everything. The consensus seems to have been that the glossy is best and the nano-texture is terrible because of a ton of reasons: the image quality is terrible, the blacks are washed out, contrast is horrible, it's super delicate, it won't last, blah, blah, blah.
It made no sense... why would Apply (or any company) put out a premium product that's that bad. So I went to the Apple Store to check them out for myself. I loved the nano-texture and bought one on the spot.
Turns out, all of that is mostly untrue. And what's true, is highly exaggerated.
What I noticed is that YouTubers reviewing iPads fall in three camps:

1. YouTubers - That's how they make their living, by reviewing tech products. Non of them, that I could find, had a nano-texture iPad. They had either never seen it, or 30 seconds at the event if they attended. They all hated it and "recommended" us not to buy it because it's awful.
   
2. YouTubers that do art - Similar to the above, they make their living off YouTube and selling you crap (like courses, Procreate brushes, etc.). Pretty much the same situation as the YouTubers. Never seen it. Didn't have one. Hated it.
   
3. Artists that have a YouTube channel - These are the ones that make their living off their art, and happen to also have a YouTube channel. The key difference is that they have clients they sell their art to (via commissioned art, direct, etc.). Of these, if they didn't have or hadn't seen a nano, they were curious but didn't say it was good or bad. If they did have one, they loved it.
   

This week I watched this re-review of a YouTuber "artist" that shows exactly this, and why I really dislike YouTubers. This guy may be a good artist, but he lives off YouTube and selling courses and mentorships, not off his art.
Watch it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIb6s8zEBLE
A few weeks ago, he published a "review" saying about the nano-texture "NO, DON'T DO IT" (watch the video). And in this one 2 weeks later, he admits he said that based on watching other YouTubers and his own assumptions. He had never seen the nano-texture screen in real life. But now that his buddy bought one and let him play with it? Well, now it's awesome. Now he loves it.
Kudos to him for admitting what he did, but seriously.
I feel sorry for anyone that made a $2-3k decision based on his original bullshit review and those of other YouTubers.
Never trust YouTubers.

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

Average Reading Time: 37-38 minutes
Part 1: Humanitarian Part 2: Gratitude Part 3: Peacemakers Peacemakers (Continued) Peacemakers (Conclusion)
The Blue Claw turned their nose at her and she saw the bloom of thrust light up some nearby asteroids behind them. Half a second later, she watched as two missiles released and adjusted to head straight for her. With the ECM field still up, she knew there was only one kind of missile that could get a target lock on her so fast. They were heat-seekers.
She cursed loudly, and as the following cry of pain escaped her, she turned the fighter and slipped down into the mineshaft. Switching to instrument only flight in the pitch-black hollow, she hoped against hope that she could get far enough into the asteroid for the missiles to lose their lock on her.
A yellow light momentarily illuminated the tunnel. She looked at her rear-view camera and saw a quickly dissipating cloud of dust and rock just inside the opening to the cave. To her horror, the second missile came into view, barely making the turn. It barely scraped the side of the tunnel, but soon regained its target lock on and began racing toward her.
The light from its chemical thruster illuminated the walls of the shaft directly around it, and she watched as it closed with its target. She watched as it closed with her.
A quick look at the readings confirmed that even at full thrust she would never make it to the second mineshaft before the missile hit her. She couldn’t run, and she couldn’t even maneuver.
Desperate, she looked at the rear-facing camera feed again and saw the ring closing faster with every passing moment.
Then, she had an idea.
Turning the main thrusters to put her into a spin, she took three quick breaths and turned the engines to maximum.
The ship rumbled violently as nausea mixed liberally with pain washed over her senses. The exhaust of the rockets reached out and flowed across the surface of the stone, creating a spiral pattern of heated rock behind ship as it plunged forward into the blackness.
When she reached her limit, she reversed the thrusters to slow and eventually begin spinning the opposite direction. The rotation now decreasing, she was able to focus through the pain in her chest and look at the readings of where the missile was.
It was nearly upon her.
With only a moderate roll now, she pulled her throttle to a full stop. The fighter went eerily silent compared to the tumult that it had been only seconds before.
She barely breathed, or blinked, as she watched the rear camera feed. The missile began to waver, then made a sharp turn into the wall. The explosion was close, and she heard fragments of missile and tunnel slam into her hull. Damage indicators began flashing, and three of her eight missiles showed their launch systems were damaged, and her engine cooling system had taken some damage as well.
She considered herself lucky that she got away with such a light damage, and made her way to the intersection with the other mineshaft. She decelerated and came to a stop at the turn. Carefully, she maneuvered in the tight confines to travel toward open space again.
On her way to the surface, she considered the ramifications of her assassin using heat seeking missiles. They were dangerous. Unlike the radar locking variety, they had no friend-or-foe functionality. That was the primary reason they weren’t in her weapons loadout. She had always worked in groups, and the last thing she wanted would be to have a friendly fire incident where one of her friends got vented by a missile she fired. For a lone wolf pilot like the Blue Claw, however, they were not only reasonable, but preferable.
Approaching the exit, she slowed and checked the environment visually. She didn’t see her pursuer, so she slowly worked her way out of the tunnel. A quick look at her readouts told her that the two ECMF’s that activated earlier would be going for about another thirty seconds. That gave her some cover to move without lighting up the Enemy pilot’s sensors.
She figured the most likely spot to find the enemy fighter was to check the entry point she first escaped through. She crept along the surface of the asteroid, skimming the surface to maximize the time she was hidden from direct observation. When she was close, she slowed and popped up to see over the horizon of the mighty rock.
There, near the opening to the tunnel, was the Blue Claw.
The nose of the enemy fighter was pointed down into the bore hole. With the electromagnetic spectrum flooded still, she figured they must be using infrared sensors for any indication of her survival.
She was so close to the asteroid that she knew that even though she could see the target, her direct fire weapons, being lower on the ship than where she was, did not. To pop up and remedy that would be to expose a large part of her ship and possibly lose the element of surprise. She decided to try and make an indirect shot with missiles.
Looking at her readouts, she saw the flares were about to expire. She armed two of her remaining five missiles, set them to go into active tracking immediately, and fired.
There was a slight shudder in her ship as the two missiles leapt out of their launch tubes and began streaking toward their target. By the time the missiles got a little past the half way point between her and the target, the ECMF’s countermeasures faded. The active tracking of the missiles immediately acquired their lock.
As soon as they adjusted their flightpath, the area was again saturated with static. She was confused for a moment as she glanced at her readouts. This shouldn’t have activated any of the flares she seeded before the fight began. Her suspicions were verified when her HUD notified her of the use of enemy countermeasures.
That pilot deployed a flare on sentry mode as they went in to investigate.
Wasting no time, she commanded the engines to life and pulled up and away from the asteroid to bring all her offensive tools to bare. As she did so, the Enemy pilot’s fighter seemingly leapt up and away from the tunnel, as her two missiles darted through the space it occupied a half a second before.
Not wanting to lose the initiative, she opened fire with her cannons and sent streams of metal toward her adversary.
It rolled to the side and powered its thrust again, and she was gratified to see it trailing some sort of gas for a moment. Whatever the leak was had been locked down, but she knew at least some of her shots hit home.
The Blue Claw’s engines cast out long streamers of flame and it began accelerating toward the far horizon of the mountainous asteroid in an attempt to break line of sight.
A shrill of excitement shot through her as she realized that the hunter had now become the prey. The Enemy Ace was running away.
“Oh no you don’t!” she said through pain-clenched teeth.
She pushed as much power as she could out of her engines, but it was clear something was wrong. They were sluggish. Whatever damage the fighter received in the tunnel had reduced their output by at least twenty percent.
Her target was still in sight for now, however, so she kept pouring on the cannon rounds. The way her opponent moved was truly impressive. Even at high thrust, they were sideslipping, rolling, bobbing, and weaving. It was equal parts impressive and frustrating.
A bright red indicator began flashing on her HUD, indicating engine 4 was overheating. She had to break off or face the possibility of her engine exploding.
There was still one trick she had up her sleeve though. She armed two of her last her last three functional missiles and fired. They streaked ahead unguided as her enemy disappeared over the horizon.
She knew for their countermeasure flare to activate so quickly, it must have been deployed very near their point of investigation. In their retreat, the Blue Claw, must have passed into the ECM shadow of the asteroid by now.
A Her mouth opened in her species’ version of a smile as she saw the straight line of the missiles’ trajectory suddenly shudder, then drop to dive beyond the horizon.
Without confirmation, she knew this wasn’t over, however. Her engines needed to cool off, she had used forty-six percent of her cannon ammunition, and she was down to a single functioning missile. She knew the Blue Claw’s ship had been damaged twice by her cannon fire, but she didn’t know how badly. Also, if they were using standard loadouts, the enemy fighter still had two missiles left.
She pulled back and got deeper into the ECM field, found a nearby tunnel, and hid. As she watched her engine temperatures drop, she considered her next moves carefully. She had to investigate to see if her latest missile strike had destroyed her opponent. If it hadn’t, she could be putting herself in danger of an ambush.
She set her fighter to silent running and powered down her systems. With the Enemy ECMF still operating, it all but guaranteed the Blue Claw wouldn’t be able to detect her. That of course assumed her missiles hadn’t found their mark.
As she waited there in the quiet dark for her ship to cool down, she tried to control her breathing. The pain of her broken ribs was becoming nearly intolerable. Every time she had to pull a high G-force maneuver it felt like things shifted inside for the worse. The thought crossed her mind of opening up her emergency medical kit and injecting a pain killer, but she knew she couldn’t afford to lose her clarity. There were a few times in the past handful of minutes since this all started that she would have been dead if her senses or thinking were dulled. So, she waited, taking shallow, controlled breaths.
She took another look at the environmental data and began formulating a plan to exit safely and finish this.
It struck her how strange this entire combat was. Everything was so close. ECMF’s that would generally work fairly well out in the vast expanse of open space wouldn’t normally be so effective. They were, for all intents and purposes, directly on top of the flares that were designed to give reasonable cover up to a kilometer away. Given the combat so far has been compressed to less than half that or less for most of the time, it made for some highly unusual options and choices.
By the time her systems were all showing green, or at least as close as they could get in their damaged state, the Enemy ECMF had been depleted. She restarted her systems and crept out of the mineshaft using only passive sensors to keep her position hidden. Her eyes were constantly switching between gazing outside through the canopy polyglass, down to the readouts, and back again. She was keenly wary of even the slightest hint on the sensors that her adversary may still be lurking.
With no indications that she had company, she moved out away from the hole and began in the direction she had fired her missiles. On reaching the location, she saw two large clouds of dust slowly spreading out and away from the mountainous form. When she got up close, she was dismayed to see no indication of a kill.
If the Blue Claw weren’t dead, that would mean-
Something caught her attention on the sensors, and instinct and training took over. She twisted her wrist and thrust the ship in a hard relative ascent evasive maneuver and nearly blacked out from the pain, just as a missile sped past.
Gasping in pain, she watched as the heat-seeker started to make a curve out in front of her to come back for another pass. She considered trying to shoot it down, but the odds of getting a lucky hit on something that small and fast was not a gamble she wanted to take. She turned thirty degrees to starboard, and sped off. Skimming the surface of the asteroid, she toggled a window on her HUD so she could visually track the projectile. As she expected, the munition reacquired her heat signature and turned to pursue her.
If there were any silver lining to this, it was that she knew the Blue Claw couldn’t be pursuing her too closely. That would risk drawing the attention of their own heat-seeker.
She knew the missile had her dead to rights. She had no effective countermeasure, and almost blacking out scared her enough to rule out another high G-force juke.
She blazed through space with as much thrust as her engines could give her. The heat gage on the engine readouts showed that she was still safe, but temperatures in all engines were rising alarmingly quickly.
The missile was closing fast. She pulled up away from the surface and saw down in front of her a large tailings dump. She lowered her landing skids, and turned her nose directly at the amalgamation of loos gravel and rock.
This would be close.
She turned her thrusters to retard her speed, then with only a few dozen meters to spare pulled the nose up and cut power.
The landing skids impacted the gravel first, soon followed by the belly of the craft. Finally, the nose and cockpit area slapped down on the loose rubble.
When the ship hit, she slammed against her harness. A bolt of electric twinge shot through her spine accompanied by an unsettlingly wet snapping sound in her shoulder. With these sensations, two new voices of pain were added to the chorus of agony she was struggling against.
A huge mass of gravel and debris were thrown out in front of her fighter, forming a wall of material in the low gravity. She struggled against being dazed from the impact and the new disfunction in her arm. Through sheer force of will redirected and reignited the engines. The exhaust blasted into the field behind her, throwing even more gravel up and away behind the ship. The skids dragged through the loos rock, and the ship nearly jumped forward when they were free from the hindering refuse. The ship bounded forward through the lower portion of the tailings, and its passage left a momentary hole in the rising wall of material. As soon as she was through, she pulled up hard.
A fraction of a second later, the missile slammed into the wave of rock and exploded.
She was not coming out of the fog from the impact, and let out an unavoidable cry of pain as the ship rose up and away from the relative safety of the asteroid. Tears clouded her vision, and when she coughed there was a metallic taste of blood in her mouth.
She took a few wet breaths and assessed the situation. Her mind was clouded, and it was hard to think. She was out in the open now, high above the floating mountain. With nothing to lose and her position being known, she turned on her active sensors. Almost immediately, her system identified the Blue Claw closing on her.
Fear shot through her, followed closely by despair. A deep sense of how unfair this all was threatened to overwhelm her. This Enemy pilot was more like a creature chasing her in a nightmare than a flesh and blood Shra. Was this what it was like for all the others she knew from the Academy that this monster killed? Was she just the next name on the Reaper’s list?
Her ribs hurt, her shoulder hurt, and her back felt wrong somehow. She was bruised everywhere her harness touched. In the background of her mind, she felt the icy grasp of shock pawing at her. Maybe this was the end after all.
But then, a thought came to mind: the next name on the list.
Would she just give up and let this pilot kill everyone she ever cared about? No, she had to end this here, today. The cost to her didn’t matter as much as saving the lives of her friends.
Bolstered by this thought, she tried with her enfeebled wits to find a way out of this. She knew there was no chance she could win in a dogfight, impaired as she was. Struggling to collect herself, she realized that she needed time to clear her head. Maybe she could get some distance between them in the ring like she did before. It may give her enough time.
She turned her wounded craft toward the ring, and began accelerating. Hopefully she could use it to get a lead on this demon like she did before.
The system alerted her to the Blue Claw attempting to get a targeting lock. The sound of the alarm helped her focus through the haze, and she accelerated toward the cover of the ring. She keyed the controls to release one of her last two precious ECMF’s. A box sprang up on her HUD indicating the system was damaged and inoperable. The release systems on the belly of her fighter must have been damaged by the impact with the tailings field.
Worried, she blinked twice and focused on the area readouts. Looking at how far her pursuer was to her, and how close she was to the closest pocket of decent cover, she felt some small hope. Even if that monster fired what was hopefully their last missile at her, she would be able to make it to the cover of the orbital rock in time.
That relief only lasted a few seconds before she was in the denser parts of the ring again, and actively dodging through the chunks of ice and rock. A quick glance confirmed her that her pursuer was still actively hunting her.
She was able to keep distance long enough to get her full wits about her again. The mental haze she had been fighting to recover from had cleared and been replaced with a splitting headache. Given the options, she was glad to have the latter.
She looked over her readings and saw that the Blue Claw had taken up a position above the ring, mirroring her flight path. That was both good and bad. Good in that she didn’t particularly need to risk a high rate of speed through the dangerous surroundings, but bad in that the Enemy pilot could now maintain a reasonable distance without any risk.
This needed to end. She knew in her current state there was little chance she could beat this assassin in a dog fight, especially with her being down to one missile and no ECMF’s. The Blue Claw had was sure to have a handful of flares still, and at least one missile. Given they tried to get a lock on her earlier, however, it was reasonable to assume it was not a heat-seeker, but a standard tracking missile. She needed to even up the odds.
She noted the relative positions of their two fighters and the edge of the ring. After that, she looked at the information on the large asteroid again. She got a bit of a crazy idea, and ran some numbers, while putting in a few waypoints into her navigation computer.
Being as prepared as she ever would be, she pointed her tool of destruction toward the waiting enemy and began the final moves of this deadly game.
She wove her ship as nimbly as its damaged and abused state would let her through the asteroids and other chunks of ice. She noted with some satisfaction that the Enemy pilot was pulling back and away to draw her farther out into open space. For the first time, she felt like she was starting to be able to intuit how her adversary fought.
She came up through the edge of the field and joined in open space. She began painting the Blue Claw’s ship with a targeting lock, and the favor was returned. She looked down at her area readouts and saw her window of opportunity was closing the closer she got.
When the navigation marker she had placed earlier was about five seconds away, she was questioning her tactical position, and all her tracking readouts went crazy. Relief and fear washed through her as she realized that the other pilot had done what she had hoped for. They had deployed an ECMF.
That meant it was almost certain she had a missile bearing down on her now, followed by a Top Ace determined to kill her.
She made three quick breaths as she turned her ship around and poured on as much thrust as she thought she could handle. Slowly, the effects of the ECMF began to fade as the distance between her and the flare increased. Soon, her systems were able to distinguish structures around her again in space. When she was about fifteen seconds away from returning into the ring, her system alerted her to an actively tracking missile.
This was going to be close.
To slow down meant the missile would catch her and it would be over. The only option she had now was to make a recklessly high-speed entry into the field, relying on the civilian map of the rings and her maneuvering skills to keep her alive.
Her HUD was clearing up now, and she activated the Collision Alert System. Immediately, dozens of red hexagons formed around the multitude objects in front of her the system determined posed a threat. Earlier the CAS would have only been a distraction, but putting aside all the other things she usually had to worry about in combat now it would actually help her mitigate the immediate threat of flying into some unnamed piece of rock, hopefully.
No longer able to divert any of her attention to the missile closing with her, she focused every thought and effort on getting into the ring and hoping she could maneuver better than the Enemy ordnance. She kept her nose pointed as much as possible toward the blue circle in the HUD indicating her next nav point as she sideslipped, turned, and twisted through the dangerous environment.
The pain in her body making all the jostling moves through the celestial obstacle course was intense, but it was the agony and disfunction in her shoulder that was hindering her the most. The ship was being no help either. The engines were beginning to overheat again and she couldn’t risk easing off of them. She had to keep moving, and with every meter she got deeper into the ring it the space was getting more congested with debris.
In a fraction of a moment between maneuvers, it occurred to her that the missile must have been destroyed by now. The alternative would have resulted in her being vented already.
She was jarred from this thought as one of her engine pods scraped across an icy protrusion on one of the asteroids she was passing.
A few seconds later as she had finally gotten her speed down from, “Insane,” to “Wildly Reckless,” she spared a glance at her readings. To her dismay, her assassin was only a few seconds behind her. A cold chill ran over her pained body as she marveled at the skill it must have taken to traverse the same path she just did without an accurate map.
Fear gripped her and gave renewed focus to her actions. Abandoning the reasonable and taking hold of the desperate, she stopped trying to decelerate, and continued making her way toward her second nav marker.
The two ships danced and wove through the obstacles on front of them. At times the maneuvers were elegant, but the need to make jerky, graceless movements to avoid the odd rock or chunk of ice remained a regular reminder of the sickle of death ready to reap either of the pilots should they make too great a mistake.
So focused was she on the piloting needed to stay alive it came as a surprise when she reached her intended position. The nav marker disappeared to be replaced by a new one, the last, about thirty degrees off her starboard side.
She gritted her teeth at the pain and redirected her craft toward the final marker. A window on her HUD showed that the Blue Claw had noted her chance in direction and was turning to cut the corner. If she wasn’t mistaken, her pursuer would be in direct fire weapons range very soon.
The final destination of the course she plotted would take her back to the mountain-sized asteroid, and the location of her final gambit to defeat the demon that had been sent to kill her.
She was about fifty meters from the edge of the clear zone when a line of tracer rounds streamed by. The engines were running almost to red line, but she needed more from them. She pushed them harder, and accelerated, trying her best to keep exactly lined up with the navigation marker.
When she was free of the ring, she armed her last missile and keyed in its targeting settings. When she reached the nav point, she checked to make sure the Blue Claw was almost out of the debris field, and launched it.
Detecting the threat, and likely out of missiles anyway, her opponent immediately deployed an ECMF. Her systems went haywire and she watched through the polyglass canopy as her last hope of survival streaked stupidly toward the mighty asteroid. A timer popped up on the screen that said, “TIME TO ASTEROID SURFACE:,” counting down from twelve seconds.
She twisted her controls, and with a gasp of pain jerked the ship around through a series of evasive maneuvers. Single lines of projectiles darted past her as she went. She was in between a rock and an Ace pilot, and she knew the closer she got to the rock, the more her evasive options dwindled.
The pursuit went on in a roughly straight path. When the timer read three seconds, a red emergency panel flared to life indicating the engines were overheating and about to fail. When that happened, the results were usually explosive.
She didn’t have time to process that before her ship shuddered and she watched as a stream of projectiles began on her starboard side, their line disappeared when it crossed her ship, and then flared to bright life again on the other side.
Damage notifications began lighting up all around her, and her controls were cutting out with fits and starts. She focused through the pain and panic, and saw the countdown timer was about to reach zero. When it did, she saw no explosion.
A surge of hope went through her as she realized she had hit her mark.
At that moment, the missile was passing through the mouth of the bore hole she had identified earlier. All the risk and work of keeping herself lined up to make a dumb-fire shot at that artificial cave opening, only two and a half meters wide, had worked. Right now, it’s active tracking would turn on, locking in on the most immediately available target it could. She knew that in that hole, it would be shielded from the countermeasures of the flare. The only thing it would be able to detect would be the broken, abandoned mining rig at the far end of the tunnel.
She directed the engines to sideslip out of the way, and then spun to open fire on her pursuer. The move was unorthodox, and seemed to take her assassin momentarily by surprise. It was a move that didn’t make sense to do in a dogfight. The projectiles she unloaded filled the space to one side of her opponent, and they deftly dodged the incoming barrage. None of the rounds found a mark on the Blue Claw’s ship.
That was her plan, however.
She knew her attack would be seen and easily dodged without the benefit of the still jammed targeting systems. In this case, she wasn’t aiming to hit. She was aiming to bracket and guide her prey to keep them lined up.
She glanced off to her left toward the bore hole shaft and saw a plume of fire erupt out with a veritable torrent of rock and metal fragments. The cloud of debris hit her opponent’s fighter like a battleship sized shotgun, tearing it to shreds.
She saw their engines sputter, and the directional control falter. Her adversary had a thruster misfire and began spinning as it dove toward the surface of the Asteroid that was subjectively beneath them.
With the immediate danger on hold, she turned her thrusters to decelerate, and lowered the output. She was just getting slowed to a stationary height above the massive rock when she saw the Blue Claw pancake into a tailings field, sending a splash of rock and debris out to every side in an expanding ring.
Not wanting to take any chances, she turned the nose of her fighter toward the ruined ship, and waited for her engines to cool off some before approaching. If they had anything left in them, she didn’t want to get caught unwary.
The relief of having defeated this monster washed over her in the ensuing minutes as The Enemy ship remained still, sparks erupting spontaneously from various systems across its hull. When the engines had cooled to safer levels, she moved in to finish off the one who killed so many of her friends.
The ECMF was burned out now, and her targeting systems were functional. She got a weapon lock, and prepared to vent this demon.
Then, she did something that had not been done in years. She opened up a communication channel to her Enemy.
Coughing, she was able to get out, “You are the best I have ever fought. You should know that before I end your miserable existence. Do you have any last words?”
The response was nothing like anything she had ever imagined.
Punctuated by coughs, she heard a labored voice respond, “Thren? Is that you?”
She knew that voice.
“Jurik?”
“Yeah, Thren, it’s me.”
She paused, then asked, “How do I know this isn’t some sort of trick?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She thought, then said, “Tell me something only Jurik would know about me.”
The voice replied, “You almost had me at the final cup match.”
“Way too common information. Try again,” she scoffed.
There was a moment where she heard some labored breathing, then the Blue Claw responded, “Every time you are about to make a high G-force move, you take three little breaths. I always thought that was adorable, if I’m being completely honest. Now, tell me something only Threnlis would know.”
She thought, and said, “I suggested you forfeit the academy cup, and you told me, ‘Not on your life.’”
A whisper replied back to her over the coms, “Yeah, yeah that’s right. It really is you, isn’t it, Thren?”
Sadness, anger, frustration, and a myriad of other emotions raged inside her, and eventually she asked, “What are you doing fighting for them? How could you betray your own people like this? How could you kill so many of our friends?”
There was an edge to his voice as he replied, “How could I do what? What are you talking about? You’re the traitor. Fourteen names. Fourteen names of our friends, people that trusted you once. Some even from your own wing in the Academy. You killed them all, Thren. When you killed Genrik, I begged command for the chance to take you out.”
A strange numbness that tolerated only anxiety suppressed everything else she was feeling.
With a tremble in her voice, she asked, “Wh, what are you talking about?”
“Who did you think you were going to go up against all this time, fighting for the Enemy? You killed fourteen of our classmates and friends.
At that moment, she was starting to put together the picture of what was going on.
Something swelled in her a chest that wouldn’t have been imaginable even a few minutes before. She felt pity for her friend.
“Oh, Jurik, we have both been so wrong. You don’t know either, do you?”
“Huh? Know what?”
“Jurik, all those pilots you killed getting to me, all but one were from our Academy class. Seliss, Fenia, Ashroka, Melisha,” she paused before continuing, “Sezkig, and the list goes on. You killed twenty-six of our friends.”
There was deep pain, both physical and emotional conveyed with the next utterance from Jurik, “How?”
“Think about it. Back at the Academy, the Caretakers never once mentioned either side. They simply referred to the people we were fighting against as, ‘The Enemy.’ We all just assumed we were fighting for the same side. They kept us so busy, and apparently our people are similar enough that we never even considered that our assumption wasn’t the case.”
Both pilots stayed silent for a time, stewing in pain in both body and soul.
“So, what now, Thren?” Jurik asked, “Are you going to kill me? My ship is ruined and I am helpless. You won in the end after all.”
Tears welled in her eyes and she said, “Oh Jurik, you’re such an idiot. Of course I’m not going to kill you. This needs to end. This whole damn war needs to stop. To steal and modify a Human sentiment, ‘I have seen the enemy, and they are my family.”
That exchange, broadcast over the information networks of the Sha’Lor and Sha’Kel worlds, was the beginning of the end of the Shra Civil War.

______________________________
Ambassador Edinkay approached the newly established Human embassy on the homeworld of the Sha’Lor. It was an elegant, if simple, building surrounded by a wall that appeared more suited for ornamental purposes than security. As he approached the gate, the guard nodded to him and opened the way for him.
As he got to about half way to the structure, the main doors opened and ambassador Dupree came out to meet him.
“Ambassador Edinkay, it is a pleasure to see you here. What can I do for you?”
Edinkay tried to hide his dislike and said politely, “My government has sent me to notify you that I will be replaced within the week by another ambassador.”
Dupree smiled warmly and said, “Well, in that case I will miss our conversations together. What’s next for you? On to some higher governmental office I assume?”
Suppressing his crest to not reveal his annoyance, Edinkay replied, “Oh no, not for me. It has been determined I must spend time in a reintegration colony. Apparently, my view that we should have won the war is considered antiquated, old fashioned, and unbeneficial to the post-war future for our people.”
Dupree’s eyebrows raised slightly at that, and she said, “Oh, I thought you would have been quite glad of the new era of peace for your people, considering how instrumental you were in bringing it about.”
Unable to control it anymore, Edinkay’s crest flared and he seethed, “I had nothing to do with this tragedy. What I wanted was to defeat our Enemy with your help. You tricked us into allowing you access to an entire generation of our youth. You took them in, trained them, honed their bodies, and exposed them to the corruptive influence of our enemies. You have destroyed the Shra and made it unrecognizable with your alien ideas and values. I just want to know one thing before they take me off for brainwashing: did you plan this all from the beginning?”
Dupree looked down and shook her head slightly before saying, “Do you have any idea how difficult it was for our educators to work in that environment? Knowing that they were teaching young people side by side, seeing friendships form, and knowing that as soon as they leave our care a genocidal civilization will immediately pit them against one another in a fight to the death? Your people were sick, Ambassador Edinkay, and that sickness made you blind to both the symptoms and the cause.
To answer your question, no, we didn’t plan for things to happen the way they did. The only thing we wanted to do was show each side who their enemy actually was. That simple truth was an early casualty of this war, and it was dead until now. We wanted the future prosecutors of war to know that the people on the other end of the battlefield were fundamentally the same as they were. Yes, we did train them to defend themselves, and we helped them to grow and mature to their full physical potential. That wasn’t us manipulating them into becoming what we wanted them to be. That was us enabling them to become what all of you should have been this whole time.
So, no, we didn’t plan this. There was no master plan to overthrow your way of life. We simply gave them a window of truth, and they climbed out of it and changed your civilization all on their own.”
Edinkay blinked a few times, then said with incredulity, “You expect me to believe that you did not have a hand in imbedding the returning youth within every rank and position of power throughout our society? When they rebelled, with their physical training and health, the rest of us never stood a chance.”
Dupree rose her eyes to meet his and answered, “No, Edinkay, I don’t expect you to believe that, yet. I do, however, maintain hope that someday you will.”


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

Average Reading Time: 38-39 minutes
Part 1: Humanitarian Part 2: Gratitude Part 3: Peacemakers Peacemakers (Continued) Peacemakers (Conclusion)
Threnlis had been deployed for a little six over months defending the planetary ring mining infrastructure in orbit above Agron Six. During that time, she had gained great fame back on the home world. On four separate occasions, she contacted and destroyed multiple raiders from The Enemy. Impressively, she had done so without losing any of the critical mining infrastructure she was tasked to defend.
For the War Department of Information, effectively the government’s propaganda arm, it was the single greatest opportunity to raise public and military moral in centuries. The gun camera footage of her battles and the resulting analysis by military experts was electrifying. Her fame had become so great that reports of her missions would instantly be breaking news.
After the discovery of broadcast equipment on one of the destroyed Enemy fighters, they realized that the hated foe equipped their ships to instantly broadcast battle footage and data to their people. Similar systems were soon put in place on all military fighters. The resulting streams would immediately be sent to all monitors to give the entirety of their civilization access to the latest in the war effort.
Millions would watch as the battles progressed in real time before their eyes. Factory production would stop, agricultural workers would come in from the fields to huddle around monitors, prayers would be lifted, lost pilots mourned, and cheers erupt when an Enemy ship was destroyed.
The fighter pilots soon became the most celebrated figures in the war, and Threnlis was ranked first among them. Her face was on posters encouraging people to work their hardest, and Information Department text encouraged all who saw that finally, after so many centuries, victory was in sight thanks to these new young warriors. They would lead their people into a new age of peace and prosperity.
It didn’t hurt that she was considered quite attractive by her race’s standards. In fact, that was a common theme among all the youth that had been sent to train with the people of Earth. All the former children that returned from training lacked common skin maladies, were well fed, had the benefits of years of state-of-the-art medical treatment, were vibrant in the colors and patterns of their scales, and had excellent musculature. They were, in a word, the very pictures of health. In a society of undernourished, overworked, and sickly people, they stood out like superheroes.
The former children had also been trained to excellence in their given fields, and had all been given impressive combat training, be they in military or civilian roles. Humans called it, “Self Defense Training,” and insisted it was not the same as military instruction. The result was that public and military support for the Human Off-World Training Initiative couldn’t have been higher.
The retuning children were highly sought after and assigned to prestigious positions. Politicians, military leaders, and industry magnates who had sufficient pull demanded they be assigned one of the returned youth, as the posting would further increase their personal standing. After all, only the most important people doing the most important things for the war effort would be allowed such a valuable resource.
As Threnlis walked through the hollowed-out asteroid that served as the base for her air wing, the head of Military Intelligence on the station met her and began walking beside her.
The officer kept up with her quick pace and said, “I must inform you that your scheduled combat patrol may be rather eventful today. We have reason to believe an elite enemy fighter detachment has been deployed to assassinate you and your team.”
She slowed at that, and asked, “What evidence do you have?”
“We have been losing fighters in multiple systems. When lined up chronologically, it shows a pattern of advancement focused on this system. If the pattern holds, we expect them anytime now.”
She stopped and closed her eyes, trying to keep the fear and anxiety from showing in her crest, “Is it the Blue Claw?”
“It is.”
The combat streams she had seen of The Enemy pilot known as Blue Claw indicated an exceptionally lethal and intelligent pilot. Credited with over twenty-five kills, that pilot was recognized as the top ace in the ranks of their adversary.
She nodded once and began again on her brisk pace toward the launch bay.
“Was there anything else?”
“No, Pilot, there is nothing else to report. On a personal note, good luck out there.”
They reached the hangar bay, and she looked over at her ship. It was relatively new, and excellently maintained thanks to the insistence of the Department of Information. It stood out in stark contrast to the other fighters there. They were ancient and showed patchwork repairs. She knew at least a quarter of them were facing some kind of mechanical issue, and despite her personal requests bordering on pleading, had not seen any additional allocations of parts or resources.
Turning to see the intelligence officer was still there, she said, “Thank you for the report,” and walked toward her ship.
She was halfway there when the alarm claxons blared and the illumination in the hanger shifted to emergency lighting.
She heard the old base commander’s gravelly voice grind out over the intercom system, “Enemy raiders spotted in extraction sector three. Battle Stations. I repeat, Battle Stations. All pilots launch immediately. You will be given orders on route.”
She broke into a run. When she reached the ship, a quick jump in the low gravity got her into the cockpit. She secured her helmet and the familiar hiss of pressurization began as she pressed a few buttons on the console. The automated launch check systems came back with an all clear. In seconds she was retracting her landing skids and thrusting out of the bay into the vacuum of space in defense of her people.
When her ship had cleared the hangar, she saw the light turn on indicating the battle recording and broadcasting equipment had been activated by the Department of Information. She knew in that moment, hundreds of millions of people, possibly billions, were watching her every move with interest.
With the professionalism she was drilled in back at the academy, she spoke, “Pilot Threnlis requesting assignment.”
She was a bit surprised to hear the base commander’s reply, “Hold position.”
That was odd. She was usually given coordinates to the nearest enemy fighters, assigned pilots to her wing, and told to engage.
With her senses keyed up and on a razor’s edge, she waited for a subjective eternity of about three minutes. As she watched, the other fighters in her wing all flew by her and diverted to where command instructed them.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she keyed her comms to the command only channel and asked, “Command, Pilot Threnlis again requesting assignment.”
She noticed the broadcast equipment indicator go dark and a moment later heard an unfamiliar voice, “Pilot Threnlis, this is Director Heshna of the War Department of Information. You are being held back until the location of Blue Claw is identified, at which time you will be ordered to intercept and engage. It is our intention to clear the path for you to engage that pilot in single combat. When you defeat him, I will make sure your name is enshrined in memory for all time as one of the greatest heroes of this war.”
Her voice wavered as she asked “What? Blue Claw is the best pilot I have ever seen. You want me to engage the top ace of the Enemy without support?”
“Yes, I do. It will add to the glory of your victory, and inspire everyone who sees it.”
She felt her crest flare in anxiety and press against the top of her flight helmet, “But, I was never the best pilot in any of the squadrons, even back at the Academy. I do my best in a team.”
There was a long pause before she heard Heshna’s voice again, “Pilot, you will engage and kill the Blue Claw in single combat. If you fail and are destroyed, well, you will be mourned, and our nation will have a new martyr to avenge. Take pride in knowing that either way, you will be an inspiration to your people. I’ll make sure of it.”
With a click over the audio, the indicator light flared to life again.
She sat numbly in the cockpit, watching though the polyglass as the first indications of fighting started lighting up her displays. Slowly, as her mind finished processing the cold sentiments of the State toward her, she realized she needed to figure out a way to gain an advantage over the pilot that was sent out here to kill her.
Shaking off the lethargy of shock, her mind began racing through the various possibilities before her. Dismissing as irrelevant over a dozen different ideas, she finally landed on one that might just work.
The one thing she knew the enemy probably didn’t have was a detailed record of the asteroid cluster. It was riddled with hundreds of years of mineshafts, mechanical debris, gravel tailings asteroids, and an entire scrapyard of worn-out mining machines all waiting to be refurbished or recycled.
Normally, she would get her combat wing to engage and draw any aggressors out and away from the dangerous conditions in the ring. Not only would this insure the precious mining infrastructure remained intact, but also because open combat in space was much more predictable for her.
She switched her communication channel to the civilian mining bandwidth and said, “This is Pilot Threnlis, I need an immediate download of everything you have regarding the planetary ring. I want asteroid sizes, old machinery, equipment locations both active and derelict. Give me anything and everything you have.”
A quivering voice came back over the comms, “Y-you’re Calling m-m-me? I’m on the broadcast?”
Faintly, Threnlis heard in the background a momentary delay before an echo of the unnamed operator’s voice. Whomever this was, they had been watching the broadcast and were freezing up.
She didn’t have time for this. She needed information and needed it now if she had any hope of formulating a plan.
“Listen, I need that information, can you help me?”
“Threnlis n-needs m-m-my help?” the vacant voice replied.
She was weighing the possible benefits of yelling at this moron, when she heard something happen in the background of the transmission.
She faintly discerned the sound of a door being kicked open, and a gruff, unrefined voice shout, “What in the seven deserts of Broltien are you doing you idiot? A pilot is asking for your help and you freeze up like a baby plogan when it sees a predator? Get out of the way!”
There was a thud, followed by the sound of a microphone being grabbed, or adjusted, she wasn’t sure.
“This is Miner Second Class Gronlis. I am sending the first batch of files now. It will take a bit, and you will have to keep a sub-channel open to get all the data you requested.”
She let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding and then asked, “First batch?”
“The system doesn’t keep everything you asked for in one file. I will have to send it in different data groups. Is your ship running a type three or better ECTU?”
She was taken aback somewhat at the technical knowledge of this Miner Second Class. He knew the acronym for the Environmental Combat Tracking Unit. That wasn’t common knowledge.
Breezing past that thought, she replied, “I’m running a type seven.”
“They are up to seven now? Good, that’s good. It should have no problem chewing on these files and integrating them then. You should have your first batch downloaded in, oh, about two minutes give or take. I’m sending the locations of all current orbital objects first. That should give the following batches the reference framework to integrate the other parts.”
Threnlis had now moved past surprised, and firmly into impressed, “How do you know all this Gronlis? Is this standard technical knowledge for a Miner Second Class?”
A gruff, almost hoarse laugh erupted as he said, “Hells no, I used to be a Technician First Class in the First Space Wing of the Home Fleet. I got a mouth on me though, and one day I may have insinuated one of my superiors would be better off in the ranks of The Enemy, as he would be a greater asset to us there than here. He busted me down into the mining core twenty years back. Fedilos, I hope you are seeing this you incompetent twit! If you got what you deserved for sending me to this hell hole your crest would fester and rot off of your head, you sorry excuse of a Shra!”
Threnlis couldn’t help but smirk a little to herself at that, and said, “Well, however it came about, I’m glad you are here to help me now, Technician First Class Gronlis.”
There was a pause, and she swore she could hear the gruff voice crack a little when he eventually responded, “You can rely on me, Pilot.”
“I will, Gronlis. I’m leaving the sub channel open and switching back to military channels now. Keep the data coming.”
Keying back to her squadron command channel she asked, “Is there any sign of the Blue Claw yet?”
“Negative, Pilot Threnlis. You will be notified as soon as we have confirmation on their location.”
The first batch of the data stream had just finished and input all the orbiting objects into her system when she got the call, “Pilot Threnlis, the location of the Blue Claw has been verified in the B ring between seventy-two and seventy-eight degrees. You are ordered to proceed to that location and engage immediately.”
“Affirmative, Command.”
She oriented her fighter and pushed her thrusters to maximum, darting off toward the crossroads that would lead her to glory, or death.

The force of the acceleration pressed her into the shallow foam cushions of the pilot’s chair. Her breathing became labored in a way she had experienced so much that now was almost comforting. Looking down at her display, the objects in the orbital ring started slowly growing on her screens as she hurtled toward her Enemy.
It would be a few minutes before the first data stream was complete, so she opened a line back to command, “Operations, I need a list of the pilots that have been killed by the Blue Claw.”
There was a pause, and the voice of the base commander replied over the channel, “Keep your mind on the task at hand, Pilot. Get through this, and honor the fallen later.”
“Sir, with respect, I am not doing this out of some fatalistic impulse. I almost certainly trained with some of those pilots. It know how good the people I was in the academy with were, and how they flew. I knew their habits and what they would try first. It may help me to determine what opening moves to avoid.
She barely heard a breath being let out, and the commander replied, “Very well, we are sending you the information now.”
A list of names and ranks began scrolling across her screen. She nearly went into shock at the number of people, friends and acquaintances, she recognized. All but one of the twenty-seven names that came across the display were people she knew in one way or another from back at the academy. Even though it was a simple text list, she knew all their faces.
Seliss, a quiet male that had a real talent for space combat, but his first love had always been drawing. He was good at it, too.
Fenia, a girl she had lunch with two days before she left the academy. She was so excited that her brother had just been sent to a Human training program for political leadership.
Ashroka, an outwardly brash boy that you could always rely on to cheer you up if he found you downcast.
Melshia, a boy from third squadron that helped her through her orbital gravitational trajectory mid-terms back in her first year.
Sezkig, the techno-genius that played a key role in her squadron’s defeat during the final academy competition.
The list went on for over twenty more names. Each represented lives, and friends, that she would never see again.
She felt crushed, but the thing that almost broke her was when she saw two names, one right after the other, of pilots she took her final test at the academy with in her wing. Two of hers had been killed by that monster.
Despair, sadness, and fear began worming their icy tendrils around her heart and mind. Her air supply felt as if it were being cut off as she hyperventilated into her combat mask. She opened her flight helmet and pulled it off to try and get more air into her lungs, but it didn’t help.
She allowed herself to panic for about ten seconds, and then her training kicked in.
As one of her instructors from the academy used to say, “In combat, you know you aren’t dead if you can still think. On the other hand, if you aren’t thinking, you’re dead already but don’t realize it.”
She knew that in order to shut down these emotions, she needed to engage her analytical processes. She put aside the personal, emotional, and feeling part of the information she had been presented with, and focused on analyzing the combat styles of the various pilots on the list.
Immediately, the tightness in her throat and the press of her crest’s fear response against her helmet subsided.
She considered carefully the things she knew about the various skill levels and histories of the deceased pilots, and saw no unifying aspect whatsoever. That in itself gave her a valuable insight into the Blue Claw. Whoever that pilot was, they were adaptable, and dangerous.
That wasn’t much to go on, but it did tell her that she needed to figure out something above and beyond if she were going to come out of this alive.
As she came to this understanding, at about half way to her operational area, her system updated. The first packet had been completed, and a new layer of information containing fine structural details of the objects in the ring snapped onto her displays. Mining shafts, materials composition, and tailing disposal areas appeared among other things.
She still had some time, and the target area was still past the horizon of the planet below. With no real danger yet, she keyed her target area and zoomed in. Her keen mind began working over the environment and considering possible ways she could get some advantage over her assassin.
She took careful note of the various tailings asteroids and what exactly they were composed of. For the most part, they were basically larger, mineral poor rocks that had enough gravity to loosely hold on to the gravel sized debris that resulted from the mining process. She didn’t know how that might help, but she made a mental note and moved on to others.
As she was examining a strangely shaped structure, her system finished processing the last of the information sent to her from the civilian mining database. Instantly, mining equipment and other material extraction infrastructure, both used and derelict, appeared overlayed on top of, and sometimes in, the various ring bodies. She was surprised to see how many remote vehicles were in use in the area.
She keyed over to the Civilian channel and said, “Gronlis, what is the status of the mining drones in the area?”
“Some are down for maintenance reasons, but most of them are in shutdown mode to avoid detection. It’s the standard procedure when there is an attack. They make prime targets for raiders.”
She thought on that a moment and said, “How long would it take to start a few of them back up?”
There was a pause, and she heard his gruff voice reply, “About fifteen minutes usually, it can take a while to get the reactors up to functional and heat up the systems on board to operational tolerances. It all depends on the condition of the drone, really. Some of the newer ones can be up and going in a minute or two, but most of them are kept just functional enough to do their jobs. So on average, yeah, about fifteen minutes.”
“Well, in fifteen minutes this will all be over, so that does me no good. Thank you for your help, Technician First Class. I hope the information you provided will prove helpful. I, and your planet, owe you one.”
“It is my duty, Pilot. I will stand by in case you think of anything else I can help with.”
As she keyed back to military channels, an indicator lit up and informed her she needed to begin the breaking portion of her approach. With the speed she had built up, she would blow through where the Blue Claw was last reported in a few seconds, assuming she didn’t hit something going through the ring and shatter into a thousand pieces with her ship.
The thruster nozzles on her fighter reversed direction and her chair adjusted to prepare for the change of forces. She grimaced as she mentally prepared for the high force deceleration. Severe deceleration was required to minimize the chances of the Enemy pilot getting a lock on her ship. No matter how many times she did it, dropping into a combat zone was nerve wracking and painful.
It always hurt.
It was not uncommon for pilots to come back into the hanger with broken ribs and severe bruising as a result of the older harness systems cutting into them. Those exceedingly rare older pilots from before the fresh infusion of Human trained youth oftentimes had permanent scale damage. Such disfigurements were carried proudly by their possessors.
Generally, permanent injuries had been mitigated by new harness systems introduced by the Humans, but she knew she would have significant bruising from this if she lived through the next few minutes.
Normally, it was standard procedure to deploy an ECMF to cover your approach when decelerating into combat. With how significant the forces involved were, the slowing pilot is so debilitated that any effective evasive actions would nearly guarantee injury. The ECMF would protect against weapons locks in this time of operator vulnerability.
The key part of that doctrine was the assumption that every deceleration like this would be into combat. In this case, however, she was decelerating into a planetary ring environment. If the Blue Claw hadn’t detected her yet, deploying a flare would immediately alert everyone this side of the planetary horizon what general area she was in. If she was lucky, she may have enough time to safely get into the ring before her adversary detected her. Once inside, the information from the civilian mining database would give her a distinct advantage, she hoped.
She braced herself and put on her mask again. As was her long habit, she took three short breaths before engaging the breaking thrust.
Once it was triggered, her body slammed into the restraints. The strange and agonizing sensation of her internal organs being crushed against the inside of her ribcage lit up the pain centers of her brain. Each breath was laborious, and out of long habit from training she tensed her arms and legs to inhibit blood from pooling in them.
She felt the pressure of the mask forcing air into her nose and mouth, and down into her lungs. It felt thick and cold. The compressed gasses always seemed out of place with how clean and filtered it was. There was no smell, no life to it.
As she was nearing the ring, an alarm went off indicating she was being painted with a weapons lock from two close by sources.
Missiles, and they were right on top of her.
She twisted her wrist on the joystick and the thrust pods on the sides of the ship swiveled to obey. With her other hand, fighting against the sudden change in forces, she managed to get a hold of the throttle and slammed it to maximum.
The ship responded by catapulting itself to port. She was thrown violently against the restraints on her right side. Two sharp sensations of pain accompanied by corresponding snaps she both heard and felt told her she broke something. Her system medical readouts verified she just fractured two ribs with the maneuver, and her nervous system seconded that assessment by a bloom of bright pain with every breath.
Her evasive action was immediately justified, however, when two missiles went darting by mere feet from her cockpit glass to continue off into the void. At the speed they were traveling, there was no way they would be able to turn and reacquire her before they ran out of propellant. She glanced at one of the panels on her display board and saw their tracking had been activated a mere half kilometer away.
This pilot was dangerous.
A quick look at the tactical readouts showed her the shot was taken with significant deflection. That was both good and frightening.
She could tell by the angle of the attack and where that line intersected with the ring that the Blue Claw was still some distance away, well outside the low percentage hit range for direct fire weapons. If they were outside the sensor cover of the ring, her systems would have easily picked up their fighter.
She triggered the flare release on her joystick and deployed an ECMF before returning the thrust pods to slow her approach to the ring. As she struggled to maintain her breathing through the agony of her injuries, she decided to focus her mind on something other than the pain. The now verified range of the attack and the deployment of the flare gave her a much-needed moment to collect her thoughts and analyze the situation.
With how severe the deflection of the attack was, it would be a herd to manage hit. Adding in the target velocity change and range, and it would have been an almost impossible kill. Her Assassin had seen her approach, but didn’t try for a quick and dirty kill like most pilots would. They took their time and kept a cool head. They plotted the vectors and speeds, and rather than try to take a low percentage direct fire weapon shot, they went with a missile attack.
They were smart enough to know that if they fired missiles and had them immediately go into active tracking, at that range it would have been a simple matter for her to deploy an ECMF and break their targeting lock. Her opponent chose instead to pre-program the missiles to activate their tracking when they got to a specific distance. To get even close, they would have to calculate on the fly her decreasing velocity, the missiles’ increasing velocity, and then set them to start active tracking close enough so she wouldn’t have time to react. The fact that they got the missiles to a half a kilometer before they activated tracking was unsettling to say the least. Unless the sensor packages of the Enemy were generations more sophisticated than what her fighter had, that would mean this was one incredibly skillful pilot.
On the plus side, if the Blue Claw had a standard missile loadout, they had used two of the eight missiles in their arsenal.
Some small satisfaction crossed her mind knowing she had more ordnance than her opponent, but truth be told, an enemy with one missile is just as dangerous as one with eight, and the Blue Claw still likely had six.
These thoughts crossed her mind as she was nearing the cover of the rings.
Her first order of priority would be to find a safe area to fall into the ring. Her velocity was still too high. The juke to avoid the missiles meant that she lost about two hundred meters of safe deceleration. She looked over the readings and saw an area that had been mined out extensively. There was nothing bigger than pea-sized gravel in that space. It had a note that the area was full of tailings dust, whatever that meant. Small rocks and dust wouldn’t do much, if anything, to give her a tactical advantage. The problem immediately in front of her was a safe place to slow down through, and it definitely made for that.
She redirected and pulled away from her previous course. She did so making sure to keep the flare between her and the direction the Blue Claw had to be approaching from.
The next order of business would be to find an area that gave her a tactical advantage of some kind.
She looked over the information provided by the database and saw a mining zone near a mountain-sized piece of material. She noted with frustration that the final portion of the data stream, the artificial object database, was not yet complete. She pulled up the information and saw that the connection was disrupted.
Opening the com, she asked, “Gronlis, please report? What is the status of the data feed?”
She was answered by loud static.
“Oh, of course. The flare,” she muttered to herself, realizing that the civilian communications equipment was not sufficient to break through the interference.
She looked over at the transmission light indicating she was still streaming for the general public. That struck her as odd. They must have some fairly significant technology behind that equipment. Then, she had an idea.
Opening her com, she said, “Gronlis, I am resetting the receiver to bandwidth zero six. That should be affected relatively little by the flare.”
She prepared the system to start receiving again when the data came through on that channel, and was pleased to see the download resume. It was slower at this frequency, but at least it was getting to her.
“Thanks, Tech. I would be in a lot more trouble out here without your help.”
In the last minute or so before she reached the ring, she input a series of waypoints that would lead her through the areas containing the larger, more tactically useful asteroids.
As she dropped down into the ring proper, she avoided the areas with larger pieces of rock and ice with the assistance of the updated tracking, she made her way safely into the mined-out field. The sound of smaller rocks and pebbles bouncing off the armored polyglass cockpit window was novel to her. The first one to hit made a large snapping noise, but the glass was unharmed. Soon, the It sounded like a crackling noise, or possibly static. Also present was the strange, intermittent sound of dust clouds impacting the glass, which reminded her very much of wind blowing through bushes or trees back on her planet.
It wasn’t long after that she broke through the plane of the ring that the countermeasure screen provided by her ECMF abruptly stopped. She figured it wouldn’t take long for the flare, having not changed course or decelerated as quickly as she had, to impact one of the orbital chunks and add its ruined material to the countless other drifting bits of matter.
In a few seconds, she had the Enemy ship on her sensors. It was far closer than it should have been. Her opponent must have taken advantage of the flare to exit the ring and close the distance at speed. She noticed that its trajectory put it in line to intersect with her original entry point to the ring. No doubt they intended to put her in between a rock and a hard place, having to decide between impacting asteroids, or evading incoming enemy fire.
With the ECM screen now down, she saw the Blue Claw redirect and start heading straight for her.
The thought of trying to lay a trap crossed her mind, but after considering the immediate environment she dismissed it. No, the best thing to do now was stick to the plan, follow the waypoints to the large asteroid, and use the home field advantage. Better pilots than her had gone up against this murderer and never came home. She had to outsmart this butcher.
She oriented her craft toward the first waypoint she set. The route sent her deep into the heart of the ring belt.
There was a little part in her mind musing that normally, the pain of broken ribs would detract from her ability to do complex tasks like navigating a course through an asteroid field partially by sight and partially by instruments. In the somewhat detached and analytical state she entered into during combat, however, she noted with both approval and healthy anxiety the clarifying force of being stalked by someone sent to specifically to kill her, personally.
Threnlis was glad to have the ring data. With it, her lead was increasing over her pursuer. Knowing what was behind the next asteroid, or set of asteroids, was proving immensely helpful. She increased her speed, and began pulling up more detailed information on the huge asteroid she picked to make her stand. She glanced down at the panel to read something, and when she looked back up, as she was coming over the horizon of a larger asteroid. She had to veer starboard sharply to avoid hitting a large, deactivated mining barge.
That was a sharp reminder that she didn’t yet have all the information on what was floating around out here.
She knew the more time she had to analyze the combat area, the better her chances were. It was clearly unsafe to try and split her attention in the middle of a chase, so she focused all her attention on speed, and getting to her destination as quickly as possible.
As she increased her thrust, she gasped a few times with short, pained breaths. The new speed meant she had to endure more physically as her ship darted and wove through the celestial obstacle course. Where normally such maneuvering would have been difficult, albeit within the normal course of fighter combat, with broken ribs it was abusive.
After a few long minutes of agonizing flying, she was somewhat relieved to see her display update with the remainder of the civilian mining database information. Drones of all kinds, equipment, even broken drill bits left inside mine shafts were visible. Her display of the target area looked interesting, but that would have to wait.
Visually directing her attention farther into the field up ahead, she could see it now. It was a huge. What surprised her somewhat was how clear the space around it was. There was little to no debris within at least two hundred meters of it in any direction.
She kept up her pace, and soon broke out into the clear area surrounding the mountain-sized asteroid. She looked at her readouts to see how far behind her pursuer was, and was glad to see she had about two and a half minutes lead on them.
She directed her fighter toward the huge floating rock and began looking through the information the database contained on it. There were multiple exploratory mineshafts piercing it to various depths. Apparently, this beast had previously had significant interest by the miners over the centuries.
Of the various tunnels, two stood out to her as being of particular interest. They were large enough to fly her fighter through, and they intersected deep inside. She didn’t know the rationale behind it, but the two shafts met at nearly ninety degrees to one another. Perhaps most importantly right now, however, was that one of the openings was on the same side as her pursuer’s approach. A third tunnel was an oddity and drew her notice only because it’s bore hole still had a large metallic drill bit that had broken off at some point.
In addition to the holes in and throughout the structure, she saw entire fields of its surface that were being used as a convenient place to dump tailings. While not significant by planetary standards, the gravity of this asteroid could certainly keep some loose gravel on its surface. Now that she thought of it, perhaps that was why the area immediately surrounding it was so free of debris.
A quick look at the remainder of the area revealed little else of interest. A pair of hauler drones floated inactive nearby. One had a load of rock to dump, the other was empty having just deposited its refuse.
Her analysis of the area took about a minute, and she decided to use the remaining time to lay some flares. She chose some areas just inside the clear area, and deposited a few along the perimeter in a semi-sphere shape closest to her approaching enemy. As she was dropping them off, she set them to proximity activation. After that pattern was set, she looked and saw the counter indicated only two ECMF’s remained in her ship’s countermeasures bay.
She wondered how much benefit they would even be. This entire battle, at the ranges they were going to be engaging at, would certainly come down to direct fire weapons. As one of her Human instructors back at the Academy used to say, this would be a, “Knife fight.”
She trained her passive sensors on the incoming ship, and positioned herself just above the mineshaft opening that would lead her through to the other side of the floating mountain.
As she watched the dot representing the Enemy ace get closer on the sensors, she felt the creeping doubts and anxiety penetrating her focus. She was used to battling back fear before an engagement, but this time it was different. She was in pain, and about to go up against someone that had killed better pilots than her. This monster had killed over two dozen of her friends and acquaintances.
She was intimidated, scared, and hurting. All she could do now was wait for her assassin to arrive.
As she watched, her target slowed, and came to a stop. She pulled her eyes away from the readouts and looked through the cockpit. There, on the Heads-Up Display, there was an indicator of where the other ship was. Straining her eyes, she looked and verified that there was no clear line of sight between them.
Instinctively, while keeping her nose and weapons pointed at her opponent, she began sideslipping and making other movements that would disrupt any attempt to hit her with the direct fire weapons.
As she watched, a pair of missiles darted through at an angle about fifteen degrees off from the line that would lead to her. When they had gotten about 10 meters inside the low debris zone, they went active.
Immediately, the nearest two flares lit up the electromagnetic spectrum. The munitions never got the chance to even reorient themselves. She watched them streak off, leave the cleared space, and soon one slammed into a ring object, with the second following suit seconds later with an asteroid farther into the field.
Confused, she looked back in the direction of her opponent. The HUD was being disrupted by the ECMF’s that had gone off, and it no longer had the small hexagonal indicator showing where the Enemy pilot was. Then, down about ten degrees from its original position, she saw it. Speeding through the field, slipping through the various obstacles with grace, was the Blue Claw. Then, everything snapped into clarity. Those missiles had been a test. More than that, her clever adversary had used the missiles as a distraction. They must have piled on the thrust the moment they saw the flares go off.
With her aiming computer hampered by the active countermeasures, she did her best to line up the Enemy pilot and opened fire with her recoilless cannons. Every five rounds in the ammo feeds there was a trace round. They proved extremely helpful in correcting her fire and she was positive that she scored a handful of hits on the closing craft.
Unfortunately for her, tracers work both ways.
Next: Peacemakers (Conclusion)
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I am not The OOP, OOP is u/James19104
My [15M] dad [47M] remarried and I've lost everything I had to my new step siblings [16F-11M-10M] who treat me horribly.
Thanks to u/arethusas for suggesting this BoRU and u/Babacam for finding the links
TRIGGER WARNING: Neglect
Original Post May 14, 2016
My dad married my step mother 3 months ago and I feel like it made my life significantly harder and less pleasant. They moved in with us and for the indefinite future this situation will not change.
We have a 3 bedroom house and before they moved in, my dad and I had our rooms (both with bathrooms) and there was a smaller room which was a study for my dad. After they moved in, Jenny [16F, turning 17 next month] got my room, and I had to share the smaller room with Tom [11M] and Mike [10M]. All my books, my telescope, my stuff are packed and in the basement now since there's no space anymore. This made me real angry but my dad told me that I have to be a team player and this is what him and his wife agreed on.
Jenny treats me like shit. She sometimes acts as if I'm not there at all, and sometimes is super aggressive and hostile towards me. The other I asked Tom to stop going through my things and she became so angry that "I have no right to order her brother around", she told me to get it in my thick scull that I'm not their big brother to tell them what to do, even though all I asked was for them to stop going through my things. She said it's best if I don't talk to them at all since that way they will get less influence from a weirdo like me. What I don't get is that if she's so concerned that I might leave a bad influence on Tom and Mike why doesn't she take them into her room?
Tom and Mike don't respect any boundaries. They're always through my stuff. I have a watch which was a gift from my mother (she died of cancer) and they took it from my drawer and lost it. I found it weeks later in the basement with its front glass broken.
Before they moved in I used to get a $100 allowance every month. Now Jenny gets $75, I get $35 and Tom and Mike each get $30. I had an Xbox but these kids broke it down.
I used to spend a lot of time with my dad. He used to come see me play basketball almost every week, he hasn't done it even once in the past three months since he's always working overtime. We eat out once a week and none of them in these three months have been to any of my favorite places, but Jenny, Tom and Mike have each chosen their favorites more than once.
I complained about all of it to my father last week and he told me that family is all about sacrifices, and I have to make mine. Haven't I made enough sacrifices already? I feel like I'm the only one making sacrifices. I looked forward to them moving in here but I now feel like an outsider at home, it's not my home anymore.
Life has become very difficult for me. I spend as much time as I can outside because inside is so frustrating but this is causing problems as well. My dad keeps telling me that not being around means I'm not accepting them as part of the family while in reality it's the opposite. So I get grounded for not being around, and being around is horrible.
I don't want to live here anymore but I'm only 15 and can't move out. I have nobody else who can take me in. I can't stay here for 3 more years. I'll go crazy. I often fantasize about running away at night but I know that's also as horrible if not even more.
I don't know what to do. Can anyone give me a suggestion?
tl;dr: Father remarried and his wife and three kids moved in. They've taken over my room, my things, my space, my budget and treat me horribly. I feel frustrated and very unhappy here. I don't know what to do to make my life a little easier.
RELEVANT COMMENTS
OliviaPresteign

It sounds like Jenny is the biggest problem. If she's 17, is the plan for her to move out soon? Maybe you can talk to your dad about getting your own room and having the two younger boys share.

OOP

She's not going to move out. She will live at home when she goes to college. Parents already have given her the permission to do this.

Femme0879

I'd show him this post. Maybe if he sees how strangers are sticking up for you than your own FATHER it might change his tune.

~
Darkosaurus

First of all: who came up with the stupid idea of giving three people the smaller room and your step sister the larger one?
Your father really needs to get his mind straight. Yes, you have to make some sacrifices, but so do the other children! He does not want to discipline them though to look good in front of your step mum, but that needs to stop.
Did you tell him about the watch? Breaking such an important piece of memory is extremely rude. Try to stand up for yourself as well as you can and call them out on their behaviour. Maybe your step mother will finally start to say something.
EDIT: spelling; also start to EDIT 2: Apart from that, the age gap of one year to your step sister justifies a 40$ difference, whereas the 4/5 year age gap to your step brother justifies a 5$ difference?!

OOP

"First of all: who came up with the stupid idea of giving three people the smaller room and your step sister the larger one?"

They thought Jenny is older and needs more personal space and her own bathroom. I disagreed but was eventually told to deal with it.

Update June 3, 2016
https://www.reddit.com/relationships/comments/4jbh6t/my_15m_dad_47m_remarried_and_ive_lost_everything/
OK. A LOT has happened.
I decided to just ask my dad and step mother for some time to talk to them and I just showed them my post on reddit. They took a good half an hour reading it. There were times that it looked like they were going to start crying. Eventually they told me that they need more time and we'll talk about it in a couple of days.
Two nights later, my dad asked me to come to their room and to make it short, they got it. They both hugged me and at some point my step mother started crying. They apologized to me for their negligence and told me that they fucked this up. They put all their attention and focus on helping my step siblings adjust given the new living arrangement and everything and neglected how difficult it must have been for me. They promised me that things will change.
About the room arrangement, they realized that it's not reasonable. So they offered me the basement as a lot of you suggested. We went to the store and bought a lot of supplies and made it a family exercise for everyone to contribute refurbishing the basement and making it like a bedroom. So I'll have my own room now. It won't have a bathroom like before but I can really share a bathroom with the boys. That's not a problem.
The money allowance changed as well. It was Jenny $75, me $35 and Mike and Tom $30 each. Now it's Jenny $60, me $50 and the boys $30 each. So $15 from Jenny comes to me now. I think it's much more fair. It's not as good as the $100 I used to have but this arrangement is something I can easily understand and accept.
Now to Jenny. Well. My step mother told me that Jenny's problem is not me. It's that her mother married and she doesn't like that because she was hopeful that she would return to her dad. Now she's trying to make this not work and I'm just in her crosshairs. Apparently she's been a little B to my dad as well. She promised me that she will handle Jenny and make sure she won't be a problem.
Now to the boys. This is the most difficult one as they're 10 and 11. They gave me a small lock so I can lock my bag for now, and when the basement is ready (which will be in a couple of weeks) I can lock its door and only me and the parents will have the key. So at least my stuff will be safe.
About other things, they also made little changes to make things easier. They told me that I can come to them for any problems and my dad promised me some father son time every couple of weeks as well.
I was happy with everything. They addressed most of the issues and found solutions and so far done their best to do everything that they promised.
Jenny came to me a few nights later and asked if I would come with her for a walk in the neighborhood as she wanted to talk to me. So we went and she apologized to me for everything and told me that she didn't and still doesn't like that her mom married my dad and she was forwarding her anger and frustration towards me (the only person she could) which was not right. She said that I'm probably going through similar things as she does and really there's no reason for us to make each other's lives even more difficult than it already is. So I accepted her apology and we shook hands on being on the same team from now on. And honestly she's been very different ever since. She's helping me a lot in preparing the basement and she makes Tom and Mike help as well. The other day when I asked Tom to turn down the TV volume and he refused, she told him to "listen to your big brother". Yeah, good things! I hope she remains this way.
Overall things are A LOT better. I trust my step mother a lot more now. Jenny is much better than before and we're becoming more and more like a family and the place looks and feels like home again.
Thanks for all your suggestions and help. I owe you all a lot.
tl;dr: Showed parents the original post. They got it and decided to make things right. I'm getting the basement now, I'm getting more allowance, step mother talked to Jenny and she's much better. I'm gonna get some alone time with my dad every two weeks. Most of the problems seem to have been sorted out as best as they could have been.
THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP
DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7

Average Reading Time for this portion: 36-37 minutes
Part 1: Humanitarian Part 2: Gratitude Part 3: Peacemakers Peacemakers (Continued) Peacemakers (Conclusion)
The civil war had been raging between the Shra home world and its former colonies for just shy of nine hundred years. It had become such a feature of the landscape that the other species in the galaxy had seriously considered adding, “The Shra fight one another,” to, “Death,” and, “Taxes,” as universal constants.
The length of the conflict combined with the psychology of the Shra meant that the war was destined to collapse into each side being led by a monolithic faction. From time to time, splinter groups that were more or less aggressive would fracture off, but once they had spent their energy on attempting to make whatever changes they broke away for, they would again fold into the greater whole.
On the side of the home system, the faction was called the Sha’Kel, which translated roughly into, “People of Home.” Their opponents in their outer colonies were members of the Sha’Lor, which in its turn meant, “People of Freedom.” The two sides had scarcely communicated with each other in over seventy years beyond insults and slurs broadcast on the battlefield.
The incandescence of the start of the conflict so long ago had now diminished into a smoldering mote of hatred that would regularly ignite into fresh conflagrations of violence. The galaxy at large had a very low tolerance for warfare, but turned their eyes aside from what was happening amongst the Shra.
It was considered an internal conflict. The war had gone on a long time, but longer still was the belief that it would set a catastrophic precedent to allow one species to interfere with the internal politics of another. To start such practices or take sides in a conflict of that nature would open doors that everyone agreed would inevitably escalate into wars on a galactic scale.
Perhaps more fundamentally, the simple fact that most species didn’t live long enough to remember a time when the Shra were not at war meant it had become little more than something everyone just took for granted as reality. Traders avoided certain regions of space, the media no longer reported on the war, and everyone just went about their business because, after all, the Shra fight one another. No peoples of the galaxy questioned the inevitability of that.
Except the Caretakers.
The Caretakers, or, “Humans,” more officially, had displayed time and time again that they were driven to alleviate the suffering of others. Their unorthodox actions saving the children of the [REDACTED] species from extinction at the hands of the Garensha Republic had cemented their already recognized position among the galaxy as advocates and protectors of life. As such, they were drawn to the pain and suffering of the Shra civil war as irresistibly as a Terran moth is to a flame.
At first, they offered their medical services like they had with all species engaging in conflict. So deep was the hatred for the Shra factions to their rivals, that both sides rejected it. They held it was better to destroy the enemy at any cost than to engage in a course of action that would allow one of their despised foes to live.
Failing in this, the people of Earth proposed peace talks. Initially, there seemed to be great interest in the idea. This early hope was crushed completely as both sides independently attempted to cajole, bribe, or even outright threaten the Human delegation that was organizing the meeting to aid them. The requests ranged from the simple planting of listening devices, all the way to poisoning and murdering the other side’s representatives. With each side gaining no traction in their attempts to use the Humans to strike at their enemies, the peace talks disintegrated.
The Caretakers would not be so easily dissuaded, however.


Ediknay was just getting out of his first hot shower in years thanks to his recent move to the central core residential area apartment. While it wasn’t much, the stipend he received as becoming the new ambassador increased his cash flow just enough to get him upgraded from the upscale apartments in the third outer district. On top of such obvious luxuries as hot water and electricity, his mind was generally much more at ease here. The core regions were so far underground that no bombs the Enemy had dropped on their world had done significant damage for over five hundred years. With these new benefits of his title, he finally felt like he had made it to a respectable level of status in their society.
For many years, the position of, “Ambassador,” was merely a ceremonial one. This derived from the species in the galaxy at large having given up on contacting the Shra for pretty much any reason. It had been reduced to something that gave a small stipend and let a person go to a few additional social functions of state throughout the year. Given the severe food shortages and rationing planet wide, those extra few meals alone made the title worth it. Beyond that, it was a station of little actual importance and came with even less responsibility.
As he was grooming his claws and getting some un-molted scales off his crest, he heard a loud thud on the door. Wrapping a towel around himself, he moved over to see who it was. His eye instinctively went to the small peephole and through it he saw three uniformed soldiers waiting outside. He couldn’t quite make out the rank insignia through the smudged lens, and made a mental note to clean it when he got the chance. The one thing their attire told him, however, was that they were not officers like he was.
“Hold on one moment, I will be with you shortly.”
The three uniformed Shra outside exchanged a look and flared their crests in irritation before one of them said, “Ambassador Ediknay? Is that you in there? You need to come with us, hurry up!”
That was odd. It had been years since anyone had failed to address him using his officer’s rank. These soldiers must think he worked in one of the support industries and not in the war directly. It was reasonable, he surmised, given even officers’ salaries were usually not enough to gain residence in the Central Core. The safest areas were usually occupied by various leaders of industry.
When he had finished getting ready, he opened the door and quickly caught the ranks of the people waiting for him.
He asked, “Soldier First Class, what is this all about?”
One of them was leaning against the wall opposite him looking at a nick or something on one of the claws on its hand. The two others were absently talking to one another. The Soldier First Class casually looked over one shoulder and saw that they were in the presence of an officer.
Immediately, he snapped into a formal stance and said, “Officer Present!”
Hearing this, the other two soldiers turned and went rigidly to attention.
“As before, soldiers. Now, what’s this all about?” Edinkay asked.
The Soldier First Class responded, “No idea, Sir. We were told to come and deliver you to the First War Leader of the Fleet.”
He tilted his head and thought about that a moment. Why would the leader of all space combat vessels have any interest in talking to him?
“Very well,” he said, “Lead the way.”
To his surprise, they had a personal vehicle waiting for him. That was a luxury he was unaccustomed to, having used rail lines or busses his whole life. On this conveyance, he was transported to the Central Command Hub. Within a few minutes of arriving, he was shown to the office door of the First War Leader of the Fleet.
The soldiers left him after indicated he should go in. He knocked, opened the door, and stepped in.
He announced himself, “Second Officer of Logistics, Edinkay, reporting as ordered, First War Leader.”
The room smelled faintly of printer ink, with a hint of old wood. He remained at attention, waiting for the War Leader to address him, but as he did so he surveyed the room moving only his eyes.
It was a large space, scarcely appropriate to be referred to as an office. It had the telltale indications it was very old, probably pre-rebellion construction. Actual wood paneling covered many of the walls and most of the ceiling. The lacquer in some places above his head held on against the ravages of time, giving deep maroon glimpses of the opulence this room once held. Where the planks did not cover, there were delicate friezes of plaster depicting scenes of life as alien to him as they were ancient. They revealed cities on the surface with cars whisking people off along old roadway systems. Citizens were dressed lavishly by modern standards, and children and parents walked together through a radiant world of prosperity.
At the far end of the room, the creek of metal drew his attention. It came from a standard issue, mass produced desk everyone in the service used if they had any clerical duties whatsoever. The simple dull grey appearance stood out in stark contrast to the echoes of affluence that still whispered around this room nine hundred years later.
The Shra at the desk glanced briefly at him then went back to his papers, “I called for no logistics officer. You should check to see you are at the right place before coming into a First War Leader’s office, Second Officer.”
“Sir, the soldiers delivered me here at what they said was your order.”
The older Shra didn’t break his studying of the documents in front of him as his crest flared with irritation and he snapped, “What I asked for was our ambassador. Would you so kindly send in those idiots on your way out? Good day, Second Officer.”
“Uh, that’s also me, Sir.”
The seated Shra looked up finally and eyed him, “Is that so? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
“I am new to the role, Sir, and accustomed to a military life and titles,” he replied.
“Well, in that case, let me congratulate you on representing our people to the first outsiders we have received in some time. Their diplomat is in the next room. They call themselves, ‘Human.’ Now, I don’t expect much from them. We had dealings with them a few years back and it came to nothing. Ultimately, they were unwilling to give us any advantage over our enemies, so we stopped wasting our time on them. Normally, we would have sent this one away at the outset, but the people of his planet mentioned a special offer for us that would free up our resources. I don’t need to remind you that anything that will allow us to divert more of our energy and resources to the war effort is something of great interest to our people.”
Edinkay stood there a moment, turning the words over in his mind, not quite knowing how to process all of it. He knew that other species existed, and they interacted with them from time to time, but none ever came offering help. They had tried countless times to convince the Galactic Council of the rightness of their cause, but those bureaucrats never budged in their position of non-interference.
His thoughts were interrupted when the War Leader barked, “Of course I don’t think it will come to anything, or I would be speaking to her myself. The last time some of them came here they tried to get us to agree to peace negotiations with the Enemy. As if we would abandon the efforts of nearly a thousand years of struggle and capitulate thanks to a new face. I think these peaceniks are a waste of my time, but yours is, well-”
The war leader stopped for a moment, as if searching for the right words.
“Less valuable?” Edinkay offered.
The older Shra looked at him and pointed a clawed finger, “Yes, that exactly.”
The older officer gestured to a far side of the room that had three large doors and said, “It’s the one in the middle. Now, go get rid of them so I can get someone more useful in my office.”
As he strode across the room, Edinkay wasn’t sure if the War Leader was referring to him or the Human.
He paused for a moment before opening it, and as his hand was reaching for the handle, the War Leader called, “Oh, before you go in, they seem to have some strange ideas about keeping their diplomats and military separate entities. As such, better not mention your rank. Hopefully they won’t recognize your uniform.”
With that, the older Shra went back to his papers.
As he extended his hand the rest of the way to the handle, he noticed faint outlines that indicated it was once an ornately crafted piece of hardware, now worn smooth in many places from centuries of use.
The door swung open, and he entered the room. He could tell from his peripheral vision that it was another formerly beautiful space, but it had handled the passing of time and use less gracefully than the previous.
Seated on a comparatively modest couch of recent construction was one of the aliens. It stood and waited for him to speak, or so he assumed.
“I am Sec, er, Ambassador Edinkay. My government informs me you wish to open negotiations?”
“We do,” the human responded, “I am Ambassador Valeria Dupree of Earth. I have been tasked with assessing the situation on your world and seeing how we may best reduce the suffering of your people.”
Edinkay stepped to the couch opposite and sat, gesturing for Dupree to do the same.
When they were both seated, he asked the Human, “What would you like to know?”
“How about a tour?” Ambassador Dupree asked with a smile.
“I think I could arrange that, assuming proper security precautions are observed.”


For the next week, Edinkay took Dupree to a number of regions of their world.
When the situation was explained to the planetary government, he was given a special stipend and an assistant to do as much as possible to impress the visitor. It was universally assumed that these Humans were playing a longer game, and that they intended to help them win the war for the end of gaining a loyal trading partner. That was a reasonable assumption, because any species that helped end the conflict would earn itself an immeasurably grateful ally.
He didn’t remember any time in his life where he had eaten so well.
He went all around their world showing all the advancements, resources, and other benefits they could offer the Humans access to if they were to ally with them. There were no real hiccups except the third day when they were visiting the northern areas of the Herojes Industrial Region. As the two of them were listening to a presenter talk about the latest refinement techniques of ship hull design, an alarm sounded.
“What’s that?” Dupree asked.
“We have detected an incoming missile strike,” Edinkay replied, “Please come this way to a shelter.”
It struck him how awkward Valeria was as they made their way to the shelter. She seemed anxious.
“Don’t worry, we will be to the shelter in moments,” he offered, “They can take everything but a direct hit. They are very well hidden from the Enemy. In any case, the bunkers are not the targets of the raids in this region.”
He noticed her anxiety didn’t seem placated by his words. It took them getting to the shelter before she really seemed to calm down. Secure in the VIP section of the bunker, he offered her some water and she took it with slightly shaking hands.
She took a sip and then looked at him, “This doesn’t seem to bother, well, any of you. Everyone just acted like it was business as usual to drop whatever they were doing and head underground.”
His frill fluttered in amusement as he said, “Whatever do you mean? It is business as usual. The workers on the surface have to do this two, sometimes three times a day.”
She took another sip of water and asked, “You said they were not targeting the bunkers. What is the goal of their raids?”
“The same as ours on their world,” he replied, “We learned long ago that it was far easier to target their agricultural and industrial infrastructure than to try and hit their people directly. It is a longer strategy, but it has reduced the estimated population of their planet by roughly 92% since the war began.”
He turned and walked over to a couch and sat.
His claw absently combed through a tassel on the armrest as he mused, “I wish I had been alive then. In the beginning there was glory to be had. Attacks on their world could be seen with your own eyes. You know for the first hundred years both sides actually sent manned ships? Now, the defenses are too good on both sides for manned attacks on planets so those that do personally see combat are usually defending or attacking asteroid mines or orbital gas refineries.
He waved at a monitor on the wall, long since left unpowered by the electrical grid damage in this area, “The gun camera footage is still popular viewing today, eight centuries after it was originally taken. My personal favorite was the famous attack on the Felik Reservoir dam. When we hit that, it exploded and millions upon millions of tons of water broke out, washing away the metropolis of Jegola City. Later reconnaissance showed the flood had toppled all the skyscrapers and most of the smaller buildings were simply washed away. More important, however, was the loss of water to their farming zones, and the electricity shortages they undoubtedly faced. Those brave raiders were hailed as heroes. Nowadays, pilots are rare. They take too many resources to train and the interstellar fighters we use take significant inputs. Sure, a strike craft would be better than unpiloted munitions, but at what cost?”
He focused on her and waved a claw, “The systems now are far more advanced and scientific. We send preprogrammed missiles to impact their agricultural regions in a purely mechanical manner. We know the orbit of their world, and the regions they farm and build in. Plotting strikes is little more than a math equation these days.”
Ambassador Dupree slowly walked over and sat down next to him before asking, “Do you ever wish it were over? I mean, look around. The damage caused to both sides has left you mere echoes of the civilization you once were.”
Edinkay’s pupils dilated as anger rushed through him, “Yes, they have caused great suffering and death. I would with every fiber of my being wish to see them all dead for the suffering they have caused.”
“Have you ever considered that they may have suffered just as greatly?” she asked softly.
“I certainly hope so, and more,” he responded.
He sat back on the couch and he examined her for a moment. A week taking her around and showing her the bounty their friendship could offer had given him a chance to learn the basics of human emotional expression, but he had still not mastered it.
“You seem upset. What is wrong?”
The room rumbled with a relatively near missile impact, and she took another sip of water before replying, “There is so much to take in. It seems you truly are in this to the end. Is this the life you want to pass on to your children?”
He looked at her a long moment, trying in vain to read the complexity of the mammalian features.
“Our children must grow strong if they expect to survive. They have to know what it is we actually face and what to expect. Their training begins at an early age to make them into the kinds of adults it takes for all of us to survive.”
She walked to the door. It had a little window at the top that was opaque with years of dust nobody had ever cared to wipe off. She took a cloth from her pocket and wiped a clean spot to look through at the masses of workers waiting in the common area of the shelter.
“I don’t see any young here, nor have I really at any time on my visit. Do you keep them in some sort of safe area from attacks?”
Edinkay laughed at that, and replied, “No, that would make them weak. Our species is blessed with a relatively short reproductive cycle, or so we have been led to understand from what little those bureaucrats in the Galactic Council shared in the early contact days. We put our education facilities in the least safe areas. That way we know that those who survive will be the right kind of adults to take our species into the future. They will have learned with their own eyes the cost of failure when it comes to defending against the Enemy.”
She walked back and sat down again, “Don’t you think it would be better for you to have an educated workforce to draw on for your civilian and military infrastructure?”
“Yes, that would be ideal, but all available resources are currently taken up in our planetary defense. A trained child would take years to develop. An interstellar missile to kill, or starve, or weaken our enemy takes less resources and can be manufactured in mere days. If disease, or starvation, or an enemy attack kills that child, our investment is lost. With a missile, it is all but guaranteed to keep our enemies in a weakened state, therefore maximizing the benefit from our investment.”
“I am confused,” she began, “With such a system how do you keep as advanced a technological level as you currently possess? I would think the lack of education would lead to a terminal decline over time.”
“Well,” he said, shifting his weight a little on the seat, “Certain families that have proven adept at the technologies or capabilities we need are given resources to train their own children to continue supplying the war effort. I myself was trained as an officer because my great-grandfather earned his way into the ranks, thus proving the value of our line.”
Another boom rumbled through the room, but it was farther off than the previous.
Edinkay waited for a small line of dirt to finish dropping through a crack in the ceiling before he asked, “So, Ambassador, what is it you came here for? I was told that you had a proposal for us.”
She put her glass of water on a small table in front of the couch and said, “I came here with no less than a dozen proposals, actually. After what I have seen this past week, I am afraid all but one of them is off the table.”
He didn’t like the sound of that. What could she have seen that would have convinced her to not offer so much? The confidence he had felt during her visit was shaken to its foundation. Had he lost out on some great opportunity without even realizing it?
“Was it something I said?” was all he could think to ask.
“No,” she began slowly, “It’s because of how your entire society perceives things. Almost anything we may offer you would in some direct or indirect way be used to kill people we have no qualms with. If we participated in your system, we would by extension be responsible for their deaths. As such, I can offer nothing materially to your society. That leaves me with only one thing I can offer as an option.”
Edinkay realized he should have taken more time to convince her this past week that their side was the right one to throw in with. He had taken it for granted she was intelligent enough to comprehend that, but he was clearly wrong. At this point, all he may be able to do is salvage whatever he could out of this last week. If he didn’t come away with something, the higher ups would demand an accounting for the rations and resources he had used courting this species.
“So, what is the one thing you still have left?”
She leaned back on the couch and crossed her legs, “While I can’t offer anything to your society at large, we can still take individual needs into consideration. It would be stretching the boundaries of my mandate some, but I am willing to make the case to my superiors for Earth to take into our care your children. We did it to save a planet’s worth of children from the bombs of the Garensha Republic, and I think the case can be made here too.”
He thought about that a moment, then said, “What would you ask in return?”
“Nothing,” she replied, “It is enough for our people to know we had some part in mitigating the suffering of others.”
“So, how would that work exactly? Would you expect food shipments and supplies?”
She shook her head, “No, we would feed, clothe, maintain their health, and give them a basic education at no cost in resources to you.”
Edinkay tried hard to keep his thrill from being manifest on his crest. The number of resources it would free up to get the children off planet could allow for a significant reallocation of material to the military. Even so, he thought he might try to get a little more out of the deal.
“Will you educate them to be functional members of every part of our society?”
She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head slightly, “In what regard?”
“We would need at least some of them to be trained as strike craft pilots. The process takes years, and we can’t lose out on the opportunity to begin their training early.”
Her eyes remained relative slits, and she leaned forward and folded her hands together before resting them on her knee, “But you just said that you didn’t train pilots anymore.”
“But I explained also that we did so out of fear of losing the investment. With you taking them off planet that is no longer a concern. My government would not consider your offer seriously if all who came back were fit for only farming.”
She grew quiet for a time, and he worried he may have overstepped. Having greater numbers of children simply grow up and be useful labor would be a thrilling idea to his superiors, but he would get promotions and be honored if his deal led to a real increase in military capabilities.
“I think we can agree to that,” she said finally.


Eight years later:
A thrill shot through him as Jurik pegged the accelerator to maximum. The rest of his strike group, twenty-nine other ships, all did the same. Glancing at the sensors, he saw their opponents mirroring them.
The voice of his second, Genrik, came to him over the coms, “You know Threnlis. She will have something up her sleeve.”
He smiled, “Of course she will. She’s as clever as they come.”
“So, we are just going to go straight at her formation?”
Jurik thought about that for a moment before replying, “The truth is, I don’t have any idea what she has planned. The thing I am certain of, is that our team has better pilots and dogfighters. If we close and engage, it gives us the best chance to circumvent whatever she intends to spring on us. After all, no plan survives first contact with the enemy.”
“Well,” his wingman concluded, “You’ve gotten us this far. We’re with you.”
The two wings of raiding ships closed at mind boggling speed. Great plumes of plasma trailed behind the individual fighters in each formation.
Jurik watched with increasing concern as the ships of his opponents didn’t seem to break or maneuver in any way. That was unusual for Threnlis. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said she was as clever as they come, and the fact they were getting so close without any indication of a ploy or trick caused his crest to itch. His mind began racing, wondering what he wasn’t seeing.
Then, he saw it. Their closing speeds started to drop off. While his ships were still accelerating, hers had started thrusting in the opposite direction, but just barely. One ship on their side was pulling away from the rest. It was drifting without thrusting either, but rather than reversing it had cut thrust and was proceeding solely on momentum.
He keyed his com to his flight, “Wing Commander to all ships, they are up so something. Be ready.”
“Sir, their readings are a little funny. If it were different circumstances, I would say that lead ship was deteriorating or something. There are a lot of intermittent, smaller readings all around it.”
That was Sezkig, the best sensor operator in his command. When he told you something was off, you could bet things were going to go sideways.
It was time for a contingency plan. He considered for a moment, then said ordered. “Beta Squad, turn your ships and prepare to accelerate in a 90 degree angle to the incoming forces to port. Gamma, you do the same to starboard. I will take Alpha straight in to spring whatever trap she has planned. Execute maneuver in three, two-
He was cut off by a screeching noise through the coms. He strained as he keyed them off and looked at his readings. His sensors were going haywire. Where before his screen had shown an incoming flight of enemy craft, now all he saw was a giant area of static. It was still heading straight for his wing, but there was no resolution whatsoever in the readings.
There weren’t many things that looked like that on screens, and all of them had to do with an electromagnetic event. That tracked with why the coms may have gone down, but how could Threnlis have pulled that off?
In the mere moments it took him to consider these things, Sezkig had already figured out how to cut through the noise and sent a text to all the ships.
[ECMF’S]
He blinked as he read it again. To make that much of a disruption, they would have had to use all their Electronic Counter Measures Flares at once. His mind raced to think of how using all of their most effective missile defense ordinance at once could help them. Whatever it was, he knew he had only seconds to figure it out. The flares would burn out any second now and he was sure whatever it was she had planned would go off before they did. The one thing he was sure of was that she was using it to get closer.
Keying his com to the same channel as Sezkig used, he sent a text only communication to all his ships.
[BREAK AND EVADE]
He craned his neck around to look behind him and saw his ships veering off and thrusting away in pairs. It was a dangerous move to split up the formation this far apart, but he figured if he couldn’t see her ships, she couldn’t see his either. In any case, he certainly didn’t want to put all the ships in the same place for whatever it was she had planned.
For his part, he and his wingman would go straight in. Whatever trap it was, he would be the one to spring it.
A blaring alarm brought his head back to look ahead of him. The HUD indicated he was getting target locked.
Fighting back the fear and urge to panic, he looked over his scanner screen again and still saw the giant mass of static approaching him. His mind raced to figure out how she was tracking him through that. It didn’t make any sense. She had the same ships he did. If he couldn’t see through it, then how could she?
In a flash of memory, he remembered reading a quote from Sherlock Holmes.
“When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be truth.”
So, if it were impossible for her to see and target him, what could?
His eyes went wide and instinct took over. He turned the nose of his raider ninety degrees and executed a full burn. Releasing flares, he threw a glance over his shoulder to see his wingman Genrik had taken his cue and done the same. When his friend’s ship erupted into a ball of flame and expanding debris, he realized his assessment was correct.
The only thing other than a ship that could independently target would be a missile after it was fired and lost its lock. He wasn’t sure how she pulled it off, but Threnlis had used ECMF’s as a screen, fired her missiles through it, and now they were searching for targets. He pegged his thrusters to maximum to try and get out of the way of the incoming barrage, but his HUD lit up with dozens of missiles that locked on to him. Not even flares would help him this close.
He whispered, “Well played, Thren,” seconds before the hail of missiles slammed into his ship and everything went black.


Time seemed to stand still as the scenario played over and over through his mind. What could he have done differently?
He went over the information again and again. Now with the luxury of time, he was able to start putting the pieces together into a coherent picture.
While they were in formation, Threnlis must have had her entire force deploy their ECMF’s in point defense mode. On that setting, they would only go off if they detected an incoming missile. To make a disruption that big, she must have had every ship deploy their entire compliment of countermeasures. Edging back with reverse thrust, she let one ship drift ahead with the flares. Then at the same time they all shot their missiles at their own ally that was now in the lead. The ECMF’s went off, the pilot used the disruption to evade and rejoin its allies, and the missiles flew on through to lock on to and destroy the next thing they found. Unfortunately for him and his wingman, they were the only two targets available. The rest of his fighters had broken contact and gone evasive at that point.
She had completely outsmarted him. He never stood a chance.
He had passed through confusion, into understanding, and was beginning down the road of self-flagellation for not being smarter. Just then, his cockpit opened and a crack of light penetrated the darkness. He squinted, released his harness, and lifted himself out of the seat in motions born more of muscle memory and habit than intention.
He always hated this part. Getting out of the simulator to face the squad you let down never sat right with him. It was even worse this time, with the academy cup on the line. His team had been relying on him to get them through and win it, and he was the second one to get vented in the very opening of the match.
Bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the punishing lights, he saw a uniform set of blurry forms that he knew were not there when he got in the simulator. He looked to his left, and saw Genrik, who was also protecting himself from the glare as his eyes adjusted.
When his eyes focused more, he saw the unknown forms in the room resolve into three clean rows of pilots. When he could see more, he soon recognized them as his squadron.
He instinctively snapped to attention when he heard a voice call out, “Admiral on deck!”
Still blinking, only his eyes moved as he tracked the Human as he entered the room. What was an admiral doing here?
The older man in dress uniform walked over to him and said, “At ease, Cadet.”
He shifted his posture physically, but not mentally.
The Admiral spoke, “Whenever I am working in this system, I make a point to come see the latest batches of fresh blood we have coming through these halls. I was very impressed by the tactics used by Cadet Threnlis in this match. What is your assessment of her performance?”
He responded stiffly, “Sir, I was taken out too early to make a full assessment of the efficacy of her tactics, but based on previous confrontations I can say without reservation that she is as brilliant a tactical leader as I have ever encountered, or possibly even read about.”
The human looked at him with dark brown eyes and asked, “You had Major Grisham as your Military Tactics professor, did you not?”
“I did, Sir.”
The Admiral’s eyebrows rose slightly as he said, “Well, then, I would say your praise of Cadet Threnlis is high indeed given I know how vigorous Grisham can be with drowning his students in reading both historical and theoretical on the subject.”
Jurik suppressed a flair of amusement that was welling up in his crest as he replied, “Yes, Sir. She earned every part of her win today.”
The older human smiled and looked down at him, “I am afraid you are mistaken Cadet, she didn’t win. Her tactics used up all of her flares and missiles. It was a hell of a gambit, but it didn’t pay off for her. Your ships, being spared of the missile salvo, closed on them and cut them to ribbons.”
His crest stood on end in excitement and, breaking decorum, asked, “Really? We won?”
“You did. Your quick action saved the lives of your fighters. Congratulations.”
The Admiral snapped Jurik a salute, and the cadet returned it.
The older man brought his hand down and called out, “Now, Cadet, unless things have changed around here fundamentally since I walked these halls, I believe you and your team have a party to get to. Formation dismissed!”
With that, a cheer broke out in the room and his team rushed to hug, clap on the back, and otherwise physically celebrate their leader. He was hoisted up on their shoulders in a moment that he would remember for the rest of his life.
As he was looking around, reveling in the moment with his comrades, he saw Threnlis’ air wing enter the room and form ranks.
“Let me down, we have company,” he said, spreading his hands out to the sides.
They did so, and he made his way to her and the other pilots.
Before he could get anything out, she said, “Congratulations on your victory in the final match.”
He ran his clawed hand over his crest and admitted, “You know, if we hadn’t been in this academy for the last eight years teaching me how ingenious you can be, you would have had us. That was a brilliant move with the flares.”
Her eyes darted down and to the side a moment before she responded, “It wasn’t clever enough to get you though. We only vented ten percent of your flyers when all was said and done.”
“If I didn’t know who I was up against, and had the appropriate amount of paranoia because of it, you would be the ones cheering right now.”
Her crest perked up a little and she said, “Well, if you really think that you could tell the brass it was an unfair competition and give us the trophy.”
He bared his teeth in amusement and replied, “Not on your life.”
Next: Peacemakers (Continued)
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Theme

One of the most intriguing aspects of Efrim I is his birthplace, the small town of Kindersley, Saskatchewan. One would expect a man of his status, especially a Trudeau, to have been born in the east, in the old-boys-club of Toronto or Montreal or a suburb thereof, or the sun-kissed coast of British Columbia. To have such a powerful man come from such insignificant beginnings is not only noteworthy, but inspirational.
From Origins of the Apex, by the Princess Lyraeon.

I. Somerset
November 8th, 2070 - CNRL Somerset Site, Baffin Island, Nunavut, Canada
Efrim stared across the valley towards the cluster of buildings and machinery below. Streaks of beige and blue and safety yellow were severed by the billowing smoke and steam, and flashing lights fruitlessly competed for his attention. As he waited, his internal monologue recited his mission statement:
Make them notice,
Make them pay,
Spare the land,
Loss of life is the cost of doing business.
While Borealis was not specifically out to kill, they held the environment in higher regard than its human inhabitants and so in their meticulous planning, minimizing environmental damage was paramount to ensuring human survival.
"That's where the spill came from" said Francis, startling Efrim, who had lost himself in thought and forgotten he was even there. "The big oil spill, it was caused by a faulty valve in that line right there." Francis pointed to a pipe, coming out of a beige building that looked the same as every other beige building, and making a ninety-degree downward turn before plunging into the Earth.
"That's where it came from. Twenty thousand dead animals. Irrecoverable damage to the Hudson's Bay aquatic ecosystem. One pipe." Efrim lamented.
Efrim opened his mouth to continue speaking, but was interrupted by the din of radio chatter.
...last load dropped off, preparing crusher one stop
Borealis cared deeply about the environment, and so when planning protest actions, it was imperative to ensure that their actions did not lead to further environmental damage. Previous groups, despite professing their care for the environment, took actions in direct contravention of that philosophy, such as siphoning fuel out of earth-moving equipment and recklessly dumping it into the soil. Such actions were amateurish, careless-
...preparing crusher two stop
-and showed that the groups committing them cared far more about their own image and virtue than their end goal. Borealis was different. Borealis intended to hit polluters where it hurt the most - their financial statements. Their actions, usually taking place in sensitive ecosystems and with great potential for disaster, must be meticulously planned and executed to ensure minimal to no collateral damage.
The second radio, in Efrim's jacket pocket, lit up and began to make noise. He got momentarily confused - one radio was set to a site channel to listen in on their communications, the other was for the Borealis group to communicate internally.
equipment has stopped. there is no steam coming from the top of the buildings anymore, it looks like it's shut down. the extraction maintenance channel sounds like they're beginning to lock-out
Efrim very nearly keyed the wrong radio to respond. Not that it would've mattered - the radio for listening in on site channels had its transmit button disabled.
10-4. We wait until nine p-m to execute. The workers will be on break.
Efrim adjusted his balaclava. He was wearing one not for identity concealment or fashion, but because it got chilly this far north. He watched the relaxed activity below, a site so remote saw only a few work trucks driving up and down its roads, the occasional worker in reflective stripes walking from here to there. Efrim had only as much empathy as he could for them while allowing the execution of his mission - yes, they are human beings with families but at the same time their job causes untold environmental damage, and they put themselves in harm's way on a daily basis working on an industrial site, so what's it if their number finally gets called?
We have confirmation that oil has stopped flowing through the pipelines, power draw has decreased throughout the plant consistent with a near-total shutdown of operations.
Efrim pulled the radio closer to his mouth to respond.
Good. Only fifteen minutes to go.
Efrim glanced over at Francis, who was crouched and facing away from him, off to the right. He looked back across the valley and peered through his binoculars to see two black-clad figures running away from an outbuilding. Two people, not known to be there by anyone except Efrim. Trevor and Skylar, their role in this operation was to gain access to the site's power plant and confirm that bitumen production operations had shut down, by monitoring the site's power consumption. It's quite obvious, when one thinks about it, that a large-scale shutdown of operations would be reflected by a drawdown of the site's power generation capacity due to decreased load from pumps, machinery, et cetera.
Borealis' plan was fine-tuned to protect the environment, and executing an operation of this nature while the site was running at full tilt would be foolhardy. Any sort of attack, at the wrong time, could cause untold destruction, pipeline blowouts, spills, and any number of other unpredictable consequences. As such, the group had planned their attack around a planned large-scale maintenance outage wherein plant operations are ceased, oil and ore is flushed from the plant's systems and the site is, for all intents and purposes, as clean as it's ever going to get.
As the clock ticked closer to 9:00, Efrim looked through his binoculars again towards a nondescript white van that had been staged deep within the plant days prior.
Whenever you're ready.
Alright, arming it.......heads up....now
The light seeped through even his closed eyelids and whisked around his forearm pressed against his face, and the thunderous roar of the explosion was a sound that he'd never forget.
II. Smugglers
October 12th, 2071 - Kelowna, British Columbia, Canada

Efrim always had an awkward air about him, nobody speaking to him ever felt fully at ease. Despite being a morally correct individual, there was always something you couldn't put your finger on. You wanted the conversation to be over.
From Origins of the Apex, by the Princess Lyraeon.

"I want to be very clear, I am quite sympathetic to your cause, but I just don't see this as feasible".
Efrim adjusted in his seat, the premium vegan leather of his chair dragging across his suit fashioned of recycled plastic fibers. He reached for his mug, taking a sip of tea, and stared at the man across from him.
"What's the extent of your discretion in your office, Mr. Bennett, and to what degree can you slip things like this under the radar?" he said.
"I told you you can call me Julian, we're at that point. I can make things go away but what you're asking, to totally gut the Canadian military and siphon everything off to various non-state actors, I can't just make things disappear like that. I think you have a bit of a misconception of how much these units are going to notice their equipment being crated up and shipped off."
Efrim stood up and paced around the room. His uneasiness put Julian off, though he'd dealt with men like Efrim before, and the personality type had a level of directness that brought slight discomfort to even the most pleasant of conversations.
"Here's what you do," Efrim said, turning back to face Julian. "You start a reshuffle of equipment, if everything gets sent around to different units, nobody will notice what goes missing. If Unit A signs off on the transfer of fifty tanks and only twenty make it to Unit B, neither will be aware. It checks out on both ends, but in the middle is where the magic happens."
Julian let out an uncomfortable laugh.
"I'm director of purchasing for the Canadian Armed Forces, not a five-star general. I can't just make orders like that. I don't have the power to move equipment between units. Like, maybe a few pieces here and there but I can't just shuffle everything with the stroke of a pen and expect people not to take note. If I moved EVERYTHING, there'd be questions asked."
Efrim thought for a moment, wheeling a Hot Wheels representation of a Rivian electric truck back and forth on his desk.
"What about new equipment?" he said.
"In what sense?" Julian replied.
"Purchasing new equipment and funnelling it to our allies. Mixed in with some 'redirection' of existing equipment, I think that would work." Efrim said.
"You mean purchase new equipment, and send it to the tribes rather than to our own military?"
"Nobody will ever notice."
"I think they will, but we're moving in the right direction." Julian said.
"Think about it, if you place a bunch of big orders, you can say they're going to be allocated on delivery, and then just 'allocate' them off the books. Do you think that would work?"
Julian let out a sigh and shifted in his chair.
"I think it has a better chance of working than what you previously suggested." he said.
"Alright, so that's settled. You can start placing orders and direct them to bases near their destination, and I'll arrange to have my people pick them up. The issue remains, though, of what to do about the rather competent Canadian military. I don't think, within two years of production, we'd be able to assemble a force to outmatch them. We can't take Ottawa if it's close, it needs to be decisive." said Efrim.
Julian hesitated for a second before replying, "I might be able to push a software update that will brick most CAF equipment currently in service, except for the really old stuff. Everything post-2040 is on the same battle management system so it should be fairly easy to do. Guns won't fire, tracked and wheeled equipment won't move, missiles will fly themselves into the nearest body of water. I think it's feasible. Their cybersecurity department is a bit of a mess, which I should add is something that you should address if this works out."
"And you think that's something you will be able to do?"
"It's going to be tough, but yes. You're lucky you got me, since I was director of operations for said battle management network. I'll talk to that department."
"Alright, now we're talking." said Efrim.
"One thing though."
"Yes?"
"If I get caught, you forced me to do it. You kidnapped my wife and children and I did it under extreme duress. If I can make this happen, I can fabricate that situation as well."
Efrim chuckled.
"Keep me posted."
III. Siege
January 22, 2073 - Ottawa, Ontario, Canada

It was a resounding success.
From Origins of Borealis, by the Princess Lyraeon.

Snow fell on Ottawa on the cold winters' morning. Colder than usual, by all accounts, a crisp minus fifteen, quite low for a city basked in the heat of the Great Lakes, though not unheard of. The Canadian Armed Forces monitoring stations failed to register the enemy descending on the city for two reasons. First, the surveillance infrastructure pointing inward was not as sophisticated as outward, since an attack from within was totally unprecedented. Second, even with the best monitoring systems in the world, the backdoor attack had rendered them totally non-functional. A system that could, operating properly, pick up an insect entering the capital registered absolutely nothing beyond background noise as Borealis forces had been allowed to move in under the shroud of darkness.
The Anishinaabe, skilled helicopter pilots, performed scouting and target-acquisition activities, while the Naskapi primarily operated tank battalions, less to do with their skill in doing so and more to do with the fact that most tanks and support vehicles had been allocated to them, for whatever reason. The Blackfoot led the incursion from the west, primarily using air power owing both to the vast distance required to get to Ottawa and their commandeering of CFB Cold Lake and CFB Suffield, serving as staging grounds for their aircraft before the attack.
The two Alberta bases, like many others across the country, were taken under the cover of night. Communications were jammed and special forces operators entered, capturing critical infrastructure and executing Canadian Forces members before they had the chance to react or raise the alarm. As both bases were very business-as-usual, had lackluster security owing to their geographical advantage, and were not home to any special forces that could counter the well-trained natives, Borealis forces had an easy time.
A technical bulletin was put out hours before the attack, grounding all CAF aircraft for planned software updates and, in many cases, mechanical upgrades. Technicians working for Borealis planted within the CAF dismantled engines, removed avionics suites leaving them in a pile of wires and screens on the floor, and then abandoned their posts to make way for the onslaught. The bar for entry into the Armed Forces as an aircraft technician is shockingly low, as Borealis came to find out in the planning stages when operatives were being placed.
Ultimately, on that winter's morning, the CAF found itself totally crippled.
The software update, sent out the night before, had rigged most equipment connected to the BMS to shut down at 9:00am. Some equipment had its shutdown overriden for a variety of reasons, mostly by the CAF itself, as the software injected did have some failsafes to maintain the illusion that all was normal. The software was packaged as a 'pre-update' to the full update, and ordered the shutdown to ensure equipment was grounded and in a state ready for updating.
Technology, integration, and artificial intelligence ultimately became the achilles heel of the Canadian military.

They never noticed the malware, because really, there was no malware. The systems were ordered to shut down at a specified time, so that a software update could be executed. That's all it did. Shut the system down. It didn't cause anything to self-destruct, turn the AI against its masters, or anything of the sort. It just shut the system down. And that's the beauty of it. Canada had gotten complacent with the relative safety of having New Alfheim and Japan as next-door neighbors. They thought they didn't need to maintain operational readiness because who would dare attack them?
From Borealis: A Military-Strategic Perspective, by Imperial Swordmaster Julian Bennett.

At 9:00am, as planned, the equipment of the Canadian Armed Forces took itself offline and went into a shutdown procedure for the software update. Many unit commanders had accounted for this by notifying Canada's allies to keep watch during the time the update was happening, to ensure it was not an attack of some sort, but most were at ease as the update had been talked about for weeks prior to the incident and was signed off by director-levels of the cybersecurity, operations, and intelligence divisions. The software update had originated with the equipment acquisition division, to integrate with the new BMS deployed on several of Canada's newest pieces of military technology, though almost no units yet had access to these. Chief among the updates was a kill-switch to disable the equipment should it fall into enemy hands, something both much appreciated and long overdue.
Despite their diligence, the equipment would never come back on line.
Distant explosions grew closer to listening ears, as a coordinated attack commenced across the country. Ballistic missile strikes began on naval bases, to crumble piers and destroy ships sitting in harbor. Bases not completely necessary for Borealis attacks were struck with AI-controlled drones and their runways turned to dust. Those in population centers looked overhead as fighters and bombers and drones danced to a horrifying symphony of destruction.
Very little of the CAF's military equipment survived the incursion. Hangars came crashing down in blankets of fire, engulfing planes. Vast complexes of buildings completely levelled, the vehicles stored inside vaporized.
The brunt of the attack was focused on Ottawa, with hundreds of planes descending on the city and reducing its streets and buildings to rubble with a barrage of airstrikes considered insane by any competent military commander. After air superiority was achieved, ground units entered the city and began to systematically clear buildings, including and especially government buildings and offices.
It became quite apparent, though, that the airstrikes had made quick work of everything. There was almost nothing left of the city, and if any occupants were left in the rubble, the elements would make quick work of them. Nobody was coming to save them.
Efrim visited the city not long after the attack. Borealis held a very tenuous military supremacy over the nation of Canada - to their advantage, they had the native tribes on their side to manage affairs at each corner of the nation, to their disadvantage, almost nobody in the country knew what was going on aside from the fact that Ottawa had ceased to exist. Canada had been taken, but it was time to prove it.
Borealis 2073
TL;DR Canada as we know it is gone, and has been taken over by a paramilitary eco-terrorist group known as Borealis. They currently have a military supremacy over the country by virtue of the fact that they have completely obliterated the Canadian military, levelled Ottawa, and have convinced most of the native tribes across the country to support them by promising an increased level of sovereignty over their land.
While Borealis is running the show, the real power lies with the native tribes who actually control the military forces needed to maintain it. With that in mind, Borealis in 2073 can be considered a kind of feudal military pseudo-autocracy.

• Name: Borealis
• Territory: IRL Canada, Alaska, North Dakota, Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa, Michigan, Indiana, Ohio, Kentucky
• Head of State: Efrim I Trudeau
• Government Type: Feudal Monarchy (Kinda)
• Economic Information:
  • GDP: $16,936,457,021,981
  • Population: 138,854,262

Chapter One
On February 25, 2018, Feng Ji returned to Shenzhen from Shanghai by plane. It was late when he arrived, and as he took a taxi back to his company, he sensed that it was time to make a decision. He called his fellow partners to convene at the office to discuss the path forward. At 2 a.m., Feng Ji wrote three options on the whiteboard in the meeting room: "First, everyone dedicates themselves to creating a standalone action game; second, to develop a popular RPG+SLG mobile game of the time; third, to split into two teams, one for mobile games, with five or six people allocated to prepare for a standalone action game."
They all opted for the third option.
Before leaving for the meeting upon Feng Ji's call, Yang Qi posted on Weibo. Anticipating what Feng Ji would propose, he had been waiting for this call. His post read, "Starting the new year with a grand gamble, ten years in the industry feels like it has all been leading up to this day. Heading out for a midnight meeting, the trees in my entire neighborhood whisper my name..."
On August 16, 2020, sitting in Feng Ji's office, he recounted this story to me. Reflecting for a moment, Feng Ji shared that the meeting at 2 a.m. wasn't really a "turning point."
"It wasn't that dramatic," Feng Ji told me. "We had discussed this for a long time before. And I recently revisited our business plan from 2016 when we were fundraising—you know, you have to write these things for funding. I found that one-third of it was about our intention to create a standalone game—I had even forgotten about it until I checked our chat records...it was indeed the case."
Feng Ji is the founder of Game Science Studio. In 2014, Feng Ji and several colleagues who had collaborated on 'Fighter of the Destiny' left Tencent to establish Game Science.
Game Science's initial projects were trendy at the time. Yang Qi's artistic style was intense and prominent, and Feng Ji knew how to elevate the sophistication of games. Their strategy involved identifying the most popular game genres in the market and combining them with top-tier art, world-building, and storytelling. 'Hundred Generals March' was a card game, 'Art of War: Red Tides' a real-time competitive game, and 'Red Tide Auto Chess'...an auto-chess game. When launched, auto-chess was trending, and the game saw decent online numbers, but then, seemingly overnight, interest in auto-chess waned, and so did their player statistics.
In November 2017, two months after the public beta of 'Art of War: Red Tides', the company partners believed an RPG+SLG project could generate revenue quicker. Thus, they embarked on developing a game of this type, set in the same universe as 'Red Tides', with Feng Ji as lead planner and co-founder Yang Qi as lead artist.
By early 2018, Yang Qi had sketched numerous concept designs for the new game, and Feng Ji had done some preliminary planning. However, Feng Ji felt that the game lacked excitement. "I couldn't take it anymore—you understand what I mean?" Feng Ji explained. "By 'couldn't take it,' I mean that the game we were making wasn't something I particularly wanted to play."
"Although we all believed we'd eventually make a standalone game, we always felt the timing wasn't right, waiting for conditions like having a large sum of money or...just waiting for the right moment," Feng Ji elaborated.
But Yang Qi was not willing to wait any longer. "During a meal, Yang Qi firmly insisted we must proceed," Feng Ji recalled. "He said you can always find a reason not to start, whether it's insufficient funds, manpower, or other inadequacies...If we kept waiting, we might never begin. But he felt if we didn't start soon, the company might lose its appeal to him...So we began seriously discussing it."
That afternoon, in Feng Ji's office, I met Yang Qi. Compared to Feng Ji, he appeared calm and detached, as if accustomed to observing himself and the situation from a third-person perspective. With his mask pulled down to his chin, he smoked cigarettes with fruity flavor capsules. We chatted while smoking.
When I asked Yang Qi why he was so resolute about this, he casually replied, "We've waited for a while, made some other games, because we need to live, after all, survive first."
I posed the question again.
After a moment of thought, he earnestly told me, "Because I don't think I can keep making games like this for many more years...my health won't hold up. Before, I could work around the clock for days without issue, but now, one late night and I need rest. Moreover, a person's creative lifespan is limited; one's golden period of creativity might only span a few years, where you have experience, energy, and a sharp mind...This is your most precious time, and if you don't create something great during this period, you may never get another chance in life..."
After deciding to develop a standalone game, Yang Qi's spirits visibly lifted. At the time, Game Science didn't have a Hangzhou studio; all development staff worked on the second floor of their Shenzhen office. Post-meeting, they cleared a small corner on the first floor for the project, and Yang Qi moved there the next day. Feng Ji, as the founder of Game Science, felt responsible for the "people who came out with him." He also wanted to see his friends engaged in something enthusiastically—even just being enthusiastic was enough.
Chapter Two
Game Science's Hangzhou studio is nestled within a startup industrial park on the outskirts of the city. The park, newly built, boasts a scattering of Hui-style buildings with their characteristic white walls and black tiles. I arrived on a scorching summer afternoon, discovering that due to the lingering pandemic, nearly all the buildings stood empty. A few workers were seen maintaining the roads.
"Initially, we were told there would be things like Starbucks, but because of the pandemic, none of that has opened yet," Feng Ji pointed out to me, gesturing towards vacancies.
Game Science occupies a four-story building here. When I visited around 2 PM, their workday was just beginning. The rooms were dimly lit, with almost everyone slumped lazily in chairs, seemingly on the verge of dozing off. Screens displayed animations or game videos, or interfaces that looked intricate and impressive. All windows lacked curtains; some had cardboard pieces taped up with transparent tape to shield against direct sunlight.
"We haven't had the chance to install curtains yet," Feng Ji mentioned as we climbed upstairs. The second floor served as a common area, housing a few treadmills and exercise bikes in a corner and tables and chairs in the center. The third floor was vacant, save for a 70-inch display on one wall and several wooden swords and shields in another corner. Feng Ji explained they conducted initial inertial motion capture here, which served as a reference for more intricate optical motion capture later. The fourth floor housed Feng Ji's office, though he admitted he seldom stayed upstairs.
The single-player project team moved to Hangzhou in December 2018. Feng Ji appreciated Hangzhou's ambiance, its pace less hectic than Shenzhen's and with more affordable housing, fostering an environment where "everyone can patiently persevere." As a mature company with ample development experience, Game Science sidestepped many pitfalls common in game development. Their core team had collaborated for years, intimately aware of each other's strengths. Familiar with game development processes and backed by successful titles, they maintained a small but highly experienced and cohesive team, deliberately controlling project scope.
Initially, there was consensus on creating a game: a weakly online, strongly combat-focused, melee-centric action title. Debates arose over specific style, but the overarching direction remained. Conversations about the game's style, character traits, and details organically evolved over daily chats during meals and at workstations. Inspired by Feng Ji's fascination with Dark Souls and Yang Qi's preference for Monster Hunter, they agreed on a game featuring "intensely pressuring enemies," "intricately designed levels," and "a mysterious narrative conveyed through fragmented storytelling."
Up until then, Game Science primarily used Cocos and Unity engines, known for their simplicity and low learning curve. For the new project, Unreal Engine emerged as the optimal choice, prompting the entire team to start from scratch learning Unreal. Feng Ji learned camera manipulation, Yang Qi experimented with scene setup and lighting adjustment, and planner "Village Chief" began constructing whiteboxes, determining obstacle placement and setting up barriers.
In May 2018, the preliminary research group assembled their first basic scene to experiment with fundamental combat feel, AI behavior, and combo mechanics. Upon success, they ventured into crafting a demonstrative level showcasing the "final visual effect." They chose Flower Fruit Mountain. A scene in the video depicts the protagonist advancing amidst clouds, accompanied by a dragon, against a backdrop of lush peaks – this is Flower Fruit Mountain.
By late 2018, the Flower Fruit Mountain level was largely formed, implementing basic gameplay functions. The protagonist emerges from a cave to find heavenly soldiers besieging Flower Fruit Mountain, engages in battles, fights a celestial general, and eventually ascends to the clouds to confront armies under the watchful eyes of the Four Heavenly Kings. "Waves of 100,000 heavenly soldiers would come, with the staff transforming into an exaggerated state..." This level was showcased at the year-end meeting. Portions appear in the video's conclusion, with Feng Ji noting plans to revamp the less natural-looking aspects of the heavenly soldiers.
In 2019, the team grew to around 20 members, focusing on delivering "a complete level experience." Deciding it should mirror the final quality players would experience, they named the level Black Wind Mountain. In 'Journey to the West', Black Wind Mountain appears in the chapter "Monk of the Jade Spring Temple Plots for Treasure; Monster of Black Wind Mountain Steals the Robe." It marks the first demon encounter for Sun Wukong on his pilgrimage, which is prominently featured in the video's gameplay demonstration.
Chapter Three
The challenge of creating the Blackwind Mountain level surpassed the expectations of most people, despite prior preparations.
"When you actually start working on it, you realize how difficult it is to create a level that's narrative-driven and emotionally immersive for players," Feng Ji shared with me. "There are so many things you want to include – should monsters engage in dialogue with you? What are they doing when you're not around? Why do you have to fight them? Shouldn't there be some buildup before encountering them?"
All these "desired elements" are intertwined with technology and industrial workflow. In today's era, for a high-investment commercial game, creativity is no longer the sole determinant; realization matters more. In reality, "realization" entails multiple concurrent workflows, each needing to maintain controllable efficiency and quality.
To produce a short in-engine cutscene, the process typically unfolds like this: the narrative designer first scripts the scene, followed by the creation of 2D storyboards. Then, a simple level model is constructed using polygon models without textures (everything appearing white, hence developers call this a 'white box'). Once the white box is ready, dynamic storyboarding takes place within it. If character close-ups are required, motion capture comes into play, starting with a preliminary performance using inertial motion capture devices, tested in-game. If the mood isn't right, it's back to the drawing board. If satisfactory, optical motion capture is used to generate the final product.
Throughout game development, countless production pipelines run concurrently. The larger the game scale and the more advanced the technology, the greater the unpredictability. Any loss of control—be it in quality or efficiency—can spell disaster.
They treated Blackwind Mountain as a minimum viable product. The development team dared not embark on large-scale production until everything was proven feasible. Feng Ji meticulously explained, "Optical motion capture, for instance, involves a studio with 60 cameras and a team of dozens serving you. The daily cost is around 200,000 to 300,000 yuan. If you say, 'Sorry, we weren't prepared today, let's not proceed,' the bill still stands."
Feng Ji demonstrated a playable version of the Blackwind Mountain level, which I also tried out—it wasn't entirely stable, occasionally crashing. He seemed a bit anxious, constantly reminding me that "the handling is far from optimal," "some skills aren't finalized yet," "the stats need adjusting," and "it's not the final quality; many details are missing."
I was already sufficiently astonished. The demo video matched the actual gameplay visuals. I heard a streamer who saw this game's demonstration was thrilled, telling friends, "Triple-A gaming from China has arrived!"
But Feng Ji avoided mentioning the term "triple-A." On one hand, he feared it might invite criticism; on the other, he found the definition imprecise—"What do you mean by triple-A? We know what each 'A' stands for, but this specific definition... is very vague."
"At least one aspect is about spending a lot of money," I said. "Can you disclose the development cost of the game?"
"You can estimate it this way: for every hour of gameplay the player experiences—not including constant stuck points or deaths, but relatively smooth gameplay...," Feng Ji told me, "the development cost is 15 to 20 million yuan per hour."
Chapter Four
Navigating through Zhihu, China's equivalent of Quora, one would periodically encounter a string of questions intertwined with the terms "China," "3A," such as "Why doesn't China have any triple-A games?" or "When will China have its own triple-A titles?" and even "Does China necessarily need triple-A games?" These inquiries are steeped in both hopeful aspirations and a sense of frustration—given our country boasts the world's largest gaming company and a highly lucrative gaming industry, why haven't we produced a triple-A game yet?
For many, myself included, the term "3A" symbolizes an Olympic gold medal, embodying a myriad of aspirations and accomplishments. Anyone with over a year's experience in the gaming industry can easily enumerate the gaps between us and triple-A standards. However, sometimes, one cannot pinpoint precisely what's missing until the endeavor begins.
Watching the 13-minute promotional video attentively reveals that the protagonist, the monkey, remains largely silent, devoid of dialogue or facial expressions, just like all other characters. This led to a perceived lack of character development in the video, issues that Feng Ji attributes to classic "technical problems."
"There's an unconfirmed rumor that Naughty Dog's ratio of artists to technical artists is 1:1," Feng Ji shared. Technical artists can be thought of as individuals who are adept at both technology and artistry, a simplified yet not entirely inaccurate depiction. In essence, technical artists ensure that artistic visions are realized to their fullest potential by providing technical support and enhancing the quality and efficiency of art production. Where tasks require a seamless collaboration between technology and art, a technical artist becomes indispensable.
"One reason we seek technical artists is our determination to excel in storytelling," Feng Ji emphasized. "Motion capture introduces numerous challenges in connection, environmental interactions, and positioning. Remember the final battle with Ling Xuizi, the wolf, in the video?"
"I do."
"Initially, we designed a sequence where the protagonist transforms into a giant ape, leading to a spectacular execution. The wolf would leap down from a roof, only to be caught mid-air by the ape, who would then grip its teeth, pin it to the ground, and pounce. Sounds impressive, right? The problem was, the moment the hand gripped the teeth, clipping occurred. We couldn't stabilize the protagonist's position, causing the teeth to protrude through the fingers."
"This is where technical artists come in," Feng Ji continued. "They ensure proper alignment and can even determine the material properties of each model. Ideally, the wolf's tooth material could simulate piercing flesh... But we couldn't execute it well. After two months, we abandoned the idea and revised the ending. We lost several months due to this design issue, and ultimately, we couldn't resolve it."
Thus, this scene never made it to the final cut. Feng Ji assured me, however, that they're not giving up and will eventually create this climactic moment.
Feng Ji recounted a legend at Naughty Dog, where each artist's desk had a dedicated button. Pressing it summoned a technical artist to address any issues the artist encountered. "Is it a particle emitter problem? An issue with fluid dynamics? Scene interaction? I'm here to fix it on the spot."
Game Science understands the significance of technical artists but lacks a sufficient number. Not just Game Science, but domestically, there's a scarcity of seasoned technical artists, with most "working in giants like Tencent and NetEase."
Nonetheless, they've overcome some obstacles. In the trailer, when the monkey picks up a blade called "Chì Cháo," Feng Ji revealed that it wasn't pre-animated. The monkey could walk up to the blade anywhere, grasp it, and tuck it into his ear. The key was the natural movement of approaching and extracting the sword, a process that took the development team roughly two to three months to refine.
Feng Ji stood up to demonstrate, "You've played 'The Last of Us Part II,' right? After playing that, I felt quite despondent... Did you notice the characters' movements? Say I'm sitting here, and the game prompts me to pick something up—I could be facing it head-on or sideways, yet the action feels incredibly natural?"
I struggled to recall this seemingly insignificant detail in the game. Feng Ji went on, "Initially, we thought it involved capturing more actions, but we discovered the subtlety in character orientation, particularly the feet. If we only captured frontal actions, what about when the object is on the side? Do we rotate? Smooth turning wasn't in our assets, and programming it looked odd. To avoid awkwardness, we could brute force it, creating 32 actions just for picking up this knife, covering every angle. But in the game, you don't just pick up knives; you open doors, wield hammers. Multiplying all actions by 32 would be unfeasible in terms of production costs and resource consumption."
Feng Ji continued, "We researched solutions and studied presentations by major studios at GDC. That's when we discovered Ubisoft's proposed solution, Motion Matching. Its power lies in requiring only a set of base motion capture animations, which Motion Matching then uses, without manual tweaking by animators, to generate a complete, fluid character movement system."
I inquired, "Is this library open-source?"
"There are some open-source versions online, but they're very immature. We refined it to a product level... We reverse-engineered Ubisoft's methods, filling in the blanks where they didn't disclose specifics, like designing the entire action set, accommodating unconventional locomotion animations...," Feng Ji explained, "Yet, comparing to 'Odyssey,' or even more impressively, 'God of War' or 'The Last of Us,' you realize you're still not on par. Their foundational animation libraries and corresponding mathematical algorithms remain a black box to us. It's their moat, their defense."
I asked, "If you manage to develop all these, would it become your moat too?"
"Absolutely," he affirmed, then added, "But they have generations of product iterations under their belt; this isn't something that can be achieved overnight."
Chapter Five
They were constantly faced with choices. For instance, should the game emulate the style of 'Monster Hunter', or that of 'God of War', or adopt the 'Soulsborne' genre? They realized each style entailed different focuses and nuances. Emulating 'God of War' would necessitate a focus on cinematics and execution moves, while 'Monster Hunter' would require tackling the intricacies of large enemy animations. A 'Soulsborne'-style game would demand attention to character progression and dueling combat mechanics—each direction posed its own challenges. The team's primary concern was defining the overall feel they wanted players to associate with their game. They sought to pinpoint how players would describe it.
This quandary persisted until Feng Ji reached a realization: "When we aim to replicate a very specific product... we inherently risk becoming a second-rate game. Even if we pay homage well, it naturally positions us as a lesser alternative in players' minds."
They made a conscious effort to differentiate from the best in the industry. "I acknowledge they may represent the optimal solution for action games today," Feng Ji told me, "but we must distance ourselves from these titles." They avoided direct references, opting instead for innovations like "Bronze Head Iron Arm" and using "Golden Cicada" for stealth.
Level design posed another challenge. Feng Ji was once enamored with the 'box garden' design philosophy of Soulsborne games, characterized by meticulously designed pseudo-sandbox levels prevalent in Japanese games. However, by the end of 2019, the team recognized that 'Wukong' wasn't suited for this approach. They decided that to convey the grand epic feel of 'Journey to the West', multiple levels interconnected by teleportation would better represent a vast, authentic world, allowing for more creative freedom in map design.
Feng Ji still aimed for a "box garden feel" within individual maps, respecting the art team's pursuit of realism. He explained, "In 'Dark Souls', many scenes take place in cathedrals, which lend themselves to looping designs with verticality, but you can't force stairs or elevators into a forest setting. So, it's context-dependent; Black Wind Mountain is flatter, while Leiyin Temple can be more intricate... Yet, I insist on maintaining some openness for exploration within the maps."
Feng Ji was eager to share the game's lore and aesthetic, but I've chosen not to reveal much here. Prior to seeing the final product, any assessment would be premature. This game isn't a replication of 'Journey to the West', nor do they intend to perpetuate the radical, rebellious spirit of 'Asura'.
At times, they're hesitant to mention 'Asura', seemingly wary of player associations. Nonetheless, they do link the two, as evident in the promotional video's closing caption, "After the White Bones, Revisit the Journey."
"Why do you think we said that?" Feng Ji asked me. "'Asura' players have a joke: 'After White Bones, there is no more Journey.' We planned five chapters; Chapter Three, Farewell Lady, referred to Lady White Bones. Our story stopped abruptly there, with later parts reduced to text quests. Thus, players joked, 'After White Bones, no more Journey.'"
On August 20th, when the video was released, Yang Qi posted on Weibo: "This theme has been a burden for over a decade. Many colleagues don't speak of it, but we all know this heartache can't be ignored. It's an honor to Stage display our progress today, and we'll give it our all going forward, hoping not to disappoint again."
I messaged Feng Ji on WeChat, asking, "Can you ask Yang Qi why he used the word 'again'?"
Feng Ji replied, "He probably feels 'Asura' had regrets." He added, "So do I, but without resentment."
"When you say 'resentment', towards whom?" I queried.
"Mainly towards myself," Feng Ji said. "Back then, I wasn't brave enough."
Chapter Six
I shared a portion of my written article with a friend. I told them, "I don't want people to think this endeavor is arduous... as if it's some '80s reportage literature."
"It's alright," they said. "It still feels a bit tough, but not overly so."
"I'll revise it then," I replied. "I'm just afraid people might think they're struggling when, in truth, they're ecstatic."
In conversations with Feng Ji and Yang Qi, I asked what concerned them most after the video went public. Feng Ji worried that the video wouldn't gain the attention it deserved, fading into obscurity. Yang Qi, on the other hand, feared that their team would be poached by numerous companies post-release. As an observer, my greatest concern was the skepticism and attacks from public opinion –doubting the video as CG, animation, or a deception; accusing them of exploiting emotions, making empty promises, and playing up their hardships.
It's not the fault of gamers. Each query can be traced back to several actual cases where they were misled by inexplicable promotions, leading to anger and then cynicism, believing that trust and enthusiasm come with danger. Meanwhile, "sentimentality" has turned into a pejorative due to overuse. There seems to be a pattern: when we talk about people pursuing their ideals, we must emphasize their choices and sacrifices, including some lofty and melancholic keywords, typical moments—like a lone figure walking towards the sunset.
But Feng Ji and Yang Qi didn't exhibit gloom, resentment, conflict, or sacrifice. Feng Ji was radiant when discussing the game. He would start from one point and branch out like a Wikipedia entry, constantly associating and digressing further. This made me repeatedly examine whether my article truly captured their immersive joy. You see, when people engage in what they love, nearly everything appears joyful.
Towards the end of our conversation that day, for some reason—maybe a comment or a particular moment—we veered into an odd direction.
"Yang Qi once told me, if we crawl now, we could reach a mountain of gold and silver—a huge fortune. If crawling guarantees success, I'd kneel right away without needing persuasion. I desperately want to make money. The problem is, which path guarantees such success through this method?"
"I couldn't answer him," Feng Ji told me. "Many people point at a successful product and ask if emulating its strengths will guarantee success. But as you know, many have better execution and resources than us. What sets us apart? In the end, you rely on your intuition—you must first move yourself. Only when your intuition is strong can you more easily touch users. If you're insensitive to something yourself, leaving aside ego, if you're not sensitive, your pace of improvement will lag behind those who are passionate about it. How can you succeed then?"
Yet, even so, success is not guaranteed for them. Game development is a prolonged process, especially for a project of this scale. The promotional video still had issues; they quietly developed for two years, with the team growing from seven to thirty. They anticipate another two years of development, more work, more team members, and countless unknowns ahead.
After the video's release, Feng Ji started feeling anxious. He messaged me on WeChat, worried about being overpraised. "There's no real sense of security yet..." he said. "I'm the type who struggles to feel happy until things actually happen."
I told him he'd get used to it—not just as a hollow wish. In my view, perhaps unknowingly to him, it's already happening. All this praise and astonishment are part of it, the team's deserved reward.
I still choose to believe that good things come when one decides to pursue what they truly love.
Chapter Seven
In the days leading up to the trailer's release, Game Science consistently posted trailer posters on their official Weibo account. One poster each day was accompanied by a few lines of text or a short poem. On August 19th, the day before the trailer dropped, the caption Game Science provided for the poster read: "Once I was so old, now I am in my prime."
These words are derived from "My Back Pages," a song by American folk legend Bob Dylan. In this song, Dylan unhesitantly criticizes and ridicules his past actions and stances – poignantly, he was only 23 at the time. The song is composed of six verses, each beginning with reflections on the past and ending with the line mentioned. The final two verses go like this:
With the stance of a warrior,
I aimed my spear at those full of empty talk,
Uttered my manifestos,
Caring not if I contradicted myself.
My life was guided by a tumultuous vessel,
Where rebellion brewed aboard at every turn.
Once I was so old,
Now I am in my prime.
Indeed, the imaginary threats fueled my fighting spirit,
The sense of moral superiority made me reckless,
I deceived myself constantly,
Fantasizing about what I must protect.
For some reason, back then, I drew a clear line
Between good and evil.
Once I was so old,
Now I am in my prime.
Epilogue
At 7 PM on the 20th, I arrived at a cinema in Hangzhou. Feng Ji had previously informed me that all Game Science employees were to watch a movie together that evening, a team-building exercise and a celebration of a milestone achieved. He had invited me along and also mentioned a surprise he had prepared for his colleagues – before the film began, the cinema would screen the trailer for 'Black Myth: Wukong.'
As the hour drew near, developers from Game Science trickled into the cinema in twos and threes. They appeared no different from ordinary college students or overworked white-collar workers numbed by their jobs. One wouldn't guess they were the creators of this game. Glasses perched on their noses, clad in T-shirts and sandals, their faces devoid of overt emotion, they seized every opportunity to glance at their phones.
I approached one of them, asking, "Are you with Game Science?" He turned to me and confirmed, "Yeah."
Casually, I inquired, "The video you guys put out today did pretty well, right? How are you feeling about it?"
He eyed me suspiciously, pausing for a second before replying stiffly, "Ah... this... I have nothing to say on that..." Then, he walked away slowly but resolutely.
Feng Ji couldn't make it; he was tied up with other matters. After the video's release, his WeChat exploded with messages—congratulatory notes, inquiries, collaboration proposals. The admin staff at Game Science told me that several groups had visited their office that afternoon, including two groups of players. "They said they were nearby, got excited after watching the video, and decided to drop by—we gave them a tour of the office," the admin shared.
Game Science had reserved a small theater. About thirty people sat inside—the very team behind the game. In the morning, they had been stars in the eyes of gamers nationwide, yet now, their faces betrayed little.
But their excitement was palpable. Seated, they fiddled with their phones, surfing the web. Some discussed the video's view count on Bilibili, one voice wondering, "It's already hit 5 million views, do you think it'll reach 8 million tonight?" Another responded, "Are you kidding? Views don’t grow linearly."
Close by, I guessed a pair of planners, chatting while scrolling through their phones. One said to the other, "Some comments suggested making the death screen look better since players will die a lot." They chuckled, and after, the other commented, "We should definitely make it spectacular!" More laughter followed, then one suggested, "Why don't we write, 'Victory and defeat are common in war, hero, please try again!'" The other clapped, exclaiming, "Great! Retro!" They put down their phones, grinning at each other.
The lights dimmed abruptly, and Game Science's logo flashed on screen, causing a brief stir among the audience—only for silence to swiftly descend. The trailer they crafted, which had electrified the entire internet that morning, played out, yet everyone sat upright, the theater utterly quiet.
When the trailer ended, as expected, the cinema remained hushed. A smattering of applause started but quickly died when few joined in. An atmosphere of silence enveloped the room, devoid of cheers, applause, or whistles, none of the excitement one might expect at a movie screening. I guessed it wasn't due to being stunned or numbness, but shyness—the developers weren't accustomed to expressing their emotions. They just sat there until the lights came back on.
The admin entered the theater, informing everyone that the main feature would start in eight minutes.
The developers sighed collectively, and tranquility returned. After a moment, a voice asked, "Can we watch it again?"

Author notes: Not much to say here, other than "Funny how we always worry more about others than we do ourselves, isn't it?"
As always, enjoy the story, and feedback is always appreciated!
First\Previous
*****************
Floating down this hallway was a fairly surreal experience. I had never been in any place this quiet. There was a slight breeze going the same direction as me, but other than that there was no sound in the air. Every spaceship has a different 'hum', and if you were a spacer, you learned to listen for that sound, because any change to it meant something on the ship had changed. And, on a spaceship, unexpected changes were always dangerous ones.
Here, though... There was no hum. I could feel the air moving around, brushing past me, circulating and refreshing constantly. It honestly smelled fresher than any air I had breathed in my entire life. The lights, while relatively dim, were more than bright enough to show me the way, and there were even glowing signs in a script I couldn't read every so often. The ship seemed to be running perfectly fine, but there was no noise of any kind of equipment that would be needed to maintain a ship like this. No pumps or fans moving the air, no purification systems cleaning it, no generators making electricity. Just the gently blowing breeze that seemed to come from nowhere.
This silence had distracted me so much I almost missed the airlock. Similar to the one we came in, it was a small room with a screen to the right of the door and a set of cupboard like lockers on the left side. The far side of the room had what I imagine was the "closed" airlock door, as it appeared to be a large slab filled with concentric rings. Unlike the one we came in through, though, this room was lit up. The screen, and it was obviously a screen now, showed the view from outside. It only showed stars, but as our ship was on the other side I wouldn't expect to see it now. Still, I could make out the star field and even recognized a few of the more prominent constellations, although there were a few stars that would normally be too dim for human eyes to see. On the other side, the lockers had small areas that glowed on one side, like a control surface.
I floated a bit closer to the lockers, looking at the control surface. It was a circle about 2 inches across, softly pulsing with a pale white light. I touched the surface and the whole thing paused in the middle of a pulse, then after a moment flashed green and then lit up solid green. I pulled my hand back, and the locker door opened slightly, unlocked.
"Carla, come in. I think I found something." I radioed to Carla, more to have someone to talk to about this than anything else. As quiet as this place was, I needed to talk this through.
"Hrm? Oh, Adam. What's up?" Carla's voice sounds in my headset. "You got something?"
"Yeah, I'm in an airlock room, like the one we came in, but it's lit up and turned on, and one of the side cupboards just opened. I'm going to check it, but I wanted to let you know before I did. In case something jumps out and eats me."
"Ok, go ahead," Carla came back quickly. "I bet you'd be tasty!"
Opening the door, there looked to be some equipment inside, but I couldn't get a good look. I could see some movement, something that looked like a light fabric being disturbed by the door opening, but when I reached in to see what it was, it parted around my hand like a cloud. Just as I reached the back of the space, a mist sprayed from the front of the locker, forming an oily coating on my wrist. "Yikes!" I said as I yanked my hand out. "It just sprayed me with something!" looking at my hand, it appeared to be lightly coated in whatever this stuff was, but it was rapidly evaporating. "I don't know what it was, but it isn't eating me, anyway."
"You don't know, maybe that was just seasoning!" Carla shot back. "Is there anything else in the locker?"
I opened the door wider, but it still looked like the locker was filled with fog. "I think I can see something, but I can't tell. Give me a sec..." I reached in again, waiting for the spray to hit, but it didn't this time. "Huh, I guess that spray was a one-time thing. There's something else back here, though..." I grabbed a handle, but as I did I felt a slight tingling on my hand, so I pulled back. "Nope! I don't need to pull that out that much."
"Adam, what's going on?" Carla sounded worried in my ear, so I knew I had to move on.
"Nothing, just tried to grab something and it didn't want to come. I'm not going to break anything, so I think I'm done here. How's it going there?"
"Well, I have good news and bad news. The good news is I was able to extract some log texts, it looks like a diary or something. I'm not able to translate it all yet, but I've set up an automated translation routine, so we should have some reading material when you get back up here. I set up the drone's projection to 'i/o' mode, which will let you use it like a computer interface that you're used to. You should be able to use that to browse through the logs when you get up here and not bother me... because the bad news is, to get access to the navigation I'm going to have to jump 'into' this ship's computer. While I'm doing that, I won't be in the drone to respond to you. I will have to find the ship's speakers and microphones to talk to you, and I can't map them out without being inside the system. So I'll be out of reach for a bit, but once I'm fully inside this computer I should be able to figure it out pretty quickly. And once I have it figured out, I should be able to pilot this tree wherever we need to go."
"Is that safe?" I asked. I knew that Carla was rather small, in terms of an AI, but that 'small, in terms of an AI' was still a lot of data, and if she uploaded herself into a system that couldn't handle her, she'd be crippled, or worse.
"Normally, I'd say no, but this computer tech... I'm not going to lie, I'm kinda jealous. This system runs on some kind of bio-quantum substrate that is 100x faster than the fastest computer I've ever seen. It also seems to have some kind of recursive genotype memory storage, meaning that it has pretty much unlimited storage space that is accessible in a fraction of the time it would take to access my own memories in the drone. It's... yeah. Impressive is not doing it justice. I will be fine in there. It's just going to take a bit to find what I need to get this bush moving, is all."
"Well, ok. If you're sure it's not a problem, go ahead. But be careful! I don't want to get stranded out here alone." I radioed Carla. "I'm not sure what I'd do without you, pixie."
"Aww, that's sweet, ya big zombie. I'd be lost without you, too." Carla replied. "Well, if I can't get in, I'll know immediately and bounce back out, so if you don't hear from me in 2 seconds, wish me luck!"
I waited a few seconds, then sighed. "Good luck, pixie. Hopefully you won't need it." I muttered to myself.
Turning back to the hall, I sighed again. Back to the lonely, creepy tunnel in a tree, I guess.
******************
First\Previous

When I first watched this episode, I wasn't sure how well it was going to age in my mind. It didn't make a lot of sense, even though I enjoyed the ride. I was worried that if it continued to not make sense, I would like the episode less and less each time I watched. Near the end of my second viewing of the episode, the theme of Death and the fact that her life is flashing before her eyes occurred to me. A lot of pieces fell into place in my mind, making this episode very satisfying. After sitting with it for a few more days, I think it definitely leaves fewer questions unanswered.

• How does she travel back in time? Everybody has heard that just before you die, your life flashes before your eyes. Through this episode, we learn that when you die in the DW universe, your consciousness literally travels back in time to watch yourself throughout your life. This changes the mystery from "How?" to "Why do we see Ruby's ghost and nobody else's?" Maybe it will make more sense when we discover more about Ruby, or maybe the Doctor's disappearance created some kind of anomaly that allows Death/Ruby's Ghost to take physical form. Maybe the Doctor's banishment isn't absolute and he is working in the background of the episode to make it possible for Ruby to see her ghost.
• "She looks like what she is." She looks like Death. Particularly when standing at the foot of the bed when Ruby dies. The only thing missing really is a scythe. She also just looks like an old woman but Ruby's hair was not that long when she died. I think the long hair is the only aspect of Death/The Reaper that we get to see throughout, like the character of Death is traveling with Ruby's Ghost or Ruby has become a part of Death.
• Death is something that is always with us. Semper Distans. Something that is following and waiting for our time. We all know that we are going to die and that knowledge is something that we can focus on or ignore. The poem at the beginning of "Heaven Sent" would work so well in this episode too.
• The Doctor effectively dies at the beginning of this episode. Whether it's because of supernatural causes or maybe you can give some tortured timey-wimey explanation that there is some kind of butterfly effect from stepping on the hopes and dreams of whoever made the fairy circle that results in the Doctor disappearing and the Tardis glitching out and locking or becoming a regular phone booth.
• Why does everyone run away from her?
  • Literally they're looking into the face of Death. Use your imagination. Maybe they see their own ghost when they get close enough. Or maybe it's like looking into the Untempered Schism and any human that looks into it unprepared is driven mad. They run away, and when they come to their senses, they are just left with a lingering hatred/fear of Ruby and the thing that is following her.
  • Metaphorically/Thematically the character's are dying. Death takes Ruby's mom away from her when she tries to talk to it. Death takes our loved ones away from all of us if we live long enough.
• What is she saying? She's talking to herself, just reminiscing about her life. In the moment before the Doctor steps on the fairy circle, she just does what any of us would do if we watched ourselves do something we regretted throughout our lives. She tries to tell herself to do something different. Do the right thing and warn the Doctor that he's about to step on the fairy circle. In the beginning of the episode, Ruby is looking in the direction that the Doctor is walking, so she is either too enthralled by the story of Gwilliam to notice, or worse, she sees and decides it's unimportant because it just looks like some superstitious nonsense put together by kids. This, to me, is the most beautiful thing about the episode. That maybe the moral voice in our head, our conscience, comes from ourselves rewatching our lives at the moment of death and making some desperate attempt to give us guidance from beyond. This is always happening to all of us. For some of us it's a whisper, for some of us it's ignored or written off or completely unheard. and for some reason for Ruby it manifests physically around this event.
• What about Roger Ap Gwilliam/Mad Jack? I don't think there is anything deeper going on besides coincidence with the name "Mad Jack." Before the Doctor disappeared he even said "he brought us to the *brink* of nuclear-[war?/annihilation?/something]" So whatever he does is not humanity ending with or without Ruby's intervention. Still, I think the scene of Ruby scaring him off is a great use of the theme of the episode. If you stand in the right place at the right time (protest), you can put the fear of death in those in positions of power.

I am mostly convinced that this episode could stand on it's own and that I won't be disappointed if they don't explicitly come back to it for further explanation, but I find it likely that the mystery around Ruby will make some sense of it, even if it is hand-wavy. If I allow myself to speculate for a moment, perhaps she has some relation to Death itself. "The Oldest One" and "The One Who Waits" are both fitting titles for Death if it turns out they are a member of the Pantheon or something. Look it up if you want, but the title of the finale of this season would suggest as much if taken literally.
I'm sure there are things I didn't address but this makes the most sense out of it to me and I haven't seen anyone else acknowledge her life flashing before her eyes in their theories or reviews of the episode so I'm curious what you all think of that.

DAY: MAY 29 2024
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5-29-2024

DO EPILEPSY MEDICATIONS TAKEN DURING PREGNANCY AFFECT A CHILD’S CREATIVITY?

While older drugs for epilepsy, taken while pregnant, have been shown in previous research to affect the creative thinking of children, a new study finds no effects on creativity for children born to those taking newer epilepsy drugs. This study is published in Neurology. Overall, the study found no effects on the children’s creative abilities or their executive function, which is a person’s ability to plan, focus, and manage multiple tasks. However, when researchers looked only at children with higher concentrations of these medications in the mother’s blood during the
5-29-2024

WHY USING DATING APPS FOR PUBLIC HEALTH MESSAGING IS AN ETHICAL DILEMMA

Dating apps are not just about finding love or hooking up. They’re becoming increasingly important in the communication of public health messaging, particularly sexual health. In 2023, Harvard Public Health magazine suggested that dating apps could “become a key component in [sexually infectious diseases] prevention.” And their prediction seems to be spot on. Grindr, a dating app popular among men who have sex with men, for example, has recently partnered with MPOWER in Ireland and The Love Tank in London to allow users to order HIV test kits through the
5-29-2024

HOW EXTREME HEAT CAN AFFECT MENTAL ILLNESSES

During heat waves, hospital admissions for mental health spike. The past 10 years were the hottest on record, and as we prepare for another scorcher of a summer, it’s time to take steps to increase our preparedness for extreme heat. The potential for heat stress, heat exhaustion and heat stroke are well known hazards of extreme heat. Yet, physical health is not the only factor to consider under extreme heat; mental health can also suffer. Many people can relate to the sleepless nights during hot summer months, as well as
5-29-2024

FROM HEALTH TO SPORTS—EARS CAN SAY A LOT ABOUT YOU

An ear is like an iceberg—much of it is out of sight. The only visible part is the auricle—the seashell shaped structure made of bendy cartilage, covered in skin. Its main role is to act as a trumpet, filtering and funneling sound waves down into the middle, then the inner ear, where they are converted into our sense of hearing. A medical ear examination usually involves an inspection of the canal, using an instrument called an otoscope. This is usually to investigate more common ear conditions—an infection, or a clog
5-29-2024

HOW TO KNOW WHEN IT’S TIME TO QUIT THERAPY

Therapy is great. It gives you the space, time and resources to handle the most difficult challenges of life. Therapy can be especially helpful in the often-confusing life period of your 20s and 30s, when so much is changing and many of your peers have wildly different lifestyles. The aim is to help you discover the thoughts, emotions and behavior that are negatively affecting you, determine where these come from, and develop strategies to change them. But then, how do you know when it is the right time to quit
5-29-2024

STUDY FINDS THAT MEMORY COMPLAINTS CAN PREDICT BIOLOGICAL CHANGES IN THE BRAIN

A new study adds further evidence that when a patient or family member notices signs of persistent memory loss, it’s important to speak with a doctor. While there are many reasons why someone’s memory may change, researchers from Mass General Brigham who are studying patients prior to diagnosis with Alzheimer’s disease found changes in the brain when patients and their study partners—those who could answer questions about their daily cognitive function—reported a decline in cognition. Using imaging, the researchers found reports of cognitive decline were associated with accumulation of tau
5-29-2024

BLOOD FLOW MAKES WAVES ACROSS THE SURFACE OF THE MOUSE BRAIN

Researchers have, for the first time, visualized the full network of blood vessels across the cortex of awake mice, finding that blood vessels rhythmically expand and contract, leading to “waves” washing across the surface of the brain. These findings improve the understanding of how the brain receives blood, though the function of the waves remains a mystery. The work is published in the journal Neuron. A network of elastic and actively pumping vessels carrying oxygenated blood span the surface of the brain before entering the
5-29-2024

RESEARCH REVEALS WHAT WE SEE ONLINE AFFECTS US MORE THAN LENGTH OF EXPOSURE

It is what we are looking at, rather than how much time we are spending our time online that influences our health and well-being, according to a major new report. The study, published in the journal World Psychiatry, is a comprehensive examination of the latest scientific evidence on screen time and mental health, carried out by an international research team. The authors emphasize the importance of taking an individualized and multi-dimensional approach to how the Internet affects mental health, cognition and social functioning. Content that may be relatively harmless to
5-29-2024

LIFELONG COGNITIVE RESERVE HELPS MAINTAIN LATE-LIFE COGNITIVE HEALTH, 15-YEAR FOLLOW-UP STUDY SUGGESTS

The brain’s flexibility and ability to cope with loss of neurons or other lesions in the brain is called cognitive reserve. In a 15-year follow-up study, researchers at the division of Aging Research Center (ARC), Karolinska Institutet, suggest that lifelong cognitive reserve helps maintain late-life cognitive health by delaying cognitive transition in the preclinical stages of dementia. The results of their findings were recently published in Alzheimers & Dementia. “We found evidence that lifelong greater cognitive reserve was linked with reduced risks of late-life transitions from normal cognition to mild
5-29-2024

YOU DON’T HAVE TO LIVE WITH PELVIC PAIN

Pelvic health is crucial to a woman’s overall well-being but is often misunderstood or overlooked. When symptoms such as urinary incontinence, pain or discomfort, or pain during intercourse occur, they are dismissed as a byproduct of pregnancy and childbirth or just something that comes with age like arthritis. But those symptoms can have a profound effect on a woman’s physical, emotional and social well-being and can lead to more serious complications if untreated. One of the most common conditions is pelvic organ prolapse. This condition occurs when the muscles, ligaments
5-29-2024

RESEARCHERS DEVELOP MICRONEEDLE PATCH THAT CAN DETECT SKIN CANCER EARLY

Researchers have developed a new method for detecting malignant melanoma. A new type of patch equipped with microneedles can identify the biomarker tyrosinase directly in the skin, according to a study published in Advanced Materials. The patch is equipped with microneedles that can detect tyrosinase, an enzyme that is an important biomarker for malignant melanoma. By measuring the enzyme’s
5-29-2024

MORE OUT-OF-STATE PATIENTS SEEK ABORTIONS IN WASHINGTON STATE

Changes in Weekly Number of Abortions and Out-of-State Patients Before and After the Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization Decision, January 1, 2017, to July 31, 2023. Vertical orange line indicates the Supreme Court Dobbs v Jackson Women’s Health Organization decision (June 24, 2022). The blue line indicates deseasonalized trends, the black line indicates estimated seasonality, the dotted line indicates the counterfactual, and the dots indicate the outcome (eg, weekly number of abortions).
5-29-2024

GAPS BY RACE, ETHNICITY EXIST IN HEALTH CARE QUALITY UNDER TRADITIONAL MEDICARE, MEDICARE ADVANTAGE PLANS

Medicare Advantage (MA) is an increasingly popular source of Medicare coverage for all recipients, including individuals from racial and ethnic minority groups. Certain managed care strategies used in MA—such as prior authorization, gatekeeping for access to certain services or specialists, and narrow provider networks—may pose challenges in accessing care. This means the quality of MA-funded care for minority groups has critical health equity implications. A new study published in Health Affairs and led by Professor Jeah Jung found that MA plans do not equally improve the quality of care across
5-29-2024

STUDY SHOWS MORE THAN JUST SOCIAL MEDIA USE MAY BE CAUSING DEPRESSION IN YOUNG ADULTS

Over the past few decades, there has been a significant increase in the prevalence of depression in adolescents and young adults—and a simultaneous uptick in the inclusion of technology and social media in everyday life. However, it is unclear how exactly social media use and depression are associated and relate to other behaviors, such as physical activity, green space exposure, cannabis use and eveningness (the tendency to stay up late). In a study published in the International Journal of Mental Health and Addiction, a team of researchers, led by experts
5-29-2024

MATTERING MUST BE CENTRAL IN YOUTH SUICIDE PREVENTION, SAYS STUDY

Youth suicide is a growing concern in Canada, the U.S., and around the world, with some research suggesting this might be linked with excessive social media use in vulnerable teens. With Mental Health Awareness Month closing out this week, York University Psychology Professor Gordon Flett says he was motivated by a growing sense of alarm and frustration when undertaking a review of studies on mattering and youth suicide for his latest research, which appears in Child Protection and Practice. Mattering is feeling significant in the eyes of other people, which
5-29-2024

HEARING STUDY REVEALS PREVALENCE OF TINNITUS

About 78% of participants in the Apple Hearing Study, conducted by the University of Michigan, have experienced tinnitus—the perception of sound that others do not hear. That is just one of the findings that U-M researchers and Apple shared today from the Apple Hearing Study, one of the largest surveys on tinnitus to understand the effects of
5-29-2024

RESEARCHER CALLS FOR MORE RESOURCES TO BRING REGULAR MAMMOGRAMS TO RURAL TEXANS

women who live in rural Texas, particularly those of a minority background, were less likely to get routine mammograms when compared to their urban counter parts. The findings are published in the journal Geriatric Nursing. Using Texas Medicare data, the
5-29-2024

TO SOLVE THE NURSING SHORTAGE, RESEARCHER PROPOSES GOVERNMENT FUNDING FIX

Health economist Olga Yakusheva, a professor at the University of Michigan School of Nursing, believes that current government reimbursement models incentivize hospitals to cut nursing jobs to save money. Yakusheva, an expert on the economic value of nursing, and Robert Longyear, co-founder and CEO of Avenue Health, present a new hospital funding model they believe could help solve the nurse staffing problem and improve patient care. Yakusheva discusses their research, which appears in an article in the journal Health Affairs. Since COVID, we’ve seen a lot of media coverage about
5-29-2024

IMPROVING CELL THERAPY BY CREATING T-CELL ‘SUPER SOLDIERS’

A new proof-of-concept study by researchers at the Herbert Irving Comprehensive Cancer Center (HICCC) shows that changing only a single letter in the DNA code of selected genes in T cells may lead to improved cell therapy. The researchers, led by Benjamin Izar, a member of the HICCC, used novel CRISPR-dependent base editing to “supercharge” cell therapies, making them potentially more effective for more patients. Cell therapies work by re-engineering a
5-29-2024

ULTRASOUND LOCALIZATION MICROSCOPY: BUBBLES REVEAL TINY VESSELS

To the trained eyes of a doctor, the gray-white shapes and textures of an ultrasound image reveal more than to the layperson. But the tiniest vascular structures have remained elusive—until now. The team from the Department of Medical Engineering at Ruhr University Bochum headed by Professor Georg Schmitz is perfecting ultrasound localization microscopy (ULM). By deploying a commercially available contrast agent with microbubbles and performing a number of calculation steps, it’s now possible, for example, to image the vascular structure of a mouse kidney in minute detail, as well as
5-29-2024

NOVEL DEVICE COULD ALLOW EARLY DETECTION OF DEADLY CONDITION

Each year, at least 1.7 million adults in the United States and millions more worldwide develop sepsis, a life-threatening condition that occurs when the body’s immune system has an extreme response to an infection. The condition, which can be difficult to detect and treat, rapidly damages tissues and vital organs and is one of the leading causes of death in hospitals. To help doctors spot when the condition may be developing, one medical technology company, Opticyte, has developed a novel, noninvasive device that can send out alerts when
5-29-2024

INTERNATIONAL EXPERTS REACH CONSENSUS ON THE LABELING OF SPATIAL NEGLECT

A consensus has been achieved by an international team of rehabilitation researchers and clinicians on the standardized labeling of spatial neglect, a common disorder following neurological injury, which is characterized by a lack of awareness or response to objects or stimuli on the side opposite a brain lesion. The panel reached a 75% consensus to adopt “spatial neglect” as the standard term for the disorder. The consensus paper, titled “An International and Multidisciplinary Consensus on the Labeling of Spatial Neglect Using a Modified Delphi Method,” was published open access on
5-29-2024

RESEARCHERS USE AI, SOCIAL MEDIA TO IDENTIFY HEALTH CONCERNS OF PEOPLE LIVING WITH HIV AND AIDS

Machine learning, artificial intelligence (AI) and social media are providing researchers with the opportunity to analyze valuable information about social issues in relation to health and mental health, particularly in relation to topics people may be reluctant to discuss in other settings, according to Richard Lomotey, associate professor of information technology at Penn State Beaver. Lomotey, along with researchers from Penn State, the University of Saskatchewan

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Good day to you all. Here is my story and if it resonates with you great. If not, fuck off I don't care. Alright here we go, as most of you on here I had started jacking off at the age of 13 when having a flip phone with barely any pixels on it (millennials know what I mean) and if you are gen z, google "samsung flip phone 2007" and you will know what I am referring to. At first it was spontaneous, fun, euphoric in a way. Yet, despite it all I was still able to have on/off relationships with girls and lost my virginity at age of 16. Now, looking back on it (I am 29 years of age at the moment) things started turning worse after high school graduation. By that time I already had an IPhone, and a PC which opened up a whole can of worms when it comes to PMO. I was going absolutely ham every day thinking that this jacking off is "healthy" for me since every web search that I have done told me that if I stop I will get cancer. Now, with that said, I continued with this trend until I was about 26 years old. Between the high school graduation and me being 26 years old, a lot of moments have happened that would of led to me to having sex with women yet for some reason (again looking back at it now) I did not pick up on those cues at all thinking that girls don't want sex, since they always complained about how guys are "pigs" and shit (I know, I know, fucking pathetic.) Yet, my world had completely been turned upside down when at 26 years of age I was finally able to get a woman who I was attracted to in bed and yet to my surprise my dick did not work. She tried almost everything she could to make me hard yet for some reason it just did not budge. At the end of it all it ended up with me fucking her mouth and her swallowing my load blaming her and her outfit (even though it was perfectly fine) for the occurrence (a move of a serious asshole, I know.) Now, after that moment is when I realized that something was not right, and that I had to find a way to fix this. By that time the NoFap and the Manosphere groups on top of all the YouTube man coaches got much more popular and I started reading it up on it all after it was recommended to me by my attorney who completely changed my life because of it (Tim if you are reading this, you are the absolute GOAT in my life.) After continuously going through the content and reading the "Your Brain on Porn" Book, which by the way is a must read if you have not read it already, I decided to stop jacking off and watching pornography. Now it has been almost a year of me completely abstaining from any pornographic material and looking back on it, here is my journey that has transpired (mind you, the journey is far from over, and now is becoming a complete lifestyle. If after reading this you decide to continue on watching porn and jacking off, well you are a complete idiot. I don't care if you don't agree, see the beginning statement of this article if you need a reminder, at the end of it all I am the one who will get the girls that you would rather get off from looking at the screen, shit maybe you will see me on that screen one day, its okay.) Before we move forward I wanted to let you know that there are many many other instances of observation that happened in this time frame yet, perhaps if I write a book on it in the future, you will get to know the whole aspect of this journey. Here we go, get ready:
Month 1 - The first a couple days will be quite difficult since your brain is not used to the break. After about a week of abstaining, you will get a sudden rush of energy (due to your testosterone levels skyrocketing) expect it. You will feel absolutely unstoppable and that is your brain giving you just a small taste of what is to come if you actually pull through and conquer the dragon (Chinese reference to the mental process that a man must go through if he does decide to go onto this path.) It is greatly recommended that you start physically being active in this stage as this will set up a pattern of healthy habit formation (and by the way if you start being physically active during this period, by the end of it you will be in the best shape of your life and will not stop since now it has become an active habit that is now a recurring event.) Get your ass in the gym, sign up for Muay Thai, Jiu Jitsu, Boxing, fucking anything that gets you moving.)
Month 2-3 - Okay, this is when things get really interesting. Your brain will start shutting itself down in order to go through the repair process (also known as a "flatline"). During this phase you will try to convince yourself that you need to watch a couple of scenes or just a couple of pictures to make sure that you are not going insane and that your dick works. Do NOT fall into this trap, your brain will try anything to get you to relapse. It is going to be literally a mental war that you are going to have with yourself (hence the dragon reference from earlier). Now, if you do relapse its okay, recognize the action steps that led you there and move forward being aware of these steps to recognize them in the future and stop them in its track as you are continuing on this path. During the flatline phase you will care about nothing, nothing will matter, people, goals, motives, nothing. You will have no strength (literally) to do anything, again, its okay. Recognize that it is happening and what you are experiencing is completely normal. This was the most difficult timeframe to get through for me. The mental battles, cloudiness, in some way psychotic events that transpired have been unlike anything I have ever experienced before, and yes I have relapsed twice during the process, yet before every relapse: first - the time frame between relapses has been continuously increasing. Meaning, that when I relapsed the first time (after a month) the second relapse happened three months later (notice 1 month for first time and three months for second time) gradually the body adjusted to the absence of artificial stimulation. Now, hence it is not critical that you relapse throughout this journey and if you do it is important to again not use it as a reason to relapse in the future yet as a meaning of reflection (recognition of events that let you up to this point and abstaining from them moving forward.)
Month 3-6 - This is when you start seeing the light at the end of the tunnel yet the journey is far from over. You will oddly start recognizing your worth. What does that mean, it means that you will start valuing your time more, you will start standing up to yourself and getting rid of any toxicity that you had around you your whole life. If your father has been bugging you with some bullshit, you will tell him (respectfully) to fuck off. People that you had around you that would call you to go hang out with them or go get drinks, etc. just to waste time, you will start telling them (respectfully) to fuck off. You will start only spending time with individuals that have a direct connection to your well being. Friends and associates who are always motivating you and instilling good habits in you, people that start looking up to you and going to you for advice. (I will get to the women later on, keep reading.) Your business partners, co-workers that truly want you to succeed (not idiots who want to chit chat by the god damn water cooler, etc.) This will start becoming your "aura" and you will start becoming "him".
Month 6+ - This is where I am currently. Let me describe to you how my life has completely changed (literally 180 degree turn) from where I was. Just this morning I was at the gym. The whole gym knows who I am, and not in a way that is goofy. No in a way that is respectful. People start respecting you, they start looking up to you. You start becoming this exemplary figure in other peoples lives. You start understanding that you are now becoming a very valuable individual that other men (and women) want to follow and replicate. You start being a guy that low key has "figured" it out and it is absolutely magnetic to other individuals. Concepts in health, wealth, and relationships take on a whole new meaning that have never been clear before. You start becoming a fucking adult. It is very interesting how before during the PMO stages of life there always seems to be this "childish" aspect that continuously lingers with you until you drop the habit (goofiness, giggling, just straight up weak shit.)
If you are reading this far, here is my take on this whole journey. Mind you that this is now a lifestyle, there is no fucking way I am ever going back:
1.) This will be the most difficult task that you will ever have to go through. Literally everything is a walk in the park after this (businesses, relationships, fucking social dynamics, everything is a walk in a park after this.)
2.) Porn and anything else that portrays other people fucking becomes absolutely disgusting. I cannot believe that all these years I was training myself to get off on watching other people enjoying themselves. Is that not fucking weird ? Watching other men, please the women that you want to receive pleasure from. Think about it. Is that not fucking weird to you? Well it becomes very weird once you go through this wall of complete insanity.
3.) The world becomes what you want it to be. This might sound odd in your head when you are reading this yet, you start shaping your reality and this world to how you need it to be in order for you to fucking win. Our goal as men is to at all times keep pushing the boundaries of what we are able to achieve. (Read "The Rise of Superman" book in order to understand this concept)
Now, lets get to the fun part, women: There is a clear difference to how women treat you when you PMO in private, and when you are attracting actual women because of who you are becoming. Women by nature are built to weed out weakness (hence the testing and "games") and reproduce strength (strong genes). That is what happens when you stop releasing what procreates strength. When you stop artificially fucking yourself, your body starts to mold you and drive you to self improvement, naturally. You naturally want to get your ass in the gym, you naturally start studying, reading books, associating your self with higher value individuals and as a result, you start "strengthening" your genes that attract the women who are sensing it, and they do sense it. They see who you are becoming if you are constantly putting in the god damn work (more effort at your job, more effort at the gym, more effort in improving your living situation, all of it.) and that results in you absolutely becoming a "superhuman". I am at the best shape of my life, literally today when I was shaking hands with one of the guys at the gym he said "the body that you have, no one here can even come close." and it is evident. I am making more money than I have ever made since now I am able to understand business concepts, methods of negotiation, structure, risk management, etc. Went a bit off topic here yet you get the point. Let's go back to the women. Your eye contact absolutely becomes essential when communicating with women, you start looking deep into their eyes when conversating with them. You in a way start "controlling" them just by instilling eye contact and giving them a way to be who you need them to be. It is odd to explain yet that's what naturally happens. They want to start being a part of you, and in a way start working harder to be that in your life. It is absolutely insane. Physical touch, conversations, relationships, sex... becomes almost a beautiful dance of pleasure. When a woman feels comfortable with you and starts doing her feminine things when she is experiencing pleasure, it is the most beautiful and attractive aspect that I have never experienced until I conquered this god damn dragon. They way she moans, arches her back, touches you, experiences an orgasm because of you. Oh my god. Only the men that go through this vigorous process get to enjoy and experience a woman in her true feminine state. It is almost a Ying-Yang act of balance between the masculine and the feminine energy. Yet you have to be that "guy" in order to bring that out of her, and frankly if you are a man that is still doing PMO activities, you will not get her in that state, ever. Women start bringing peace to your life, and after a long day of fucking conquering this world, you come back to a sweet, nurturing, feminine woman who is just such a pleasure to have around. I have never experienced this until I have went through this journey.
Guys, just do this for your self and see how this world starts bending to your will. I was in your shoes and I am still in your shoes since this journey is not over, yet so far I can attest that this adult media industry is absolutely destroying us, and if you don't have enough strength for this it's okay. Not everyone is made for this, and someone needs to be on the other side of the coin. The question is, will it be you ?
Don't share or comment, or do anything with this information if you don't feel like it. At least you read it and now with this information you won't be able to go back.
Take care you handsome ass motherfuckers.

First...Previous
Looking out the elevator’s wall of presumably tinted glass, I watched as the cityscape’s finer details faded from view to leave behind in their place a vague metropolitan mosaic. Jeksal’s corporate tower was built into a nearby cliff, allowing it to rise far higher than any of the city’s other skyscrapers. Archesa’s lower gravity was in itself sufficient to allow for taller towers, but even still this place seemed to take that to an absurd degree.
When at last the doors behind us slid open, I was quickly shepherded by the guards and brought forth down an opulently decorated hall toward the office of Jeksal. Elegant busts of the previous two company presidents stood watch on either side of the large double doors, glaring down upon me with timeless contempt as the guards guiding me stepped forth to insert their keys. Only once both of the locks were twisted open did the doors finally follow suit, opening up to unveil what looked less akin to an office and more so a luxury apartment, complete with a balcony and its own artificial hot spring decorated to look like the real thing.
The guards did not follow as I stepped inside the office, tugging awkwardly at my collar as wisps of steam brought beads of sweat down my neck. Anxiously glancing about the area in search of the company president, I eventually found him lounging beside a fireplace. "Human: I've been waiting," he began, imbibing a deep sip of some alcoholic beverage before gesturing for me to join him on a leather cushion beside his own. "I do believe we have much to discuss."
"Actually, I think it's a rather manageable amount," I shrugged, stepping forth to ease myself down beside the company president. "Once Providence is dealt with, we'll need your nation's industrial capacity to build a distraction fleet."
"Yes... That..." Jeksal hummed, pressing a button beside his seat as above us a string of blue lights like those on a Christmas tree flashed to life and another Kafel who looked to be some manner of servant entered the room carrying two massive platters of food. "Before we begin on such a note, perhaps you would do me the service of some more casual conversation over a meal?"
Somehow, I got the feeling this was a trap. “I didn’t come here to discuss the weather, Jeksal.” I replied, doing my best to maintain an air of confidence despite the building anxiety within. “We have vital matters to discuss and very little time to waste.”
“Straight to business, I see… Respectable.” Concluded Jeksal, impaling a cutlet of meat upon his claws and daintily drawing it into his mouth. Graciously, the company President waited until he had finished chewing before again piping up. “Nevertheless, I do like to know my business partners before I engage in risky ventures, and challenging an alien empire for continued dominion over Archesa is most certainly a… High-stakes investment,” he hummed, washing down the cutlet’s taste with a light sip of his beverage.
Clearly, the company president didn’t understand what was on the line here. “Your other option is surrendering to them, so unless you’re interested in being a vassal to the Irigon, you’ll help us.”
“Like I said: risky business.” Continued Jeksal, setting down his newly-emptied glass before turning his full attention towards our conversation. “I can understand the necessity, you see, but the board is not so reasonable. Perhaps we can help each other…”
Again, I didn’t like where he was going with this, but my options were unfortunately limited. “Maybe we can. What exact is it you want?”
“I must confess, Human: I am in no small amount of political peril here. Profits are high as ever, but the board demands growth. If I cannot satisfy their greed, I’m out of business.”
“Unfortunate for you, but I don’t really see how I can be of assistance there!” I shrugged, not yet understanding the President’s plan.
Clicking his throat with amusement upon my evident ignorance, Jeksal replied. “If I cut employee wages again, they’ll surely riot. That being said, our industrial production is already at its peak safe capacity and I can think of no better solution to tide over my own employers.”
“Go on, then. Tell me your plan.”
“Your people have mastered thinking computers, have they not?” Jeksal asked, shaking his head to indicate a question.
Still unable to see through his opaque intentions, I decided it best not to give a concrete answer. “And what if we have?”
“I like to think of myself as a smart man, Human; but even my business acumen has limits. An artificial intelligence, however, could manage the conglomerate far better than a mere Kafel. I’ve set aside resources to build myself an artificial financial advisor to help maximize profits. All you have to do is lend my people access to your computational technology. Guarantee me that, and you will in turn have conglomerate assistance against the Irigon.”
If I’m honest, I was expecting him to ask for something significantly worse than just helping to build an artificial intelligence. Even still, however, I could hardly help but doubt the President’s intentions. Corporate executives weren’t exactly renowned for their honesty back home, and I doubted things to be any different here on Archesa. Nevertheless, my options weren’t exactly extensive here. “Let’s say I do agree to this,” I supposed hypothetically, cupping my chin ponderously as I contemplated how best to navigate Jeksal’s deal. “How many ships can you have built in five months?”
“At least a few hundred,” the President hummed, setting aside his food before leaning forth to eye me more directly. “If your plan is to distract them, then you should know we in the Emergall Conglomerate also have the finest war strategists at our disposal. They can work with Zyntril’s military to concoct a plan to keep an invading armada busy for a little while. The only question now to ask is ‘do we have a deal?’”
Setting aside my reasonable reluctance rega this plan, I did my best to maintain a look of neutrality as I reached out my hand to the Kafel, gesturing for him to grab it. As he did so, I shook my grasp gently up and down in the classic Human gesture of a pact newly forged. “Deal…”

Hi, my name is Marshall and I was an investigator for the Coast Guard for over 30 years. Before I begin, I’m not going to give any last names or overly personal information for the protection of myself and those involved. As I write this, using the first names of my superior still feels like sacrilege, however following the events of this story I had signed an NDA pertaining to what was uncovered during the investigation. Given that I’m now staring down the barrel of a nasty cancer diagnosis, I no longer care for my career or my life, but I don’t want to hurt anyone else in the process. Despite the danger of disobeying a federal NDA, I feel that people deserve to know the truth of what lurks in their coastal waters.
During my time as an investigator for the Coast Guard my days were spent stopping drug runners, hanging around the docks, and yelling at drunk party boat captains. However, every single servicemen or member of law enforcement has a couple cases which they cannot forget, no matter how desperate they are to do so. The S.S Napoli was one of those cases.
It was 1997 and I had been an investigator for the Coast Guard for 3 years and was stationed in Portland when my partner John and I got the call. According to our dispatch there was a small cruise vessel which had veered into a restricted commercial waterway. Having nothing better to do and not wanting to look too lazy around our Superiors, we made our way to our small patrol boat were we were met by one of the senior investigators named Eric.
“John, Marshall, you’re both late”, Eric said as he stood in front of our bar with his arms crossed.
“I didn’t know this was gonna be so serious” John said as we walked towards the boat.
“It’s always serious” Eric said as he stared daggers at John, “this search has become a high priority and we’re just wasting time standing here, so move your asses”.
After glaring at John for another second, Eric turned around and quickly made his way aboard the boat.
“Fuck me”, John said as he gave me a look of dejection and annoyance. “I was really hoping this would be a quick call”.
I looked at John and gave him a shrug as I boarded this ship. During my time being stationed in Maine, I had heard from several of my colleagues that Eric had a reputation for being a “by the books” hardass.
“It was his way or you were just in the way” my friend Pete would tell me.
I should have known that once Eric had become involved in the investigation that this was going to be more than a routine stop. However even with the knowledge of how Eric conducts his investigations, we were all unprepared for the turn that this case would take.
It took us about twenty minutes to get to the site of the S.S Napoli. When we got there, we found that she had drifted into a sandbar and had gotten stuck. Despite this, we could hear the loud sputtering of the engine desperately clinging on for dear life as its rotors were being enveloped by sand.
“Hello, this is the U.S Coast Guard” Eric stated over our boats PA. “Turn off your engine and come out onto your top deck”.
We waited for a minute before Eric repeated the message,
“This is the U.S Coast Guard, turn off your engine and come out or we will board your ship” Eric boomed over the loudspeaker, clearly annoyed at the lack of response.
“Fuck this”, Eric said as he drew his pistol. “We’re boarding now”.
Eric had John put down our anchor and the three of us boarded this ship. As soon as we stepped aboard, I noticed several piles of clothes neatly folded along the deck’s edges.
“Maybe they went for a swim,” John said sarcastically as he simultaneously avoided looking at Eric.
“Enough clowning around, let’s go and turn off the engine…” Eric said as his words trailed off.
John and I both looked in the direction where Eric was staring and saw a limp hand holding a pistol on the ground.
“John, get to our boat and call this in, we have one confirmed casualty”.
Without saying a word, John quickly leapt from the Napoli onto our ship and made his way to the radio. With his gun drawn, Eric motioned for me to follow him and we quickly breached the helm of the ship.
When we got inside, we found the heavily decomposed body of a man in his mid 50s with an exit wound on the top of his head. As Eric radioed John to relay the man’s information, I stared mindlessly at the back wall of the helm which had become adorned with the man’s dried blood and brain matter.
“Marshall!” Eric yelled, snapping me out of my daze.
“Sorry Sir”, I said as I regained my composure and started searching the pockets of the man's pants for any identification.
“It’s ok”, Eric said in a surprisingly understanding tone. “Let’s figure out who this man is and how he got out here”.
Reaching into his left front pocket I found his wallet and pulled out his ID, which caused a loose picture to fall in the process.
“Looks like his name was Wendell Kramer” I said as I handed Eric the man’s ID.
As I went to put the man’s wallet on a table, I saw the small photograph and picked it up. In the picture was Wendell and what appeared to be his wife and two older children as they stood in front of the Bellagio in Las Vegas.
“Looks like he had a family too” I said as I handed Eric the photograph.
“Wife and two kids” Eric said as he looked out the open doorway. “How many piles of clothing were there?”
“Three Sir” John said as he made his way into the helm, stopping just short of the corpse.
“Christ, do you think it could’ve been a murder suicide situation?” John said as he looked down at the man’s body?
“I think that I need to see the living quarters of the ship first before I can have any theories”. Eric said as he walked past John. “John, you're coming with me. Marshal, I want you to see if we missed anything in the helm”.
“Yes Sir” I said as Eric and John made their way to the deck below.
As soon as Eric and John were out of sight, I quickly ran out of the hall and threw up over the side of the ship. During the first three years as an investigator, I had only been a part of one other case involving a death and it had happened earlier that same day. Never before had I ever seen the effects of advanced decomposition on a dead body, nor had I ever smelled the blending of the sea water and advanced rot before. After composing myself, I made my way back into the helm and started searching for any evidence. As I looked back at the wall behind the dead body, I noticed there had been a small circular glare of light at head level. Turning around, I saw a VHS camera propped up onto a shelf.
“Sir, I think I found a camera” I said over the radio as I picked it up and pressed the eject button. “There’s a tape inside of it too”.
“Thank you for the update Marshall”, Eric said, “come down below and bring the camera with you”.
Without any hesitation I put the tape back in the camera and made my way down the stairs to the living quarters. John and Eric were sitting down at a table in the small kitchen.
“Did you find anything down here?” I said as I sat next to John and put the camera on the table.
“Nothing to give any probable cause, but we did find 4 suitcases belonging to two women and two men”. Eric said as he put two new AA batteries into the camera.
“We also found batteries” John said as Eric quickly smiled before going back to his cold gaze.
“Are we going to watch the tape?” I asked as Eric turned the camera on, causing it to sound its start-up jingle.
“Of course, it’s evidence and we have nothing else to go off of”, Eric said as he checked the time on the recording. “Looks like there’s about an hour's worth of footage on here”.
John and I sat in anticipation as Eric put the camera back on the table and hit play on the VHS recorder.
The first clip started off with a woman wearing a black and white striped bikini sunbathing on the deck of the ship, while two people could be heard having a splash fight in the water.
“Hi everyone!” a man said as he zoomed in on the sunbathing woman. “Here is my beautiful and not at all cranky Clara”.
“Oh Wendell stop that”, the woman said playfully as she sat up. “And this is my not at all annoying husband”.
“Oooh burn” the man said laughing.
“Dad, I'm hungry!” Yelled a boy in his mid-teens as he climbed the ladder to the deck
“And can we please not have pork chops again?” A younger girl chimed in.
The man then turned the camera to face himself, revealing himself to be the same man that we found in the helm.
“Being a parent is such a rewarding experience,” Wendell said sarcastically as he was sprayed with water.
“Hey, cut that out!”
The video then cut to black before starting clip 2.
“Hey fuckers”, the boy from before said as soon as the second clip began. “Today I’m going to be pranking my Dad by pushing him overboard!”
“Like hell you are Connor”, Wendell said as he grabbed the camera. “You couldn’t trick me if you tried”.
“Yeah Connor, you’d have to be smart to do that”, the young girl said as she walked by the camera to sit at the kitchen table.
“Fuck off Sam” Connor said in an annoyed tone,
“Hey, be nice to your sister”, Wendell said sternly.
“Ugh, fine,” Connor said as he sat down.
“Dinners ready Clara!” Wendell called out before giving an annoyed look to the camera.
The camera then went black again. As I watched these clips, I couldn’t help but think about the man whose lifeless body is lying directly over our head.
“It doesn’t get any easier,” Eric said.
“What?” I said as I snapped back to reality.
“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to go through footage like this”, Eric said as he gave me a sad look. “Seeing someone’s ghost, their memories, the life they left behind. Just try to not get too caught up in it, remember we need to be here for them so they can rest knowing someone was able to tell their story”.
“Thanks sir”, I said as I looked down at my hands.
Eric nodded and clicked play on the camera, which started up clip three. In this clip, it was now nighttime and the family was staring at something off in the distance.
“Wendell, do you have the camera ready? Clara said in nervous excitement. “You have to film this”.
“I just turned it on, I’m right behind you” Wendell said as he approached his wife and kids. As he got behind them, the camera showed 4 blue orbs of light hovering over the ocean.
“What are those things Dad?” Connor asked as he turned to face the camera.
“I… I don’t have any idea buddy” Wendell said as he zoomed in on one of the orbs. When he did, you could see that the orb was pulsating as if to mimic the water below.
“Wendell I don’t like this” Clara said nervously.
“Yeah… let’s all go downstairs and play some board games” Wendell said with clearly fake enthusiasm.
As Wendell started to put his camera down he quickly froze. Suddenly a faint sound could be heard off in the distance.
“Is that singing?” John said as he leaned towards the camera’s speaker.
“C’mon kids, let’s get downstairs” Wendell said in a more concerned tone than before.
The camera once again cut to black leaving us sitting in pure disbelief.
“You all heard that right?” John said as quickly looked at Eric, then me”.
“Yeah I think I heard something”, I said before being cut off by Eric.
“I didn’t hear anything”, Eric said as he pressed play on the camera. “Let’s just keep watching”.
“Dad, get the camera quick, you need to see this!” Sam yelled from the top deck.
Wendell then ran up the stairs to see that the bright lights were much closer now.
“What the fuck” Wendell muttered under his breath.
As he stared at the pulsating orbs, the singing from the third clip had become much more audible. John then paused the recording and turned to face Eric
“See, don't you hear the singing?” John exclaimed, “the orbs are harmonizing”.
Eric said nothing and pressed play on the camera. The clip continued with Wendell filming the orbs. Suddenly the song that was being sung began to shift.
“Wendell… Clara… Connor.,. Sam…” the Orbs sang.
As they sang, it sounded as if they were producing multiple octaves of sound at once, producing a rolling sound of harmonies at a perfect pitch. As we listened to the track through the VHS, I felt the hairs on my arm begin to stand up.
“Sam honey let’s go to bed, it’s late” Wendell said as he started to walk towards his daughter.
Sam, having either not heard her father or did not care to listen to him, stayed perfectly still as she continued to stare into the orbs floating 10 feet above her head.
“Sam!” Wendell yelled, snapping. Sam out of her daze.
“Dad?” Sam muttered groggily.
“It’s ok baby” Wendell said, clearly shaken by what had just transpired. “Let’s get back to bed, you were sleepwalking again”.
The clip went to black and John pressed the play button with no hesitation. Eric and I looked at each other as the clip began.
“Clara?! Connor?! Sam?!” Wendell called out as he left his bed and entered the living quarters.
All around him, the sound from earlier had gotten loud to the point of causing the VHS’s microphone to start clipping. The blue light given off by the orbs had surrounded the boat, causing rays of light blue to cast throughout the cabin. As Wendell panned the camera around the room, he heard the faint sounds of talking above deck.
“Hold on, I’m coming!” Wendell yelled as he ran up the stairs.
As soon as he reached the top deck and turned to face the bow of the ship he instantly froze. Clara, Connor and Sam were standing completely naked and facing the ocean.
“What the fuck is going on” Wendell yelled.
As he made his way towards his family he stopped and screamed as four creatures began to rise in front of his family. As the skinless humanoids began to tower over the three, they began to unhinge their jaws and produce two black tentacles which emitted the same light blue glow as the orbs.
The three of us and Wendell watched in horror as three of the creatures pressed their tentacles over Clara, Connor and Sam’s faces. As the tentacles latched onto their faces, they appeared to suck away at their skin.
“Stay away from my family you fucking freaks!” Wendell cried out.
As soon as he spoke, the fourth creature began to shuffle towards him, walking as though their legs did not match their anatomy. Wendell began to slowly back away as the creature made a break towards him. The sudden speed of the creature caused me to flinch as Eric sat stoically and John sat transfixed. Wendell quickly rushed to the helm and slammed the door shut just as the creature was about to grab him.
“Fuck… fuck…. What are those things?” Wendell muttered as he tried to catch his breath while he locked the door.
After a minute of composing himself, Wendell pointed the camera towards the window and walked off to the left side of the screen. From the hatch, we watched as the formerly skinless creatures started to take on facial features from the family members, becoming bastardized versions of the loving family we had seen on tv. The placement of hair on the creatures heads were matted and off center. Their mouths, which were still unhinged, looked crooked and broken, and the creatures bulged from the skin they adorn like a tight fitting suit. As soon as Wendell came back on screen and looked out the window he vomited at the abomination before recoiling due to a loud banging sound from the other side of the door.
Wendell looked up in horror as the face of the skinless creatures suddenly appeared from the other side of the hatch window. It smiled at Wendell as it began to bang its head furiously against the door.
“Take this you ugly fuck!” Wendell screamed as he drew a pistol and fired three shots through the door.
As the shots rang out, a deafening scream of pain could be heard from the other side of the door.
“Hahaha, I got you, you son of a bitch” Wendell cheered as he looked out the window.
As soon as he saw the scene outside, his pride had quickly soured to dismay as he began to sob.
“I don’t know how to live without you” Wendell said as he stared down at the pistol. “I’m so sorry everyone, I love you so so much. For anyone who finds this, my coordinates is 43.6, -69.7. If you see blue orbs above the water, fucking run”.
As soon as he said this, Wendell picked up the camera and placed it on the shelf beside the door. Out of the sight of the camera, the sound of the engine roaring to life can be heard as a single gunshot exploded through the mic, leaving just the sound of the singing from behind the door. Suddenly after several minutes, the sound of banging resumed and a loud crash was heard off camera. After several moments of shuffling, the creature that was behind the door appeared and stared directly at the camera, causing John to let out a bloodcurdling scream.
“What the Fuck!” John screamed as he shot out of his chair.
The sudden reaction caused Eric and I to flinch as John began pacing around the cabin.
“John, are you ok?” Eric asked as he got up.
“Its face!” John screamed, “Its fucking face”.
“I know, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to unsee that skinless freak” I said.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” John said as he stopped pacing and stared at me.
“The creature?” I said in a confused tone. “It didn’t have skin and was all muscle and tendon”.
“It had my fucking face Marshall, you didn’t see my face?” John pleaded. “ It fucking smiled at me with my own face!”
Eric shot a glance at John before giving me a worried look.
“Grab the camera, we need to leave now” Eric said.
“But it had my face sir” John muttered in between fits of crying.
“Now! Let's go!” Eric yelled.
Eric stormed out of the cabin as I helped an inconsolable John up the stairs and onto our boat. The ride back from the S.S Napoli was tense and silence besides John’s constant whimpering. As soon as we made it back to dock, two members of the Coast Guard were waiting to escort John to our field office. As I was about to get off the ship, Eric put his arm out to stop me.
“Sir?” I said before being cut off.
“What I am about to tell you is extremely important so I need you to listen” Eric said as he looked around to make sure no one else was in earshot.
“Of course Sir, what is it?” I asked.
“You didn’t see anything today,” Eric whispered.
“Of course Sir, I won’t tell anyone” I replied.
Eric just shook his head and stared at me.
“Even if you saw something, you never saw anything, you never heard anything, you know nothing”. Eric continued. “I am only telling you this because I have no choice, but those creatures you saw are Siren’s”.
“Like from the Odyssey?” I asked.
“SImilar”, Eric said as he became slightly more relaxed. “They prey on those who allow themselves to be open to their calls. As soon as you leave here, listen to your favorite album or do anything to rid yourself of their mark”.
“What about John?” I asked as I watched him struggle to walk with his escorts.
“Watch over him to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid, and hope that God’s grace is in his favor”. Eric said as he pulled out a cigar and lit it. “Now go, you’re dismissed”.
“Yes Sir” I said as I gave a salute and walked back to the office.
For the next couple of hours, I took Eric’s advice and listened to some music, and watched a late night Celtics game on TV with my friend Pete and some other colleagues. Just as Bruce Bowen missed another two point shot Eric burst into the office.
“Where is Marshall?!” He yelled.
“I’m right here Sir”, I said wearily as the guys who were watching the game with me tried to distance themselves.
“Follow me now!” He yelled as he slammed the door.
I stood in the room confused for a second before grabbing my coat and rushing for the door.
“Poor bastard,” Pete said as I rushed out of the room.
As soon as I left the office Marshall was waiting for me while holding an M16.
“We have a serious fucking issue Marshall” Eric said as he handed me the keys to the boat.
“What’s wrong?” I asked nervously as I eyed the assault rifle.
“John stole one of our boats and I think I know where he’s going,” Eric said as he began to briskly walk to the boat.
“Where is he going?” I asked as I tried to catch up.
“The coordinates in the video, he’s going back to the site where the incident happened”. Eric said as he picked up his pace.
“Why would he do that? He was terrified of those things,” I asked as we neared the boat.
Just as we were about to board the boat, Eric turned to look at me.
“Because he never fucking listens Marshall. He embraced the song, and now they have a hold on him”.
Eric and I then boarded the ship and sped off into the night towards where Wendell had reported the incident. By the time we arrived near the location it had been about an hour since we had left the dock. Ahead of us we saw the flood lights of a ship in the distance and to my horror, a bright blue orb hovering in the sky.
“Fuck it might already be too late” Eric said as he turned the safety off on the M16.
“What’s the plan Sir?” I asked as the flood lights became closer.
“We save John if we can and I shoot anything that’s not human” Eric said as he pulled earplugs from his pocket and handed them to me.
As we approached the side of the boat, I saw John standing on the bow naked and staring at the sky while the orb above him was singing just as it had in the video.
“John… John… John…
“John what in the fuck are you doing?” Eric yelled.
John didn’t not respond.
“John if you don’t answer me I am going to board this boat and haul you off myself” Eric yelled as he prepared to disembark.
Just as Eric was about to board John’s boat a creature started to crawl from the water onto his boat. Standing before John was one of the eight feet tall skinless Sirens.
“Oh fuck” Eric said as he raised his rifle.
Before he could shoot the creature, John turned around and fired two shots from his revolver at Eric, hitting him in the shoulder. As Eric laid bleeding on the floor of our boat, John turned back towards the creature as its tentacles exploded from its face and latched onto John’s skin. As the creature began to harvest John's skin, John started to moan with delight. Not wanting to see John being consumed, I grabbed a medical kit from the helm of our boat and rushed over to Eric to stabilize his wounds.
“Don’t worry about me son” Eric said between gritted teeth. “You need to take that fucker out”.
I nodded and carefully grabbed the M16 from beside Eric. Once I had it in my hands I quickly spun around and fired several shots at the creature. The creature turned around to look at me and I saw that half of its face now resembled my partner John while the other half still was primarily muscle. It snarled at me, showing off its various rows of different sized teeth. When I was able to see this creature up close, I realized that it looked like it was made of human beings stacked upon each other. Its legs had several joints and knees that did not function, its hands had tens of fingers that didn’t move, its face had several jaws and mouths of various sizes moving in unison. It was as if it was a Russian nesting doll of flesh and bone. After a moment of staring me down, the creature lunged for me. I quickly sprayed the rest of the clip into the creature. As I did, thousands of teeth and bone exploded from its face and torso and the creature fell forward into the sea. Staring back at John, I saw him gasping on the floor of his boat drenched in blood and missing several layers of muscle and flesh from his face. As he turned to look at me, he smiled before the creature which I thought I had killed grabbed him by the legs and dragged him below the surface of the water. Having no bullets left, I watched in horror as the man I had worked with for the last three years was dragged down to a watery hell. After a moment of standing defeated and utterly dumbfounded, I made my way over to Eric and handed him the rifle.
“You did good son” He said as he lit another cigar.
“But John’s dead” I replied, barely able to hold back tears.
“You did what you could,” Eric said between puffs. “Now lets get the fuck out of here”.
I wish I could say that I became Rambo and hunted down the creature that killed my friend, but I didn’t. I knew that John was a dead man as soon as he set sail for those damned creatures, but everyday I think about all the ways I could’ve stopped him. Eric and I would go on to work together on many unexplainable cases after this one, but those are all stories for another day. For now, as a former coast guard investigator, if you see blue orbs in the sky on the open ocean, run like hell and don't ever listen to their song.

Chapter One: Rapid Field Promotion
Oh I've done it, I've really done it this time.
It was already risky enough. Committing not just forgery, but impersonation and trespassing, all on Star Federation property. Such offenses could easily land you 5-10 years in a rehabilitation center. But specifically impersonating an officer of the Star Federation on the most important ship in not just Human, but Orion Arm history? That's life imprisonment on Tartarus Station right there. The SFS Magna Carta has been under construction for decades and represents the first Human ship capable of traversing the void between the Orion Arm and the Perseus Arm, the only chance for mankind to expand beyond our shrinking borders. Not even I am pessimistic enough to waive such a dream, which is why I forged a random ID from black market images I was able to get my hands on, to start a new life in the Perseus Arm. However, it just so happened that this “random id” belonged to someone a bit important…
I looked in the mirror at myself, dressed in the uniform of the Twenty-Sixth Ranking Federation Officer of the SFS Magna Carta. It was a miracle their clothes fit, I don't know what I would do if I had to try and put on the attire of a six legged Mantechar. I looked again in the mirror, and straightened my blue and white cap before giving myself a mocking salute. Twenty-Sixth Officer… Oh William, what have you gotten yourself into now?
Three knocks rapped on the door behind me, I turned, startled.
“S-sir? The ceremony is about to begin, the Admirals want the Magna Carta off the ground by 14 hundred hours. And sir, its 13:30.” A young male voice says from behind the door, slightly rasped and inhuman. I regain my composure and begin my walk towards the door before stopping. “My walk” wouldn't cut it, I had to walk like an officer, I raised my head and straightened my shoulders before doing a walk that more so resembled a march. Perfect, now, I am presentable.
I opened the door to be greeted by the visage of a Yueliosan. A species hailing from the long destroyed world of Jekosia, lost to a war with the Prunteni Imperium. Yueliosan’s are tripedal, three armed, three eyed, and three brained. They resemble a camera tripod if it had a torso, disk shaped head, and silver sandpaper like skin. They are, on average, the same height as Humans, but this specific specimen was so short that I had to bend my head at an extreme angle just to meet its obsidian eyes.
“I am Private Keslosio, I'm here to escort you, sir.” The Yueliosan raises one of his three jointed (of course its three jointed) arms to his head to form a salute. Not knowing what to do, I saluted back, hoping that was the right mannerism. Evidently, it was not, as Keslosio began to look confused. That's good to know then. I'm sure Mr. Keslosio here will probably forget or disregard this interaction after a few minutes, but a more keen eyed man may become suspicious of my odd behavior.
Keslosio put his arm down and began walking backwards. Well, backwards relative to me. Yueliosans don't really have a front or back with their 360 view. I began to follow him down the hall of accommodations of the various officers and other high ranking members of all states of the Star Federation. Technically, this base belongs solely to the Federal Republic of Earth, but when didn't the other members of the Star Federation leech off of Earth property? God, you could even see it in the construction of the SFS Magna Carta. Built on Earth, with Earth docks, and Earth construction workers, with Earth technology, the biggest contribution the other members of the Star Federation make are their refugees when they inevitably fall from their own decadent incompetence. At least the Letotians had the honor to build the sublight engines for the small-mountain sized ship that is the SFS Magna Carta.
Before I could internally rant any longer, the entire wall in front of me shifted open, folding and pulling away to expose me to the outside world. So extra, why not just build a door like any other normal building? Slightly shaking my head in disappointment at this prime example of over engineering, I take my step outside the base. It takes a while for my eyes to adjust to the bright view, but when they do, i'm greeted with one of the most beautiful sights ive ever had the fortune to lay my eyes upon.
I stand atop a bridge connected to the Magna Carta a few kilometers or so away, its massive light gray form blocking out most of the horizon in my view. The ship had very few sharp angles on its massive rectangulacylindrical form. The first half of the ship resembled a smooth cone sliced in half down the middle. The back of the cone sloped upwards until a sort of spine was formed. From this spine came large modules of the ship resembling thrusters more than their actual industrial, scientific, and colonial purposes. The spine then thickened out at the back to form the massive sublight thrusters that would carry the ship into and out of orbit. On the side of all of this were inscribed in red, white, and blue, were the words “SFS Magna Carta”. Most ships of the Star Federation are built from the bottom up and generally stay in that vertical form, a remnant of the old Earth space travel ways involving ancient shuttles. The SFS Magna Carta however, was placed on its belly. The reasoning behind this I know not. While I have impersonated engineers many times before, I'm not actually one. “Fake it until you make it” doesn't just beam seven years of academy training right into your cranium.
“She’s truly a sight to behold, isn't she?” Says a deep voice from behind me. I resist the urge to snap around as quickly as I can to see who it is, instead I slowly turn with the grace and formality that is expected with an officer. When I complete my arduously long rotation, which probably took about four seconds, I meet the gaze of the Grand Star Admiral Durojaiye Folorunsho…
Well, shit.
If anyone is the “keen eyed man” that I feared earlier, it is him. Durojaiye Folorunsho has served for nearly fifty years in the military of Earth, spending another twenty as Grand Star Admiral. He fought as a private in the First Federation Civil War, when the fringe states of the Jegethi Republic and Husheu Navarchy turned to authoritarianism and attempted to secede from The Star Federation. Then he was just a humble private, fighting for the ideals of the Star Federation. Now, he is much more. He has commanded fleets of hundreds of ships into battle against the Purenti Imperium, Void Birds, The Okenaw, and the unknown malevolent beings of the Orion-Perseus Expanse. He is literally one of the most skilled Human beings in Orion Arm history, and he is standing right in front of me.
The Star Admiral begins a speech, just for me. “You know, the territory of the Federal Republic of Earth peaked nearly two hundred years ago in 2180, back during the young days of The Star Federation. Back then, we controlled almost two hundred planets. Now? We have been pushed back to only a handful of worlds. We have been pushed so far back that even the Core Worlds of Earth are now under threat. The rest of The Star Federation refuses to acknowledge what we have learned long ago, we are fighting a losing war, we have been for almost a quarter of a century now. The vast majority of Humans live on Earth, Mars, Centauri, and Ross, the rest of the worlds under our underdeveloped hellholes where we send refugees fleeing tyranny. It makes us almost as bad as the rest of The Star Federation. But this ship, this grand ship, can change that. If we can set up a hyper-relay between Orion and Persues, we could exploit those untouched resources. No more material shortages, no more rationing, no more raid drills even, we may finally begin to push back for the first time in centuries. This ship will carry ten thousand to start that dream. In all my years, through joy and strife, never have I been more proud to be Human than in this very moment.” He says, his words battling against the pessimism inside of me.
He doesn't seem to have realized that I'm in the clothes of the Twenty-Sixth Officer, or maybe he thinks that I actually am the officer. Little does he know, the true and original Twenty-Sixth Officer is unconscious at his summer home, doped on enough sleeping agents to keep him asleep for at least another day. By then, the Magna Carta would hopefully have begun its journey, too far to receive transmissions.
The Star Admiral pats his hand on my shoulder and smiles. I can see the creases and wrinkles in his dark skin, characteristic for someone of nearly one hundred years old. He looks me directly in the eyes, right into my soul. I feel the need to suppress my own thoughts as I feel like his eyes can read my mind. After a while, he releases his grip from my shoulder.
“I'm an old man, I won't be joining you on the Magna Carta. I worked for a better life for the next generations, not for myself. I am content with that, content that I know that all I have worked for is in good hands.” He says before he hands me a box.
“A gift, for all officers of rank twenty-five or higher” He says, presenting the box closer to me.
“I'm thankful sir b-but uh, I'm twenty-sixth rank.” I respectfully reply. My slight stutter causes me to internally wince. I swear the presence of the Grand Star Admiral is making it hurt to lie.
“I know, but you’re the only officer who isn't doing that stupid new fangled duck march that's trendy with the new recruits. So, I insist.” He says. I consider myself a master of all things regarding deception, manipulation, imitation, and especially reading, guessing, and deciphering the thoughts of people. Yet, at this moment, I genuinely can't tell if that is his actual reason or a joke. Before I could give it any more thought, he was already walking away. I look down in my hands recoil in surprise to see that the box is already in my hands. What the actual frak?
I stare at the box in my hands, it’s obviously high quality. It seems to be built with polished Pink Ivory Wood and Burmese Blackwood, with marble making up its corners. I examine the top of the box and see the insignia of Earth, a phoenix holding a globe in one hand and a shield bearing the old UN logo in the other, in bronze, adjourned onto the wood through high quality work. A box of this detail and quality could easily be sold for five hundred credits just for the rare wood alone. I decide to slip the small box into my pocket, I can open it once I am safely aboard the SFS Magna Carta.
After a few minutes of standing in the bright sun, a high pitched horn blairs through the air,
“Sir, your escort is here,” Keslosio informs me. I turn to him and see a small armored Hovercopter descend through the sky, its thrusters silently expelling ion particles to maintain flight. The vehicle slows down as it nears the ground before finally making contact. Keslosio steps aside and stands straight, waiting for me to enter. And enter I do.
I step up the metal bar and into the craft and seat myself. The seat seems to be built with a mixture of luxury and fortification, with the latter prioritized. I buckle myself and place my hands on my lap, trying to look official and all that jazz. After I am secured, Keslosio boards. With how his body is shaped, he can't sit down on the same chairs that I can. Instead, he pulls down some harnesses from the ceiling of the craft and attaches himself to it, and then does the same for his bottom half and the floor. Once the final click permeates the air, he brings up a tablet and clicks a few buttons.
“Officer 26 is secure, Officer Jonothan Brown in transit.” He says to the tablet. Frak, that's the name of the old officer. I paid some damn good money and a few secrets of the cabals to get The Federation database hacked and changed. Maybe it has changed… Maybe Keslosio hasn't realized so yet…
I take the risk.
“Jonothan Brown?” I say. “I think you are mistaken, private, my name is William Adima.”
Keslosio looks at me for a few seconds, before shifting one of his eyes to observe his tablet as he clicks and clacks its screen. I shift in my seat uneasily, I may have gotten too cocky.
“Well, by the Lords of S’hemnia, you’re right. I am so sorry sir, this won’t happen again.” Keslosio says, to my relief.
Keslosio continues his chatter through an earpiece connected to what I assume is his auditory organ, however I can no longer hear him over the thunderous sound of wind outside. Despite the roar of the air, I began to doze off. Usually I try to stay alert at all times… But I'm sure a few minutes wouldn't hurt… I am… oh so tired…
A jolt courses through my body, and I shoot straight back up from my slumped posture. I see we have landed, right at the base of the SFS Magna Carta.
I begin to unbuckle my seatbelt, but before I can, I hear the distinctive click of a bullet being loaded into the chamber of a service pistol. I freeze like a deer caught in headlights, before slowly turning my head towards Keslosio.
There, Keslosio stands with a pistol pointed towards my cranium.
“Private, may I ask what you are doing?” I say to him, calmly.
“Officer William Adima? There is no Officer William Adima anywhere in the officer logs. However, I did find a different log on a Human of the same name.” Keslosio harshly clears his throat before continuing.
“William Pike Adima, wanted by the Federal Earth Intelligence Center for the following: theft, grand theft, grand theft auto, every kind of karking larceny, assault, ties to the cabal, intimidation, forgery, impersonation, and conspiracy against The Star Federation. DId I get that right?” Keslosio dryly utters. The shy, polite, and docile private he was a few minutes ago has become replaced by an avatar of Star Federation authority. Shit, I misread him.
I try to think how I'm going to get myself out of this. I always get myself out of stuff like this. I begin calculating every possible action I can take, every single experience with my years of being a renowned con artist being sifted through for relevance to my situation in mere seconds. Yet, I find nothing. I think… I think I've failed.
Unless...
“Nuh uh” I reply to him. He tilts his disk shaped head in utter confusion. Before he can reply, my locked harness comes off in a click. Its over engineered lock picked apart in but a few seconds. Even after hundreds of years of advancements, Master Lock designed locks are still shit.
I quickly bolt out of the Hovercopter, jumping off its side. My hand makes contact with the metal ground before it pushes my body up. I begin sprinting away, towards the shuttle meant to take Officers to the Magna Carta. The guards near the gate look on in confusion as they see a man dressed in the uniform of an Officer running from a short Yueliosan private. Judging from the sheer bewilderment on the guards' faces, Keslosio hadn't yet informed anyone else of my imposter activities. Despite this, the guards step between me and the shuttle, quickly signaling for it to take off without me.
I watch in despair as the large shuttlecraft flies into the air and towards the Magna Carta. The feeling of this despair is so great that I even fall to my knees. I was so close… I continue to stare as the shuttlecraft flies further and further away… And I continue to stare as a beam of light as bright as a star of perpetual spark shoots down from the sky and completely, utterly vaporizes the craft, leaving nothing but dust. Temporarily blinded from the flash of light, I recoil and cover my eyes in pain. Through the agony I can hear guards yelling, ships taking flight, defensive fire, and the horrific sound of the raid sirens beginning their song.
Finally, after a minute or so, I open my eyes and blink away the last remnants of my blindness. I see the guards in front of me have lost all focus on me, and are instead staring straight into the air. I follow their eyes and stare too, I wish I hadn't.
Now, I've seen a lot of things in my twenty year long life. I've seen people murdered, rioters rip apart a police officer, refugees taken advantage of in every way, rival cabals shooting each other while using children as meat shields, I've even seen Purenti raid fleets attack Earth and Luna. But if I were to take the terror I felt from every single one of these experiences, combined them, and cubed them, it would not equal one one billionth of the absolute gut-tearing terror and dread I felt in this very moment.
The sky had gone dark, not with clouds, but with ships. Massive, gargantuan ships blotted out the very sky. They were so leviathan in size that even the SFS Magna Carta looked like a joke compared to them. From what I could infer from the ground, the ships were long and spiked, seeming to twist in their construction. Despite this being all I can see, I can tell that this ship is not Purenti, nor is it one of those dark blobs that is a Void Bird, nor an ornate Okenaw mothership, this ship didn't even belong to the incomprehensible horrors that inhabit the Orion-Perseus expanse. These ships… were unrecognizable.
Before I could stare mindlessly at the destruction before me any longer, the deafening bang of falling debris snapped me out of my trance. I looked behind me and saw Keslosio had been struck by a chunk of hull, it completely covered him. I would have believed he was dead if his twitching claw wasn't exposed.
I stand still, completely and utterly incapable of coming up with a decision of what to do, because what could I do? There is nothing to do but burn. That was, until the sound of a hovercraft began its song.
Like an angel, the large machine descended down, landing on the ground before me. Out of it came soldiers, mostly Human, but with some reptilian Skarians mixed in the ranks. The Human soldiers are donned in black and gray armor, their faces covered by a smooth black plate. The Skarians are clad in similar armor, only with adjustments for their different, but very similar, biology from the Humans. They swarm out of the ship, towards me.
“ARE YOU TWENTY-SIXTH OFFICER WILLIAM ADIMA?” One yells with a distorted voice.
Finding myself completely incapable of speaking, I can only feebly nod. They then grab me by my arm and begin dragging me aboard the hovercraft.
“W-Wait!” I cry out, tugging away. To my surprise, they immediately stop, listening to me clearly.
“T-... There's a Yueliosan… underneath that rubble” I point to where Keslosio’s body is. What in the frakking hell am I thinking? That private knows my secret! God, I'm such an idiot, what the hell is wrong with me?
The soldiers nod and a small force of them break away to retrieve the injured alien, the rest of the armed men grab me and drag me aboard the craft. As they sit me down and strap me in, I begin to wonder. They called me William Adima… The database change must have just happened… What frakking timing.
As the final soldiers, with the mangled body of Keslosio board, the craft begins its takeoff sequence. The machine's thrusters point to the ground, begin emmeting bright blue light, then finally push off the ground.
The ship glides through the air, dodging burning debri and AA fire. My eyes are glued to the scene out my window, utter nuclear holocaust. Cloud-touching towers collapsing, explosions in the distance from nukes slipping by the AA defense, strange ships descending from the skies, and Star Federation ships ascending into the sky, either fighting or fleeing.
As all this unfolds, the soldiers chatter away into their radio.
“Archangel is secure” The man next to me says.
“Return to Magna Carta, load refugees, escape” cackles form his handheld radio.
“Affirmative” He says.
The next few minutes pass by rather quickly, time flies by when you’re scared beyond reason I guess.
Finally, our flying machine escapes the chaos as we enter one of the Magna Carta’s many hangers. Our ship docks, and I'm escorted off the ship by at least twenty soldiers. They guide me out of the massive– grand hanger, and through the extensive halls. I pass by the scrambling crew and scared civilians being corralled into holding areas. I see injured people torn apart from their sobbing loved ones to be sent to medbays. I see hell on Earth.
Eventually, the civilian presence form the halls is all but gone as we near our destination. The soldiers in front of me stand to the side and salute, I walk by them and through an opening door, leading me to an expansive CIC room. Various crew scramble about, doing various tasks with extreme haste.
“COMMANDER ON DECK” A voice from behind me yells, probably a soldier, and the entire CIC population drops everything and salutes… me… Holy shit, they're saluting me.
One of the (nearly all Human) crewmembers run up to me and present a badge before bowing their head… To me. Wow.
“Officer Adima, every single captain and officer above you has been killed, you’re the commanding officer now” She quickly spouts. She then raises her head and fixes the badge to my uniform. Holy. Fracking. Shit. I'm the commander.
“ALL CIVILIANS ON BOARD, BEGINNING TAKEOFF PROCEDURES!” The ship begins to shake, and people fall as the grand machine pitches upwards as it lifts off the ground.
“INCOMING INCOMING. MULTIPLE MISSILE CONTACTS. FIRING COUNTERMEASURES.” More troopers guide me to a centered chair and strap me in.
“CONTACTS DESTROYED! SETTING COURSE FOR MAIN FLEE-” The voice abruptly cuts off, before continuing again.
“FTL DRIVE IS SPOOLING UP I REPEAT, FTL DRIVE IS SPOOLING UP. PREPARE FOR UNEXPECTED JUMP!” Before I can even process his words, everything fissiles to red, then rematerializes. We just jumped. The question is… to where?
The entire CIC becomes silent as the external monitors activate, showing us the view of the outside space. Earth is nowhere to be found, however, I can recognize the planet of Jupiter.
“WARNING, FTL DRIVE IS… ITS SPOOLING UP AGAIN!?” The voice yells. What the hell? FTL drives need 33 minutes minimum before activating jump again. This is impossible. Then again, it wont be the craziest thing thats happened today.
Everything fizzles to red again. The announcer voice begins to try and speak again. However, before he can, all fade to red again, and again, and again. The time between each impossible jump shortens from seconds to milliseconds. Until finally, it stops. The entire CIC is silent once more, and remains so, the announcer is silent.
I unbuckle myself and stand from my chair and walk towards the main CIC table.
“W-... Where… Are we?” a meek voice says, that voice being me.
“Sir I-. I don't know. Navigation systems seem to be offline… Damaged from the attack and that… jump chain.” A Human beside me says. He then continues.
“Though, judging by the position of the stars on the external monitors, we’re outside of Star Federation space, maybe even out of Orion Arm space. But… That would mea-” He’s interrupted as a short Skarian female runs up to me and quickly secures my attention with her raspy yapping.
“All strike craft accounted for sir! Crew member count is at ten thousand, civilian count is at twice that sir! Food and water reserves are at 80%, five out of six antimatter reactors are online sir! Navs offline, sublights offline. The FTL drive has been disabled, we had to hit it with hammers to get it to stop.” The reptilian, seemingly satisfied with her report, stops talking and stands at attention. Judging by her orange suit with gold tints, she is the chief engineer.
“Kelsia, I was talking you little shi-” The Human beside me, who I have deduced is the new second officer, begins to voice before I interrupt him.
“Thank you madam. I appreciate your report. Now, will you do me a favor?” She looks up inquisitively upon hearing my words. I slightly lean into her and continue in a whisper.
“I need every single scrap of information on this ship, and every guide on captaining it. That will be all.” I state in a low voice.
“Yes sir!” She yells, making me reel away at the surprise of her loudness, contrasting with my quiet speech. Usually when greeted with whispers, people whisper back. The Skarian then shoots away.
“Sir” The second officer says. I turn to him and quickly read his badge. Colonel Tian Gao, it reads. Judging by the fact that the name is of chinese origin, Tian is his last name, and Gao is his first. Though its probably a safer bet to just refer to him aa Tian Gao
“Yes?” I respond, using every ounce of willpower in my body to maintain composure.
“What… Do we do?”
His question stabs fear into me, then I think on it for a few seconds. What can I say that will cement my place here as their commander? What will give them hope… Ah, I have it. Man, I am so back.
“Now…” I say, turning to face and speak to the entire CIC.
“We tend to the wounded. We repair our ship. We find out where the hell we are.” I pause for a few seconds for dramatic effect.
“Then, we find our world, our birthplace, our home. We find Earth.” I deliver these words to the CIC, doing my best to raise their hopes. They seem to straighten up, I can feel the spirits raising. Maybe… Maybe I really can do this.
Then I proceed to vomit all over the floor.

Title: “I used to be a pizza delivery driver. One night while making a delivery to a house, I witnessed something so disturbing that it made me never want to deliver pizza again.”
Trouble had a way of finding me from a young age. I often fell in with bad influences, and I had a knack for stirring up chaos. My reckless and often illegal antics frequently brushed against the law. Countless close calls only fed my misguided sense of invincibility until one night when my so-called 'friends' and I made a huge mistake.
One night, under the influence of beer and a bit of weed—not exactly the best substances for making rational decisions—my friends and I were playing video games. We came up with a stupid plan to sneak into the neighbor's garage for a "smoke and chill" session. The reasoning behind our sudden desire to smoke in my neighbor's garage is now blurred, lost in the haze of that night. My parents were away on a weekend trip, mistakenly assuming I was responsible enough to stay out of trouble.
Feeling like secret agents on an absurdly low-stakes mission, we crawled through a gap in the fence. Inside the dimly lit garage, we settled in and sparked up a blunt. In a sense of competition, we challenged each other to see who could take the longest hit. I went first, taking a massive puff and exhaling a cloud of smoke like a malfunctioning fog machine.
Whether it was the smoke or just bad luck, I lost my balance and stumbled back, sending a toolbox crashing to the floor with a deafening clatter. In that moment, a spark from the metal tools hitting the ground ignited a pool of spilled solvent that we hadn't noticed before. The spark and the solvent mixed, erupting into a huge flame.
Panic spread faster than the rapidly growing flames, and my so-called friends ran off. As the fire grew, my lungs ached for fresh air. With a burst of desperate energy, I bolted past the searing heat and threw open the garage door.
There stood Mr. Smith, my neighbor, his furious gaze piercing through the disheveled frame of his bathrobe. Without a word, he grabbed my collar and hurled me onto the damp grass. Then, he ran over to a fire extinguisher, put out the fire, and desperately tried to save what was left of his burned-up garage.
Mr. Smith called the police on us, and it didn't take long for my friends to point fingers in my direction as the one responsible for the accidental fire. Even though the fire was unintentional, the act of trespassing into the garage and possessing weed muddled our predicament.
From a legal standpoint, my inadvertent arson was still classified as a criminal offense. Regardless of my lack of intent to start the fire, our prior actions held substantial influence. The combination of trespassing, smoking weed, and the consequential fire left little possibility for leniency in the eyes of law enforcement.
The charges pressed against me included criminal trespass, possession of a controlled substance, and reckless endangerment resulting in property damage, which ultimately led to a four-month term in juvenile detention—it was a difficult and eye-opening experience, and certainly not a moment I look back on with any pride.
As part of the court's ruling, I was granted a conditional release slightly prior to completing my 4-month sentence during the summer. I was released early under the agreement that I pay for the damages to my neighbor's garage. This meant that I was obligated to secure employment and save enough money to fully cover the repair costs.
Together with my parents, I scoured job listings until one caught our eye: a pizza delivery driver. The requirements were straightforward—you just needed to be at least 17, have a valid drivers license, and no prior working experience was required.
The job itself wasn't terrible; there was plenty of downtime. The base pay wasn't great, but at least there were tips. Even so, it didn't really matter how much I earned, since it all went straight into my neighbor's garage repair fund.
The worst part of the job, without a doubt, was dealing with the customers. The concept seems simple: pizza in exchange for money. But in reality, it's often not that straightforward. Some people can be downright difficult, and any small error can turn into a big deal. I've had doors slammed in my face, accusations of theft, and even demands for free pizzas. Some customers can really test your patience and make you question humanity.
One night at work, as the clock struck midnight, I was eagerly anticipating the end of my shift. I could practically taste the juicy burger I planned to pick up on my way home. Freedom was within reach, but then my boss's voice abruptly crackled over the radio. "One more delivery," he announced, and I let out a sigh that I quickly choked back down.
My boss handed me the two ordered pizzas, along with the GPS location and a sticky note bearing the customer's phone number. The delivery destination was quite far away—further than I would've liked. It was deep in the countryside, a remote location that made me want to quit the job right then and there.
I entered the delivery location into my GPS and set it to find the quickest route possible. However, the GPS's twisted algorithm charted a "shortcut" to the delivery location that turned out to be a long detour through the backwoods. The name "Creek Road" or something like it flashed across the screen.
On that side of town, the roads were poorly lit, making it hard to tell which road I was supposed to turn on. The thick woods surrounding the roads further obscured my vision, with only the occasional farmhouse barely visible in the weak glow of my headlights.
Each bend in the road made me second-guess myself. Was I headed in the right direction? Was I lost with a car full of rapidly cooling pizza?
In a last-ditch effort, I pulled onto the side of the dark road and dialed the phone number associated with the delivery address. The phone rang endlessly. It had rung at least eleven times before someone finally answered.
As silence stretched on the other end, I broke it myself. "Hello?"
A voice finally responded, low and deep yet strangely soft. "Hello?"
"This is the pizza guy," I blurted out, relief washing over me. "I'm having trouble locating your house."
In a slow, monotone voice, he explained that his driveway was "easy to miss, appearing more like a dirt trail." He proceeded to describe the surroundings, his words painting a clearer picture that eventually led me to the elusive trail.
Turning onto the narrow, dirt trail, I navigated cautiously, my headlights carving through the darkness. After about thirty seconds, a modest, single-story house came into view.
Clutching the two pizzas from the passenger seat, I made my way to the front door. Finding no doorbell, I knocked my knuckles against the weathered wood. Muffled music, something old from the 1900s by the sound of it, filtered from within the house. Footsteps shuffled towards the door, then halted abruptly. Ten agonizing seconds crawled by before the door creaked open a sliver.
A single eye peered out. "Uh, hey," I stammered, nerves crackling in the charged air, "you ordered the pizza, right?"
"Oh yeah, the pizza," the voice rumbled, instantly familiar from our phone exchange. An uncomfortable silence lingered, the old scratchy music from another time providing the only distraction. Desperate for something to say, I blurted, "Do you have the cash?"
"Yup, just a second," he mumbled, his footsteps receding back into the house.
As the wind slowly coaxed the door open, it granted a glimpse into the interior. However, it also unleashed a noxious odor—the stench of death itself permeating the air.
I waited with patience for the man to return with the payment. Seconds ticked by, morphing into minutes. The situation was growing increasingly bizarre. Eventually, I rapped my knuckles on the open doorway.
Peering inside, I called out, "Sir?"
His voice echoed from the house. "Could you come inside to the kitchen, please?"
I was so thrown off by the question that I had to ask him to repeat himself to make sure I heard him correctly. "Can you repeat that?"
"Can you come inside to the kitchen, please?" he repeated, a tinge of urgency coloring his tone.
My boss always told us to caution against entering houses unless it was absolutely necessary—like if a customer was physically unable to come to the door themselves or the like. On this night, I disregarded this and nonchalantly shrugged off the cautionary advice, proceeding against my better judgment.
I entered the house, the weathered floorboards creaking beneath my feet. The house wasn't just old; it was as if time had forgotten it, preserving every detail in a snapshot of a bygone era.
The structure was long and narrow, with dark hallways stretching out in both directions. The walls were adorned with faded wallpaper, its intricate floral pattern reminiscent of the 1930s. A heavy, ornate grandfather clock stood solemnly in the corner, next to an old record player, spinning and playing some old song from long ago.
To my right, an open doorway offered a glimpse into the kitchen. An old cast-iron stove stood proudly against the far wall, its metal surface worn smooth by decades of use. A porcelain sink, chipped and yellowed with age, nestled beneath a small window framed by lace curtains. The man's voice drifted from within the kitchen, but I couldn’t see him.
As I turned my head to the left, a narrow hallway extended before me, its right side lined with closed doors. At the far end, a dim, flickering light casted an unsettling glow on an old woman. She was completely naked, her back to me, She swayed and danced slowly to the 1900s music that was being played on the record player. She was feeling herself, not in a display of confidence, but literally touching her body in a disturbingly erratic manner.
Throughout my time as a pizza delivery driver, I have witnessed my fair share of bizarre encounters. However, this situation was on an entirely different level. From an outsider’s perspective, an old woman dancing naked to music might sound funny, but what I was witnessing firsthand wasn't anything close to humorous. The way she moved was just so, strange.
I nervously redirected my gaze to the kitchen, catching sight of the man—or at least, what he allowed me to see of him. He was peeking around the corner now, his face concealed by the wall. It was him again, but only a sliver of his face was visible—one eye staring at me with an unnerving intensity that made my skin crawl.
My mind went blank, a single, desperate question managing to escape my lips: "Do you have the money?"
Instead of an answer, a sound erupted from the man—a low, guttural chuckle that reverberated through my very core. It was less of a laugh and more of a vibration, deep and chilling.
Then, in a sudden shift, he shouted, "GET EM, MOM!" The single word shattered the silence, its volume and force a stark contrast to his earlier monotone and soft voice.
To my horror, I heard rapid footsteps approaching from the left. The old woman who was once dancing in the hallway was now sprinting toward me, her speed defying her age. Fear gripped me, and my breath caught in my throat.
Without another thought, I spun around and bolted. I threw the door open, practically dove through it, and slammed it shut with a bang.
I didn't look back. My pulse thundering in my ears, I sprinted to the car, yanked the door open, and flung myself inside. The engine roared to life, and I slammed my foot down on the gas pedal. As I sped away, I couldn't resist a final glance in the rearview mirror.
There, framed by the now open doorway, stood the man and apparently his mom—both completely naked, their eyes locked onto my moving car. Their silhouettes grew smaller as the distance between us increased, but the chilling intensity of their gazes seemed to linger, leaving a haunting impression that would stay with me for years to come.
Whatever was going on in that house was far from normal. In retrospect, I couldn't shake the overwhelming sense that their intentions were anything but innocent—it certainly wasn't about the pizza. Whatever secrets that house harbored, whatever abnormal dynamics existed between the man and his mom, I knew it was something I wanted no part of.
I quit that job the same day. It looks like I'll have to find another job to accommodate Mr. Smith's garage.