Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
He was back at Smiley’s taproom with a petite brunette dangling from his arm, the young signal operator whose acquaintance he’d made while assigned as a liaison officer with the Exploratory Corps. There he was, all big and stiff in his brand-new dress uniform, trying desperately to impress someone who was astronomically more attractive than him and making a priceless ass of himself.
“So,” she purred, eyeing him over the rim of her glass, “Tell me again about the surface. What’s it like wandering up there above all us wee mortals?”
“Erm,” Rene cleared his throat, feeling a hot flush creeping up his reddening neck, “It’s, uh, quite remarkable really. Simply fantastic.”
Having run out of things to say, Rene took a snootful of his drink in an attempt to sharpen his wits. It was so hard to focus with her hanging onto his every word like this.
“Ooh, you make it sound so exciting,” Deborah had tittered. Or was it Devorah? Her name had gotten lost in the fumes of fermented honeydew clouding up his brain. Perhaps another sip would jog his memory. Rene downed the horrid swill and coughed as it burned its way down his throat and up his nostrils.
“Would you look at the state of him!” someone guffawed, slapping Rene on the back, “Cool as cucumbers under fire when there’s a hundred dirty Amits breathing down our necks, but prop him up next to a lass and he goes completely to pieces.”
“Ah, piss off,” Rene said fondly. He turned to see Lethway sitting next to him flanked by two buxom blondes, an Amit axe buried deep in his neck.
“I’m only saying. You’ve got to keep your head on your shoulders, man,” Lethway said, as his own tumbled off sideways and hung on by a flap of gristle, “We’ve got a long night ahead of us with our fine lady friends here. It wouldn’t do for you to be sleeping on the job.’
“Why, Lethie my dearest. I’m sure Mr. Louvoture has the…stamina…to keep up,” the brunette said demurely, batting her eyelids at Rene, “Go on. You were telling me about how amazing it is up there.”
“Yes,” Rene puffed out his cheeks and marshalled his scattered thoughts, “It’s like this, see…how can I put it? Words can hardy do it justice.”
“Try me,” Deborah/Devorah said, tugging at his arm with her warm hands. The girl was practically throwing herself at him no matter how badly he was fumbling the ball. Rene my lad, if you don’t make it tonight you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life, Rene thought to himself.
“Alrighty then,” Rene said, deciding to risk everything by gaze deep into her eyes, which if the romance novels were to be believed, were windows into a woman’s soul. She had very pretty irises, all velvety and shining with something bordering on hero-worship.
“When you’re topside and the suns go down beyond the hills, and the clouds weep tears of crimson as the sky rolls over into a bowl of stars holding all the universe above you, it feels like…like…” Rene trailed off.
“What?” she whispered into the hush that had settled over the bar.
“Well, it feels a little like this,” Rene said softly, leaning in for a kiss. Her lips tasted his, the tip of her tongue quivering with longing. She drew him into her embrace, gripping him around the waist and pressing into him.
Awfully forward, these girls from Mound Sierra, Rene thought with some alarm. Not that he was complaining. They spent an eternity entwined like this, the whole taproom cheering and egging them on.
“Woof!” Rene broke away to catch his breath, “Is it me, or is it getting hard to breathe in here?”
“Shut up and kiss me again,” Devorah/Deborah said impatiently, wrapping a leg around his and holding him tight. Rene put a hand on her thigh and found that she was surprisingly hairy for a girl. Feeling a little repulsed at this he tried to peel himself away, but found that he couldn’t move any of his limbs.
“Mmph. Hmmgh!” he mumbled, his voice muffled by her insistent mouth. He cocked an eyebrow over her shoulder at Lethway, who’d just propped his head back up onto its stump.
“Cheers, big fellow!” Lethway tipped a glass in his direction and downed his glass in one gulp, the drink trickling out of him through a large bullet hole in his chest.
“I hate it when that happens,” Lethway said, staring sadly at it. He looked back up at Rene and said: “Oy! What did I tell you about falling asleep on the job. Isn’t it about time you got moving, trooper?”
“Not yet,” Devorah/Deborah sighed, kissing his neck, “First he has to tell me how much he likes my eyes. You do like my eyes, don’t you?”
“Why, of course darling—” Rene began. But then she pulled back to look him in face, and the words curdled and died on his lips.
Gone was the petite brunette in her oh-so-short skirt, replaced by a furry, many-eyed freak with quivering mouthparts. In an instant Smiley’s taproom was torn away to reveal the awful truth of his current circumstances: he was hanging upside down from a tree and caught in monster’s deadly embrace. He was trussed up by his legs which had gone completely numb, and his wrists were bound together by loops of silk that felt as strong as steel chains. Yelling incoherently, Rene started wriggling like a worm on a hook. The creature tightened its hold and pressed its fangs against his throat, delicately avoiding piercing the skin while looking at him through its row of eyes.
It was a warning. Rene wisely heeded it and stopped struggling. After a long moment the monster let him go, although they both continued to dangle upside down. Rene stared at its face in horrid fascination. He saw now that it had four eyes on its flat, squarish face, the centermost pair dwarfing the two ancillary ones on either side of them. In the place of a lower jaw it had four vertical mouthparts, the shorter ones in the middle tipped with curved fangs while the rest functioned like antennae, moving constantly with little taps and clicks, its grotesque head nodding along with them.
Rene thought the motion was reminiscent of a person’s lips as they mumbled, and he had a disturbing suspicion that the monster was trying to talk to him. The fact that he was still alive also lent credence to this theory. After all, if Amits were intelligent lifeforms, why couldn’t this one be as well? Hoping against hope, he stammered out:
“I—I don’t understand. I’m afraid I can’t speak your language. Haven’t got the equipment for it. See?”
Rene bared his teeth at it in a forced smile, tying show it what he meant. But the monster recoiled from him, pushing off the trunk behind him and leaping back some twenty meters away from him. It alighted on a tangle of creeper vines and hung there in all its awful majesty, eyeing Rene through its four unblinking orbs. It had ten appendages including its stubby antennae, each of them ending in a three-clawed hand. Its shoulder and thigh muscles were enormous, though its potbellied torso was as round as a wagon wheel, sporting a disgusting hump of flesh on its back. No doubt it contained even more musculature to support its powerful limbs, which at the moment were bunched up and ready to spring.
He had startled it, Rene realized. His own mouth was probably just as alien and repulsive to its sensibilities as its physiology was to him. Before he could derive some small satisfaction from that, more of the monsters emerged to join the first, darting out of the shadows with an unnatural, jittery motion. They moved in stops and starts, periods of immobility interrupted by burst of blinding speed, here one moment and gone the next.
“It shpeaksh…” Rene heard someone say in a voice somewhere between a dry croak and the gurgling of a water pipe. Rene looked around for the source of the voice and was shocked to find that it was issuing from the largest monster, the one reclining on the vines like some misshapen ape. He couldn’t believe his own ears. It was speaking Fleet cantish, mangling its way through the words somehow despite the total absence of a jawbone.
“Gallivant?” another queried with clearer pronunciation.
“No blade-wing, thish,” the leader clicked its palps thoughtfully, “Too shoft. Too schtupid. Came from the fire giant. Dropped a sheed pod, it did, like a tree in the wind. The sheed shpun a web and floated. Down, down, down.”
“Shoft like a grub,” agreed the smallest monster somewhat belatedly. A frothy substance with the consistency of saliva dripped from its fangs. It took a step towards Rene, stiffening all over. Before he could even blink it had launched itself through the air directly at him. In the same instant the leader also leapt, slamming bodily into its subordinate and throwing it to the ground.
“No,” the leader rasped, letting the other monster limp away having been suitably chastised, “Questions firshht. The fire giant. Are you itsh hatchling?”
It was staring at Rene when it said this. Rene thought quickly. It was a binary question and he felt that his life hung in the balance, the odds being even either way. Heads or tails? From what he’d heard it was clear that the only thing keeping him from lining the stomachs of these monsters was their abiding curiosity. They had witnessed the Divine Engine and his impromptu ejection from it, and they were under the impression that it had been a living thing and that he was its offspring. It followed that the best thing to do was to maintain their interest in him for as long as possible while he thought of an escape plan. Heads it was, then. Rene said:
“Yes. Yes, I am its ‘hatchling’.”
He glanced around until he found his sword where he had left it leaning against the buttress root, still in its sheathe next to the survival kit. If he could just reach down and grasp it in his hands…
“Good,” said the abomination, “And know you the secret of itsh power?”
“Of course,” Rene said, slowly and surreptitiously stretching out his arms, reaching for the sword hilt with all his might.
“Good, good,” the abomination crooned. There was a blur of motion and the leader materialized in front of him, their faces inches apart. It seized him by the hairs and yanked him close.
“Then I, too, will know its inner workingshh. Once I open your head and drink deep from your mind.”
Should have gone with tails, Rene thought as it lunged for him.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be dead in the next 24 hours.
Whether that's the Costella family, or whatever this is, I'm not sure.
The police are taking forever, and part of me knows they're either refusing to believe me, or RC got them too.
I'm holed up on our school bus, so I've got nothing better to do.
I want to tell you about my team.
We met in our sophomore year.
Strangers standing outside the club room.
Levi was the freckled brunette who wouldn't stop talking about Game of Thrones.
Sunny, a pretty redhead, told him to shut up.
Tom, a sandy blonde, nodding his head to music corked in his ears.
I just wanted to be part of a club, and get away from my overbearing mother.
I won't say it was a perfect start. Our school was lacking in funding, so anyone could join, which made us more of a Quiz Club. I had some serious anxiety, so I stayed on the sidelines for a while, watching, rather than taking part.
It's not like we actually talked to each other initially. The first few weeks, we played Jeopardy, and attempted to find more members to cement us as an official Academic Decathlon club.
Unfortunately, though, it was just the four of us.
Which made it extremely hard for us to be taken seriously.
According to Google, Academic Decathlon teams were made up of nine members, placed by their GPA.
Our principal laughed at us, but he did let us become official.
Which was out of pity, I assumed.
The club was assembled, and we started meeting up after school.
Sort of.
Sunny barely showed up, and Levi didn't take anything seriously, preferring to spend the time telling us about his weird family turf-war.
Our principal dumped us in a tiny classroom with a resident rat living under the floorboards.
There was barely enough room to move, and the four of us crammed together for three hours was less than appealing.
Still, though, I wanted to be part of a club.
I had grown up with parents who were obsessed with board games, so I was pretty good at general knowledge questions. Our club room was too small for anything else but three desks (Sunny and I shared one) and a whiteboard we had to shove through the door.
But, again, we didn't start as an Academic club.
It was more akin to Story Time Club.
Arriving late on my third day, armed with quiz cards from home, I found Tom and Sunny completely mesmerised by Levi’s storytelling skills, drowned in shadow.
They didn't even turn the lights on.
I strictly remember squeezing next to Sunny, and hearing the words, “But there was so much blood all over the floor, and my Mom told me to go upstairs and hide under the bed…”
Sitting in front of them was Levi, perched on a desk, his legs swinging, a whiteboard marker between his teeth.
Sometimes he'd get up, and illustrate parts of his story.
It sucked that his drawings were all stick people.
I won't go into full details of his life, but Levi grew up as part of a family who had… interesting methods of making a living. I had seen the guy’s father multiple times when we hung out at his place, and, yeah, my friend’s family definitely had Soprano vibes.
Levi’s Draw My Life was nothing to do with the club, but it did bring us closer.
Even if, at that point, I was considering leaving.
But it's not like it was easy to walk away from these guys. It's like finding your soulmates. Levi wasn't the only one with an interesting life. Sunny Lang was an ex kpop trainee, who was kicked out for being too fat, which led her to develop a severe eating disorder, and a hatred for her own body.
Sunny explained her family were originally from Boston, her mother growing up in Korea.
She signed up for an idol agency focusing on creating a new girl group, and had gotten all the way to the final stages, before being kicked for her weight. Sunny told us her story with a smile, though there was a hollowness in her eyes I couldn't ignore. The other girls were judgemental bullies, and the idol diet and brutal regime almost killed her.
Sunny lived in a tiny apartment with 9 girls, who would tear each other apart for a chance to debut. Sunny said all the other girls debuted, and when we (not so patiently) asked for names, she shrugged, admitting she signed an NDA that prevented her spilling the beans.
What she did say, was the K-pop idol is a product, not a person– and are made and moulded into a product.
She had zero interest in throwing her humanity away to become a manufactured doll.
So, one of us was the son of an underground family, and the other was an ex idol.
Tom was an aspiring horror writer with a famous older step-brother.
His story times were usually, That one time I went to the Met Gala.
When it was my turn to reveal my story, I told them the only interesting thing about me.
I could smell when something bad was going to happen.
They laughed, but I was being serious.
When I was a kid, I smelled my mother’s brain tumor.
I remember it smelled like curdled milk.
I asked Mom why her head smelled of mouldy milk, and Mom laughed and said it was her shampoo.
It was actually a grade two tumor growing inside her brain.
Thankfully, the tumour was found quickly and removed.
Growing older, I became sensitive to smell. The little girl choking on the bus smelled of singed wood, and the old man crossing the road stunk of gasoline.
In the fourth grade, my classmate Alex Castor smelled of lemons all morning.
I sat behind him, choking on the stink all the way through class.
Ever since I met him, Alex had always smelled… off.
It was a distinct smell I could never understand, and as the days and months and years went by, that smell morphed into a subtle orangey musk that was so strong I had to cover my mouth and nose. Then, he smelled like lemons.
During Recess, I watched Alex fall off of the jungle gym, straight onto his head.
Alex Castor was dead before the paramedics arrived, my panicked teacher attempting CPR when his brains were leaking out of his ears.
The school claimed it was an accident, but Alex would have been fine if the jungle gym wasn't built on solid concrete.
I told my team members this, and Levi was sceptical.
“You can smell bad things?” He said, his lips curved around his milkshake straw. In the early days, we hung out in the local bar. It's not like we were allowed inside, but Levi could get us in anywhere.
I was squeezed between Tom and Sunny, while Levi took the seat opposite us. I couldn't help noticing our waitress was insisting on free milkshake refills, her frantic eyes glued to Levi.
I had zero idea why. Levi Costella was about as intimidating as a fruit fly.
Wearing a white shirt with a popped collar, a leather jacket thrown over the top, Levi was giving rebellious Harvard student, rather than son of a crime family.
Leaning forward, he raised a brow, clearly not believing me.
“So, you're like a stink psychic?”
I shrugged, sipping my own shake.
“Sure.”
I wasn't planning on telling him the club room smelled off on our first day.
Once we actually started the club, Levi surprised us as the smartest member, and getting to know him further, I came to the realization his family were infamous in our town.
However, his parents hid it well. Lucy and Michael Costella were the owners of a popular ramen store in our town, hiding under the facade of two successful business owners. The Costella’s were an attractive family.
Lucy was a sophisticated brunette with a lipstick smile, Michael, a handsome fluffy haired man who looked like he modelled glasses.
The two were fiercely protective over their youngest son, not so casually reminding us behind grinning smiles, that if anything happened to Levi, we would automatically be involved in the family.
I mean, they did laugh and say, “We’re joking! Look at your little faces!” when Sunny went deathly pale. But there was definitely truth behind their words.
Being Levi’s friend was… challenging at first.
Tom and I were in his room studying for finals, and an alarm went off, flooding Levi’s room in red light.
I had zero idea where it was coming from, but it locked all the doors and windows, forcing the Costella residence into temporary lockdown. Levi didn't seem fazed, casually mentioning his parents were taking care of it.
He had a whiteboard set up in his room, and was standing in front of it, cramming all of our textbook notes into one easily digestible drawing.
Levi wasn't just smart.
He was Ivy League smart, so we had struck gold with him.
His family were questionable, and yes, sometimes I did fear for my life, but as the more time we spent at his house, the Costella household became a second home. We got used to the alarms.
I just brought along ear plugs.
I wish I was writing this post about Levi’s family, and sure, they are a factor in what is going on right now, but I want to preface this by saying the events below involve the 2024 scholastic decathlon final in our town with the school’s listed:
Starbrook High School.
Ratcliffe High School.
Please note, the incident that took place last night was immediately covered up, and all phone footage was destroyed. Our town is mostly out of the way, and does not show up on Google searches.
We also have our own version of the academic decathlon, which is a more town-level competition, due to lacking funds. The four of us were desperate to start competing with our schools.
So, we started taking things a little more seriously.
We got a coach.
Mr Hanes, who was hesitant at first.
In his words, “You will hate me as your coach.”
He started by recruiting more members, announcing, “If you want to be taken seriously as an actual club, then I'll be taking the reins from now on.”
He did, and with our teachers guidance (and sometimes brutal honesty), we reached a level where we could start competing with other school’s in town. Now, none of us knew this, but Mr Hanes was obsessed with winning.
So, club meetings were twisted into two hour study sessions with no talking, followed by Mr Hanes Jeaprody, which was Jeaprody, without the actual fun.
We were quizzed multiple times, answer cards and practise questions quite literally thrown directly in our faces.
I hate to admit this (I really hate to admit this) but Mr Hanes’s tactics worked. Sure, we had been mildly brainwashed by our slightly unhinged coach, but with Levi Costella, we destroyed our competitors. Like I said, our town held their own version of the academic scholastic decathlon, but it was pretty much the same, with some changes.
Ten subjects. Language and Literature, Math, Social Science, Economics, Art, Music, Interview, Speech, and Essay.
Unlike the official Decathlon, ours was more like a game show, with the ability to be knocked out if a team member answers a question wrong. Whoever answers the most questions correctly wins. Team meet ups were either tests, study sessions, or quizzing each other.
Which leads me to last night.
The finals were held in the reigning champions, Ratcliffe High School’s, auditorium.
And we were about to win our town’s Scholastic Decathlon 2024 Championships.
Well…I was knocked out in the music section. Standing next to my coach who I was sure was going to asphyxiate from excitement, I could smell the sudden potent stink of lemon. I tried to ignore it at first, but the more questions my team were answering correctly, the smell got worse, suffocating my senses.
This wasn't just lemon. The stink was like a burning, singing smell trickling into my nose and the back of my throat.
It was stronger than what Alex smelled like.
This was suffocating, drowning my thoughts.
“Are you okay, Cassandra?”
Mr Hanes nudged me when a Ratcliffe girl was struggling to answer a question, only for Sunny to jump in with the answer. “You look quite pale.”
I nodded, forcing a smile.
My gaze was on the Ratcliffe coach, a scary looking blonde woman, whispering in one of her student’s ears.
The Ratcliffe kid freaked me out. He was way too tall, dark blonde hair, and bulging eyes I swear were not blinking.
His gaze was glued to Levi, who wore a smug grin.
There was a smaller girl next to the Ratcliffe kid, a Macbook balanced on her knee. Every so often, he leaned into her, the two of them in deep conversation.
“I'm just nervous.”
I jumped when Ratcliffe scored a point, their side erupting into cheers.
During the break, we had a mini team meeting.
Sunny rushed to the bathroom to freshen up, and I noticed a Ratcliffe girl with a bouncing ponytail following her.
Ignoring our coach’s speech, I joined the two girls in the corridor, that lemony scent hanging thick in the air.
I caught them in an awkward position.
The Ratcliffe girl had her fingers pinched between the material of Sunny’s dark blue shirt bearing our school’s name.
Sunny looked confused, her lips parted like she was going to yell.
Ponytail dropped her hand, suddenly, with a nervous laugh. “Oh! I'm so, so, sorry,” she gushed. “You had, like, the biggest spider crawling on your back.”
Sunny caught my eye, shooting me a reassuring smile.
“Thanks.” She made sure to keep her distance. “Uh, where's your bathroom?”
The Ratcliffe girl nodded down the hallway. “It's just down there. I'm going there too if you want me to show you?”
Sunny motioned for me to go back to the auditorium. “Uh, sure! That'd be great!”
I did try to follow them, only for Sunny to cough loudly.
I took the hint, reluctantly heading back into the auditorium.
My team was hyping each other up, Levi in the centre, sweating through his team shirt. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I can't do this,” He groaned. “Ratcliffe High is known to play dirty, man. They're unbeatable.”
“In what way do they play dirty?” I asked, joining them.
Levi gulped down water, shrugging.
“I dunno! They're already trying to distract me with the stink eye.” The boy narrowed his eyes at a grinning Ratcliffe kid who, after noticing our stares, jumped to his feet, waving at us.
“Hey guys!”
“That's Harry Cartwright, the son of the Cartwright family who tried to kill my parents in the third grade.” Levi mockingly waved back. “As you can see, their kid is a fucking sociopath.”
Huh. I wasn't expecting the smiley kid to be the mobster’s son.
Harry Cartwright was not what I expected.
Unlike his team members, he was the only one in casual clothing, a short sleeved white shirt and jeans, a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head.
Tom went pale.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “He’s one of you? Then those bastards will have a reason to play dirty, right?”
Levi shrugged, averting his gaze. It was the first time I saw his eyes darken, like he was subtly telling the boy to back off.
“The Cartwright’s have been trying to buy our land for a while,” he muttered. “I wouldn't put it past them to use the Decathlon as a way to attack.”
“Attack?!” April, another member of our team, hissed. “Like, attack attack?”
Mr Hanes grabbed the boy, resting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. “Ignore them,” he said. “Hey. Look at me.”
Levi did, raising a brow.
“You're losing that spark in your eye, young man.”
“Spark?”
Our coach nodded. “Look at me, kid.”
Levi rolled his eyes. “I am looking at you, Mr Hanes.”
The man was shaking. I was guessing his whole career (or coaching career) was on the line.
“They know they're losing, Mr Costella.”
Hanes shook the boy, squeezing his shoulders. “You are being positive and Ratcliffe doesn't like that. They want you to be nervous. They want to make you second guess yourself and lose confidence. Don't let them get into your head.” he smiled, giving the boy a playful shove. “Kick their asses.”
“Exactly!”
I didn't realize Sunny was back from the bathroom.
The faint smell of lemons had followed her. I noticed a wet patch on her shirt collar, though she was quick to smile at me, admitting she'd spilled water down herself. Sunny wrapped her arms around Levi, squeezing him into a hug.
She hung on for a little too long, Tom dragging her away with a laugh. “Good luck, all right?” she backed away, ruffling his hair. “We’ve got this!”
When I hugged Levi good luck too, I had to resist covering my nose.
The smell of lemon was unbearable, just like fourth grade Alex.
But it wasn't as potent as earlier.
I vaguely remembered the smell starting to fade once Alex’s body was being carted away on a stretcher.
Following my captain through the crowd, I was right. The smell was less suffocating. Before he went back to the stage, I grabbed the back of his shirt.
The material was soaking wet.
“How are you so wet?” I said, swiping my hands on my shirt.
“Huh?”
I shook my head. “Never mind. Do you remember what I told you in sophomore year?”
Levi settled me with a confident, but nervous smile. “Thaaaat you're scared of clowns?”
“No. I mean the boy who smelled of lemons.” I gritted out.
Levi surprised me with a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
Levi did know what I was talking about. He brought up my stink sense a day earlier in front of his parents, and I had to cover his mouth to shut him up.
Leaning close, I whispered in his ear. “You stink of rotten lemons.”
He nodded slowly, pulling away. “Uh… thanks?”
I bit back a hiss of frustration. “No, you don't understand what I'm saying–”
“Starbrooke High School,” The host announced. “Can all members please return to the stage.”
Levi held up his hand for a high five.
“Can we do this later?” He winked. “I'm kinda busy carrying this spelling-bee on my back right now.”
I nodded shakily, high fiving him, and letting him jump back onto the stage.
Before his words hit like a tidal wave, ice cold water slammed into me.
Spelling Bee?
Slowly making my way back to the stands, Levi’s mistake was circling around my head. He did win a spelling bee, but that was in middle school.
Thankfully, the smell of lemons was gone when I returned to my seat.
Mr Hanes handed me a soda. “Chill out, Cassandera, it's just a game.”
He could talk. The guy was on his fifth coffee.
Mr Hanes was not chilled out in the slightest.
Surprisingly, the event went well. I was half expecting my team to be crushed by the rafters, or caught in a blaze started in the crowd. But we were doing well. No, we were winning.
Reaching the climaxing round, Sunny choked against a smug Ratcliffe boy, joining me on the sidelines.
Levi answered the next question with a confident smile.
We were winning, but Ratcliffe could still catch up with a miracle.
The second to last question was to Ratcliffe, and it was general knowledge.
”Where on the human body would one find the *orbit?*
I knew the answer, and so did Levi, his lips breaking out into a smile when the Ratcliffe boy was hesitating, eyes wide.
Our school’s buzzer went off, Levi slamming his hand down.
Bzzz!
The host turned to our team. “Starbrooke, can I have your answer?”
Levi nodded, shooting our team a victory grin.
“It's…!“ He opened his mouth to answer, his jaw slackening suddenly.
The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Uh… “
“Um…”
“Huhhhhh…”
Levi inclined his head, blinking, his eyes glazing over. There was a sudden, hollow vacancy that sent chills down my spine. It was like someone had reached into his skull, and yanked out his brain, leaving a shell in his place.
To my confusion, our team captain frowned at his buzzer like he'd never seen one before. He pressed it, exploding into child-like giggles.
Bzzz!
The audience laughed along nervously.
Tom nudged me. “What the fuck is he doing?”
Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz!
Levi’s entire body was slumped, his hand slamming down on the buzzer.
I caught something pooling down his chin.
“Is he… drooling?” I whispered.
Mr Hanes looked mildly horrified. “Has he been drinking?
“Levi?” Tom spluttered. “Drinking?!"
Whatever we were watching, however, was definitely influenced by… something.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz!
“Young man, that is not a toy!”
The host wasn't amused. “Starbrooke High School, I need an answer from you,” He nodded to Levi, who was pressing the buzzer, his smile growing.
“Once again,” The host backed away, like Levi was contagious. “Where on the human body would one find the Orbit?”
Levi cocked his head, lips parted.
His gaze found the overhead lights, and he winced, his lips curling into a frown.
“Starbrooke High School!”
Levi jumped, tipping his head back and blowing a raspberry. “Palm tree?”
The audience laughed, and I started feeling nauseous.
Across from us, I could see the twist of a smirk on the Ratcliffe coach’s lips.
Bzzz! Levi slammed the buzzer again giggling.
“Starbrooke High School, if your team member continues to act like this, I will be forced to disqualify all members.”
Our captain stopped, gaze glued to the host, his hand creeping towards the buzzer, like it was a big red button.
The audience loved it, laughing like they were watching a sitcom.
“He wouldn't.” Tom whisper-shrieked.
The auditorium was silent for a moment, awaiting Starbrooke’s response.
Levi stuck out his tongue, slamming his hand down.
Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz–
When Tom dragged Levi away from his podium, a Ratcliffe girl hit her buzzer.
“Starbrooke High School, you are disqualified,” the host announced. “Ratcliffe High School, do you have an answer?”
It was Ponytail who nodded with a grin.
“The answer is the eye socket! The Orbit is part of the eye socket!”
“That is the correct answer.” The host was distracted, his eyes glued to Levi.
“Ratcliffe High School wins.”
Levi jumped when the Ratcliffe wide erupted into cheers.
His eyes were wide, clinging onto the buzzer for comfort.
Next to me, our coach looked like he was going to faint.
I barely noticed Ratcliffe’s victory, too busy watching our team captain, who was Harvard bound, tipping his head back and smiling at the ceiling like a new-born baby. Tom dragged the stumbling boy over to me, his mouth twisted.
“This was Ratcliffe, right?” He hissed, shaking our captain, who was struggling, squirming in his grip.
“Did they put something in his drink?!” He prodded Levi. “Hey! What did they do to you?!”
Still, though, drugging his drink didn't make sense.
Levi never left the auditorium, and kept his water bottle with him the whole time.
How did they even manage to slip something into his drink in the first place?
Did I smell our competitors drugging him?
Sure, intentionally inebriating my teammate was morally wrong and illegal, but why could I smell lemon?
“I doubt it was Ratcliffe.” Sunny squeezed next to me. “I've been watching them. They're harmless.”
“Then how the fuck do we explain this to his parents?!” Tom whispered, grappling with Levi, who was fighting to get back to the buzzer.
When Tom let go of him, he dropped onto the floor, crawling over to his podium. It was like watching a child.
Who was determined to piss off the adults.
Levi jumped back to instead feet, his gaze was glued to the host, a smile curved on his lips, when he slammed the buzzer again.
Bzzz!
“Someone, please remove the Starbrooke boy from the stage!”
I was embarrassed, our whole team ducking our heads as our captain was forcibly removed from the podium.
Mr Hanes grabbed Levi, pulling him off of the stage.
I expected our coach to be mad at him, but I think the teacher was more worried, a phone pressed to his ear while he forced the boy into a sitting position.
No, I don't think it's influence from alcohol, I could hear his conversation.
Levi kept trying to get up, mesmerised by the buzzer. The teacher was firm but gentle. “Hey. Sit down, all right? Keep still.” He went back to his phone call, gently prying Levi’s eyes open.
From what I can see, there's nothing wrong. He's just kind of…
Mr Hanes swiped his own hands on his jeans. ... wet?
Team Ratcliffe came over to rub it in our faces, though I was still tuned into our coach’s hissed whispering.
Water? No, I don't think it's water. It smells… no, I haven't told his parents…
“You guys did awesome!” Ponytail's voice was sugary sweet. Too sugary.
She held the 2024 trophy, bearing a satisfied smile. I noticed the Ratcliffe members were surrounding Harry, like guards.
“Better luck next time, okay?” She held out her hand, her eyes twinkling.
“No hard feelings?”
“Control your dog.” Harry said, amused eyes flicking to Levi, who was once again sprinting back to the fucking buzzer. His eyes had visibly darkened, lips curled into a triumphant smile.
Harry Cartwright was watching Mr Hanes chase our team captain like it was his own personal entertainment.
I had to look away before I died of second hand embarrassment.
“What did you put in his drink?” Tom demanded. “Weed? Edibles?” the boy attempted to shove Harry, only to be pushed back. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Harry’s smile didn't waver. “Like I said. Control your mut.”
When the Ratcliffe team walked away, our red faced coach struggling with Levi, who was behaving progressively more erratically, informed us we were longer welcome inside the school.
Tom suggested calling an ambulance, but our coach was hesitant.
We all knew who Levi’s family were.
On the way out, Tom matched my stride. He was frowning at our team captain struggling to walk.
The way he was acting was already eyebrow raising.
But walking at an angle and being unable to stand up straight was worrying.
“I don't think they drugged his drink.” Tom muttered.
We pushed through the doors out of the school, and I revelled in the cool night air grazing my cheek. “If they did, he would be acting out of it, right? So, what's the deal with him acting like–”
“A child.” I finished for him.
“Yeah.” Tom leaned closer. “Do you think this has something to do with their turf war?”
I slapped at a bug creeping across my cheek.
Levi fell over again, this time bursting into giggles.
“Almost definitely.”
Levi was right about Ratcliffe playing dirty. I didn't realize how dirty until we were on the losers bus home. Levi was in the seat next to me, and the kid hadn't moved since we left Ratcliffe, his eyes wide, lips pulled into a dazed grin.
Bzzz!
The noise startled me from slumber. I was drooling, my head pressed against the window. Outside, the sky was pitch dark, and squinting through the glass, I couldn't get a bearing on where we were. I thought I was hearing things, but when I sat up, I heard it again.
Bzzz!
It was close.
Leaning over the boy, I glimpsed a smear of scarlet on his headrest.
I choked on my next words.
“Tom.”
Tom was in front of me, listening to music.
He didn't reply, his head of dark blonde curls nodding to the beat.
“Levi.” I managed to get out. I prodded him, and his head lolled into his shoulder. “Hey. Can you… sit up?”
Bzzz! Bzzz!
When the boy didn't move, I gently grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward myself, something contracting in my stomach.
I don't know how long it takes for your mind to fully register something, but my body was already reacting.
Levi’s seat was infested with bugs, eating their way through the upholstery. I was aware of my body moving back. I threw up, instantly, screaming into my hand.
The back of my best friend's skull resembled a deflated soccer ball, what was left of his brain leaking from his skull where a swarm of skittering bugs chewed their way through brain tissue, metallic legs scratching the curved, pearly white of the base if his skull.
Levi’s head hung, his body flopping into mine.
But his eyes were still open, lips still stretched into a smile.
Blood ran in thick rivulets from his nose and ears.
Bzzz!
I could see them, black writhing dots alive in his eyes, wriggling movement under his skin.
“Tom!”
I jumped up, stumbling into the aisle, my stomach heaving.
And it was only when I was on my knees, swiping bile from my lips, when I realized the others weren't reacting.
Tom wasn't moving.
I pulled an Airpod out of his ear, a long, slithering string of pink attached to the end.
There was a stray bug skittering across his hand, his face starting to twitch and writhe.
Moving back, I checked myself over, my hands shaking.
Head.
Shoulders.
Hair.
Clawing through it, my breath was stuck in my throat.
Arms.
Legs.
Feet.
Mr Hanes was slumped against the window, a reddish froth bubbling from his mouth.
Sunny.
I started towards the back of the bus, but all I had to see was her bowed head, half of her skull chewed through.
Sunny was in a far more deteriorated state, her face had been ripped through, a skeletal smile glinting in the dim.
The thick black smear on the window next to her was moving.
When I screamed for the driver to stop the bus, he ignored me.
If anything, he stamped on the gas.
I moved forward to shake him, before glimpsing a bug creeping down his face.
Calling 911, the operator laughed at me.
“Bugs are eating your friends.” He said. “Do you know the penalty for calling with bullshit pranks?”
The bus didn't stop, so I stayed at the front, while the bugs took over the back, eating through my teammates.
After four hours, I risked leaning over the seat next to Tom to check on Levi.
They were eating him.
Chewing all the way through skin, muscle and bone.
I tried to stop the bus, but the driver’s hands were tightly wrapped around the wheel.
Another hour, and blood was seeping down the aisle, crawling with bugs.
Levi was gone, and in his place, a buzzing skittering pile of bugs, that I thought were going to move to a second victim, maybe burrowing into the seats.
But, no.
These things began to tremble, replicating.
Building.
Slowly, nothing became static, and static became muscle.
Then bone.
Then flesh.
When a body began to slowly form, moulded from the dead boy, I stumbled back.
These things weren't eating Levi Costella.
They were rewriting him.
…
Edit: I'm still on the bus. I'm 99.9% sure that I'm infected with whatever this thing is. I can't stop fucking itching.
I keep picking them off me but they won't stop. This bus isn't going to stop until I'm like the others.
…
Edit 2:
I can feel them chewing into my skull. They're in my ears. I keep spitting them out. Please, someone get them off of me. Help me. I don't want to die at 17.
Edit 3:
Still alive. Still breathing. Maybe they're leaving me alone????? I think I'm okay. There is a pile of bugs at my feet, but they're crawling off of me.
Edit 4:
Levi really wants to go home. Like, he just told me he REALLY wants to go home. He's got a gift for his parents.
~~Edit 5 :) ~~
Levi is next to me right now, an odd smile on his face.
The bugs are not finished building him yet, but he'll be ready soon.
We will be ready soon.
Your son says hello! He is a wonderful boy, is he not?
Mr and Mrs Costella, I cannot wait for you to meet him.
He is our greatest achievement, and rest assured, you will give us what we want.
Warm regards.
The Cartwright's.

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I'm pretty sure I'm going to be dead in the next 24 hours.
Whether that's the Costella family, or whatever this is, I'm not sure.
The police are taking forever, and part of me knows they're either refusing to believe me, or RC got them too.
I'm holed up on our school bus, so I've got nothing better to do.
I want to tell you about my team.
We met in our sophomore year.
Strangers standing outside the club room.
Levi was the freckled brunette who wouldn't stop talking about Game of Thrones.
Sunny, a pretty redhead, told him to shut up.
Tom, a sandy blonde, nodding his head to music corked in his ears.
I just wanted to be part of a club, and get away from my overbearing mother.
I won't say it was a perfect start. Our school was lacking in funding, so anyone could join, which made us more of a Quiz Club. I had some serious anxiety, so I stayed on the sidelines for a while, watching, rather than taking part.
It's not like we actually talked to each other initially. The first few weeks, we played Jeopardy, and attempted to find more members to cement us as an official Academic Decathlon club.
Unfortunately, though, it was just the four of us.
Which made it extremely hard for us to be taken seriously.
According to Google, Academic Decathlon teams were made up of nine members, placed by their GPA.
Our principal laughed at us, but he did let us become official.
Which was out of pity, I assumed.
The club was assembled, and we started meeting up after school.
Sort of.
Sunny barely showed up, and Levi didn't take anything seriously, preferring to spend the time telling us about his weird family turf-war.
Our principal dumped us in a tiny classroom with a resident rat living under the floorboards.
There was barely enough room to move, and the four of us crammed together for three hours was less than appealing.
Still, though, I wanted to be part of a club.
I had grown up with parents who were obsessed with board games, so I was pretty good at general knowledge questions. Our club room was too small for anything else but three desks (Sunny and I shared one) and a whiteboard we had to shove through the door.
But, again, we didn't start as an Academic club.
It was more akin to Story Time Club.
Arriving late on my third day, armed with quiz cards from home, I found Tom and Sunny completely mesmerised by Levi’s storytelling skills, drowned in shadow.
They didn't even turn the lights on.
I strictly remember squeezing next to Sunny, and hearing the words, “But there was so much blood all over the floor, and my Mom told me to go upstairs and hide under the bed…”
Sitting in front of them was Levi, perched on a desk, his legs swinging, a whiteboard marker between his teeth.
Sometimes he'd get up, and illustrate parts of his story.
It sucked that his drawings were all stick people.
I won't go into full details of his life, but Levi grew up as part of a family who had… interesting methods of making a living. I had seen the guy’s father multiple times when we hung out at his place, and, yeah, my friend’s family definitely had Soprano vibes.
Levi’s Draw My Life was nothing to do with the club, but it did bring us closer.
Even if, at that point, I was considering leaving.
But it's not like it was easy to walk away from these guys. It's like finding your soulmates. Levi wasn't the only one with an interesting life. Sunny Lang was an ex kpop trainee, who was kicked out for being too fat, which led her to develop a severe eating disorder, and a hatred for her own body.
Sunny explained her family were originally from Boston, her mother growing up in Korea.
She signed up for an idol agency focusing on creating a new girl group, and had gotten all the way to the final stages, before being kicked for her weight. Sunny told us her story with a smile, though there was a hollowness in her eyes I couldn't ignore. The other girls were judgemental bullies, and the idol diet and brutal regime almost killed her.
Sunny lived in a tiny apartment with 9 girls, who would tear each other apart for a chance to debut. Sunny said all the other girls debuted, and when we (not so patiently) asked for names, she shrugged, admitting she signed an NDA that prevented her spilling the beans.
What she did say, was the K-pop idol is a product, not a person– and are made and moulded into a product.
She had zero interest in throwing her humanity away to become a manufactured doll.
So, one of us was the son of an underground family, and the other was an ex idol.
Tom was an aspiring horror writer with a famous older step-brother.
His story times were usually, That one time I went to the Met Gala.
When it was my turn to reveal my story, I told them the only interesting thing about me.
I could smell when something bad was going to happen.
They laughed, but I was being serious.
When I was a kid, I smelled my mother’s brain tumor.
I remember it smelled like curdled milk.
I asked Mom why her head smelled of mouldy milk, and Mom laughed and said it was her shampoo.
It was actually a grade two tumor growing inside her brain.
Thankfully, the tumour was found quickly and removed.
Growing older, I became sensitive to smell. The little girl choking on the bus smelled of singed wood, and the old man crossing the road stunk of gasoline.
In the fourth grade, my classmate Alex Castor smelled of lemons all morning.
I sat behind him, choking on the stink all the way through class.
Ever since I met him, Alex had always smelled… off.
It was a distinct smell I could never understand, and as the days and months and years went by, that smell morphed into a subtle orangey musk that was so strong I had to cover my mouth and nose. Then, he smelled like lemons.
During Recess, I watched Alex fall off of the jungle gym, straight onto his head.
Alex Castor was dead before the paramedics arrived, my panicked teacher attempting CPR when his brains were leaking out of his ears.
The school claimed it was an accident, but Alex would have been fine if the jungle gym wasn't built on solid concrete.
I told my team members this, and Levi was sceptical.
“You can smell bad things?” He said, his lips curved around his milkshake straw. In the early days, we hung out in the local bar. It's not like we were allowed inside, but Levi could get us in anywhere.
I was squeezed between Tom and Sunny, while Levi took the seat opposite us. I couldn't help noticing our waitress was insisting on free milkshake refills, her frantic eyes glued to Levi.
I had zero idea why. Levi Costella was about as intimidating as a fruit fly.
Wearing a white shirt with a popped collar, a leather jacket thrown over the top, Levi was giving rebellious Harvard student, rather than son of a crime family.
Leaning forward, he raised a brow, clearly not believing me.
“So, you're like a stink psychic?”
I shrugged, sipping my own shake.
“Sure.”
I wasn't planning on telling him the club room smelled off on our first day.
Once we actually started the club, Levi surprised us as the smartest member, and getting to know him further, I came to the realization his family were infamous in our town.
However, his parents hid it well. Lucy and Michael Costella were the owners of a popular ramen store in our town, hiding under the facade of two successful business owners. The Costella’s were an attractive family.
Lucy was a sophisticated brunette with a lipstick smile, Michael, a handsome fluffy haired man who looked like he modelled glasses.
The two were fiercely protective over their youngest son, not so casually reminding us behind grinning smiles, that if anything happened to Levi, we would automatically be involved in the family.
I mean, they did laugh and say, “We’re joking! Look at your little faces!” when Sunny went deathly pale. But there was definitely truth behind their words.
Being Levi’s friend was… challenging at first.
Tom and I were in his room studying for finals, and an alarm went off, flooding Levi’s room in red light.
I had zero idea where it was coming from, but it locked all the doors and windows, forcing the Costella residence into temporary lockdown. Levi didn't seem fazed, casually mentioning his parents were taking care of it.
He had a whiteboard set up in his room, and was standing in front of it, cramming all of our textbook notes into one easily digestible drawing.
Levi wasn't just smart.
He was Ivy League smart, so we had struck gold with him.
His family were questionable, and yes, sometimes I did fear for my life, but as the more time we spent at his house, the Costella household became a second home. We got used to the alarms.
I just brought along ear plugs.
I wish I was writing this post about Levi’s family, and sure, they are a factor in what is going on right now, but I want to preface this by saying the events below involve the 2024 scholastic decathlon final in our town with the school’s listed:
Starbrook High School.
Ratcliffe High School.
Please note, the incident that took place last night was immediately covered up, and all phone footage was destroyed. Our town is mostly out of the way, and does not show up on Google searches.
We also have our own version of the academic decathlon, which is a more town-level competition, due to lacking funds. The four of us were desperate to start competing with our schools.
So, we started taking things a little more seriously.
We got a coach.
Mr Hanes, who was hesitant at first.
In his words, “You will hate me as your coach.”
He started by recruiting more members, announcing, “If you want to be taken seriously as an actual club, then I'll be taking the reins from now on.”
He did, and with our teachers guidance (and sometimes brutal honesty), we reached a level where we could start competing with other school’s in town. Now, none of us knew this, but Mr Hanes was obsessed with winning.
So, club meetings were twisted into two hour study sessions with no talking, followed by Mr Hanes Jeaprody, which was Jeaprody, without the actual fun.
We were quizzed multiple times, answer cards and practise questions quite literally thrown directly in our faces.
I hate to admit this (I really hate to admit this) but Mr Hanes’s tactics worked. Sure, we had been mildly brainwashed by our slightly unhinged coach, but with Levi Costella, we destroyed our competitors. Like I said, our town held their own version of the academic scholastic decathlon, but it was pretty much the same, with some changes.
Ten subjects. Language and Literature, Math, Social Science, Economics, Art, Music, Interview, Speech, and Essay.
Unlike the official Decathlon, ours was more like a game show, with the ability to be knocked out if a team member answers a question wrong. Whoever answers the most questions correctly wins. Team meet ups were either tests, study sessions, or quizzing each other.
Which leads me to last night.
The finals were held in the reigning champions, Ratcliffe High School’s, auditorium.
And we were about to win our town’s Scholastic Decathlon 2024 Championships.
Well…I was knocked out in the music section. Standing next to my coach who I was sure was going to asphyxiate from excitement, I could smell the sudden potent stink of lemon. I tried to ignore it at first, but the more questions my team were answering correctly, the smell got worse, suffocating my senses.
This wasn't just lemon. The stink was like a burning, singing smell trickling into my nose and the back of my throat.
It was stronger than what Alex smelled like.
This was suffocating, drowning my thoughts.
“Are you okay, Cassandra?”
Mr Hanes nudged me when a Ratcliffe girl was struggling to answer a question, only for Sunny to jump in with the answer. “You look quite pale.”
I nodded, forcing a smile.
My gaze was on the Ratcliffe coach, a scary looking blonde woman, whispering in one of her student’s ears.
The Ratcliffe kid freaked me out. He was way too tall, dark blonde hair, and bulging eyes I swear were not blinking.
His gaze was glued to Levi, who wore a smug grin.
There was a smaller girl next to the Ratcliffe kid, a Macbook balanced on her knee. Every so often, he leaned into her, the two of them in deep conversation.
“I'm just nervous.”
I jumped when Ratcliffe scored a point, their side erupting into cheers.
During the break, we had a mini team meeting.
Sunny rushed to the bathroom to freshen up, and I noticed a Ratcliffe girl with a bouncing ponytail following her.
Ignoring our coach’s speech, I joined the two girls in the corridor, that lemony scent hanging thick in the air.
I caught them in an awkward position.
The Ratcliffe girl had her fingers pinched between the material of Sunny’s dark blue shirt bearing our school’s name.
Sunny looked confused, her lips parted like she was going to yell.
Ponytail dropped her hand, suddenly, with a nervous laugh. “Oh! I'm so, so, sorry,” she gushed. “You had, like, the biggest spider crawling on your back.”
Sunny caught my eye, shooting me a reassuring smile.
“Thanks.” She made sure to keep her distance. “Uh, where's your bathroom?”
The Ratcliffe girl nodded down the hallway. “It's just down there. I'm going there too if you want me to show you?”
Sunny motioned for me to go back to the auditorium. “Uh, sure! That'd be great!”
I did try to follow them, only for Sunny to cough loudly.
I took the hint, reluctantly heading back into the auditorium.
My team was hyping each other up, Levi in the centre, sweating through his team shirt. He ran a trembling hand through his hair. “I can't do this,” He groaned. “Ratcliffe High is known to play dirty, man. They're unbeatable.”
“In what way do they play dirty?” I asked, joining them.
Levi gulped down water, shrugging.
“I dunno! They're already trying to distract me with the stink eye.” The boy narrowed his eyes at a grinning Ratcliffe kid who, after noticing our stares, jumped to his feet, waving at us.
“Hey guys!”
“That's Harry Cartwright, the son of the Cartwright family who tried to kill my parents in the third grade.” Levi mockingly waved back. “As you can see, their kid is a fucking sociopath.”
Huh. I wasn't expecting the smiley kid to be the mobster’s son.
Harry Cartwright was not what I expected.
Unlike his team members, he was the only one in casual clothing, a short sleeved white shirt and jeans, a pair of sunglasses perched on top of his head.
Tom went pale.
“Fuck.” He hissed. “He’s one of you? Then those bastards will have a reason to play dirty, right?”
Levi shrugged, averting his gaze. It was the first time I saw his eyes darken, like he was subtly telling the boy to back off.
“The Cartwright’s have been trying to buy our land for a while,” he muttered. “I wouldn't put it past them to use the Decathlon as a way to attack.”
“Attack?!” April, another member of our team, hissed. “Like, attack attack?”
Mr Hanes grabbed the boy, resting his hands on Levi’s shoulders. “Ignore them,” he said. “Hey. Look at me.”
Levi did, raising a brow.
“You're losing that spark in your eye, young man.”
“Spark?”
Our coach nodded. “Look at me, kid.”
Levi rolled his eyes. “I am looking at you, Mr Hanes.”
The man was shaking. I was guessing his whole career (or coaching career) was on the line.
“They know they're losing, Mr Costella.”
Hanes shook the boy, squeezing his shoulders. “You are being positive and Ratcliffe doesn't like that. They want you to be nervous. They want to make you second guess yourself and lose confidence. Don't let them get into your head.” he smiled, giving the boy a playful shove. “Kick their asses.”
“Exactly!”
I didn't realize Sunny was back from the bathroom.
The faint smell of lemons had followed her. I noticed a wet patch on her shirt collar, though she was quick to smile at me, admitting she'd spilled water down herself. Sunny wrapped her arms around Levi, squeezing him into a hug.
She hung on for a little too long, Tom dragging her away with a laugh. “Good luck, all right?” she backed away, ruffling his hair. “We’ve got this!”
When I hugged Levi good luck too, I had to resist covering my nose.
The smell of lemon was unbearable, just like fourth grade Alex.
But it wasn't as potent as earlier.
I vaguely remembered the smell starting to fade once Alex’s body was being carted away on a stretcher.
Following my captain through the crowd, I was right. The smell was less suffocating. Before he went back to the stage, I grabbed the back of his shirt.
The material was soaking wet.
“How are you so wet?” I said, swiping my hands on my shirt.
“Huh?”
I shook my head. “Never mind. Do you remember what I told you in sophomore year?”
Levi settled me with a confident, but nervous smile. “Thaaaat you're scared of clowns?”
“No. I mean the boy who smelled of lemons.” I gritted out.
Levi surprised me with a laugh. “What are you talking about?”
Something ice cold trickled down my spine.
Levi did know what I was talking about. He brought up my stink sense a day earlier in front of his parents, and I had to cover his mouth to shut him up.
Leaning close, I whispered in his ear. “You stink of rotten lemons.”
He nodded slowly, pulling away. “Uh… thanks?”
I bit back a hiss of frustration. “No, you don't understand what I'm saying–”
“Starbrooke High School,” The host announced. “Can all members please return to the stage.”
Levi held up his hand for a high five.
“Can we do this later?” He winked. “I'm kinda busy carrying this spelling-bee on my back right now.”
I nodded shakily, high fiving him, and letting him jump back onto the stage.
Before his words hit like a tidal wave, ice cold water slammed into me.
Spelling Bee?
Slowly making my way back to the stands, Levi’s mistake was circling around my head. He did win a spelling bee, but that was in middle school.
Thankfully, the smell of lemons was gone when I returned to my seat.
Mr Hanes handed me a soda. “Chill out, Cassandera, it's just a game.”
He could talk. The guy was on his fifth coffee.
Mr Hanes was not chilled out in the slightest.
Surprisingly, the event went well. I was half expecting my team to be crushed by the rafters, or caught in a blaze started in the crowd. But we were doing well. No, we were winning.
Reaching the climaxing round, Sunny choked against a smug Ratcliffe boy, joining me on the sidelines.
Levi answered the next question with a confident smile.
We were winning, but Ratcliffe could still catch up with a miracle.
The second to last question was to Ratcliffe, and it was general knowledge.
”Where on the human body would one find the *orbit?*
I knew the answer, and so did Levi, his lips breaking out into a smile when the Ratcliffe boy was hesitating, eyes wide.
Our school’s buzzer went off, Levi slamming his hand down.
Bzzz!
The host turned to our team. “Starbrooke, can I have your answer?”
Levi nodded, shooting our team a victory grin.
“It's…!“ He opened his mouth to answer, his jaw slackening suddenly.
The boy’s shoulders slumped.
“Uh… “
“Um…”
“Huhhhhh…”
Levi inclined his head, blinking, his eyes glazing over. There was a sudden, hollow vacancy that sent chills down my spine. It was like someone had reached into his skull, and yanked out his brain, leaving a shell in his place.
To my confusion, our team captain frowned at his buzzer like he'd never seen one before. He pressed it, exploding into child-like giggles.
Bzzz!
The audience laughed along nervously.
Tom nudged me. “What the fuck is he doing?”
Bzzz Bzzz Bzzz!
Levi’s entire body was slumped, his hand slamming down on the buzzer.
I caught something pooling down his chin.
“Is he… drooling?” I whispered.
Mr Hanes looked mildly horrified. “Has he been drinking?
“Levi?” Tom spluttered. “Drinking?!"
Whatever we were watching, however, was definitely influenced by… something.
Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz!
“Young man, that is not a toy!”
The host wasn't amused. “Starbrooke High School, I need an answer from you,” He nodded to Levi, who was pressing the buzzer, his smile growing.
“Once again,” The host backed away, like Levi was contagious. “Where on the human body would one find the Orbit?”
Levi cocked his head, lips parted.
His gaze found the overhead lights, and he winced, his lips curling into a frown.
“Starbrooke High School!”
Levi jumped, tipping his head back and blowing a raspberry. “Palm tree?”
The audience laughed, and I started feeling nauseous.
Across from us, I could see the twist of a smirk on the Ratcliffe coach’s lips.
Bzzz! Levi slammed the buzzer again giggling.
“Starbrooke High School, if your team member continues to act like this, I will be forced to disqualify all members.”
Our captain stopped, gaze glued to the host, his hand creeping towards the buzzer, like it was a big red button.
The audience loved it, laughing like they were watching a sitcom.
“He wouldn't.” Tom whisper-shrieked.
The auditorium was silent for a moment, awaiting Starbrooke’s response.
Levi stuck out his tongue, slamming his hand down.
Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz–
When Tom dragged Levi away from his podium, a Ratcliffe girl hit her buzzer.
“Starbrooke High School, you are disqualified,” the host announced. “Ratcliffe High School, do you have an answer?”
It was Ponytail who nodded with a grin.
“The answer is the eye socket! The Orbit is part of the eye socket!”
“That is the correct answer.” The host was distracted, his eyes glued to Levi.
“Ratcliffe High School wins.”
Levi jumped when the Ratcliffe wide erupted into cheers.
His eyes were wide, clinging onto the buzzer for comfort.
Next to me, our coach looked like he was going to faint.
I barely noticed Ratcliffe’s victory, too busy watching our team captain, who was Harvard bound, tipping his head back and smiling at the ceiling like a new-born baby. Tom dragged the stumbling boy over to me, his mouth twisted.
“This was Ratcliffe, right?” He hissed, shaking our captain, who was struggling, squirming in his grip.
“Did they put something in his drink?!” He prodded Levi. “Hey! What did they do to you?!”
Still, though, drugging his drink didn't make sense.
Levi never left the auditorium, and kept his water bottle with him the whole time.
How did they even manage to slip something into his drink in the first place?
Did I smell our competitors drugging him?
Sure, intentionally inebriating my teammate was morally wrong and illegal, but why could I smell lemon?
“I doubt it was Ratcliffe.” Sunny squeezed next to me. “I've been watching them. They're harmless.”
“Then how the fuck do we explain this to his parents?!” Tom whispered, grappling with Levi, who was fighting to get back to the buzzer.
When Tom let go of him, he dropped onto the floor, crawling over to his podium. It was like watching a child.
Who was determined to piss off the adults.
Levi jumped back to instead feet, his gaze was glued to the host, a smile curved on his lips, when he slammed the buzzer again.
Bzzz!
“Someone, please remove the Starbrooke boy from the stage!”
I was embarrassed, our whole team ducking our heads as our captain was forcibly removed from the podium.
Mr Hanes grabbed Levi, pulling him off of the stage.
I expected our coach to be mad at him, but I think the teacher was more worried, a phone pressed to his ear while he forced the boy into a sitting position.
No, I don't think it's influence from alcohol, I could hear his conversation.
Levi kept trying to get up, mesmerised by the buzzer. The teacher was firm but gentle. “Hey. Sit down, all right? Keep still.” He went back to his phone call, gently prying Levi’s eyes open.
From what I can see, there's nothing wrong. He's just kind of…
Mr Hanes swiped his own hands on his jeans. ... wet?
Team Ratcliffe came over to rub it in our faces, though I was still tuned into our coach’s hissed whispering.
Water? No, I don't think it's water. It smells… no, I haven't told his parents…
“You guys did awesome!” Ponytail's voice was sugary sweet. Too sugary.
She held the 2024 trophy, bearing a satisfied smile. I noticed the Ratcliffe members were surrounding Harry, like guards.
“Better luck next time, okay?” She held out her hand, her eyes twinkling.
“No hard feelings?”
“Control your dog.” Harry said, amused eyes flicking to Levi, who was once again sprinting back to the fucking buzzer. His eyes had visibly darkened, lips curled into a triumphant smile.
Harry Cartwright was watching Mr Hanes chase our team captain like it was his own personal entertainment.
I had to look away before I died of second hand embarrassment.
“What did you put in his drink?” Tom demanded. “Weed? Edibles?” the boy attempted to shove Harry, only to be pushed back. “What the fuck did you do to him?”
Harry’s smile didn't waver. “Like I said. Control your mut.”
When the Ratcliffe team walked away, our red faced coach struggling with Levi, who was behaving progressively more erratically, informed us we were longer welcome inside the school.
Tom suggested calling an ambulance, but our coach was hesitant.
We all knew who Levi’s family were.
On the way out, Tom matched my stride. He was frowning at our team captain struggling to walk.
The way he was acting was already eyebrow raising.
But walking at an angle and being unable to stand up straight was worrying.
“I don't think they drugged his drink.” Tom muttered.
We pushed through the doors out of the school, and I revelled in the cool night air grazing my cheek. “If they did, he would be acting out of it, right? So, what's the deal with him acting like–”
“A child.” I finished for him.
“Yeah.” Tom leaned closer. “Do you think this has something to do with their turf war?”
I slapped at a bug creeping across my cheek.
Levi fell over again, this time bursting into giggles.
“Almost definitely.”
Levi was right about Ratcliffe playing dirty. I didn't realize how dirty until we were on the losers bus home. Levi was in the seat next to me, and the kid hadn't moved since we left Ratcliffe, his eyes wide, lips pulled into a dazed grin.
Bzzz!
The noise startled me from slumber. I was drooling, my head pressed against the window. Outside, the sky was pitch dark, and squinting through the glass, I couldn't get a bearing on where we were. I thought I was hearing things, but when I sat up, I heard it again.
Bzzz!
It was close.
Leaning over the boy, I glimpsed a smear of scarlet on his headrest.
I choked on my next words.
“Tom.”
Tom was in front of me, listening to music.
He didn't reply, his head of dark blonde curls nodding to the beat.
“Levi.” I managed to get out. I prodded him, and his head lolled into his shoulder. “Hey. Can you… sit up?”
Bzzz! Bzzz!
When the boy didn't move, I gently grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward myself, something contracting in my stomach.
I don't know how long it takes for your mind to fully register something, but my body was already reacting.
Levi’s seat was infested with bugs, eating their way through the upholstery. I was aware of my body moving back. I threw up, instantly, screaming into my hand.
The back of my best friend's skull resembled a deflated soccer ball, what was left of his brain leaking from his skull where a swarm of skittering bugs chewed their way through brain tissue, metallic legs scratching the curved, pearly white of the base if his skull.
Levi’s head hung, his body flopping into mine.
But his eyes were still open, lips still stretched into a smile.
Blood ran in thick rivulets from his nose and ears.
Bzzz!
I could see them, black writhing dots alive in his eyes, wriggling movement under his skin.
“Tom!”
I jumped up, stumbling into the aisle, my stomach heaving.
And it was only when I was on my knees, swiping bile from my lips, when I realized the others weren't reacting.
Tom wasn't moving.
I pulled an Airpod out of his ear, a long, slithering string of pink attached to the end.
There was a stray bug skittering across his hand, his face starting to twitch and writhe.
Moving back, I checked myself over, my hands shaking.
Head.
Shoulders.
Hair.
Clawing through it, my breath was stuck in my throat.
Arms.
Legs.
Feet.
Mr Hanes was slumped against the window, a reddish froth bubbling from his mouth.
Sunny.
I started towards the back of the bus, but all I had to see was her bowed head, half of her skull chewed through.
Sunny was in a far more deteriorated state, her face had been ripped through, a skeletal smile glinting in the dim.
The thick black smear on the window next to her was moving.
When I screamed for the driver to stop the bus, he ignored me.
If anything, he stamped on the gas.
I moved forward to shake him, before glimpsing a bug creeping down his face.
Calling 911, the operator laughed at me.
“Bugs are eating your friends.” He said. “Do you know the penalty for calling with bullshit pranks?”
The bus didn't stop, so I stayed at the front, while the bugs took over the back, eating through my teammates.
After four hours, I risked leaning over the seat next to Tom to check on Levi.
They were eating him.
Chewing all the way through skin, muscle and bone.
I tried to stop the bus, but the driver’s hands were tightly wrapped around the wheel.
Another hour, and blood was seeping down the aisle, crawling with bugs.
Levi was gone, and in his place, a buzzing skittering pile of bugs, that I thought were going to move to a second victim, maybe burrowing into the seats.
But, no.
These things began to tremble, replicating.
Building.
Slowly, nothing became static, and static became muscle.
Then bone.
Then flesh.
When a body began to slowly form, moulded from the dead boy, I stumbled back.
These things weren't eating Levi Costella.
They were rewriting him.
…
Edit: I'm still on the bus. I'm 99.9% sure that I'm infected with whatever this thing is. I can't stop fucking itching.
I keep picking them off me but they won't stop. This bus isn't going to stop until I'm like the others.
…
Edit 2:
I can feel them chewing into my skull. They're in my ears. I keep spitting them out. Please, someone get them off of me. Help me. I don't want to die at 17.
Edit 3:
Still alive. Still breathing. Maybe they're leaving me alone????? I think I'm okay. There is a pile of bugs at my feet, but they're crawling off of me.
Edit 4:
Levi really wants to go home. Like, he just told me he REALLY wants to go home. He's got a gift for his parents.
I have a feeling I know what it is.

It’s a Friday afternoon in Yokohama; the rays shine down on the street, and the cotton in the sky is scattered, revealing an angelic blue amongst the hidden stars. People in the town were once again scarce. However, it didn’t bother Moniz much because she is meeting Guinness today for ice cream.
Guinness thought of the idea. She didn’t say the tone of the meeting, whether it’s going to be a conversation about the hostages, a friendly exchange, or maybe something with romantic undertones. I mean, she had kissed Moniz’s hand. Or what if she was just French? She should ask her.
Arriving at the Ice Cream shop, Guinness is sitting at a two person table. The chairs were made out of black metal, with hearts intricately wired in the back of the seat. The table was small and made out of black metal as well with a fishnet like pattern in the center. Guinness smiles at Moniz and waves towards her. She hadn’t ordered anything yet. Maybe Guinness was waiting for her?
Moniz sits down at the seat across from her, hanging her purse from the chair she was seated in. “Hey Guin!” She smiles. “Oh wait- I haven’t talked to you too much- is it okay if I call you a nickname?”
Guinness laughs, and waves her hand up and down. “Oh, of course! It’s not like we’re running a business here, Moniz. Plus, everybody calls me that. Winnie, Raymond, everyone else I can think of. You want to get some ice cream with me? Don’t wanna miss out, do you?”
Moniz nods, getting up from the chair. “Why would I miss out on that? C’mon!”
Guinness and Moniz both walk up to the serving area. The young employee seems nervous. He’s tapping his fingers loudly on the countertop, and his eyebags sink into his skin. He seems exhausted. His voice speaks with a quiver, “What would you like?”
“Hellooo!” Moniz smiles at the man. “I think I’d like… hm…” She looks towards the selection, but it’s practically overwhelming! There were so many flavors- pistachio, chocolate, vanilla, cotton candy, mango, peach, sherbet, napoleon-
Guinness taps on Moniz’s shoulder. “You want me to order first?” Moniz didn’t realize she’d been standing there for so long! How embarrassing.
“Oh! Mhm! If you don’t mind!” Moniz picks at her fingertips while attempting to decide. Sherbet or cotton candy? Oh, sprinkles too! What sprinkles?
Guinness’s red lips part to a smile, answering the man’s previous question. “I’d like a vanilla cone with a cherry on top, please.'' She looks towards Moniz, waiting for her to order as well.
Moniz quickly throws together a choice. “Uhm-! I’ll have a- a strawberry cone please!”
The worker hands the women their ice cream cones, and Guinness offers a hand out with cash to pay. Once they finish the interaction, the two walk through the empty streets of Yokohama, conversing back and forth.
“This feels unreal.” Guinness comments, taking a bite out of her ice cream. “I mean, second biggest town in Japan, not anyone out. Guess places are still on lockdown. Hey Moniz, do you know when everyone will be out?”
A squeamish look forms over Moniz’s face. From what she knew, they’d never be released. Raymond would never turn back, or any of the lobotomized for that matter. “I’m not sure. They don’t really tell me anything…”
Guinness’s polychromatic eyes look directly at Moniz with concern riddled inside them. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
“Well… I’m not the head of the place.”
“But surely you must have a plan, right?” Guinness adds on.
Moniz takes a bite out of her ice cream to break eye contact. “Uhm, well- I can see if I can convince them. I already tried before but, maybe I can convince my professor to?” Moniz foils with the cone, making light scratches into it.
Guinness looks off to an empty building with no lighting. “I surely hope you can.” A silence takes place for a minute or so, then Guinness speaks up once more. “Hey Moniz, you have a lot on your plate. How about we just… relax?”
“Relax?” Moniz cocks her head. She hadn’t relaxed in a long time because she didn’t know what she defined relaxing as. Brushing her mother’s hair? Gambling? Taking care of her pets?
Guinness nods. “Mhm- we can just walk the empty streets and talk about whatever. We don’t have to bring up the kidnappings. We can just talk like normal people, y’know?” A soft smile blooms across the woman’s lips.
Moniz returns the smile, nodding and taking a bite out of her cone. “Yeah! Okay!” This could be fun, an adventure even. Moniz wouldn’t have to do Syndicate things for the day, and she could go over to Ichazo’s house after to wind down. Yeah- this could be a good day!
Guinness glances around the town, and spots another empty building. The sign on the door states “CLOSED” with bold red lettering. The building appears to be a bakery. Large windows allow sunlight to pour in, highlighting the area where pastries typically would be.
“A bakery. What a shame it’s closed.” Guinness sighs.
“Hm? Oh, are you into sweets and all that jazz?” Moniz inquires.
“Mhm! I mainly bake in my free time. It’s an escape for me. It’s so relaxing to just ice a cake or serve a treat to a loved one at the end of the day. I enjoy seeing them happy.”
“Aw! That’s sweet. Have you ever considered opening a bakery?”
Guinness looks back at the deserted pastry shop. “I have thought about it previously. I don’t know, it used to be my dream when I was younger, but dreams dry out sometimes.”
“Oh come on Guin! I bet you’re good at it! People would love it.”
“Well, I don’t know. This place is somewhat chaotic- what if no one came?”
“Pff- c’mon! Guinness, you’re super interesting. I’m sure people would want to come, even if it’s just to visit you.”
Guinness looks over to her and smiles shyly. “You really think so?”
Moniz nods. “Mhm! In fact, I could definitelyyy be a taste tester for you.”
“Oh really? And what should you test?”
“Blueberry scone.”
“Fine then! You can be a taste tester.” Guinness looks over to the left. “Oh! Moniz. Do you see the beach? It’s completely empty.”
Guinness was right. The beach was oddly empty. No umbrellas, no children, no fishers. It was abnormal, especially on a bright day like this. At the same time though, it was sort of an advantage. Without anyone on the beach, they could both do whatever they wanted.
“Yeah- it is! We should go.” Moniz suggests.
“Hm? Like, on the beach?” Guinness inquires.
“Yeah! Well, I’m not wearing anything too nice today. And plus, you’re wearing a sundress. Shouldn’t be too hard to clean.”
Guinness laughs. “But what about our heels? Sand’s hard to walk in.”
“Eh, fuck it. When’s the beach gonna be this empty again?” Moniz looks down at her heels. They’re tall and shiny with a t strap, but they should be fine if she just cleans them. “And I’d say my heels are taller than yours!”
“Okay, okay. Fine.” Guinness takes a bite of her cone. “The ocean might be nice, just wish I brought sunscreen.”
Moniz tilts her head. “Hm? You have a sunhat, you should be alright.”
Guinness’s sunhat is made of straw, with a pink ribbon wrapping around it. The pink matches the rose prints on the green dress she’s wearing.
Guinness nods towards Moniz. “Yeah but I mean for you. What if you get burnt? Shoulder sunburns are the absolute worst.”
“I’ll be okay Guinness! Don’t worry ‘bout it. A little sunburn won’t hurt me.”
“What if you get skin cancer?”
Moniz giggles at the thought- after one sunburn? “I’ll take it like a champ.”
The two reach the beach, and Moniz attempts to scale the sand with the heels on. She starts to wobble like a drunk while the shoes sink into the earth. She holds the ice cream cone over her head just in case she falls over. Eventually, Moniz loses her balance, causing her to topple over in the sand, the cone still up in the air. Guinness quickly rushes over to help her up.
“Oh my gosh! Are you alright?!” Guinness grabs Moniz’s hand that is not in the air and helps her up. Moniz nods aggressively, sand all over her face and clothing now.
“Never felt better! Saved my cone!” Moniz takes the last bite out of the cone. “Finished my cone!” She giggles, and throws off her shoes in the sand. “You think a seagull will eat my shoes?”
Guinness smiles. “Maybe if they can stomach it.” Guinness takes the last bite out of her own cone as well, and throws her short heels down on the sand. “They can have a little extra if they manage to swallow yours.” Guinness starts to run towards the ocean, and shouts joyfully.
“Come on Moniz! The water is so nice!” Guinness throws some water over her head, getting on her hat. The water goes up to her knees, soaking the bottom of her sundress.
Moniz races into the water. Her pleated skirt becomes absolutely drenched, but the water is so cool! While Moniz is rejoicing, Guinness proceeds to splash her. Oh, now Moniz has to get her back! Moniz starts to swim towards the deeper end, and pushes as much water towards Guinness. Guinness tosses her hat to the shore, and pushes water back towards Moniz, laughing. Moniz attempts to push water onto her again, but- hey! She can’t go under the water! That’s cheating!
“Guinness! You can’t go under the water! That’s cheating!”
Guinness comes back up from under the water, rubbing her eyes and shaking off the water from her hair. Her hair appears darker now and starts to wave down to her collarbones. She quickly splashes water back up at Moniz, and dips under the water again.
“Aw! Come on!” Moniz waits for her to pop up again, but- hey, where did she go? Moniz looks around the water, but she hasn’t popped up anywhere. Where is Guinness?
“Guinness?” Moniz cried out. “Guinness!”
Suddenly, from behind Moniz, a large splash crashes into her! She’s been saturated in water! Purple starts to leak down her neck, changing the color of Moniz’s skin. Guinness pops up from behind her, and Moniz swiftly turns.
“Oh my gosh! You’re turning purple and blue!” Guinness laughs. Moniz begins to laugh with her.
“Hm! I am!”
Guinness reaches out for a lock of Moniz’s hair and toils with it- her wine red nails parallels the blue, highlighting the two colors as separates. Guinness’s fingertips start to appear purple from the dye. What was Guinness doing? Why was she so close-? It makes Moniz nervous, and it causes her face to start heating up. When Guinness lets go of Moniz’s hair, her fingertips appear indigo.
“Well, now I’m blue!” She gives Moniz a warm smile.
Moniz laughs nervously. “Mhm!”
The two women continue to play in the waves. By the time they got out of the water, both of them were completely submerged in salt water. It drips off their shoulders, their skirts and down their necks. Sand stuck to their feet, and the breeze sent chills down the women’s bodies. The sun was setting, and it was almost time for the two to head back to their homes. However, they could relax on the sand for a while, right?
Moniz sits on the sand first after shaking off the water, and Guinness follows to sit on her left. The sky is a burning fuschia, encoded with tangerine and dull red. Birds fly by, occasionally making a squawk. The night is truly beautiful. Moniz looks over towards Guinness, observing her freckles and light eyelashes. She notices that Guinness has a beauty mark directly under her right eye, something Moniz hadn’t fully observed before.
“Hm? Do I have something on my face?” Guinness tilts her head, noticing Moniz’s antics.
“Oh! Uhm! Just a bit of sand.” It is true. Guinness does have sand on her cheek.
Guinness laughs, wiping the damp material off her face. “You have sand all over you too. Probably from falling over. Oh, that reminds me, we need to get our shoes!” Guinness stands up, wandering the beach to find their shoes and her sun hat. Guinness picks up the straw hat, still close to the shoreline. She flaps it around, attempting to get the sand off of it. Moniz decides to help search for their items as well, walking north of the sea to retrieve the two pairs of heels. After the women regain their items, they meet back where they were sitting.
“Hey Guinness,” Moniz starts out. “Are you French?”
“French?” Guinness smiles, holding back her laughter. “Where’d you get that idea?”
“Well- uhm-” Moniz smiles shyly. “No reason.”
“I’m not French, no, but I did grow up in Ireland. The nature there was fascinating. I lived in a small part of the countryside on a farm with my grandmother. We raised quite a few animals there. Chickens, cows and pigs to name a few. I did much gardening as well. Many of the ingredients in my grandmother’s meals were fresh. She practically taught me everything I know today about cooking.”
“Would you say she’s one reason you thought of opening a bakery?” Moniz cocks her head while drawing doodles in the sand. A bird, an octopus, and a smiley face all rest on Moniz's side.
“I’d believe so, but the idea was mainly out of passion. Hey Moniz, is that how you feel about your research?”
The question caught Moniz off guard. “Hm? I mean, yeah. I uh… I mainly wanted to find a way to help my mother.”
“So there really wasn’t much passion behind it?”
“Well- I found psychology insanely interesting. And neurology. Our minds all rotate like gears! It’s amazing! But I would have never done anything without my mom. I mainly created the lobotomy to put her at ease. She’s a paranoid schizophrenic, so.”
Guinness cocks her head. “Did that affect you much growing up or?”
“Yeah. My mom was horrified of me leaving the house, or watching TV, or me doing anything, really.” Moniz sighs. “She believed a demon would possess me and kill us both. I don’t believe in demons or any religion anymore, but sometimes it still causes me paranoia. Like sometimes I wonder if she was right, even though I know she wasn’t. I know there were no demons to take me through the TV, or suck me through the mattress, or to take my soul while I was out studying. But it still got to me sometimes. I love my mom though, and I really wanted to help her. After the procedure it was like she was a different person. I mean she absolutely begged me for it but… it’s like she’s dead now. But physically alive.”
Guinness nods. “Yeah, I understand that. I’ve watched people lose themselves too. Not as major as your mom, of course, but- it’s strange to watch them fade out.” Guinness towards the waves. “I think if reincarnation was real I’d like to be an ocean creature.”
“Why?” Moniz raises an eyebrow.
“The ocean is stunning, otherworldly. It’s something out of a masterpiece, perhaps by a god’s hand. The coral, the waves, just the creatures being able to breathe under the water? The ocean’s a curious thing, that’s for sure.”
“Hm- I guess you’re right! I’d like to be a jaguar. No reason, they’re just gorgeous.”
“You’d suit it then.“
Moniz felt her face start to flush again. “You think so?”
Guinness nods and gives her a soft smile. Moniz leans her head on Guinness’s shoulder.
“Thank you.”

Gravediggers. Corpse Grinders. Skull Takers. Every unit that shared his profession had a name that was like that. As Corporal Brandy floated silently, his body suspended in a dense salt water based solution alongside eleven of his peers, he once again thought how he liked the name of his unit the best. Ghouls. His arms were stretched out, as were his legs, secured to four corners of the hull leaving him splayed open. His wrists were tethered, his ankles were tethered, all to keep him from drifting. The water was cold, felt even through the suit even though it didn’t touch him. It was only appropriate they called vessels like the one he was in Coffins. It was long, with seven feet between floor and ceiling when one could stand in it.
The patch of his unit was a zombified corpse, walking towards the one viewing it, with their arm outstretched, a large 17 behind the shambling figure. It was laser etched on the left shoulder guard of his SVS51 body suit, the symbol of the Terran Front of laser etched on the right. Right now, Brandy knew he was flying through the void, heading towards the wreck of a Vral Light Cruiser, his unit’s speciality. A countdown on the upper left corner of his vision was reaching the single digits. No one talked, not even the squad leader. Not even command. Brandy liked it like that. He had been selected for special operations early on in his life, as most operators were. Sure, you could volunteer to join if you joined the Fleet and decided to test yourself, but most humans were already training for something like this by the age of thirteen. Jesup, one of his squadmates, he was a joiner, one that had volunteered when he was signing up. Brandy though? Brandy was a lifer.
Lifers like him were singled out in school and made aware of their tentative selection. Lifers were trained harder, tested harder. No one really minded Jesup not going through what they had been through, but it did mark him out. Hence the term, but lifers and joiners all got the same specialized training. Five seconds left. Brandy knew his job well, knew the layout of the ship well. Four seconds. Brandy clenched his fists. He felt the liquid shift, knowing their craft had hit the hull. Suddenly he was free of his constraints, floating free in the dense salt water. There was a bright light from the front of the craft, the plasma torches already burning into the Vral light cruiser hull. Three seconds. The dense salt water solution suddenly was sucked into the floor, drawing him down. He tapped his heels together, hearing an automated voice call out ‘Maglocks Engaged’, just before his feet touched the deck. He was already yanking the protective cover off of his rifle, slinging it back over his back. Two seconds. Those in the front of the line had their rifles up and ready. Brandy on the other hand, reached to his sides and drew out two long blades from sheathes locked to his thighs.
One.
He felt the compression in his chest as the breaching charge detonated, and the segmented doors of the Coffin opened. The first four Ghouls entered, no shots fired as they cleared the room. He heard a soft whisper saying, “Depressurized.” The entire deck was without atmosphere. Brandy looked to his left, and nodded once. Jesup nodded back. The pair in front of them sprinted out. Jessup and Brandy sprinted out immediately after them, Brandy drawing his blades. The interior of the Vral ship was a dismal place, and within just seconds Brandy knew what kept their grav plates powered was already down. The difference in design priorities from the Vral to the Terran Front could be seen even from the hallway they were running down. The Terran Front fleet was designed to maximize the space they had, to deliver the most punch possible for the weight class the ship in question could hit with. The chua had lent their practicality to that level of ship design. It was why the standard Terran corvette could fight completely out of it’s weight class. Brandy knew that the standard Terran corvette was more than a match for any variety of Vral destroyer, it was even said that a light cruiser would have to go blow for blow with one.
Most who heard that wouldn’t understand until they saw what Brandy was seeing now. Terran hallways were built narrow, the space an artery for personnel to move through in a very direct way. The ceilings would be laced with piping and joists, covered by protective layers of material just in case an impact threw the crew against the ceiling. Standing shoulder to shoulder, even battleship halls on Terran ships only allowed two large humans to stand shoulder to shoulder and extend their elbows halfway to touch the walls. This hallway was broad, four, no, five times the width. You would never see such a waste of space onboard a Terran fighting ship. The only exceptions to this were the larger logistics ships, the carriers, and the Antares herself. Terran ship tonnage was dedicated purely to what the ship in question was made to do. Vral ships, on the other hand, seemed to be built to not just fight space conflicts, but carry the troops for ground assault. The Vral sacrificed tonnage meant for fighting for transport. They did not have dedicated troop ships, or even dedicated logistics ships.
Brandy guessed it made sense when you never had to worry about someone being able to really hit back.
The map of the light cruiser was laid out in wireframe in the upper right of his HUD, a pulsing arrow pointing his way. As they reached the first door it was clear that whatever powered the lights also powered the doors in this section. He sheathed the blades and raised his rifle as Jessup pulled his breach bar. A moment later Jessup applied the handheld pneumatic and nodded once to Brandy, who gave an almost imperceptible nod back. Jesseup pressed an activation stud, and Brandy breathed out as the door began to open. A brief glimpse of chitin was all it took for Brandy to immediately put two shells through the door, the only audible evidence of the shots being two ticks from the recoil traveling along his armor plate. .
“Contact.” Brandy whispered even as the shells tore through the Vral floating behind the door. The Vral flew away from the impact as the door opened further, revealing more Vral, all floating, all already dead. “KIA Vral.” He whispered into the mic within his helmet. A small tone let him know his information was received. Brandy and Jessup moved into the hallway and saw why the Vral were all already dead. There was a gash in the hull almost three meters long and a meter wide. The deck had been exposed to the vacuum, and judging by the hole further down the hall which Brandy glanced through as they passed, a railgun round from a cruiser had lanced straight through the entire hull. Brandy slung his rifle and began the halting half run, half jog of moving quickly on magnetized boots. Brandy cleared an adjoining hallway before looking back to the door. The Vral dead were everywhere, floating in the vacuum, and Brandy kept having to shove the floating corpses aside as he moved. The dead didn’t stop him. They didn’t stop Jessup either.
Jessup was already setting the breacher, and Brandy’s rifle was unslung and readied. As this door opened a forcefield came to life in front of it, and a sliver of light began to show through. Brandy’s thumb flipped his rifle from semi-automatic to full. He didn’t need to speak, Jessup was already pulling his own rifle. As the door was suddenly shoved open by the pneumatic Brandy’s entire body snapped forward. The Vral that was standing by the door, who had even watched it open, made it clear that the Vral didn’t even know they had been boarded. Brandy’s rifle butt slammed into the head of the Vral, and sound returned as he moved fully through the forcefield meant to keep atmospheric integrity but not keep him out. Beyond it, Brandy saw at least twenty milling around. A damage control team. The Vral turned to the sound of one of their own skulls caving in, chitin cracking, just to see Brandy’s barrel come down. He was already moving left to give Jessup room to enter, as he squeezed the trigger. Chitin and ichor erupted, the Vral leapt at the sound, some freezing in place, some charging. Jessup came around the corner, raising his rifle, taking single shots at individual Vral who reached for weapons even as Brandy’s fully automatic spray swept the hall. Brandy was the scythe, Jessup was the surgeon.
Brandy’s ammo counter quickly was cycling down, but he hadn’t been simply praying and spraying. As his counter read zero the last of the Vral was spasming violently on the floor. He thumbed the magazine release, the hand on his grip already having reached for his right hip to draw up a fresh magazine even as the empty one slid out and began falling to the floor. “I’m close.” He said. He slammed the new magazine into the rifle, racked the slide, then slid it behind his back. He drew his blades, then began to sprint.
“I’m far.” Jessup began sprinting behind him.
The next set of doors opened automatically this time, but to a familiar scene, but the Vral were already aware of them due to Brandy having firmly announced their presence in the previous hall. Brandy never stopped his full sprint, carving through the Vral with the edges of his monomolecular blades. Every so often a shot rang out, taking one of the Vral down just out of Brandy’s reach or one that was pulling up a weapon. Brandy used the suit’s speed and strength enhancements to their fullest, barely slowing as he tore through the group, both blades cutting. Suddenly he heard the retort of full auto and spun to decapitate one of the remaining Vral to look as Jessup was emptying his magazine into an open door. Brandy let both blades drop, popping his hip to the side and curling his waist, letting the weight of his rifle carry it around his body into his hands. As the Vral tried to come into the hall they were cut down, caught in a fatal funnel of fire by their own hatchway.
“Reload.” Jessup said, tucking himself back against the wall. “Control, need sweepers. My location.” A tone was the only reply to Jessup’s words. Twelve men, organized into six teams. That was the boarding party. Each had a part to play, and as Jessup made the call for sweepers Brandy was already preparing to move. As Jessup slapped a fresh magazine into his rifle Brandy was still covering the door. The other doors in the hall remained closed. Jessup reached to a small bandolier of grenades and pulled one of the X-04 flashbangs, throwing it hard through the door against the opposing wall. A second later a dull pop sounded. Brandy and Jessup continued their run, but now both had slung their rifles. Both had blades out.
Following the skeleton map on his HUD, Brandy led the way through the next door to find the hallway empty. He didn’t mind that state of affairs at all. A dull klaxon began to sound throughout the crippled ship, and neither Brandy nor Jessup needed to be told twice that the Vral were now more than aware they had been boarded. Brandy turned down a corridor, instinctively lashing out and taking the head off a Vral had been moving towards him. “Breaching bridge.” He said into his microphone, hearing the tone of acknowledgement from Control as he saw the large bay doors that marked the command and control center of the Vral vessel they intended to take. He sheathed a blade as he came to a stop beside the bay door, out of range of the motion sensor that would open it automatically. Jessup was right behind him, freeing a hand of his own. They both reached up, yanking X-04 grenades off their pins banded to their armor. Brandy and Jessup looked at each other and nodded. As Brandy kicked out his foot to trigger the motion sensor, the door slid open. A torrent of laser fire erupted from the doorway, painting the floor and wall beyond. Brandy snapped his arm around, exposing only his hand as he threw the flashbang around the corner. Jessup’s own flashbang flew past Brandy towards the other side of the room. They both immediately pulled a second, even as the first detonated in the room beyond. Almost instantly the weapon’s fire stopped, and wails of chittering echoed into the hallway. They threw the second set of flashbangs into the door.
As the second pair of dull crunches sounded, Brandy and Jessup breached the bridge. The bridge was arrayed like a bowl, stations arranged orbiting a center divot in the deck where the captain would stand. None of the Vral in the room were standing. While flashbangs disoriented humans, essentially stunning them into stupfication, the same flashbangs had even more pronounced effects on the Vral. Most of them were simply laid out on the ground, completely insensate, and screaming incoherently in their chittering tones. Brandy and Jessup had entered having expected at least one of them to have donned protection, perhaps even a warsuit, but their boarding had caught the Vral completely by surprise. Jessup turned to the door, tapping the control panel and closing, then locking it. Brandy had already begun moving from station to station. Jessup joined him as they quickly and methodically dispatched the crew. Brandy turned and moved down into the captain’s pit, coming to the Vral that had commanded the ship.
“Attempting to access.” Jessup said, stepping to one of the panels even as Brandy reached the side of the Vral commander. Brandy watched dispassionately as the Vral’s body curled and spasmed on the ground. Without replying to Jessup, Brandy was already securing the commander. He flipped the commander over on it’s back, yanking it’s limbs together and zip tying them together.
“Control. Commander secured alive. Bridge secured.” Brandy said, and he glanced over to Jessup. Jessup looked over to him and grinned, his teeth showing through the dark tint of the armored glass of his helmet. A tone of acknowledgement came into his helmet. Brandy moved to the panels, just as Jessup was moving. “Anything yet?” He asked, letting his suit’s speakers carry his voice.
Jessup moved to another panel. “Nope. Wiped.” He said.
Brandy brought the panel to live and was already moving on, and cursed silently under his breath. Several times teams like his had breached the bridge of a Vral ship only to find what they were finding now, wiped computer cores, dead panels. Brandy continued to move panel to panel, as did Jessup, moving up the bowl. Brandy heard Jessup muttering as he went, his voice carrying because of the speakers in his suit. Brandy glanced up at the other man, then continued with his work.
“Doesn’t make any sense. We still know nothing about these bastards. Nothing.” Jessup said as he was working on the last panel on the row he was on. “Aside from the fact they melt their cores down really well.” Brandy smirked behind the tinted glass of his helmet as Jessup balled up a fist. Jessup moved up a row, then started work on another panel. “I’m beginning to think the only thing they exist for is to piss off the universe.”
Brandy couldn’t argue with that, and Jessup stopped his grumbling, continuing to check the panels.
“Control, Sweep Two is down. I repeat. Sweep Two is down.” Brandy stopped in his checks and looked up, the voice of Talb in his ear from possibly the same location he had called for sweepers to come in. He hadn’t heard a call for sweepers from anywhere else.
“That’s Vlad.” Jessup said, his voice flat, having paused himself to listen in.
“Confirm.” A woman’s voice hit Brandy’s ear, and Jessup began walking across the bowl towards him. Brandy settled his hands on the panel that he had paused midway through working. The woman’s voice keyed back into his ear, their Control, and Brandy listened intently. “Prep Sweep Two for extraction. Sweep Three and Four enroute.”
Jessup reached his side and put his hand on Brandy’s shoulder. The silence in his ears now was deafening, and he knew he should be continuing on, checking the rest of the stations, but he couldn’t move his feet right now. Brandy and Vlad were close, they had gone through basic together, they had gone through Advanced Infantry, as well as Weapons and Tactics, hell, all of their advanced training schools. When orders had come through, they had both been delighted to have twin assignments to the 17th Breacher Corps “Ghouls.” Vlad had met Brandy’s family, his mother, his father, even his ice queen of a sister who was serving as a Drone Cutter pilot. Vlad was his friend, the brother that he had never had, and now Vlad was down, somewhere on this hellhole of a ship, unable to even communicate that he was injured.
Jessup stood by him, saying nothing, and Brandy’s eyes were focused on something far in the distance, something he couldn’t even see right now. Suddenly, like his mind was pulling itself from mud, he forced himself to continue working. Jessup stayed by his side. There was nothing he could do for Vlad right now, nothing at all, and he had work in front of him that needed to be finished. Jessup went back to the stations he was working through. Brandy finished the sweep of the panels on his side. Nothing, as was usual.
He walked down the bowl shape of the Vral bridge, standing next to the Vral commander, who was now very much aware and awake, not struggling as it lay on the floor of the carnal house that was the bridge of it’s ship. He ignored it, placing his hands on the hilts of the twin swords at his sides. Jessup continued his work, a little slower than Brandy was, but then again Jessup was newer than Brandy himself was to this sort of thing. Brandy had already served for nearly eight years, and had done the tear down from the sixth Vral war, alongside Vlad. Brandy grunted and pulled up his arm, opening one of the armor plates to reveal the communications controls for his suit. He set up a private channel to Control.
“Control, BT One. Status of Sweep Two?” He asked, and he heard two clicks in response. He was being transferred to another operator. Brandy felt his entire body tensing up. He didn’t know if being transferred was a good or a bad sign.
“Bridge Team One, this is Secondary. Sweep Two is stable. Sweep One is prepping him for extraction. He took an indirect hit by a plasma round to his left shoulder. His suit took the majority but he’s going to be in the burn unit.”
Brandy breathed out, and then nodded once to himself. “Thank you Secondary.” He heard a tone in response, then he set himself back to team communications. Vlad was alive. That was good enough.
“The void will take you.” He heard the chittering sound translated, and he slowly looked towards the prone form of the commander. Brandy turned and walked over, and purposefully stepped over, the Vral. He then knelt down next to the figure. “You will not survive. We will bathe in your ashes.”
“When.” Brandy said, a dark bit of amusement in his tone. “Come on. When. Daylight’s wasting.”
“The void will take you.” The vral repeated, then went silent again as Brandy stood up and stepped over the commander once more. Jessup was coming down to meet with him in the center of the bowl.
“Good news, Vlad’s going to make it.” Brandy told him, “He’ll be in the burn unit for a bit, don’t know where he got hit, but the suit saved him.”
“Good. What’s the word from the local moral officer?” Jessup said, motioning to the vral, who was laying again in silence.
“Same as normal. We’re gonna die. Void’s gonna take us. Ashes. Dancing on my grave.” Brandy shrugged. “You know, what they normally say, that friendly little conversation.” Brandy could actually feel Jessup’s eyes rolling.
“Control, Bridge Team. Secured and detailed.” Jessup said, and they both heard the click of acknowledgement. “Another two hours maybe?” Jessup asked, and Brandy nodded. “Welp, two today, that makes six boardings for me, how many for you?”
“Fourty.” Brandy replied, and Jessup whistled low. “And that’s just these types. I was actually put on a team as a standby sweep for a battleship or two, but mostly light cruisers. No corvettes or destroyers though. They normally just send the heavies to take those. The cruisers though? Heavy cruisers? Carriers? I’ve done a few of those too, but mostly this.”
Jessup leaned against the back of one of the panels that he had checked. “What kind of team do they send to a carrier?” He asked, and Brandy laughed.
“Put it to you like this. They send units of chua war machines, and what’s called a kill team. They don’t even bother sweeping like we do with these ships, they just punch holes in every room and open them to vacuum, and the kill teams go in to make sure none of them got into a warsuit.” Brandy tapped his chest, “We barely do anything. They just turn the entire ship into swiss cheese then call us in to check panels. Kill teams are just different, but it’s an experience. You don’t get to really do much though. Go in, stay behind the kill team, and check elect…”
Brandy stopped talking and both of them listened as a tone sounded from Control, then they heard her speak. “All objectives secured. Stand by in location. Prepare for tow and extraction.”
The two of them reached out and grabbed hold of a panel, and Brandy looked over at Jessup. “Well, quicker than I thought.” Just as he was finishing that sentence the entire hull seemed to shake, and he felt a small surge of negative g force before his body adjusted. “A lot quicker.”
“What do you think they’ll get out of this?” Jessup asked as he let go of the panel.
“Oh hell.” Brandy said, motioning to the ship they were in. “Three destroyers easy. Maybe a corvette added in. Couple of fighters. Ever seen the reprocessors?” Jessup shrugged at the question and Brandy pointed at him. “When we get back, if you have some downtime, just ask to watch. It’s some impressive shit. I watched one of those crews break down a corvette in two hours.” Jessup raised his eyebrow and Brandy held up two fingers. “Two. No shit. Something like this is going to take them maybe a day, probably less than that. It’s absolute magic.”
“I was raised on the Los Angeles flats.” Jessup said, and it was Brandy’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “You know, where they had one of the landfills. They said they used a reprocessor for that too.”
“Yeah, the chua know how to make the most out of everything. Did you know there used to be a floating island of plastic in the Pacific Ocean?” Brandy placed his hands on the hilts of his blades as Jessup shook his head no. “Yeah, when the chua got set up, first thing they did was clean up all of that. Tons of plastic, centuries of fuck ups, and they fixed it in barely a month. Earth was trashy, real trashy. Now we just reprocess everything.”
“I never looked into how that works.” Jessup said, then laughed when Brandy raised his fingers and wiggled them in the air. “PFM?”
“Yeap. Pure fuckin’ magic. At least that’s how it looks to me.” Brandy sighed, then he motioned to the panels. “We had the technology centuries ago but we just never refined it like the chua did. I asked how it worked and I felt like I was an ape. They felt the same way about our computers the way we feel about their reprocessors though, so I guess it evens out.”
“What do you mean?”
Brandy glanced over at him and smirked, then he motioned to his suit’s right chest pauldron, where his suit’s electronic suite for his HUD was kept. “This here has more processing power than the chua had on one of their battleships. They just didn’t focus on it like we did. The concept of a microprocessor blew their minds. We know how to store a hundred terabytes on a fingernail, they know how to break down a landfill into bars of material.” Jessup leaned back against the panel again and grunted. “Seriously, ask to watch what they do to this thing. They are going to slice it up, put the pieces into the reprocessors, and by tomorrow it’s going to be raw materials. No waste, it’s crazy.”
Brandy turned his head back to the vral laying on the floor, hearing it muttering to itself. He narrowed his eyes for a few moments, listening to the sound of the clicking, then he looked back to Jessup. “Wish that thing would just shut the hell up.” A moment later he said a bit louder, “We get it asshole. The void is coming, it’s going to take us. Ashes, death, suffering. We get it. Shut the hell up.” He pushed himself off the panel and walked to the edge of the bridge nearer to the door. “Non-stop with them.”
Jessup gestured to the commander with his head. “What are we doing with him.”
“Well, he’ll get to tell an interrogation team about the void, bet he’s got a hard on for that.” Brandy replied, then paused and glanced at the upper right of his HUD, seeing a few green dots moving in their direction. “Then they’ll just toss his ass out of an airlock. Ready to go?”
“Yeap.” Jessup pushed up from the panel he was leaning on and joined Brandy near the door and waited as they both watched the dots approaching the door. Brandy reached over and toggled the lock, and the door slid open. Four humans in construction harnesses with atmospheric suits rated for vacuum were just coming to a stop. Behind them Brandy could already see the two other members of the team coming to relieve them.
“Is that Vodka?” One of them said, a hard feminine voice coming from one of the suits. Brandy’s eyebrow perked up, and so did Jessup’s entire body. Both of them knew Janet Shippen’s voice. Janet was what Brandy’s mother would call a feral tomboy. Short, muscled, her brown hair cut in a pixie cut, who felt more at home covered in engine fluid than anything else. She was also what his father would call an absolute knockout. Jessup had met her three times and was in love. Brandy’s relationship with Janet was a private affair, but Jessup wouldn’t find out about it, no sense in breaking his heart after all. Not to mention that Brandy looked at Jessup as a friend.
“How the hell are ya Shipwreck.” Brandy said with a smirk, “I got you a nice one here. I even got you a local to keep you company, ask him about the void. He’ll tell you all you want to hear.” The two figures in the back, clad in all black with no identifying markers, looked to Brandy, who simply pointed towards the vral commander laying on the floor.
“By the way. Ran into Vlad before I came over here.” She said, coming closer to the two Ghouls. “They got him out of his suit before they sent us over. He’s got an ass of a burn on his shoulder, but he said he’s going to be a bitch about it so they’ll give you fuckers some down time.” Brandy smiled, knowing if Vlad was joking around he was more than ok. Janet motioned to the bridge, “Lot of nothing?” She asked, and both of the Ghouls nodded. “Figures. Fuckers.” All three of them watched for a moment as the two black clad humans knelt over the vral commander. “Alright, I’ve got to prep this bitch for breakdown, then I’m done for the day. Salvagers are just putting most of the wrecks in orbit.”
Jessup glanced to Brandy before speaking, “Think they want to move again soon?”
“Bet your ass.” Janet reached for her side and pulled out a data pad. “Way I see it we’re just topping off right now, waiting for some of the boats out there to get their shit together, then they are going to move us out. Speaking of moving out, bounce your asses, I’ve got shit to do so I can get off once we pull back into Antares.”
“Call us a cab?” Brandy asked, using the slang term for the shuttle that had delivered Janet’s team that would take his own back to Antares.
“Yeap. We made entrance right next to where you did.” Janet started moving into the bridge, towards a grouping of panels hard mounted to the wall. She stopped and glanced back at Brandy. “It’s been a hell of a day, almost eighteen hours. I’m going to get a stiff drink in my quarters.”
“You do that. I’m going to check on Vlad and get him settled in before I do anything else.” Brandy said, and she turned and went to the panel. Brandy was glad for the tint of his helmet’s visor or else his smirk would need explaining from Jessup who was none the wiser. Once he went through debrief and turned over his gear already knew what he was going to be doing. Straight to engineering deck C, where Janet would be waiting.
Kukat was miserable, or at least was acting like she was. Vicky was rigidly standing at attention, as was Jess, standing stock still beside Kukat’s bed. The loud exclamation that had brought them to their feet of, “What the chicken fried fuck?!” had come from the man standing in front of them. Vicky wanted to crawl into a hole and die. Jess was trying to keep herself from laughing. Kukat reached out a three fingered hand towards the man wearing a captain’s eagle on his flight jumper, a hand that had two small bow tie stickers on it.
“Torture. Help.” Kukat said, as weak as a newborn kitten, and Jess’s breath escaped her in a buzzing of her lips from someone desperately attempting to keep in her laughter. The small sheet containing bow ties, smiley face, stars, and other cartoonish stickers fell from her hand that was clenched firmly at her side. Kukat was wearing half of them. Captain Yang stared in an expression of one who is seeing something for the first time when they had believed they had seen it all. “Help.” Kukat said again, holding out her other arm which had a line of stars stuck to it all the way down to the back of her hand. Yang slowly brought his fingers up to squeeze the bridge of his nose, and then he turned on his heel and faced away from the trio. Vicky just wanted to die. The captain of the cruiser had visited them a few times in the past three days since they had been brought onboard by the Barrowmore. Kukat had been immediately rushed to start receiving medical care, Victoria Brandy and Jessica Anders had been by her side from the second they were allowed back, barring short periods where either woman needed to file their reports. The problem was, every time Captain Yang had come back to visit them, it was always at the most inopportune time. The first time he had walked in to Jess cuddling the small chua in a bed that was almost a meter too small for her. The second time Vicky had taped Jess’ hands and feet to her chair. The third time Jess had been singing a nursery rhyme to Kukat. Each time Yang had walked in, Vicky had felt like crawling in a hole, Jess had desperately tried not to laugh, and Kukat had acted like a prisoner of war. Vicky was getting the feeling the captain was enjoying these trips down to see her and her crew.
“Can someone explain to me why the three pilots that I’m supposed to award the Terran Star to are acting like toddlers in my medbay?” He said, then he turned back to face them. Vicky didn’t want to die anymore. Jess stopped laughing. Kukat’s hands fell to the heated blanket that covered her. All three of them were to awarded the highest honor in the Terran Fleet. Now it was the captain’s turn to laugh as he stepped forward and grabbed Vicky’s hand, which almost knocked her off balance as he began vigorously shaking it. “Congratulations.”
Vicky stared at him for a few long moments, trying to parse through the entire scenario in her head. None of them had paid much attention to news outside of the medbay, Vicky had barely even been back onboard the Thumper aside from downloading nav data to be included in her flight logs. “Captain…” She said, sounding to even her own ears a bit disjointed, “What did we find out there.”
“First off at ease.” Yang said, then he smirked as Jess began to self consciously pluck the stickers off of Kukat, her eyes on him, he turned his attention to her. “Your flight records and the reserve drone data is being sent back to Earth to be implemented into training.” His attention turned to all of them in turn. “You really don’t know do you?” All three shook their heads, and Vicky took a step back to stand side by side with her crew.
“We haven’t been paying much attention to what’s been coming in.” Vicky said, and she placed her hand on Kukat’s medical bed. Yang nodded, understanding. This crew was a very tight group, and he could see that even from the small amount of time he had been around them.
“You scouted out the entire Vral fleet, they were evacuating. I don’t think they expected us to move as fast as we did on them, so when we jumped into the system they were barely organized into battlelines.” Yang interlocked his fingers in front of his belt. “Because of what you got on those scans, we knew exactly what we were jumping into. We knew exactly what we would do the moment we landed and…” He paused for a moment, letting his words stand out. “... we eradicated their entire fleet.” Vicky looked to Jess. Jess’s mouth hung slightly open.
“I knew it was a fleet!” Jess said after a moment. When she had been asked by Vicky a few hours after they had gotten Kukat settled, Jess had insisted she had been trying to evade fire from point defense and laser batteries from at least twelve ships. What she didn’t know, and what would be reflected on the citation for the award she was yet to receive, was that she had been evading around thirty individual vessels weapons fire.
“Not a fleet.” Yang said, and Jess looked back to him. “It was ‘The’ fleet.” Jess looked at him in confusion for a few seconds, as did Vicky.
“Shit!” Kukat chirped, and all three humans looked down at the small, sticker covered chua. Kukat’s mouth hung open slightly. Jess looked up to Vicky, and both seemed to realize what was said at the same time. Jess’ hand shot to her mouth, covering it, her eyes wide as Vicky stepped back to lean against the wall.
Yang waited a few moments then stepped forward. “Well, I hope you three are ready.” He said as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Drone Cutters are supposed to cut and run the second they get in trouble. You three…” He motioned to them with a wave of his hand. “... you stuck around, and because you did, you handed us everything we needed to go after them.” Jess’ hand came down on Kukat’s small shoulder, and one of the smiley face stickers peeled off as Kukat wrapped her hand around Jess’ pointer finger. Vicky slowly pressed her back against the wall and started sliding down it. “Basically, to be blunt, now that this has broken, every news feed in the Terran Front wants pictures of you, details on your status…” He motioned to Kukut. “... and to be honest I’ve had to keep them from taking over the ship to get to you.”
Jess and Vicky exchanged a glance, and then looked back to Yang. Kukat had not looked away from him even for a moment. Yang shrugged his shoulders and turned to the display panel on the wall, and activated it. He tapped the panel for a few moments, then the sounds of cheering came through. On the display was a live news feed, and they could hear the reporter’s voice barely above the cacophony of the crowd around her.
“... action. The news of the destruction of the fleet has sparked widespread celebrations of joy. The foot of the enemy that we have all felt over us has been cut off. Thermopylae Station, for the first time in nearly a century, is standing down from Condition One to Condition Three.” The reporter was almost shouting, and Vicky breathed out, even as she heard a low tone from Kukat, and a sob coming from Jess. Yang had his back turned to them watching, and without saying another word he turned and walked out. “Once Condition Three was set at Thermopylae, the information began to pour in from the Zzisma system as well as the planet Zvitia located there. Fleet Marshal Simmons of the Antares battle fleet will be continuing to press into former Shesvie Accordance territory once consolidation is completed.” The reporter paused, the moment she had said Antares a chant had begun, and it was overwhelming. The thunder of uncountable human voices yelling, ‘We’re Still Here’ drowned her out entirely. The reporter eventually just held up her hands helplessly as the chant overwhelmed the microphone’s input threshold, turning the people’s chanting into a dull roar. The feed cut over to an image of man behind a news desk, the ticker at the bottom of the screen citing off ship names.
“Again if you’re just joining us the Vral have been soundly beaten in the Zzisma system. The enemy’s losses have been stated as total. Fleet Marshal Simmons, commander of the Antares battlegroup, will be holding a press conference at a later date to discuss the events of today, but has released a few names to us as well as their roles within the conflict.” Jess, Vicky’s, and Kukat’s individual service portraits slowly appeared on the screen while the reporter spoke.
“Holy shit.” Jess whispered. “That’s us.” Vicky stared at the screen, even as Kukat squeezed Jess’ finge
“Lieutenant Victoria Brandy, Drone Operator Second Class Jessica Anders, and Drone Operator Third Class Kukat were conducting a routine drone sweep of the Zzisma system when they sighted the Vral. The three managed to gain enough intelligence to warrant the immediate redeployment of the Antares battlegroup which had been in rescue and recovery efforts above the chua homeworld.” Vicky just stared at the man as he continued talking on the display. “From the feeds that we have managed to confirm, the crew of the scout ship stayed while exposed and under threat and under fire until such time as the information was confirmed transmitted. All three of the scout’s crew made it back safely, although Drone Operator Third Class Kukat was reported as needing medical attention, the reasons of which are unknown, but it is reported that she is in stable condition.” Their portraits fell away from the screen as another image came up, of a chua in a captain’s uniform came up, grayed out.
Vicky just stared at the screen, Jess breathed out a breath that she didn’t even know she had been holding. Kukat leaned back into her pillow.
“We famous.” Kukat chirped.
The news reporter was still speaking, something about a battleship that had engaged the Vral, some new story of heroism. The three of them sat in silence. Vicky wanted to look to Kukat and Jess, but both of them were quiet. Suddenly Vicky and Kukat flinched as Jess erupted out of her seat. “Yeah! That’s right! What do you think now Rick?” Jess said her ex-boyfriends name with vitriol. “Who’s not photogenic now huh? Galaxy wide baby!” She whooped and Kukat stared up at her in amazement as Vicky buried her head in her hands and laughed.
“You problem.” Kukat chirped low.
“I told you you suck at picking men Kukat!” Jess proclaimed. “You still suck Rick!”

i’m a uni student (20f) and getting mixed signals from this guy in my class (19m). we kinda know each other cause we had to do a group project a month ago. he’s very outgoing and confident with people, whereas i’m more of an introvert. he seemed to be treating me the same as other girls so i didn’t think he liked me until recently. the past few weeks in class he kept saying hi, initiating conversations, being very smiley and talkative, complimenting me and flirting a lot. i would show interest back by smiling a lot and complimenting him as well. but for some reason this week he’s gone all shy, didn’t even say hi or smile at me. every time i looked at him he kinda just raised his eyebrows without smiling much and avoided eye contact. at one point he turned to me directly and looked like he was about to say something but then he just turned away. i probably should have said something but i get shy lol. i’m wondering if he knows i like him and is creeped out by it (i don’t think i make it obvious tho) or if this is a sign he could be nervous??

i’m a uni student (20f) and getting mixed signals from this guy in my class (19m). we kinda know each other cause we had to do a group project a month ago. he’s very outgoing and confident with people, whereas i’m more of an introvert. he seemed to be treating me the same as other girls so i didn’t think he liked me until recently. the past few weeks in class he kept saying hi, initiating conversations, being very smiley and talkative, complimenting me and flirting a lot. i would show interest back by smiling a lot and complimenting him as well. but for some reason this week he’s gone all shy, didn’t even say hi or smile at me. every time i looked at him he kinda just raised his eyebrows without smiling much and avoided eye contact. at one point he turned to me directly and looked like he was about to say something but then he just turned away. i probably should have said something but i get shy lol. i’m wondering if he knows i like him and is creeped out by it (i don’t think i make it obvious tho) or if this is a sign he could be nervous??

i’m a uni student (20f) and getting mixed signals from this guy in my class (19m). we kinda know each other cause we had to do a group project a month ago. he’s very outgoing and confident with people, whereas i’m more of an introvert. he seemed to be treating me the same as other girls so i didn’t think he liked me until recently. the past few weeks in class he kept saying hi, initiating conversations, being very smiley and talkative, complimenting me and flirting a lot. i would show interest back by smiling a lot and complimenting him as well. but for some reason this week he’s gone all shy, didn’t even say hi or smile at me. every time i looked at him he kinda just raised his eyebrows without smiling and avoided eye contact. at one point he turned to me directly and looked like he was about to say something but then he just turned away. i probably should have said something but i get shy lol. i’m wondering if he knows i like him and is creeped out by it (i don’t think i make it obvious tho) or if this is a sign he could be nervous??

i’m a uni student (20f) and getting mixed signals from this guy in my class (19m). we kinda know each other cause we had to do a group project a month ago. he’s very extroverted whereas i’m more of an introvert. he seemed to be treating me the same as other girls so i didn’t think he liked me until recently. the past few weeks in class he kept saying hi, initiating conversations, being very smiley and talkative, complimenting me and flirting a lot. i would show interest back by smiling a lot and complimenting him as well. but for some reason this week he’s gone all shy, didn’t even say hi or smile at me. every time i looked at him he kinda just raised his eyebrows without smiling and avoided eye contact. at one point he turned to me directly and looked like he was about to say something but then he just turned away. i probably should have said something but i get shy lol. i’m wondering if he knows i like him and is creeped out by it (i don’t think i make it obvious tho) or if this is a sign he could be nervous??

Back in 2012, I believe I stopped the Apocalypse.
I remember staring down at the endless hole in the desert with wonder and awe. It seemed to go on forever. A life-long friend of mine named Bear stood by my side. He scanned the ground and found a large, smooth rock. It must’ve weighed at least sixty pounds. He rolled it over to the edge of the seemingly infinite void and let it drop.
I heard the stone clatter against the walls, smashing against one side and releasing a rush of small pebbles and clods of dirt. They soared downwards with the rock, reminding me of the sands in an eternal hourglass.
“Look, there’s stairs,” Bear’s girlfriend Stephanie said, pointing a freshly-painted red nail at the steps. They looked hewn from solid rock and spiraled down into the darkness far below. Stephanie tilted her head slightly to the side, moving locks of dirty blonde hair away from her eyes. Her appearance reminded me of Emma Stone, and though nearly twenty-five, she still looked like a teenager.
We stood in the middle of Death Valley. The sun sizzled overhead, sending out blinding light that reflected off the sands. Rippling mirages rose off the burning hot ground. Dunes surrounded us, looking as dead and lifeless as an alien planet.
I looked up at the light blue sky and didn’t see a single cloud. It must’ve been 100 degrees out. Rivulets of sweat trickled down from my hair and forehead, stinging my eyes. I wiped it away, looking back down the hole. I kept expecting this aberration of a pit to evaporate like some sort of bizarre optical illusion, yet there it still stood, a large circle about thirty feet across with ancient granite steps. And, of course, the steps had no railings. They looked fairly narrow, maybe a couple feet across.
Well, I considered that narrow, considering the thousands of feet of empty space I would fall through if I slipped. I thought about how the drop would feel, screaming for minutes and knowing I was about to die, the ground coming up to meet me, the air roaring like a tornado in my ears. I shuddered. The mental image seemed far too vivid.
I glanced at my two friends. Bear was casually smoking a cigarette, raising his tattooed hand. I looked at the tattoo- a reptilian, slitted eye surrounded by the golden spiral.
He stood much taller than me and, having done physical labor his entire life, he also had a thick covering of muscle. He was a metal-head and urban explorer, and about 90% of his body was covered in tattoos. Stephanie and he made an unusual pair, she with her straight-edge, valley girl looks, and Bear looking like he just climbed out of a mosh pit at a Deicide show.
He flicked the half-smoked butt into the pit, smoothing his long black hair with his hands. I watched the red light of the ember streak across the darkness and disappear into the endless shadows waiting below.
“Do you think anyone else knows about this?” I asked. Bear had a sly grin across his scruffy face. His blue eyes flashed with amusement. He put his arm around Stephanie.
“Well, if no one has, maybe we can make money off of it,” he said. Stephanie smiled faintly at that. “I’ve heard of people who discovered caves making money off giving tours. Maybe we can buy this crappy little plot of land out here!”
“This might be state land,” I said. “Actually, it might even be federal. I’m not sure where the borders of the national park end. Not like anyone would be going around labeling borders out here.” I waved my hand lethargically at the dead, sunburnt desert all around us. Absolutely no one lived out here, except maybe the secret mutant descendants of the Manson Family.
“Regardless, we should go explore it,” Stephanie said. “If we’re going to claim we discovered some new wonder of the world, we should be able to tell people what’s in it.”
“Yeah, and what if we get lost and starve to death down there?” I asked. “There’s no cell service out here. No one would ever find our bodies. We would just disappear into thin air. We can’t even call anyone to let them know where we are.”
“That’s part of the adventure!” Stephanie said, laughing. “You weren’t complaining when you dragged us all to that abandoned mental asylum and took us to the underground tunnels.”
“I’m with Stephanie,” Bear said, gesticulating crazily with his hands. “I want to go explore. I think it would be awesome to have a cave system named after us. We still have flashlights and plenty of food and water in the car. I have lighters and knives, cigarettes and booze, hell, even my pistol. Not like I think we’ll need it, unless there’s rattlesnakes down there that we need to shoot.” In hindsight, it was amazing just how wrong he was.
***
We each had a backpack filled with goods. Since we had been traveling across California and camping, seeing every national park possible, we had plenty of extra supplies. In fact, the issue became the amount of weight each of us could carry. I had them fill the backpacks with as much food and water as possible, leaving only room for ammunition, jackets and some extra clothes.
“You act like we’re going to be down there for the next year,” Stephanie complained, rolling her eyes as she hefted the heavy backpack around her shoulder with a soft grunt. “Alright, let’s do this! I am so excited right now. I feel like Bilbo Baggins must’ve when he walked out his front door with Gandalf.” Bear grinned like a madman, lighting up another cigarette. Without a word or a moment of hesitation, he put his backpack on and jumped down to the first step, a drop of about five feet. My stomach did flips just watching him. He apparently had no fear of heights at all.
As I looked down on Bear, it struck me how perfect the circular formation of the pit was. It almost looked man-made or somehow unnatural. Nature rarely works in straight lines and perfect circles, after all.
Stephanie went next, lowering herself carefully from the edge and hanging down by her arms until her feet were securely on the step. Unlike Bear, who at times I thought might be slightly insane, she did not simply jump onto the stone.
I edged closer to the pit, looking down. A sense of vertigo overtook me. The eternal blackness of the void seemed like a dilated pupil, a staring eye. I felt watched from below.
But I was not going to look like a chickenshit in front of my friends. They were both clearly excited, especially Bear, who started hopping from one foot to another, anxiously looking up at me and waving me on. He reminded me of a puppy excited about going on a walk. They had already started descending and stood a few dozen feet below the first step.
With a thudding heart, I followed Stephanie’s example, slowly lowering myself down from the ledge onto the first step. Once secure, I looked down.
The circling stairs almost seemed like a slit-open conch shell, the swirling golden spiral extending into forever. My friends looked so small standing on those unceasing steps, and for a moment, my intuition screamed at me, “Get out! Get out!”
But instead, I took a deep breath and started the descent into the bottomless pit.
***
We traveled for hours. I lost track of time. All of our phones stopped working, and even though I had just charged mine, the screen simply went black. Stephanie’s watch stopped ticking after a few minutes descending. I didn’t know if there was some kind of magnetism in the pit that disabled electronic devices, but regardless, we no longer had any way to tell time.
“God, how long has it been?” Stephanie asked after our fifth break. We sat on the steps, our headlamps sending eerie bouncing shadows all around us. A few of the steps nearby had thin, jagged cracks running through the stone, branching like lightning bolts. I wondered if they would crumble under our feet as we passed.
“It feels like at least six or seven hours,” Bear said, no longer as excited as he was at the start. Part of it was undoubtedly fatigue, which we all felt. I had a creeping suspicion we had made a colossal mistake by coming down here. Bear still had a sense of determination, however, and he wanted to keep going. “How far down do you think we are?” No one answered. The air felt oppressive and extremely heavy.
“What do you want to do if we don’t find anything in the next hour or so?” I asked. “I mean, are we just going to keep going down forever? We should make a plan to turn around at a certain point.”
“Oh man, give me a break,” Bear said, rolling his eyes. “What in the hell do you have to do today? You act like this isn’t the coolest thing we’ve found on this trip. We should keep going down until we find something, or until we need to turn around because we’re running low on water and food. This is probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, man.” I sighed. My legs ached and my feet screamed at me. I could feel the blisters rising on my toes. We rose and started descending again.
It was then that we heard a sound like a lion roaring echoing up from far below. It sounded predatory and animalistic but magnified to a deafening cacophony like an exploding hydrogen bomb. The stairs began to shake. Falling streams of dust and pebbles streamed down all around us. I tried to scream but I didn’t know if I actually was, because all I could hear was that demonic roar.
I clung to the wall of the pit as the sound started to fade and then rapidly died down to nothing. Within a few seconds, it had passed. I looked at Bear and Stephanie. They looked pale and shaken in the bright LED lights of the headlamp.
“Jesus Christ,” Bear said, his hands trembling as he reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. “I thought I was going to die for a few seconds there.” He had succinctly expressed all of our thoughts, I felt.
“We can’t keep going down,” I said. “This is insane. What if that was an earthquake? What if there’s more aftershocks coming? We should start heading back up now. I’m not dying here.” Stephanie and Bear nodded, agreeing without any argument. Even Bear, who was normally fearless, seemed to have lost all of his enthusiasm for this adventure.
But when we turned and shone our headlamps up, I saw the stairs a few hundred feet above us had collapsed during the bone-rattling explosion of sound. About thirty feet of steps had simply vanished, crumbling into the void. I suddenly felt very much less secure standing there. I wondered how structurally sound the step I stood on really was. My heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest.
“Well, I guess the only way out is forwards,” Stephanie whispered in a frightened voice. “Maybe this cave or whatever it is has branching tunnels that lead back up. Something this massive has to have more than one way in and out.” I didn’t really agree with her, however. This pit was not a natural cave system as far as I could tell. We had no idea if other paths led out.
We kept descending. I clung close to the wall in case that ear-splitting cacophony started again. I wondered what had made it. Perhaps the echoes of shifting tectonic plates amplified as they rose up the pit and just sounded like a predator’s thundering cry.
Far below, my headlamp ran over an aberration in the smooth golden spiral of the endless steps. I saw a massive archway, at least ten feet tall. Its sides met in a point at the top, forming an upside-down curving V.
Bear and Stephanie saw it at the same time as I did. Their eyes widened in surprise and delight. But a sense of fear gripped me when I saw the archway. Its architecture looked alien. As we got closer, I saw it glistened like obsidian. Gleaming black rainbows ran over its length when our lights touched it.
“Oh, thank God!” Stephanie cried. Bear ran ahead, sprinting down the steps, like a man dying of dehydration running towards water.
“Hey, wait up!” I called, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. I looked down the stairs. Far below me, I saw a thin crack that ran down the wall of the pit for hundreds of feet. I caught a glimpse of a face peeking out of it.
The creature had bone-white skin and pure black eyes. Its features seemed a combination of human and demon. Its insane rictus grin showed many sharp, long teeth. Within a fraction of a second, though, it disappeared into the crack, and I wondered whether I had really seen it. Perhaps all the darkness had caused me to start hallucinating. I knew that prolonged sensory deprivation could cause hallucinations and potentially bizarre experiences, having tried sensory deprivation tanks both sober and after eating magic mushrooms.
Stephanie and Bear stood in front of the obsidian arch, peering down a massive stone tunnel. The ceiling towered thirty feet overhead. Sharp stalactites hung over our heads like waiting guillotines. Natural formations of glimmering marble and jewels jutted out of the walls of the light brown rock.
Bear ran forwards, laughing. He stopped at the first cluster of gems he saw. They looked like the petals of a multi-colored flower, green, white, red, blue and black.
“These are diamonds,” Bear said, awed. “This is opal, this looks like jet-stone… that’s definitely a sapphire and the one next to it is an emerald.” He stood up straight, looking back at me, his mouth hanging open. “Holy shit, Juan, we’re rich. None of us will ever have to work again.”
“We still don’t even know how to get out of here,” I reminded him. I kept checking our backs, and I thought I had glimpsed that white, staring face with the black eyes again. But it moved like a ghost. Every time I tried to shine the light where I thought I glimpsed something, there was nothing there. I felt like I was losing my mind.
We kept walking for a few minutes. Smaller tunnels branched off the large ones periodically. We would hear soft moaning sounds and whispers coming from them. I could never pick out any words, as it came across as more of a low susurration, but it had the cadence and rhythm of speech.
“That is so creepy,” Stephanie whispered after we had passed our fourth branching tunnel. “It sounds just like voices and people whimpering, as if there were some medieval torture chamber over there.”
“It’s gotta be some natural echo from the earth,” I said. “There are sometimes subterranean rivers and waterfalls. If one was nearby, its babbling could get distorted in the tunnels and come across as whispering.” But I didn’t really believe the argument myself, even though I badly wanted to.
“Oh my God!” Bear said. He was out in front, walking ahead of us by at least ten feet. So he ended up seeing the two bodies first. He started running, kneeling down over the girls. Stephanie and I followed a few seconds later.
They looked like two high school students, still wearing their backpacks covered in pins about love and peace. The nearer of the two girls was clearly dead. Her entire body had swollen up like a tick after feeding, the skin turning green as rancid gasses bubbled under the surface. I couldn’t even tell if she once had eyes or a mouth because the flesh had expanded so much. Her bloated body pulled against the fabric of her short-sleeved T-shirt, skirt and straps of her backpack.
The other girl was a somewhat different story. At first, I thought she was dead too. I couldn’t see any breathing and she looked extremely pale with a blue tint to her lips. Bear knelt down and tried shaking her. He got no response. Then he licked the back of his hand and held it in front of her mouth and nose. After a few seconds, he looked up excitedly.
“She’s breathing, though it is very slow and shallow,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Her eyes started to flutter open, and she gasped. Her fingers clenched and she licked her dry lips.
“Water,” she moaned. “Please. Water.” Bear immediately grabbed a bottle from his pack and held it up to her lips. She took small sips, pulling away and breathing hard after each one. But soon she had finished the entire bottle, then two more. The color started to return to her cheeks slightly, though that bluish cast stayed over her fingernails and lips. She motioned for us to get close, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“I’m… not going to make it out of here alive,” she said. “This was given to me by someone else. It’s the only reason we’ve made it this far.” She coughed, rolling on her side and vomiting some of the water. I saw streaks of blood mixed in, dark red like a garnet.
Bear looked at the piece of paper, frowning. He stood back up and turned to face us. Then he started reading out loud.
“The first rule to survival is this: When you see the Angel of Death, the woman with the backwards-facing head, you must cut your flesh and give an offering of blood immediately.
“The second rule is that if you hear the first trumpet blow, you must hide. Anyone who does not leave the main tunnel by the time the second trumpet blows will know undying agony.
“The third rule is that if you see dark silhouettes coming down the corridors, shadows in the shapes of men and beasts, you must close your eyes and count to thirty. They are eaters of souls, and will suck your soul out of your eyes if you give them the chance, yet they will pass if not fed.
“The fourth rule is that, if you encounter anyone with the Mark of Cain, you must kill them immediately. You will know the Mark of Cain when you see it- it is a most hideous thing.
“The fifth rule is that if you see the ruler of the bottomless pit, whose name is Abaddon, you must not look at his face.”
We all stood in silence for a long moment. I felt the strong urge to laugh. Then I looked down at the swollen body of the dead girl and immediately changed my mind.
The blonde girl yanked her backpack off, gasping and spitting blood constantly. She reached around in the bag, frantically looking for something. With a triumphant smile across her pretty face, she yanked it out and handed it to me.
I took the ancient leather-bound Bible. It looked like it had some traces of a white, shining crystal smeared across its cover. I opened the cover and saw someone had written in spiky, copperplate handwriting, “Property of Smiley.”
A bookmark hung out of the back of the text. I opened it up and gasped. The “bookmark” was actually a tiny, mummified pinkie finger. It looked like someone had cut it off a small child’s hand. It smelled woodsy with a hint of pistachio, cinnamon and sulfur. I have never smelled anything quite like a mummified body part.
“Oh… my… God!” Stephanie cried, putting her hands above her mouth. “Is that a child’s finger?!” The girl didn’t answer. She had collapsed on her stomach now, and she looked like she was rapidly worsening.
“Who are you? How did you two get here? Why do you have someone’s finger?” I asked. The girl shook her head.
“No time for all that,” she said. “I got a glancing blow of the poison. A very small dose, but it’s doing its work nonetheless. I can feel it writhing like snakes through my blood…” She closed her eyes for a long moment, breathing slow. Then she fixed her unsteady, watery eyes on us again.
“My name is Isabella, though. I’ll tell you that we came here by accident, exploring underground tunnels with my Rainbow Family. We got lost, and the tunnels started changing…” A shriek echoed from further down the main tunnel, cutting her off.
Isabella’s eyes flew wide open, bright spots of red showing on her pale face. She began hyperventilating.
“They’re coming! They’re coming back!” she cried. “Oh God, help me!” I saw a shape far away, like a galloping horse. My mind couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing for a moment. It looked totally alien, something not from this world. There was a sound like helicopter blades slicing through the air, jarring and rhythmic.
As it got closer, I saw a bizarre and monstrous creature. It looked almost like a giant flying scorpion. It was about the size of a Great Dane. Its legs writhed and skittered, like massive alien eyelashes.
I saw its stinger dripping clear, lethal venom, as if it were salivating through its tail. Its spiky wings looked like those of a dragonfly’s, blurring in a sea of motion as they propelled it forward. It was, in reality, the face that affected me most, however.
It had a human face, complete with changing expressions. It had no hair on its body, but even without eyebrows, I could see the scowl of bloodlust and fury. The eyes had a filmy look, as if covered in cataracts. The pupils looked faded behind the veil, the irises a muddy gray. Bristling spikes stood out the top of its head, black, pushed-back quills with barbs on the end. Overall, the creature was one of the most instinctually repugnant and frightening creatures I had ever seen.
Bear and Stephanie stood there, their mouths opened, just staring. Isabella tried to crawl away. She had thrown her backpack to the side.
“Nooo,” she moaned, “noooo.”
“Bear!” I cried. “Shoot it! Shoot the goddamned thing! What are you waiting for?!” He looked like a man waking up from a nightmare for a moment, his eyes moving quickly around before focusing on me. Then a smile broke out on his face.
With the creature only a few steps away, I thought we were all dead. But in a blur, Bear yanked the giant black pistol from its holster. With a booming echo like a shout from God, he fired at the abomination’s eerily human face.
The head exploded in a fountain of bone splinters and bright-blue blood. Its wings continued to pound the air crazily, and the body continued coming at us for a few more feet. Then it crashed to the ground, sliding, its stinger and tail still striking out at the air. I jumped back and saw Bear and Stephanie do the same.
It landed on top of Isabella, soaking her in its blood. She screamed. The stinger continued to drip clear poison from its wicked-looking barb. I saw drops of it sliding off the creature’s body and onto Isabella’s skin.
“It burns, it burns!” she cried, trying to wipe away the poison. But she was on her stomach, and with the creature pinning her down, she couldn’t reach. Like some ancient Chinese water torture, the drops continued to fall, searing and lethal.
“I need help guys!” Bear said as he tried to lift the heavy creature off Isabella. Stephanie and I went around, giving the stinger and poison a wide berth. I reached under its body. It felt slimy, cold and just revolting. It was like the texture of drowned earthworms after a summer rain. As I pushed, I felt a sogginess in its skin, and blue blood the color of antifreeze soaked my hands. I wanted to pull away. I felt soiled. I wanted to take a long shower and wipe the filth of this creature off me.
The body started to lift. With a grunt, the three of us pushed it off Isabella. I looked down at her and realized it was too late.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, showing only the whites. Her legs began to kick violently, her fingers spasming as her arms jumped and danced. She began to make a choked, gasping sound.
Then her skin started to turn a sickly, cancerous green. Her whole body began to swell before our eyes. She gave a death gasp and stopped kicking, finally falling limp.
***
As we left the corpses behind, still shaken, Bear looked at the Bible Isabella had given us.
“Juan, why do you think there’s a human finger in here?” Stephanie asked, still repulsed by it. “Is that some sort of occult thing? Maybe witchcraft?” I shrugged. I knew a lot more about history and books than either Bear or Stephanie. They almost never read, while I read constantly.
“Fingers have been used in occult rituals for thousands of years. In the ancient Buddhist scriptures, a madman and extremely talented warrior used to go around killing random people and taking their fingers for a necklace. They called him ‘Angulimala’, or ‘Finger-necklace’. There may be some relation to worship of Kali, the goddess of destruction. He ended up converting to Buddhism, renouncing violence and becoming enlightened, though.
“In modern rituals, witchcraft still uses severed fingers. Fingers represent dexterity, touch and manipulation of far-away objects. Cutting off a finger also symbolically represents a cutting of ties in an occult ritual.” I shrugged.
“Well, thank you for that enlightening information, Chatbot,” Stephanie said jokingly. “You remind me of those AI robots where you can ask them any random question and they come up with an answer.”
“Hey, don’t shit on me just because I actually do research,” I said, smiling. “Speaking of research, what page of the Bible is the finger marking? It may be important. Those girls had two things, after all: the list of rules and the Bible. Isabella obviously considered them important, because those were the only two things she singled out to give to us while she was dying.” Bear opened the Bible to the page with the finger. He looked down, frowning.
“It’s Revelation 9,” he said, then he began reading aloud as we all took a break, passing around water and peanut butter crackers.
“And the fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth: and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit.
“And he opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit.
“And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth: and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power.
“And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree; but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads.
“And to them it was given that they should not kill them, but that they should be tormented five months: and their torment was as the torment of a scorpion, when he striketh a man.
“And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.” He stopped reading, his voice reverberating eerily down the stone corridor, bouncing off of priceless gems and hard sandstone.
“So that thing we killed was a locust?” Stephanie asked. “It looked a lot more like a scorpion to me.”
“It doesn’t really matter; it’s neither a scorpion nor a locust,” I said. “It’s clearly a different species from either. Perhaps it’s lived down here for millions of years, hunting in the dark. But it just makes it all the more important to find a way out of here as soon as possible. There could be thousands of those things down here. Millions, maybe. I mean, really, who knows how big this place is?” Sighing, we got up and continued looking for a way out.
Ahead, I saw a faded sign. It looked made out of pure silver, without a sign of rust anywhere. But the letters had nearly disappeared over the many years it had clearly stood here.
When we got close, I brought my light right up to it and tried to make it out. After a few seconds, I realized it was a sign for a town.
“Bloodstone. Population: 144,000,” it read.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/192nglq/i_found_the_bottomless_pit_from_the_book_of/

Back in 2012, I believe I stopped the Apocalypse.
I remember staring down at the endless hole in the desert with wonder and awe. It seemed to go on forever. A life-long friend of mine named Bear stood by my side. He scanned the ground and found a large, smooth rock. It must’ve weighed at least sixty pounds. He rolled it over to the edge of the seemingly infinite void and let it drop.
I heard the stone clatter against the walls, smashing against one side and releasing a rush of small pebbles and clods of dirt. They soared downwards with the rock, reminding me of the sands in an eternal hourglass.
“Look, there’s stairs,” Bear’s girlfriend Stephanie said, pointing a freshly-painted red nail at the steps. They looked hewn from solid rock and spiraled down into the darkness far below. Stephanie tilted her head slightly to the side, moving locks of dirty blonde hair away from her eyes. Her appearance reminded me of Emma Stone, and though nearly twenty-five, she still looked like a teenager.
We stood in the middle of Death Valley. The sun sizzled overhead, sending out blinding light that reflected off the sands. Rippling mirages rose off the burning hot ground. Dunes surrounded us, looking as dead and lifeless as an alien planet.
I looked up at the light blue sky and didn’t see a single cloud. It must’ve been 100 degrees out. Rivulets of sweat trickled down from my hair and forehead, stinging my eyes. I wiped it away, looking back down the hole. I kept expecting this aberration of a pit to evaporate like some sort of bizarre optical illusion, yet there it still stood, a large circle about thirty feet across with ancient granite steps. And, of course, the steps had no railings. They looked fairly narrow, maybe a couple feet across.
Well, I considered that narrow, considering the thousands of feet of empty space I would fall through if I slipped. I thought about how the drop would feel, screaming for minutes and knowing I was about to die, the ground coming up to meet me, the air roaring like a tornado in my ears. I shuddered. The mental image seemed far too vivid.
I glanced at my two friends. Bear was casually smoking a cigarette, raising his tattooed hand. I looked at the tattoo- a reptilian, slitted eye surrounded by the golden spiral.
He stood much taller than me and, having done physical labor his entire life, he also had a thick covering of muscle. He was a metal-head and urban explorer, and about 90% of his body was covered in tattoos. Stephanie and he made an unusual pair, she with her straight-edge, valley girl looks, and Bear looking like he just climbed out of a mosh pit at a Deicide show.
He flicked the half-smoked butt into the pit, smoothing his long black hair with his hands. I watched the red light of the ember streak across the darkness and disappear into the endless shadows waiting below.
“Do you think anyone else knows about this?” I asked. Bear had a sly grin across his scruffy face. His blue eyes flashed with amusement. He put his arm around Stephanie.
“Well, if no one has, maybe we can make money off of it,” he said. Stephanie smiled faintly at that. “I’ve heard of people who discovered caves making money off giving tours. Maybe we can buy this crappy little plot of land out here!”
“This might be state land,” I said. “Actually, it might even be federal. I’m not sure where the borders of the national park end. Not like anyone would be going around labeling borders out here.” I waved my hand lethargically at the dead, sunburnt desert all around us. Absolutely no one lived out here, except maybe the secret mutant descendants of the Manson Family.
“Regardless, we should go explore it,” Stephanie said. “If we’re going to claim we discovered some new wonder of the world, we should be able to tell people what’s in it.”
“Yeah, and what if we get lost and starve to death down there?” I asked. “There’s no cell service out here. No one would ever find our bodies. We would just disappear into thin air. We can’t even call anyone to let them know where we are.”
“That’s part of the adventure!” Stephanie said, laughing. “You weren’t complaining when you dragged us all to that abandoned mental asylum and took us to the underground tunnels.”
“I’m with Stephanie,” Bear said, gesticulating crazily with his hands. “I want to go explore. I think it would be awesome to have a cave system named after us. We still have flashlights and plenty of food and water in the car. I have lighters and knives, cigarettes and booze, hell, even my pistol. Not like I think we’ll need it, unless there’s rattlesnakes down there that we need to shoot.” In hindsight, it was amazing just how wrong he was.
***
We each had a backpack filled with goods. Since we had been traveling across California and camping, seeing every national park possible, we had plenty of extra supplies. In fact, the issue became the amount of weight each of us could carry. I had them fill the backpacks with as much food and water as possible, leaving only room for ammunition, jackets and some extra clothes.
“You act like we’re going to be down there for the next year,” Stephanie complained, rolling her eyes as she hefted the heavy backpack around her shoulder with a soft grunt. “Alright, let’s do this! I am so excited right now. I feel like Bilbo Baggins must’ve when he walked out his front door with Gandalf.” Bear grinned like a madman, lighting up another cigarette. Without a word or a moment of hesitation, he put his backpack on and jumped down to the first step, a drop of about five feet. My stomach did flips just watching him. He apparently had no fear of heights at all.
As I looked down on Bear, it struck me how perfect the circular formation of the pit was. It almost looked man-made or somehow unnatural. Nature rarely works in straight lines and perfect circles, after all.
Stephanie went next, lowering herself carefully from the edge and hanging down by her arms until her feet were securely on the step. Unlike Bear, who at times I thought might be slightly insane, she did not simply jump onto the stone.
I edged closer to the pit, looking down. A sense of vertigo overtook me. The eternal blackness of the void seemed like a dilated pupil, a staring eye. I felt watched from below.
But I was not going to look like a chickenshit in front of my friends. They were both clearly excited, especially Bear, who started hopping from one foot to another, anxiously looking up at me and waving me on. He reminded me of a puppy excited about going on a walk. They had already started descending and stood a few dozen feet below the first step.
With a thudding heart, I followed Stephanie’s example, slowly lowering myself down from the ledge onto the first step. Once secure, I looked down.
The circling stairs almost seemed like a slit-open conch shell, the swirling golden spiral extending into forever. My friends looked so small standing on those unceasing steps, and for a moment, my intuition screamed at me, “Get out! Get out!”
But instead, I took a deep breath and started the descent into the bottomless pit.
***
We traveled for hours. I lost track of time. All of our phones stopped working, and even though I had just charged mine, the screen simply went black. Stephanie’s watch stopped ticking after a few minutes descending. I didn’t know if there was some kind of magnetism in the pit that disabled electronic devices, but regardless, we no longer had any way to tell time.
“God, how long has it been?” Stephanie asked after our fifth break. We sat on the steps, our headlamps sending eerie bouncing shadows all around us. A few of the steps nearby had thin, jagged cracks running through the stone, branching like lightning bolts. I wondered if they would crumble under our feet as we passed.
“It feels like at least six or seven hours,” Bear said, no longer as excited as he was at the start. Part of it was undoubtedly fatigue, which we all felt. I had a creeping suspicion we had made a colossal mistake by coming down here. Bear still had a sense of determination, however, and he wanted to keep going. “How far down do you think we are?” No one answered. The air felt oppressive and extremely heavy.
“What do you want to do if we don’t find anything in the next hour or so?” I asked. “I mean, are we just going to keep going down forever? We should make a plan to turn around at a certain point.”
“Oh man, give me a break,” Bear said, rolling his eyes. “What in the hell do you have to do today? You act like this isn’t the coolest thing we’ve found on this trip. We should keep going down until we find something, or until we need to turn around because we’re running low on water and food. This is probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, man.” I sighed. My legs ached and my feet screamed at me. I could feel the blisters rising on my toes. We rose and started descending again.
It was then that we heard a sound like a lion roaring echoing up from far below. It sounded predatory and animalistic but magnified to a deafening cacophony like an exploding hydrogen bomb. The stairs began to shake. Falling streams of dust and pebbles streamed down all around us. I tried to scream but I didn’t know if I actually was, because all I could hear was that demonic roar.
I clung to the wall of the pit as the sound started to fade and then rapidly died down to nothing. Within a few seconds, it had passed. I looked at Bear and Stephanie. They looked pale and shaken in the bright LED lights of the headlamp.
“Jesus Christ,” Bear said, his hands trembling as he reached into his pocket for his pack of cigarettes. “I thought I was going to die for a few seconds there.” He had succinctly expressed all of our thoughts, I felt.
“We can’t keep going down,” I said. “This is insane. What if that was an earthquake? What if there’s more aftershocks coming? We should start heading back up now. I’m not dying here.” Stephanie and Bear nodded, agreeing without any argument. Even Bear, who was normally fearless, seemed to have lost all of his enthusiasm for this adventure.
But when we turned and shone our headlamps up, I saw the stairs a few hundred feet above us had collapsed during the bone-rattling explosion of sound. About thirty feet of steps had simply vanished, crumbling into the void. I suddenly felt very much less secure standing there. I wondered how structurally sound the step I stood on really was. My heart felt like it would beat right out of my chest.
“Well, I guess the only way out is forwards,” Stephanie whispered in a frightened voice. “Maybe this cave or whatever it is has branching tunnels that lead back up. Something this massive has to have more than one way in and out.” I didn’t really agree with her, however. This pit was not a natural cave system as far as I could tell. We had no idea if other paths led out.
We kept descending. I clung close to the wall in case that ear-splitting cacophony started again. I wondered what had made it. Perhaps the echoes of shifting tectonic plates amplified as they rose up the pit and just sounded like a predator’s thundering cry.
Far below, my headlamp ran over an aberration in the smooth golden spiral of the endless steps. I saw a massive archway, at least ten feet tall. Its sides met in a point at the top, forming an upside-down curving V.
Bear and Stephanie saw it at the same time as I did. Their eyes widened in surprise and delight. But a sense of fear gripped me when I saw the archway. Its architecture looked alien. As we got closer, I saw it glistened like obsidian. Gleaming black rainbows ran over its length when our lights touched it.
“Oh, thank God!” Stephanie cried. Bear ran ahead, sprinting down the steps, like a man dying of dehydration running towards water.
“Hey, wait up!” I called, feeling suddenly very vulnerable. I looked down the stairs. Far below me, I saw a thin crack that ran down the wall of the pit for hundreds of feet. I caught a glimpse of a face peeking out of it.
The creature had bone-white skin and pure black eyes. Its features seemed a combination of human and demon. Its insane rictus grin showed many sharp, long teeth. Within a fraction of a second, though, it disappeared into the crack, and I wondered whether I had really seen it. Perhaps all the darkness had caused me to start hallucinating. I knew that prolonged sensory deprivation could cause hallucinations and potentially bizarre experiences, having tried sensory deprivation tanks both sober and after eating magic mushrooms.
Stephanie and Bear stood in front of the obsidian arch, peering down a massive stone tunnel. The ceiling towered thirty feet overhead. Sharp stalactites hung over our heads like waiting guillotines. Natural formations of glimmering marble and jewels jutted out of the walls of the light brown rock.
Bear ran forwards, laughing. He stopped at the first cluster of gems he saw. They looked like the petals of a multi-colored flower, green, white, red, blue and black.
“These are diamonds,” Bear said, awed. “This is opal, this looks like jet-stone… that’s definitely a sapphire and the one next to it is an emerald.” He stood up straight, looking back at me, his mouth hanging open. “Holy shit, Juan, we’re rich. None of us will ever have to work again.”
“We still don’t even know how to get out of here,” I reminded him. I kept checking our backs, and I thought I had glimpsed that white, staring face with the black eyes again. But it moved like a ghost. Every time I tried to shine the light where I thought I glimpsed something, there was nothing there. I felt like I was losing my mind.
We kept walking for a few minutes. Smaller tunnels branched off the large ones periodically. We would hear soft moaning sounds and whispers coming from them. I could never pick out any words, as it came across as more of a low susurration, but it had the cadence and rhythm of speech.
“That is so creepy,” Stephanie whispered after we had passed our fourth branching tunnel. “It sounds just like voices and people whimpering, as if there were some medieval torture chamber over there.”
“It’s gotta be some natural echo from the earth,” I said. “There are sometimes subterranean rivers and waterfalls. If one was nearby, its babbling could get distorted in the tunnels and come across as whispering.” But I didn’t really believe the argument myself, even though I badly wanted to.
“Oh my God!” Bear said. He was out in front, walking ahead of us by at least ten feet. So he ended up seeing the two bodies first. He started running, kneeling down over the girls. Stephanie and I followed a few seconds later.
They looked like two high school students, still wearing their backpacks covered in pins about love and peace. The nearer of the two girls was clearly dead. Her entire body had swollen up like a tick after feeding, the skin turning green as rancid gasses bubbled under the surface. I couldn’t even tell if she once had eyes or a mouth because the flesh had expanded so much. Her bloated body pulled against the fabric of her short-sleeved T-shirt, skirt and straps of her backpack.
The other girl was a somewhat different story. At first, I thought she was dead too. I couldn’t see any breathing and she looked extremely pale with a blue tint to her lips. Bear knelt down and tried shaking her. He got no response. Then he licked the back of his hand and held it in front of her mouth and nose. After a few seconds, he looked up excitedly.
“She’s breathing, though it is very slow and shallow,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” Her eyes started to flutter open, and she gasped. Her fingers clenched and she licked her dry lips.
“Water,” she moaned. “Please. Water.” Bear immediately grabbed a bottle from his pack and held it up to her lips. She took small sips, pulling away and breathing hard after each one. But soon she had finished the entire bottle, then two more. The color started to return to her cheeks slightly, though that bluish cast stayed over her fingernails and lips. She motioned for us to get close, then reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“I’m… not going to make it out of here alive,” she said. “This was given to me by someone else. It’s the only reason we’ve made it this far.” She coughed, rolling on her side and vomiting some of the water. I saw streaks of blood mixed in, dark red like a garnet.
Bear looked at the piece of paper, frowning. He stood back up and turned to face us. Then he started reading out loud.
“The first rule to survival is this: When you see the Angel of Death, the woman with the backwards-facing head, you must cut your flesh and give an offering of blood immediately.
“The second rule is that if you hear the first trumpet blow, you must hide. Anyone who does not leave the main tunnel by the time the second trumpet blows will know undying agony.
“The third rule is that if you see dark silhouettes coming down the corridors, shadows in the shapes of men and beasts, you must close your eyes and count to thirty. They are eaters of souls, and will suck your soul out of your eyes if you give them the chance, yet they will pass if not fed.
“The fourth rule is that, if you encounter anyone with the Mark of Cain, you must kill them immediately. You will know the Mark of Cain when you see it- it is a most hideous thing.
“The fifth rule is that if you see the ruler of the bottomless pit, whose name is Abaddon, you must not look at his face.”
We all stood in silence for a long moment. I felt the strong urge to laugh. Then I looked down at the swollen body of the dead girl and immediately changed my mind.
The blonde girl yanked her backpack off, gasping and spitting blood constantly. She reached around in the bag, frantically looking for something. With a triumphant smile across her pretty face, she yanked it out and handed it to me.
I took the ancient leather-bound Bible. It looked like it had some traces of a white, shining crystal smeared across its cover. I opened the cover and saw someone had written in spiky, copperplate handwriting, “Property of Smiley.”
A bookmark hung out of the back of the text. I opened it up and gasped. The “bookmark” was actually a tiny, mummified pinkie finger. It looked like someone had cut it off a small child’s hand. It smelled woodsy with a hint of pistachio, cinnamon and sulfur. I have never smelled anything quite like a mummified body part.
“Oh… my… God!” Stephanie cried, putting her hands above her mouth. “Is that a child’s finger?!” The girl didn’t answer. She had collapsed on her stomach now, and she looked like she was rapidly worsening.
“Who are you? How did you two get here? Why do you have someone’s finger?” I asked. The girl shook her head.
“No time for all that,” she said. “I got a glancing blow of the poison. A very small dose, but it’s doing its work nonetheless. I can feel it writhing like snakes through my blood…” She closed her eyes for a long moment, breathing slow. Then she fixed her unsteady, watery eyes on us again.
“My name is Isabella, though. I’ll tell you that we came here by accident, exploring underground tunnels with my Rainbow Family. We got lost, and the tunnels started changing…” A shriek echoed from further down the main tunnel, cutting her off.
Isabella’s eyes flew wide open, bright spots of red showing on her pale face. She began hyperventilating.
“They’re coming! They’re coming back!” she cried. “Oh God, help me!” I saw a shape far away, like a galloping horse. My mind couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing for a moment. It looked totally alien, something not from this world. There was a sound like helicopter blades slicing through the air, jarring and rhythmic.
As it got closer, I saw a bizarre and monstrous creature. It looked almost like a giant flying scorpion. It was about the size of a Great Dane. Its legs writhed and skittered, like massive alien eyelashes.
I saw its stinger dripping clear, lethal venom, as if it were salivating through its tail. Its spiky wings looked like those of a dragonfly’s, blurring in a sea of motion as they propelled it forward. It was, in reality, the face that affected me most, however.
It had a human face, complete with changing expressions. It had no hair on its body, but even without eyebrows, I could see the scowl of bloodlust and fury. The eyes had a filmy look, as if covered in cataracts. The pupils looked faded behind the veil, the irises a muddy gray. Bristling spikes stood out the top of its head, black, pushed-back quills with barbs on the end. Overall, the creature was one of the most instinctually repugnant and frightening creatures I had ever seen.
Bear and Stephanie stood there, their mouths opened, just staring. Isabella tried to crawl away. She had thrown her backpack to the side.
“Nooo,” she moaned, “noooo.”
“Bear!” I cried. “Shoot it! Shoot the goddamned thing! What are you waiting for?!” He looked like a man waking up from a nightmare for a moment, his eyes moving quickly around before focusing on me. Then a smile broke out on his face.
With the creature only a few steps away, I thought we were all dead. But in a blur, Bear yanked the giant black pistol from its holster. With a booming echo like a shout from God, he fired at the abomination’s eerily human face.
The head exploded in a fountain of bone splinters and bright-blue blood. Its wings continued to pound the air crazily, and the body continued coming at us for a few more feet. Then it crashed to the ground, sliding, its stinger and tail still striking out at the air. I jumped back and saw Bear and Stephanie do the same.
It landed on top of Isabella, soaking her in its blood. She screamed. The stinger continued to drip clear poison from its wicked-looking barb. I saw drops of it sliding off the creature’s body and onto Isabella’s skin.
“It burns, it burns!” she cried, trying to wipe away the poison. But she was on her stomach, and with the creature pinning her down, she couldn’t reach. Like some ancient Chinese water torture, the drops continued to fall, searing and lethal.
“I need help guys!” Bear said as he tried to lift the heavy creature off Isabella. Stephanie and I went around, giving the stinger and poison a wide berth. I reached under its body. It felt slimy, cold and just revolting. It was like the texture of drowned earthworms after a summer rain. As I pushed, I felt a sogginess in its skin, and blue blood the color of antifreeze soaked my hands. I wanted to pull away. I felt soiled. I wanted to take a long shower and wipe the filth of this creature off me.
The body started to lift. With a grunt, the three of us pushed it off Isabella. I looked down at her and realized it was too late.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, showing only the whites. Her legs began to kick violently, her fingers spasming as her arms jumped and danced. She began to make a choked, gasping sound.
Then her skin started to turn a sickly, cancerous green. Her whole body began to swell before our eyes. She gave a death gasp and stopped kicking, finally falling limp.
***
As we left the corpses behind, still shaken, Bear looked at the Bible Isabella had given us.
“Juan, why do you think there’s a human finger in here?” Stephanie asked, still repulsed by it. “Is that some sort of occult thing? Maybe witchcraft?” I shrugged. I knew a lot more about history and books than either Bear or Stephanie. They almost never read, while I read constantly.
“Fingers have been used in occult rituals for thousands of years. In the ancient Buddhist scriptures, a madman and extremely talented warrior used to go around killing random people and taking their fingers for a necklace. They called him ‘Angulimala’, or ‘Finger-necklace’. There may be some relation to worship of Kali, the goddess of destruction. He ended up converting to Buddhism, renouncing violence and becoming enlightened, though.
“In modern rituals, witchcraft still uses severed fingers. Fingers represent dexterity, touch and manipulation of far-away objects. Cutting off a finger also symbolically represents a cutting of ties in an occult ritual.” I shrugged.
“Well, thank you for that enlightening information, Chatbot,” Stephanie said jokingly. “You remind me of those AI robots where you can ask them any random question and they come up with an answer.”
“Hey, don’t shit on me just because I actually do research,” I said, smiling. “Speaking of research, what page of the Bible is the finger marking? It may be important. Those girls had two things, after all: the list of rules and the Bible. Isabella obviously considered them important, because those were the only two things she singled out to give to us while she was dying.” Bear opened the Bible to the page with the finger. He looked down, frowning.
“It’s Revelation 9,” he said, then he began reading aloud as we all took a break, passing around water and peanut butter crackers.
“And the fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth: and to him was given the key of the bottomless pit.
“And he opened the bottomless pit; and there arose a smoke out of the pit, as the smoke of a great furnace; and the sun and the air were darkened by reason of the smoke of the pit.
“And there came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth: and unto them was given power, as the scorpions of the earth have power.
“And it was commanded them that they should not hurt the grass of the earth, neither any green thing, neither any tree; but only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads.
“And to them it was given that they should not kill them, but that they should be tormented five months: and their torment was as the torment of a scorpion, when he striketh a man.
“And in those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.” He stopped reading, his voice reverberating eerily down the stone corridor, bouncing off of priceless gems and hard sandstone.
“So that thing we killed was a locust?” Stephanie asked. “It looked a lot more like a scorpion to me.”
“It doesn’t really matter; it’s neither a scorpion nor a locust,” I said. “It’s clearly a different species from either. Perhaps it’s lived down here for millions of years, hunting in the dark. But it just makes it all the more important to find a way out of here as soon as possible. There could be thousands of those things down here. Millions, maybe. I mean, really, who knows how big this place is?” Sighing, we got up and continued looking for a way out.
Ahead, I saw a faded sign. It looked made out of pure silver, without a sign of rust anywhere. But the letters had nearly disappeared over the many years it had clearly stood here.
When we got close, I brought my light right up to it and tried to make it out. After a few seconds, I realized it was a sign for a town.
“Bloodstone. Population: 144,000,” it read.
Part 2
https://www.reddit.com/nosleep/comments/192nglq/i_found_the_bottomless_pit_from_the_book_of/

I (M19) always pick up my little sister (“Ari” F8) from school due to our parents usually working until 6 pm.
She goes to a very small school and the parents are allowed to go into the school to pick up their kid from the classroom. Which means I see her teacher Miss N everyday. She’s in her mid 40s, probably. She always talks to me way longer than she does for any of the other parents. She’s always complimenting me and her demeanor seems to totally change from before and after she realizes I’m there. She goes from talking normally and breifly to other parents to being overly smiley and giggly to me.
Ari tells me Miss N asks her about me. About what I do for work or for fun. She said to her that “she can tell we’re related because we are both so cute”
Okay, so this stuff made me raise an eyebrow, but it’s nothing that obvious.
Well on Friday Ari told me she asked if I had a girlfriend. And correct me if I’m wrong but— people only ask that about someone if they like them, right??
I am not interested in dating my sisters teacher at all and I am honestly starting to get super weirded out
Also, I’m sure she doesn’t know my exact age, but i definitely am not passable for a grown adult yet LMAO 💀💀💀💀

I am not The OOP's, OOP's are:
The husband: u/OKOrganization9552
The wife: u/ThrowAwayWifeNBaby
AITA for kicking my wife out after she punched my mom in the face?
Originally posted to AITAH
Thanks to u/czechtheboxes & u/queenlegolas for suggesting this BoRU
TRIGGER WARNING: verbal abuse, physical violence, emotional abuse, gaslighting
Original Post Feb 10, 2024
Posted by u/OKOrganization9552
My situation went from bad to worse in a matter of a week and I don't know where else to turn. I need to know if I was wrong. Possibly a validation thing because life is fucking dumb right now. My wife and I have been together for 8 years and she just gave birth to our first (and last) baby 2 months ago. Up until my wife got pregnant, my mom loved her. I'm not sure wtf is wrong with my mom or why the switch happened but after my wife got pregnant, my mom started being very clingy to me and started avoiding my wife at all costs. Told everyone she wasn't excited about the pregnancy, etc. I threatened to go no contact with her when my wife was about 7 months along and after that she snapped out of it for the most part and stopped being so ignorant. The comments 100% stopped, at least. Though she still was clinging to me.
Now, a week ago my mom, my sister, my sister's husband and my sister's daughter (12) came over for dinner. I prepared the meal. Before my wife could eat anything, our daughter got fussy so my wife excused herself to go feed the baby and get her down to sleep. I thought I prepared enough but apparently not because my niece was still "starving" (she's 5'5" and 190lbs, I haven't seen her in a year and she was not that size then so I didn't exactly portion in an extra 3 helpings for a child- so it's on me). I apologized and told her that I hadn't made any more and offered her crackers, as I was putting my wife's portion in the fridge. After that, I just went outside with my sister's husband to smoke a cigarette and shoot the breeze. Didn't think anything of it. But then I hear yelling from inside. When I walk in, my wife and my mom were screaming at each other. Apparently my mom (who saw me put my wife's food away) gave my niece my wife's portion of food. As I was walking inside, I heard my mom say "looks like you can afford to skip a meal" and slapped my wife's stomach. Right as soon as I get ready to step in (literally fast walking toward them yelling "enough"), my wife winds back and punches my mother square in the face and drops her. The whole house went silent outside of my mom crying and holding her face. I tell everyone to "get the fuck out". Immediately everyone leaves and my wife just turns toward the counter and leans with her hands on the counter and face down, eyes closed. I look at my wife and say "you too, leave, now." She says "really?" She's crying at this point. I say a clipped "yup". She packs up her and the baby and leaves.
I text her that night and say I just need space. I need to decompress and come to terms with what just happened. She doesn't respond. The next 5 days I'm texting and calling and I get nothing. She shows up here today (so 8 days later) and hands me divorce paperwork and my baby and says "here, you have a bit to hang out with her while I pack. Where I'm breastfeeding we can work out a visitation schedule that is either at your place or my mother's until she will take a bottle." I told her that's not what I want. I don't want to separate. I just needed time to process her punching my mother in the face. She said "you needing time to process gave me time to process the fact that I refuse to be in this situation any longer. I defended myself. I initially felt bad and remorseful but you making me leave when I needed you made me see more clear. I'm done. I'm sorry for what I did but there's no fixing this." She refused to speak to me at all the rest of the time that she was here. My house feels so empty and I don't know what to do. AITA for making her leave after she punched my mom? I just needed some fucking space.
ETA: for the record, I am "team wife". My mom deserved it, wholeheartedly, and I've blocked her completely from my life. I literally just needed time to process what happened. My wife is a lot of things, violent is not one of them. So this came completely out of left field and would not have happened without her being provoked. After it all happened, my mom sent me a text saying "See! I told you she was crazy! That fat bitch doesn't belong in **our** life." I'm willing to bet she purposely tried setting my wife off. So no, I'm on my wife's side 100%. I truly just needed to process what happened and my wife took it as me giving up on her, not defending her and throwing her and our baby out (which did essentially happen because I knew she had to take the baby with her when I kicked her out).
eta: the reason "why": my dad was stupid abusive. I was beat. My sister's and brother were beat. My mom was put in the hospital multiple times. It took years for police to enforce restraining orders and he finally died in 2013. Violence scares the fuck out of me. I clam up and get anxious around violence of any kind now. My wife knows this and she too grew up with a violent dad (step dad) and she gets just as anxious and panicky around violence. Her punching my mom in the face triggered an anxious response and I needed her gone in that moment. I needed it far away from me. I don't know why I didn't just leave. I could have. But in that moment I just let my emotions and fear run the whole fucking circus and told everyone to get out, her included. My mom did slap her first.. I guess for some reason I was seeing my wife's punch as being worse than the slap. It wasn't a hard slap but my wife did kind of wince, looking back on it now. She was fine following but my mom was bleeding. Split her eyebrow open in good shape. Idk.
thanks for the responses. I'm the AH. I'm going to try to go kiss ass now.
RELEVANT COMMENTS/ADDITIONAL INFO
OOP

My mom did hurt her. She slapped her in the stomach and my wife winced back in pain before punching her in the face. As a few other people have pointed out.. I guess new moms have muscles separated in their abdomen so given the force that my mom slapped her in the stomach (like a little bit below the rib cage, full back handed slap, which could be heard from the door), I guess it's comparable to hitting my wife in her internal organs? Because her stomach muscles aren't healed? I just learned that.

PrettyLittleAccident

I’m sorry, you’re saying it wasn’t a hard slap but you could HEAR IT?!?!? Unless it was skin on skin, slaps are not usually something that can be heard at a distance

~
OlderMan42

Yup, YTA
Your mom wants to be your wife, or at least more important than her.
You really did need to prioritize your wife over your mother, end of story.
I hope you get another shot at it. Kinda depends on the past… if she has enough positive memories to make it worthwhile in her mind.

OOP

Starting to see that. My wife sent me a text about 10 minutes ago, saying "look up emotional incest", with no context. Definitely describes what my mom's doing. I did completely block her but it won't help my case.

~
CarrieFantastic6990

Info what other comments did your mom make about your wife?

OOP

That she was stealing me away. That she wasn't good enough. Made a few comments about baby trapping me. Never said it directly to me or my wife but it got back to us quick. She tried denying it at first but later confirmed she said it. Thats when I threatened no contact and nothing ever got back to us after that. I just assumed all had cleared up.

My response to my husband’s post “AITA for kicking my wife out after she punched my mom in the face?” Apr 7, 2024
Posted by u/ThrowAwayWifeNBaby
I’m still grieving at the loss of my marriage, but my friend had notified me about my husband’s post that had too may specific details that were hard to ignore. To clarify, this is my first time on Reddit. I read my soon-to-be ex-husband’s post and wanted to give my side of the story and include details that he didn’t provide in his post.
For those who hadn’t read it, long story short, my husband kicked me out of the house after his mother had physically slapped my stomach in front of him and I punched her in self-defense. I loved my husband dearly but his lack of action regarding his mother’s behavior was extremely disgusting to say the least, I tolerated his mom’s behavior long enough until I couldn’t take it anymore as he had overlooked his mom’s behavior over and over again that finally I had enough.
I was still recovering after giving birth to his child when his mom slapped my stomach, and my husband exaggerated when he said it wasn’t a hard slap. The slap itself was hard enough to be heard by everyone in the room. I had lost it at this point when his mother slapped my stomach with a turd eating smirk that wasn’t visible from my husband’s point of view, at least that’s what my husband claimed.
I had a mental breakdown when my husband told me to leave after kicking everyone out of the house, you should have seen his face when he told me to get out with a straight face and without hesitation. Our baby was crying at this point before I left, and I couldn’t do anything but cry that night after I went to stay with my mother. His mother sent me a text mockingly saying, "I am going to file charges against you for assault, you fat little whore!" Now stay the fuck out of our lives!" She ended the text with a smiley face at the end. I was livid and decided I did not want to be associated with this family anymore and served my husband divorce papers, and as you can guess he didn’t take it well and tried to get me to reconsider.
I told him that he overlooked his mother’s behavior one too many times, and I was done with him and his inability to establish boundaries with his mother. I recommended setting boundaries, but he didn’t think it was necessary even after I told him throughout the pregnancy about the nasty names his mother called me when he wasn’t around, and he always brushed it off, even though he did tell his mom to stop she would continue this behavior after a short pause for a while.
Before I left after handing him divorce papers he begged me for another chance and told me he cut contact with his mother permanently. I told him that he is sorry now that I handed him divorce papers and that he was too late to act now that I decided I wanted out of the marriage. I told him I loved him so much that he should look at it as a sign that if I didn’t than I would have divorced him long ago because he didn’t stand up for me multiple times. and I let his mother’s snarky comments and behavior slide at my mental expense.
I told him he needed help with the trauma because I understand that he is dealing with trauma since he already mentioned my abusive stepdad, but he didn’t even realize that his mother hadn’t gotten him help for his trauma that he is still being affected in his adulthood. What I can’t understand is why he didn’t leave if he needed some space instead of being such a heartless bastard and kicking our child out with me. I’ve been ignoring his texts and calls ever since, and I’m waiting for a divorce hearing.
Something that I wanted to point out is that his mother had attributed to his niece’s weight gain, since she lives with my husband’s sister to save money. I, once again, told my husband about his niece’s weight gain that it’s concerning that she weighs 190lb at such a young age, and she was indeed not that weight before. On the day of the incident I was making the niece’s second portion of food and then my husband’s mother came towards me and snatched the plate out of my hands and said "I’ll do it myself, let me take care of it!" and when I tried to take the plate back his mother said "I know what to fucking do, you don’t know how to properly feed someone as healthy as my grandchild!" I was shocked that she thinks that her grandchild’s weight was normal for her age.
I couldn’t take this harassment or abuse any longer and my breaking point was reached when he kicked me and our child out of the house, now I need to do what’s right for our child because she doesn’t need to be in a toxic household where she has to witness the drama going on. My soon-to-be ex-husband wants us to do marriage counseling, to which I have refused to do so because I am done with him. I’m starting to feel slightly guilty with his begging and gaslighting. I just want to be done with him. I’ve blocked him as recommended by my lawyer but he keeps reaching out through his other family members and siblings. What should I do to make him go away until the divorce hearing?
THIS IS A REPOST SUB - I AM NOT THE OOP
DO NOT CONTACT THE OOP's OR COMMENT ON LINKED POSTS, REMEMBER - RULE 7

Original Prompt

It’s all quite silly, really.
Darren’s watching her from across the room, eyes half-lidded and fingers drumming atop the dinette, a burger wrapper discarded across the booth and an unopened packet of ketchup next to it. He slides out of the booth without so much as a fumble, walking — striding, really — over to her with such graceful arrogance it makes her want to slam her head onto something. The wall, maybe. And then he’s sliding his elbows across the counter as she turns her back to him; as he says, “What time do you get off?” And okay. Emma’s no stranger to love. She’s got a picture of her parents on the mantle of her fireplace, all smiley and disgustingly sweet, and she’s got her dog, Luna, probably curled up on her bed inhaling the leftover scent of her at this very moment, and — and that poster of her favourite band on her bedroom wall, slicked in black suits and posing as if she hadn’t been staring at the lead drummer and imaging having his babies. But. Well. The point is, Emma knows love. And this isn’t it. Darren’s an asshole, really, and he may be hot, capital H, but he’s also an asshole, capital A. So really, the slam that reverberates around the diner as she slams her hands onto the counter is surely enough for him to get the message that she wants nothing, capital N, to do with him. But noooo. It seems that Darren’s clueless, capital C, too.
“No can do,” Emma says drily, with an air that says she’s bored. But well, Darren’s a dumbass, capital — well, you get the point. So it all makes sense when he says, “Come on now. Just one date.”
Emma sighs. “I have a boyfriend, Darren.” And, well, Emma’s never claimed to be an entirely truthful person. Or a truthful person at all. But, it’s all for the greater good, as they say. And the greater good is telling her to get rid of this asshole, pronto.
Darren, bullshitter extraordinaire, has clearly not met Emma, master bullshitter extraordinaire, because although he looks like he believes her, he still says: “He’ll never have to know.”
And that. Emma’s so lucky her bullshit radar is so high because she’s dodged a massive bullet with that one. Seriously, pat on the back Emma, you did it again.
“We’re closing in five minutes,” she tells Darren in lieu of a reply, who looks around the vacant diner speculatively.
“Seriously?” He asks.
“Yes, Darren. Seriously. Look at that sign. See, it’s got our hours on it. Friday. Open from 7-10.”
“No — I mean, you’ve seriously got a boyfriend?”
Emma sighs. Again. “Yes Darren, I seriously have a boyfriend. Now, all patrons are required to leave the establishment with a sufficient amount of time for staff to clean and get it ready for opening tomorrow. It’s nearing that time for you to leave, Darren. Four minutes left until you have to, actually.”
But Darren isn’t moving, not even with her very eloquent and serious speech. Really, Emma thinks she might have been giving Darren too much credit. He’s not just a dumbass, he’s dumber than a dumbass. A weary sigh leaves Emma’s lips as she levels Darren with a stern look. “Look,” she begins. “Will you leave if I make a milkshake for you? On the house,” she adds just so she can get him to agree — and therefore leave — faster. Plus, collateral. You know, so Emma can remind him that he’s more than welcome to pay her back for the milkshake if he tries coming back.
Darren perks up. And it’s a testimony to how simple-minded he is when he agrees.
Five minutes later — two minutes pass closing time, mind you — Emma hands over a milkshake. Chocolate because Darren claims vanilla is too boring. And damn if Emma didn’t have a comeback for that one. But, well, she’s at work and has to be professional. Because professionalism is what pays her rent. Anyways. That comeback certainly didn’t imply that Darren’s choices in milkshake flavours must be to compensate for the utter unoriginality and boredom that must be his sex life! Not at all. Not. At. All.
Okay, so maybe a little bit. But that’s besides the point.
The point is that Emma’s milkshakes are damn good (which, come on, that’s got to be expected by now, right?) and it’s not until Darren stares at her like she’s his very own goddess that Emma realizes she’s made a mistake. A massive, irreversible mistake. Oh shit. Oh, shit, shit, shit. Did she mention, oh shit?
It’s like he’s foaming at the mouth, with the way he lunges over the counter towards her. “Please,” he says, voice laced with desperation. Emma leaps away from his touch just in time to grab a drying frying pan from the back counter. She swings it in front of her, hard enough that a normal, sane person would surely back the fuck away, but well, it’s already established that Darren is far from sane. He’s insane, capital I, and Emma’s going to ram this frying pan so far down his throat that he’ll be shitting out metal for months.
“Listen here, you psycho,” Emma hisses. “I’ve had enough of this. You will leave this establishment, and you will leave it now, and you will not come back, or else I’m going to slam this pan into your face so hard that no one will be able to identify your body when they find you.” She even swings the pan for good measure, though it does nothing to dissuade the maniac in front of her.
“Please,” he says, on the edge of tears this time. “I love you.” And she’s so freaked out that she doesn’t even realize Darren’s not only taking a step towards her, but also reaching out to grasp the milkshake machine behind her. It’s only until he’s hugging the machine to his body that she lowers the frying pan, though not fully ‘cause you never know with psychos. “What the fuck?” Emma says. Because, really, what the fuck.
“You — you.”
“Emma Hart.” And how the hell does he know her last name? Again, what the fuck. “Will you do me the honour of being my eternal heart.” And okay. No. Was that a pun? Now? Seriously? “And be my wife.”
“What — I — be your wife? No! What the fuck. And — The milkshake machine!” Emma suddenly cries, watching as Darren tugs the machine completely out and off the wall.
“Yes, my dear heart, we shall bring the machine with us too.”
And that’s it. She’s had it. No more assholes. No more late night shifts. And no more milkshakes! She’s done. Absolutely done. As finished as her non-existent affair with her favourite band’s drummer. She’s done!
And so is the moment that marks Emma Hart’s descent into madness. It’s absolutely going to be her villain arc, and she’s going to slay it, capital S. And she will make this milkshake loving asshole regret it. Starting with her frying pan.
Too bad she didn’t count for the others, and years later she will recount this tale with something akin to horror in her eyes and voice. It’ll be the type of story she only whispers to you when she’s drunk, and even then it’ll be enough to sober her up by the end of it, and so really is the day that Emma’s descent into madness begins and ends, for she swears she will never make a milkshake again.
Darren’s hugging the milkshake machine close to his chest from his place six feet away from her, caressing the top of it and whispering sweet nothings to it that she can’t clearly make out. But then his head whips up so fast Emma actually takes a step back, and he yells behind him possessively, “No! She’s mine! Mine! You can’t have her!” And Emma’s so baffled she has no idea if he’s talking about the machine or her, but then she’s raising her eyes to the direction Darren’s prattling in, and the absolute horror of the sight in front of her is enough to make her eyes widen and her mouth open wordlessly.
The slew of boys pressed up against the glass wall of the diner is something she will remember in her dreams for years. And, no. Not those kinds of dreams either. This is the stuff of nightmares, truly.
Which is why it’s all quite silly, really — that Darren is only the first. The boys banging against the windows, trying to yank open the door that she remembered to lock, thank goodness, in between trying to get Darren to leave and making him a milkshake, demanding for her to make them milkshakes, is nothing short of terrifying. And yet it makes something similar to rage bubble up inside her. Because how many milkshake loving assholes are there? And why do they have to demand such things of her, of all people? Okay, so yeah, maybe she makes good milkshakes, the best milkshakes, really no one should expect any less of her by now, but that doesn’t mean she wants stupid boys lining up outside the yard for her.
Because Emma knows love, and this is not it.
So, she turns. Checks the clock on the wall that now reads half past 10. Steadies herself against the counter and takes a deep breath before finally facing the monsters who dared to keep her after her shift. It’s not like she’s getting paid overtime, God. They’re such assholes, really.
Then she squeezes the frying pan tight into her grip. Raises it into the air. Smiles real big and wonders how many hits it’ll take to mush someone into a blender.
Well, if they wanted a milkshake, then she’d give them one.
Starting with Darren.
And then, like the absolute milkshake making goddess she is, Emma pounces.
—
…Five years later.
Emma knows love.
Oh blast it, Emma thought she knew love. And really, how many men will it take to convince her of that fact? First there was Leon, who stood her up on the second date, the second date, right after he’d told her he wanted to see her again after the first! Then there was Matt, who talked about himself the whole two hours they’d spent at the restaurant. He didn’t even let her interrupt to tell him he had tomato on his shirt. Ugh. And don’t get her started on Liam. Stupid Liam.
She hates that guy.
In fact, she hates him so much that when he showed up at her house to apologize, of all things, a few days earlier, she’d slammed the door right in his stupid face! So, ha! Jokes on you Liam, you just got slammed, capital S. But then he showed up the next day. And the day after that. And then, well, he stopped showing up entirely. Emma supposes he must have gotten the message, even though, weirdly enough, her heart tugs at the thought of him not showing up again. Must be heartburn. Liam’s such an asshole he makes her have acid reflux at the mere thought of him!
And yet.
Emma groans, burying her face into her kitchen table. Is not-love always this complicated? God, Emma wishes it wasn’t.
Maybe she needs a drink. Tequila to be precise. Or maybe some cheese. Cheese always makes her feel better. Or… aha, she thinks as she rummages through her freezer, ice cream. Setting the vanilla ice cream aside, she rummages through her cupboard to find a bowl when, out of the corner of her eyes, she sees something that causes her to shudder. A blender.
Emma shakes her head, willing the thoughts away. It’d been years. Five years to be exact. And even with that much time passing, she still hasn’t worked up the nerve to turn it on. To make another milkshake. It’s too risky. She barely made it out unscathed the last time she did, though she can’t say the same for Darren and the rest of those assholes, ha, but it was still annoying having to explain to the police officers that no, she shouldn’t be arrested for sticking said asshole’s hand into a blender, thank you very much, and that, no, she wasn’t crazy, she was perfectly normal, thank you very much, though they hadn’t taken that sort of talk lightly apparently, and so the subsequent police ride was all very necessary, according to them, though she had gotten it all sorted out with a fancy lawyer her brother — who was also said fancy lawyer — hired. At least she’d gotten a cool car ride out of it! As for Darren, well, Emma assumes he’s somewhere in the world living single handedly — ha! Get it? — with a milkshake machine — they never did get that back, that asshole.
Though, even if he and the rest of his merry band of assholes haven’t bothered her since, fear is still the monster of all monsters. And it has her in its hold.
No matter how much Emma wants to be free from it, she’s not quite sure what she’d do if she has to face it all over again. No matter what anyone says, being chased by a flock of hungry, extremely hungry, boys is not a dream. It’s a nightmare, and one that’s been haunting her sleep — her life, really — for years. Even the mere thought of a milkshake makes her shiver. Still, her eyes find the blender in her cupboard unbiddenly, and maybe that’s why not even ten seconds later she has it out on her counter. This is fear, she thinks. And yet, she also thinks: this is what it takes to conquer fear. Emma Hart is angry and scared and a liar, but she’s also the conqueror of assholes, the slayer of monsters, and the best goddamn milkshake maker of all time. An absolute queen, if she says so herself. And she does say so herself. Which is why Emma tears the lid of the ice cream right off its hinges, digs a heaping chunk of vanilla out the tub with the largest spoon she can find, plops it right into the blender along with the rest of the ingredients. Then she stops. Oh right. The blender’s unplugged. Now’s the hard part.
Taking a deep breath, Emma places the lid on the blender and plugs it in. Only, nothing happens. Oh yeah, okay, so maybe plugging in the blender wasn’t the hardest part. She’s actually got to turn it on now. Damn it.
And because Emma’s still reluctant, still scared, she reaches for a frying pan at the very bottom of her cupboard and places it on the counter too. There. Now she’s ready. Steadying herself against the counter, Emma slowly flicks on the blender. And just as it starts to whirl and hum itself to life, Emma hears it. The sound. Those screams that haunt her dreams.
It grows louder — like a never ending symphony, only this symphony wasn’t one anyone in their right mind would pay for, or so she imagines.
Because the boys are back, and they’ve made it to her yard.
“Ohmygod,” Emma panics. “Ohmygod, ohmygod. Oh shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!”
She swipes the frying pan off the counter and sprints to the front of her house, moving the blinds back until she’s staring at a crowd of screaming boys, their eyes hungry, their mouths almost flaming, so like Darren had looked back then, and Emma shakes with the reality of it all. She never should have turned on that stupid blender.
One of them, a particularly scrawny looking brunet, body slams his way against her door so hard she swears it reverberates with the sheer pressure behind it. Soon, he’s going to dent it. And sooner, with all of them doing the same damn thing, it’ll break completely. And then she’ll be fucked, capital F.
“Stay back!” Emma yells. “I’ve got a frying pan and I’m not afraid to use it!”
But the boys are so loud that she doesn’t even think they can hear her.
And then, she sees it. Him.
“Darren?” She yells, completely dumbfounded. He’s roaring like he’s the reincarnation of Tarzan, single handedly — ha! — pushing his way through the crowd.
“My dearest Hart,” he says, and oh God, not this bullshit again. “Please, I must have one. We must have one.”
“No! The only thing you can do is get the fuck away from my house. And anyways, don’t you have enough? You took the whole damn milkshake machine with you last time!”
Darren shakes his head sullenly. “It’s not the machine that makes the milkshakes, my dear Hart.”
“Shut up with the puns, Darren, they’re not funny!”
“My dearest —”
“No!” Emma yells as she leaps back when someone on the other side of the door kicks it hard enough to dent it. She raises the frying pan even higher. “Get away!”
“Emma?” A voice cries. And it sounds familiar. So familiar that she turns and —
“Liam?!!”
“Emma!” Liam cries, voice shaking with relief. “Emma, are you okay? What the fuck is going on? Who are these guys? Hey! Get out of my way, you asshole!”
“Liam! Help! They’re trying to break through the door!”
Suddenly, the sound of flesh hitting bone. A crunch and then the sound of a body slumping to the ground. “I told you, get the fuck out of my way — sorry, Emma. Why exactly are they trying to break through your door?”
And she’s going to sound crazy, she knows she is, but she still says, “They want my milkshakes! It’s happening all over again, Liam, they won’t stop until they get them. Until they have me, so the milkshakes can be endless!”
Silence. Oh fuck, she’s messed it all up already.
But then her phone rings in her back pocket. Hesitantly, she answers it. “Is there a back door?” Liam's hushed voice comes through.
Emma breathes out a sigh of relief. “Yeah,” she says. “You’ll have to climb the fence to the backyard though. It’s locked. But do it discreetly, they may be dumb enough that they haven’t figured that part out yet, but if they see you, they will copy you.”
“Got it.” More silence. A grunt. Then — “I’m here. Let me in.”
And so, even though she’s shaking like a leaf and her grip on the frying pan is so tight her hands begin to sting, Emma sprints to the back door and quickly ushers Liam inside. “Hurry!” She whispers, before locking the back door when he’s made it through fully.
Liam cocks his eyebrows at her, head tilted in silent question. “Milkshakes? Really?”
Emma turns red. “I know it sounds stupid. But it’s true.” And, as if parroting her thoughts, the sound of Darren’s voice, mixed with a dozen others, plows through. “Milkshake! Milkshake! Milkshake!”
“Must be some milkshake,” Liam says.
Emma sighs. “It is pretty good.”
They fall silent, despite the chaos of the world around them, until Liam suddenly says, “I’m sorry.”
But Emma’s shaking her head. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not. I’m an asshole, really. So I understand if you never want to see me again, but I just had to apologize. I — I’m not really good at opening up.”
“I can tell,” Emma says, then winces when she realizes how harsh that sounds. She tries to apologize but Liam isn’t having any of it.
“No, you’re right. It’s just, well. It’s hard for me to let you in. I haven’t had a relationship in a long time.” Liam looks away, eyes dark. “My last girlfriend, well. She cheated on me.”
Emma sucks in a breath. “I’m so sorry —”
“It’s okay,” Liam says, even as Emma shakes her head.
And then, because of course there’s more, a sudden slam interrupts them both.
Emma stares at Liam in horror. “They’re almost through.”
“The back door!” Liam exclaims. “We can sneak out back and leave before they even notice you’re gone.” And it’s a good plan. Spectacular even, capital S, but then Emma looks around. At her kitchen. A bowl of uneaten apples and bananas sitting on her counter. A tub of vanilla ice cream melting away. Out into her living room, the picture of her parents on her fireplace mantle. The art of her niece and nephew littering her walls. She’d bought the place last year, finally settling into a job secure enough that she could afford a home of her own, and it’s hers, damnit, it’s her home so why should she be the one leaving it?
“No.” Emma says, and Liam turns to look at her, perhaps surprised at the decisiveness in her voice. “I’m sorry, but this is my house — my home — and I’m not leaving it behind.”
Liam watches her silently, and every second he does seems like agony, because here’s where the punchline should hit. Here’s where he says, yeah, nope, sorry, you’re on your own, and then walk out of her life just as easily as he had walked into it.
But then.
But then —
Liam says, rather simply, “Got another frying pan?”
And Emma grins. It’s a feral thing really, but he’s grinning right back at her, like the absolute moron he is, and she’s giving him a frying pan. She’s watching him tighten his grip around it and steel his eyes forward, out towards the chaos raging on outside. She feels the brush of his shoulders against her own. Braves the last few moments of reprieve they have together.
And then, moments later, just as the door tears itself off the last few remaining hinges and falls to the ground with a loud thud, Emma turns to Liam and asks, “Vanilla or chocolate?”
Without missing a beat, Liam responds, “Vanilla. Obviously.” Complete with an eye roll that has Emma grinning just a little bit more.
Because Emma knows love, capital L, and maybe, just maybe, it can start with vanilla milkshakes and frying pans too.

itrytowrite

My situation went from bad to worse in a matter of a week and I don't know where else to turn. I need to know if I was wrong. Possibly a validation thing because life is fucking dumb right now. My wife and I have been together for 8 years and she just gave birth to our first (and last) baby 2 months ago. Up until my wife got pregnant, my mom loved her. I'm not sure wtf is wrong with my mom or why the switch happened but after my wife got pregnant, my mom started being very clingy to me and started avoiding my wife at all costs. Told everyone she wasn't excited about the pregnancy, etc. I threatened to go no contact with her when my wife was about 7 months along and after that she snapped out of it for the most part and stopped being so ignorant. The comments 100% stopped, at least. Though she still was clinging to me.
Now, a week ago my mom, my sister, my sister's husband and my sister's daughter (12) came over for dinner. I prepared the meal. Before my wife could eat anything, our daughter got fussy so my wife excused herself to go feed the baby and get her down to sleep. I thought I prepared enough but apparently not because my niece was still "starving" (she's 5'5" and 190lbs, I haven't seen her in a year and she was not that size then so I didn't exactly portion in an extra 3 helpings for a child- so it's on me). I apologized and told her that I hadn't made any more and offered her crackers, as I was putting my wife's portion in the fridge. After that, I just went outside with my sister's husband to smoke a cigarette and shoot the breeze. Didn't think anything of it. But then I hear yelling from inside. When I walk in, my wife and my mom were screaming at each other. Apparently my mom (who saw me put my wife's food away) gave my niece my wife's portion of food. As I was walking inside, I heard my mom say "looks like you can afford to skip a meal" and slapped my wife's stomach. Right as soon as I get ready to step in (literally fast walking toward them yelling "enough"), my wife winds back and punches my mother square in the face and drops her. The whole house went silent outside of my mom crying and holding her face. I tell everyone to "get the fuck out". Immediately everyone leaves and my wife just turns toward the counter and leans with her hands on the counter and face down, eyes closed. I look at my wife and say "you too, leave, now." She says "really?" She's crying at this point. I say a clipped "yup". She packs up her and the baby and leaves.
I text her that night and say I just need space. I need to decompress and come to terms with what just happened. She doesn't respond. The next 5 days I'm texting and calling and I get nothing. She shows up here today (so 8 days later) and hands me divorce paperwork and my baby and says "here, you have a bit to hang out with her while I pack. Where I'm breastfeeding we can work out a visitation schedule that is either at your place or my mother's until she will take a bottle." I told her that's not what I want. I don't want to separate. I just needed time to process her punching my mother in the face. She said "you needing time to process gave me time to process the fact that I refuse to be in this situation any longer. I defended myself. I initially felt bad and remorseful but you making me leave when I needed you made me see more clear. I'm done. I'm sorry for what I did but there's no fixing this." She refused to speak to me at all the rest of the time that she was here. My house feels so empty and I don't know what to do. AITA for making her leave after she punched my mom? I just needed some fucking space.
ETA: for the record, I am "team wife". My mom deserved it, wholeheartedly, and I've blocked her completely from my life. I literally just needed time to process what happened. My wife is a lot of things, violent is not one of them. So this came completely out of left field and would not have happened without her being provoked. After it all happened, my mom sent me a text saying "See! I told you she was crazy! That fat bitch doesn't belong in **our** life." I'm willing to bet she purposely tried setting my wife off. So no, I'm on my wife's side 100%. I truly just needed to process what happened and my wife took it as me giving up on her, not defending her and throwing her and our baby out (which did essentially happen because I knew she had to take the baby with her when I kicked her out).
eta: the reason "why": my dad was stupid abusive. I was beat. My sister's and brother were beat. My mom was put in the hospital multiple times. It took years for police to enforce restraining orders and he finally died in 2013. Violence scares the fuck out of me. I clam up and get anxious around violence of any kind now. My wife knows this and she too grew up with a violent dad (step dad) and she gets just as anxious and panicky around violence. Her punching my mom in the face triggered an anxious response and I needed her gone in that moment. I needed it far away from me. I don't know why I didn't just leave. I could have. But in that moment I just let my emotions and fear run the whole fucking circus and told everyone to get out, her included. My mom did slap her first.. I guess for some reason I was seeing my wife's punch as being worse than the slap. It wasn't a hard slap but my wife did kind of wince, looking back on it now. She was fine following but my mom was bleeding. Split her eyebrow open in good shape. Idk.
thanks for the responses. I'm the AH. I'm going to try to go kiss ass now.
Wife’s Response: 60 days later
My response to my husband’s post “AITA for kicking my wife out after she punched my mom in the face?”
I’m still grieving at the loss of my marriage, but my friend had notified me about my husband’s post that had too may specific details that were hard to ignore. To clarify, this is my first time on Reddit. I read my soon-to-be ex-husband’s post and wanted to give my side of the story and include details that he didn’t provide in his post. For those who hadn’t read it, long story short, my husband kicked me out of the house after his mother had physically slapped my stomach in front of him and I punched her in self-defense. I loved my husband dearly but his lack of action regarding his mother’s behavior was extremely disgusting to say the least, I tolerated his mom’s behavior long enough until I couldn’t take it anymore as he had overlooked his mom’s behavior over and over again that finally I had enough. I was still recovering after giving birth to his child when his mom slapped my stomach, and my husband exaggerated when he said it wasn’t a hard slap. The slap itself was hard enough to be heard by everyone in the room. I had lost it at this point when his mother slapped my stomach with a turd eating smirk that wasn’t visible from my husband’s point of view, at least that’s what my husband claimed. I had a mental breakdown when my husband told me to leave after kicking everyone out of the house, you should have seen his face when he told me to get out with a straight face and without hesitation. Our baby was crying at this point before I left, and I couldn’t do anything but cry that night after I went to stay with my mother. His mother sent me a text mockingly saying, "I am going to file charges against you for assault, you fat little whore!" Now stay the fuck out of our lives!" She ended the text with a smiley face at the end. I was livid and decided I did not want to be associated with this family anymore and served my husband divorce papers, and as you can guess he didn’t take it well and tried to get me to reconsider. I told him that he overlooked his mother’s behavior one too many times, and I was done with him and his inability to establish boundaries with his mother. I recommended setting boundaries, but he didn’t think it was necessary even after I told him throughout the pregnancy about the nasty names his mother called me when he wasn’t around, and he always brushed it off, even though he did tell his mom to stop she would continue this behavior after a short pause for a while. Before I left after handing him divorce papers he begged me for another chance and told me he cut contact with his mother permanently. I told him that he is sorry now that I handed him divorce papers and that he was too late to act now that I decided I wanted out of the marriage. I told him I loved him so much that he should look at it as a sign that if I didn’t than I would have divorced him long ago because he didn’t stand up for me multiple times. and I let his mother’s snarky comments and behavior slide at my mental expense. I told him he needed help with the trauma because I understand that he is dealing with trauma since he already mentioned my abusive stepdad, but he didn’t even realize that his mother hadn’t gotten him help for his trauma that he is still being affected in his adulthood. What I can’t understand is why he didn’t leave if he needed some space instead of being such a heartless bastard and kicking our child out with me. I’ve been ignoring his texts and calls ever since, and I’m waiting for a divorce hearing. Something that I wanted to point out is that his mother had attributed to his niece’s weight gain, since she lives with my husband’s sister to save money. I, once again, told my husband about his niece’s weight gain that it’s concerning that she weighs 190lb at such a young age, and she was indeed not that weight before. On the day of the incident I was making the niece’s second portion of food and then my husband’s mother came towards me and snatched the plate out of my hands and said "I’ll do it myself, let me take care of it!" and when I tried to take the plate back his mother said "I know what to fucking do, you don’t know how to properly feed someone as healthy as my grandchild!" I was shocked that she thinks that her grandchild’s weight was normal for her age. I couldn’t take this harassment or abuse any longer and my breaking point was reached when he kicked me and our child out of the house, now I need to do what’s right for our child because she doesn’t need to be in a toxic household where she has to witness the drama going on. My soon-to-be ex-husband wants us to do marriage counseling, to which I have refused to do so because I am done with him. I’m starting to feel slightly guilty with his begging and gaslighting. I just want to be done with him. I’ve blocked him as recommended by my lawyer but he keeps reaching out through his other family members and siblings. What should I do to make him go away until the divorce hearing?

i’ve never really wanted an eyebrow piercing until recently as i thought they were too harsh for my face (says me who has three lip piercings, stretched ears, a smiley, and a septum ring lol) but now i’m thinking about getting one.
i ask because i know they have a high rejection rate and i don’t want to have to go through that. i’m very good at taking care of all of my piercings, i only clean with neilmed saline solution and i’m good at keeping up with aftercare while a piercing in healing. i also have a VERY good piercer in town that i go to.
is there still a chance of rejection and if so, should i risk it???
let me know if there’s any specific aftercare i should know about when it comes to eyebrow piercings besides cleaning it, please!!!

I am not the OOP. The OOP is u/OkOrganization9552 (Husband) and u/ThrowAwayWifeNBaby (Wife) posting in AITAH
Ongoing as per OOP
1 update - Medium
Thanks to u/Separate_Kick3186 for finding this BORU
Original - 10th February 2024
Update - 7th April 2024
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AITA for kicking my wife out after she punched my mom in the face?
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My situation went from bad to worse in a matter of a week and I don't know where else to turn. I need to know if I was wrong. Possibly a validation thing because life is fucking dumb right now. My wife and I have been together for 8 years and she just gave birth to our first (and last) baby 2 months ago. Up until my wife got pregnant, my mom loved her.
I'm not sure wtf is wrong with my mom or why the switch happened but after my wife got pregnant, my mom started being very clingy to me and started avoiding my wife at all costs. Told everyone she wasn't excited about the pregnancy, etc. I threatened to go no contact with her when my wife was about 7 months along and after that she snapped out of it for the most part and stopped being so ignorant. The comments 100% stopped, at least. Though she still was clinging to me.
Now, a week ago my mom, my sister, my sister's husband and my sister's daughter (12) came over for dinner. I prepared the meal. Before my wife could eat anything, our daughter got fussy so my wife excused herself to go feed the baby and get her down to sleep.
I thought I prepared enough but apparently not because my niece was still "starving" (she's 5'5" and 190lbs, I haven't seen her in a year and she was not that size then so I didn't exactly portion in an extra 3 helpings for a child- so it's on me). I apologized and told her that I hadn't made any more and offered her crackers, as I was putting my wife's portion in the fridge. After that, I just went outside with my sister's husband to smoke a cigarette and shoot the breeze. Didn't think anything of it. But then I hear yelling from inside.
When I walk in, my wife and my mom were screaming at each other. Apparently my mom (who saw me put my wife's food away) gave my niece my wife's portion of food. As I was walking inside, I heard my mom say "looks like you can afford to skip a meal" and slapped my wife's stomach. Right as soon as I get ready to step in (literally fast walking toward them yelling "enough"), my wife winds back and punches my mother square in the face and drops her. The whole house went silent outside of my mom crying and holding her face. I tell everyone to "get the fuck out".
Immediately everyone leaves and my wife just turns toward the counter and leans with her hands on the counter and face down, eyes closed. I look at my wife and say "you too, leave, now." She says "really?" She's crying at this point. I say a clipped "yup". She packs up her and the baby and leaves.
I text her that night and say I just need space. I need to decompress and come to terms with what just happened. She doesn't respond. The next 5 days I'm texting and calling and I get nothing. She shows up here today (so 8 days later) and hands me divorce paperwork and my baby and says "here, you have a bit to hang out with her while I pack. Where I'm breastfeeding we can work out a visitation schedule that is either at your place or my mother's until she will take a bottle."
I told her that's not what I want. I don't want to separate. I just needed time to process her punching my mother in the face. She said "you needing time to process gave me time to process the fact that I refuse to be in this situation any longer. I defended myself.
I initially felt bad and remorseful but you making me leave when I needed you made me see more clear. I'm done. I'm sorry for what I did but there's no fixing this." She refused to speak to me at all the rest of the time that she was here. My house feels so empty and I don't know what to do. AITA for making her leave after she punched my mom? I just needed some fucking space.
ETA: for the record, I am "team wife". My mom deserved it, wholeheartedly, and I've blocked her completely from my life. I literally just needed time to process what happened. My wife is a lot of things, violent is not one of them. So this came completely out of left field and would not have happened without her being provoked.
After it all happened, my mom sent me a text saying "See! I told you she was crazy! That fat bitch doesn't belong in our life." I'm willing to bet she purposely tried setting my wife off. So no, I'm on my wife's side 100%. I truly just needed to process what happened and my wife took it as me giving up on her, not defending her and throwing her and our baby out (which did essentially happen because I knew she had to take the baby with her when I kicked her out).
eta: the reason "why": my dad was stupid abusive. I was beat. My sister's and brother were beat. My mom was put in the hospital multiple times. It took years for police to enforce restraining orders and he finally died in 2013. Violence scares the fuck out of me. I clam up and get anxious around violence of any kind now. My wife knows this and she too grew up with a violent dad (step dad) and she gets just as anxious and panicky around violence.
Her punching my mom in the face triggered an anxious response and I needed her gone in that moment. I needed it far away from me. I don't know why I didn't just leave. I could have. But in that moment I just let my emotions and fear run the whole fucking circus and told everyone to get out, her included. My mom did slap her first.. I guess for some reason I was seeing my wife's punch as being worse than the slap. It wasn't a hard slap but my wife did kind of wince, looking back on it now. She was fine following but my mom was bleeding. Split her eyebrow open in good shape. Idk.
thanks for the responses. I'm the AH. I'm going to try to go kiss ass now.
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Comments
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celticmusebooks
So... to recap: You allowed your mommy to verbally abuse your PREGNANT wife for MONTHS (but still invited her into YOUR WIFE'S home). You stood there while your mother insulted and PUNCHED YOUR WIFE in the abdomen where she's been growing YOUR CHILD for the past nine months. Then when your PROVOKED wife defended herself from your bag of garbage mother you put your wife and child out of their home so you could process. SERIOUSLY, you put your wife and infant child out of THEIR HOME instead of YOU leaving to pull yourself together and stop being a mamma's boy.
You showed your wife who you truly were that night. A "less than". Not a real husband, not a real father, not a real man. How is she ever supposed to "unsee" that?
YTA dude a HUGE AH.
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Trailsya
Your bitch mom is the one who got physical first. YTA

My wife is a lot of things, violent is not one of them. So this came completely out of left field

Yeah, because she was DEFENDING herself from your bitch mom
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[deleted]
And instead of thinking “Holy crap! How have I let it come to this?” he booted his wife with infant out onto the street. I can’t see that there’s any coming back from this.
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NickelPickle2018
Processing what happened is one thing. But not supporting your wife and kicking her out is another. Your mom is out of line, if you would have checked her a long time ago it wouldn’t have gotten to this point. Your mom treated your wife poorly because YOU ALLOWED IT. Even your mom’s text that she sent you shows that she thinks that it’s ok to disrespect your wife. I guarantee your wife had been putting up with your mom’s crap for a long time. She’s had enough, you’re not going to win her back.
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Rude-Flamingo5420
This 100%. I understand some people need space, but kicking your wife out is a whole other spectrum of assholeness. HE could have gone for a walk and processed shit, kicking his wife out is just... he deserves this divorce unfortunately. He's definitely the AH
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Cayke_Cooky
He didn't even rethink when he saw she was leaving with the Baby. He essentially threw out his own child as well.
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a-_rose

• YTA your mother is an abusive pos and your wife reacted after she was provoked.
• You should have shut her down when she first start acting up.
• You should have set boundaries.
• You should have protected your wife who literally just grew and birth your child.
• You kicked your wife and baby out of their home.
• You need to process? Take a walk, go to a different room, watch a movie, see a friend.
• Congratulations you ruined your marriage over several months. This was the last straw that broke the camels back. Do the decent things and make separating easy.

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OOP comments

My mom did hurt her. She slapped her in the stomach and my wife winced back in pain before punching her in the face. As a few other people have pointed out.. I guess new moms have muscles separated in their abdomen so given the force that my mom slapped her in the stomach (like a little bit below the rib cage, full back handed slap, which could be heard from the door), I guess it's comparable to hitting my wife in her internal organs? Because her stomach muscles aren't healed? I just learned that.

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Idk. I can't justify it. I just let my own fear run the situation. Violence scares the shit out of me. I watched my mom get beat for years. My siblings and I were beat too but we weren't hospitalized. My wife punching my mom just immediately made the room spin and I wasn't thinking about the consequences of my actions from that point forward.

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I'm fully aware that my niece is fat. I'm assuming my mom made her that way (she lives with her). She did it with all her kids growing up. We were all fat fucks because she overfed us (ie: fat kids are happy kids). None of the night made sense.

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Starting to see that. My wife sent me a text about 10 minutes ago, saying "look up emotional incest", with no context. Definitely describes what my mom's doing. I did completely block her but it won't help my case.

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**Judgement - YTA*\*
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Update - 2 months later from the wife
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I’m still grieving at the loss of my marriage, but my friend had notified me about my husband’s post that had too may specific details that were hard to ignore. To clarify, this is my first time on Reddit. I read my soon-to-be ex-husband’s post and wanted to give my side of the story and include details that he didn’t provide in his post.
For those who hadn’t read it, long story short, my husband kicked me out of the house after his mother had physically slapped my stomach in front of him and I punched her in self-defense. I loved my husband dearly but his lack of action regarding his mother’s behavior was extremely disgusting to say the least, I tolerated his mom’s behavior long enough until I couldn’t take it anymore as he had overlooked his mom’s behavior over and over again that finally I had enough.
I was still recovering after giving birth to his child when his mom slapped my stomach, and my husband exaggerated when he said it wasn’t a hard slap. The slap itself was hard enough to be heard by everyone in the room. I had lost it at this point when his mother slapped my stomach with a turd eating smirk that wasn’t visible from my husband’s point of view, at least that’s what my husband claimed.
I had a mental breakdown when my husband told me to leave after kicking everyone out of the house, you should have seen his face when he told me to get out with a straight face and without hesitation. Our baby was crying at this point before I left, and I couldn’t do anything but cry that night after I went to stay with my mother.
His mother sent me a text mockingly saying, "I am going to file charges against you for assault, you fat little whore!" Now stay the fuck out of our lives!" She ended the text with a smiley face at the end. I was livid and decided I did not want to be associated with this family anymore and served my husband divorce papers, and as you can guess he didn’t take it well and tried to get me to reconsider. I told him that he overlooked his mother’s behavior one too many times, and I was done with him and his inability to establish boundaries with his mother.
I recommended setting boundaries, but he didn’t think it was necessary even after I told him throughout the pregnancy about the nasty names his mother called me when he wasn’t around, and he always brushed it off, even though he did tell his mom to stop she would continue this behavior after a short pause for a while. Before I left after handing him divorce papers he begged me for another chance and told me he cut contact with his mother permanently.
I told him that he is sorry now that I handed him divorce papers and that he was too late to act now that I decided I wanted out of the marriage. I told him I loved him so much that he should look at it as a sign that if I didn’t than I would have divorced him long ago because he didn’t stand up for me multiple times. and I let his mother’s snarky comments and behavior slide at my mental expense.
I told him he needed help with the trauma because I understand that he is dealing with trauma since he already mentioned my abusive stepdad, but he didn’t even realize that his mother hadn’t gotten him help for his trauma that he is still being affected in his adulthood. What I can’t understand is why he didn’t leave if he needed some space instead of being such a heartless bastard and kicking our child out with me.
I’ve been ignoring his texts and calls ever since, and I’m waiting for a divorce hearing. Something that I wanted to point out is that his mother had attributed to his niece’s weight gain, since she lives with my husband’s sister to save money. I, once again, told my husband about his niece’s weight gain that it’s concerning that she weighs 190lb at such a young age, and she was indeed not that weight before.
On the day of the incident I was making the niece’s second portion of food and then my husband’s mother came towards me and snatched the plate out of my hands and said "I’ll do it myself, let me take care of it!" and when I tried to take the plate back his mother said "I know what to fucking do, you don’t know how to properly feed someone as healthy as my grandchild!"
I was shocked that she thinks that her grandchild’s weight was normal for her age. I couldn’t take this harassment or abuse any longer and my breaking point was reached when he kicked me and our child out of the house, now I need to do what’s right for our child because she doesn’t need to be in a toxic household where she has to witness the drama going on.
My soon-to-be ex-husband wants us to do marriage counseling, to which I have refused to do so because I am done with him. I’m starting to feel slightly guilty with his begging and gaslighting. I just want to be done with him. I’ve blocked him as recommended by my lawyer but he keeps reaching out through his other family members and siblings. What should I do to make him go away until the divorce hearing?
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Comments
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GarfieGirl
I read your husband's original post, he was very clearly the AH. Your post only confirms this.
As far as your question about getting him to leave you alone until the hearing, ask your divorce attorney if they can send him/his family members a cease and desist letter (or send it to his divorce attorney).
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Designer-Carpenter88
I remember telling your ex husband that he was the asshole. His #1 job as a husband is stick up for his wife. If my mother had slapped my wife, that would be the last time she saw either of us or our children.
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I am not the OOP. Please do not harass the OOP.
Please remember the No Brigading Rule and to be civil in the comments

Welcome to today’s episode of ‘I read enneagram literature so you don’t have to’
So something that always irritated me a bit about enneagram literature & discourse is the emphasis you sometimes see on body language (often described in terms of ‚vibe‘ or ‚energy‘) & the main reason it irritates me is because I have absolutely no sense for that & don’t pick up that stuff . IDK if it’s due to being gut last or Se blind or I just never practiced it in part due to that whole 5 tendency to not look at ppl while talking to them, but I’m no bueno at this whole thing. Might as well not exist. And I dislike this because I don’t like working off of second hand information of something, I prefer to be able to see & follow & confirm it for myself with my own understanding.
The thought that everyone else can see something inacessible to me and that I might be ‚exposed‘ in this way without knowing is kinda scary hahaha… That said, what made me a lot less intimidated here is seeing visual typing ppl be confidently wrong in ways I could definitely follow & debunk with my own methods (& it’s clear to see what would motivate them to be overconfident just the general transparency fallacy stuff… ) - ovsly they’re often going on ‚gut feeling‘ / intuition, and as can be gleaned from fun books by Kahmenann, Ariely and Cordelia Fine, that kind of reasoning can often be super duper wrong even if it feels very certain solid and ‚obvious‘ to the person.
That said, while it’s not infallible or any ‚better‘ than using reason I’m not saying it’s all nonsense, either. I wouldn’t treat visual or vibe typings as more than a guess, but if ppl like, say, David Gray are overconfident, it’s probably because they often guess right & are doing some kind of pattern recognition on regularites they picked up on (even if it’s in an implicit, preverbal way)
Soo here’s an interesting & fun educational question: What are those people noticing?
Like, where does it come from? Where is the connection from your inner thoughts & feelings that are only inside your brain, invisible to anyone, and something like your posture?
Well, on some level we know that gestures, posture and facial expressions can be used to express/convey emotion, a functionality we also find in many other animals, especially mammals – many you’ve seen charts for how to recognize the emotions of dogs or horses. This is a part of it, though I’d say that kind of ‚broadcasting expressiveness‘ falls more into the domain of the heart than the gut.
Another and probably the most relevant factor is that, independently of anything typology related, there has been this whole recent movement towards more ‚body based‘ therapy approaches at least for those for whom talking isn’t doing the trick (one popular representative being Van Der Kolk) & in those circles it’s pretty accepted that trauma can affect ppl’s relation to their body – some examples for this are how your breathing might be different if you’re constantly stuck in a ‚stress state‘, or avoiding the sensations in or feeling into parts associated with trauma. This can be something obvious like rape victims feeling disconnected from sensations in their crotch, but also avoiding places where sensations associated with challenging emotions are felt. Trauma can cause a general sense of disconnectedness, stress can cause you to unconsciously hold tension, and also the phenomenon of ‚body armor‘ where some parts might chronically be in a tensed, braced, activated state.
Obviously these kinds of effects are the strongest & most extreme in the kinds of ppl who have trauma so severe they end up with those somatic therapists cause regular talk therapy couldn’t help them, but it stands to reason that a milder version of all this is generated from everyday stress and regular challenges – most ppl experience stress-caused headaches at some point, some of which come from excess muscle tension.
It’s also known that stuff affects ppl differently – in van der Kolk’s book he describes two car crash survivors with trauma who were put into an MRI while being told to recall the accident, and how the pictures differed – one person showed low brain activity, the other excess activity, matching with how they subjectively reported being dissociated or hyper-aroused & anxious.
Interestingly, something like the idea seems to have indepently occurred to the Obscure Sorrows guy, who came up with the term ‚slipcast‘ for what might be considered the facial equivalent, where he speculates about ppl’s resting expressions containing some buried feeling.
Sooooo, coping mechanisms affect the body. Enneagram classifies people by their coping mechanisms. At this point lightbulbs are probably going on above your heads.
One might see this as a continuation of Almaas’ whole idea where you start with each type’s pecularities of perception and from that you get how they think, and the emotional reactions based on those thoughts, if you add the extra step that those emotions then affect how you carry yourself physically and that too contributes to the types’ self-perpetuating nature much like the mental & emotional knots of the fixation & passion, via known modes of how the physical can feed back into your mood – it’s the kind of loop you’re trying to break by taking deap breaths when nervous, standing tall when insecure, or making sure you’re fed, rested & watered when you’re depressed.
Indeed there have actually been such ‚body based‘ therapy ppl who were familiar with the enneagram and realized that, just like when you’re working with ppl’s cognitive or emotional tidbits, typing ppl can serve as a shortcut or cheat-sheet to have a good guess of where the problem might be and how there are recurring patterns.
So here I’ve pieced together some of their observations from various websites, articles & half-remembered youtube videos.

1

So the gut types have the slight advantage of generally having better access to their physical energy & direct kinesthetic sensations – for 1s, that energy is often channeled into motivation for their hard-working, tireless pursuits.
However, their characteristic tight self-control still introduces a distortion, a tightness, stiffness rigity or deliberate, ‚robot-like‘ quality of movement that is imposed ‚from the top down‘, the hot impulse being stopped at points like the pelvic floor, diaphragm, shoulders, neck, and jaw before it could ‚get to your head‘. Long-term, holding this tension there can lead to teeth grinding, pain in the jaw, and impeded breathing due to the tension in the diaphragm. I’ll leave it to your imagination what an overly clenched pelvic probably does.
Even the face can clench a bit in the shape of clenched teeth or chronically furrowed eyebrows that can result in a default expression that may be read as angry judgement or resentful martyrdom. Another result might be a tight-lipped or ‚serious‘ quality, not smiling as often or very widely /easily.

2

For 2s, much of the expressiveness & ‚energy‘ tends to be in the upper body. Experiencing strong emotion often results in it ‚spilling over‘, that is, causing a lot of talking & gesturing & animation in response as a means to discharge it, often leaning forward towards the person they are talking with & attuning to. Conversely the lower body doesn’t move much and the person may not be as connected or attuned to sensations in there. They often find it hard to stay grounded when experiencing big feelings. Sometimes the sensation of an empty pit in the stomach can be described if the person is told to focus on it, or there can be a sense of being cut off at the diaphragm, existing mostly from the chest up.
Their sensitivity to rejection can also show physically as tension in the chest, neck and shoulders, or even holding their breath while avaiting someone’s response/reaction, only exhaling in relief after getting the expected positive response.
With regards to the face, the tension can end up around the cheeks & mouth, resulting in their smile looking a bit off. When they’re not smiling, another common default expression is a dramatically accentuate concern showing as a furrowed forehead. Generally expressions tend to be pronounced to the point that they can seem exaggerated.

3

For 3s, a lot of the energy is in the upper body, resulting in your classic puffed out chest and a tendency to stand straight to their full height, often resulting in a dominant posture and that characteristic bouyant, dynamic and ‚solid‘ vibe that they have. They may have trouble sitting still without moving, especially if young and/or extroverted, it’s all very concentrated toward the front of the body, ready to be channeled into forward motion. The chest is also where tension tends to build up when the person is under stress, you can get a sense of the emotional pressure rising but the lid staying on, and individuals who get in the habit of repressing their feelings or carry some hidden grief can have a layer of tension in their entire upper body, like a kind of ‚armor‘. On the other hand, more expressive individuals tend to disrcharge their emotional energy outwards through moving & gesturing with the upper body, like 2s do.
They’re very fueled by motivation comming from their feelings but may a hard time acessing that energy as something other than fuel – like just sitting with the feelings and holding them inwardly, for example. Also, all this charging their energy into forward motion can lead them to be out of tough with their bodily needs even with sp instinct, not pausing adequately to eat, sleep, chillax or visit the bathroom, hence why this type can be prone to burnout.
Facial tension can show as a tightness around the eyes or a somewhat forced-looking smile.

4

4s can tend to alternate between the two poles of either uncontained outward expressiveness (usually accompanied by shallower breathing up in the chest but not going all the way down to the belly, similar to the other heart types – easily getting over-stimulating & having tension in the diaphragm or jaw) when they are excited, anxious or overcome with feelings, and a more constrained, contracted mode where the energy is kept contained in the center of the body and witheld from the periphery, with very restricted, quiet breathing and little motion of the limbs, keeping away from other people – often with hunched shoulders or an awkward, ungrounded posture contributing to a ‚closed‘ vibe. That said there’s still generally a stronger sense of presence than with the other withdrawn types, because while the feelings stuff is kept iniside. There is a lot of it & its sort of passively leaking out & ‚stinking up the room‘, even when they’re not in ‚expressive mode’, it can particularly be visible in the eyes.
As you might imagine the ‚closed‘ mode goes with more low-energy, melancholic moods or stress of inward processing or rumination, but the person can quickly, and with little middle ground, flip from closed off to the more expressive side for example when a mood swing happens. Usually, the outwardly expressive dramatic mode goes with a tendency to build up energy in the chest and delay the exhale, whereas the constricted mode involves taking in less breath than needed. However, in both cases, this actually contributes to intensifying the emotion on the physical level by creating up- or downregulation, the difference is just whether it’s a low-energy or a high-energy emotion that is getting amplified. (since for the body its all rest and motion) Which of the two patterns is the ‚default‘ tends to be associated with the person’s main wing.
In the face the tension, can end up in the brow and jaw, creating a mopey or pouty default expression. They don’t tend to be smiley by default or as a courtesy thing unless it’s coming from the inside.

5

Perhaps due to their general over-sensitivity to all manner of stimuli from noises to pain to touch, 5s tend to have an aversion to the experience of bodily sensations and just whosesale avoid ‚going into them‘. This can result in very little sense of presence, ppl barely noticing them or being thrown off when trying to intuit their feelings, or, as one podcaster so delicately put it, a sense of them basically being ‚dead below the neck‘. This is accompanied with a tendency towards very slight, still, quiet, constricted breathing where neither the belly nor the chest move all that much – which is something everyone tends to do when bracing themselves against feelings or sensations that may be scary or overwhelming, or, as I also read somewhere, when paying focussed attention. But as a permanent feature, you might imagine that it doesn’t exactly help with the low energy, low proactiveness, low sense of engagement etc. type problems.
As with 4, the energy is withdrawn from the periphery and kept constrained in the center, so that tension is not usually carried in the musculature but in the stomach, sometimes extending up to the ribcage when someone’s having a bad day (which would often involve a degree of being ‚frozen in fear‘).
Some tension however, can also wind up in the neck, shoulders and temples, resulting in a bit of a forward slouch and focussed, furrowed eyebrows, or sometimes a vaguely schocked look – many individuals can also have a pretty distinctive, rather direct stare, which I recall Maitri bringing up as a noticeable distinguisher from 9 (If you’ve ever seen a photo of Franz Kafka or Aldous Huxley, the ‚5 stare‘ is quite pronounced with them.) - that said, a lot of the time the person will probably not be directly looking at you while they talk to you, but fixating some random spot. There can also be a kind of stilted or halted way of speaking with pauses in what most ppl would consider odd places.

6

As they are generally on high alert, 6s are highly responsive to everything going on around them, as well as their own thoughts about those things, which can give them a jumpy, ping-pong like energy. When an individual is being cautious, they’ll appear more pulled back and constricted (which can include an awkward sideways way of standing that can make them seem shorter than they are), whereas if they are preparing to fight, the body fills with rigidity & muscular tension, assuming a broader, wider, hulking posture, so that their aggression can often seem ‚over the top‘. Furthermore, as superego types they can also inhibit themselves, and for 6 the inhibition tends to ‚live‘ in the diaphragm and throat and stop impulses there, resulting sometimes in a ‚stuttering‘ or stop-and-go fashion of breathing or speaking. This can look like your classic nervous stammering, but also ‚shadowboxer-like‘ repeated rising cadences when someone’s angry, letting their anger rise but still pushing against a bit of inhibition from expecting retaliation or knowing they are going against a rule.
As individual 6s vary in the degree to which agression, inhibition or caution/fearfulness are prominent in their behavior, this variation also reflects itself in which of the responses become more ‚chronic‘ in their body. Someone who tends more toward agression is going to carry more rigid muscle tension, a person who is repressed or trying to keep control has more stiffness in the diaphragm & neck, a more fearful person is more awkward & pulled back etc. but all of it is there to some degree – some have fear on top of aggresion while others have aggression on top of fear, another may have both of these repressed under rigid self-control but the others will still have that touch of control and inhibitation that, say, assertive or withdrawn cores wouldn’t have, and a person can shift between them situationally, like suddenly going into ‚hulk mode‘ when angered.
Their faces are often have a lot of small-scale expressive and jump through a lot of little reactions to everything, particularly in terms of ‚gnostic‘ emotions like surprise, awe, curiosity, confusion, questioning, alarm, suspicion etc. – their eyes might be darting around the place or go big like they’re gonna pop out of the person’s skull. A greatest hits playlist might feature forehead lines creased with worry, awkward nervous smiles & giggles, a guarded hostility seen in a tensed jaw, and who could forget everyone’s favorite, the good ole „sceptical eyebrow“.

7

So, 7 is another one where the energy is more in the upper body, higher even than the heart types, very much going up and out to the periphery, in the head and the arms/hands, while lacking groundedness in the lower body. As a reverse to 5 where the ‚energy’ tends to be kept in the middle and withdrawn from the periphery, in 7 it moves from the core to the head and limbs, resulting in a ‚light‘, ‚fluttery‘, ‚flighty‘, ‚high-vibrational‘ quality of swift & easy movement – they quickly get started but there’s not so much inertial force behind it, so they might instead be swayed by the next interesting impression. They try to stay in the excited state of mental stimulation.
Overall their bodies tend to be loose and flexible, easily moved to jubillation, dancing, jumping for joy, talking animatedly, running off spontaneously, moves of passion etc. but that doesn’t mean that they don’t carry ‚armoring‘, rather, when they do, it shows not as rigidity or chronic physical tension, but as certain avoidances, like always holding up the shoulders or upper chest, like they’re trying not to slip into the slumped, deflated postures we would associate with sadness or the tensed upper body we’d connect with pain. Jumpiness & restlessness might also be seen as trying not just to ‚run away‘ from fear but escape the physical state of low energy & inertia by amping up movement.
Face wise, the tension can land in the cheeks and forehead, creating that ‚look‘ where someone is technically still smiling but they’re totally panicking inside. Though when no such inner panic is present, the resulting quality is more round, playful and youthful, perhaps due to an equivalent of what appears as looseness in the body.

8

8s tend to keep themselves in adrenalized high-energy states, which often shows as a lot of chronic tension all over the body, like a big suit of armor all over the person braced against the external world – this gives them a very solid, unflinching, statue-like presence with few uneccesary movements, which may be why they’re often considered to have an imposing presence or seem taller than they really are.
The high level of physical activation also serves as a means of both physical and emotional desentization, which can leave the person less attuned to their own pain, softer sensations or calmer states. When they enter into a confrontation, the amping up of their response is often accompanied by breathing into their chest to ‚power themselves up‘.
In the face, that same ‚hard solidity‘ often results in a classic case of RBF that may be read as stony, impassive or fierce, showing a downturned mouth and a ‚fuck off‘ look in the eyes, even for the chattier, jokier or more introverted exemplars where you wouldn’t really expect it from their voice or way of speaking.

9

In contrast to other types, the thing you tend to see with 9s is not so much characteristic areas of tension or constriction (though they’re not completely unheard of) but rather a general lack of muscle tone, they’re more ‚floppy‘ and tend to stay under-activated rather than over-activated. It’s the same with the breathing: They tend to naturally breathe from the belly but avoid breathing into the chest unless they’re doing some strenuos physical activity, which might also be why they tend to have a lower center of gravity when they move and do so in a slow, flowy manner.
Sometimes 9s report finding that a large reservoir of energy is actually available, as if stashed away for when the right time comes, but that if they get into a more activated, energetic state, they tend to quickly disperse it into routine activity or chitchat, or end up lowering their activation level by snacking, watching TV, just sitting there enjoying the weather etc. and of course the breathing style that tends to produce calm, non-activated states also contributes to that. So on average the person can only access their energy for habitual tasks, by staying in constant motion by going from one part of their routine to the next. If they stop, or do not immediately use the energy, it just goes poof before they realize it, so there may be temporary moment of feeling more present & alive, or even a brief angry outburst, but not the ability to summon up sustained motivation to planfully set themselves in motion of their own accord.
In the face, too, the general lack of tension can show as a soft & puffy appearance, with an unfocussed, foggy quality to the eyes. (which again, is something Maitri points out as a distinguisher from 5) – this typically gives them a dreamy, pensive, contemplative look. Can look more smiley, neutral or brooding depending on the person’s current mood, circumstances & particularities.

What to do about it?

Well. First, as with the cognitive and emotional stuff one good step forward might be to try and be aware of it, notice it happening – especially if, like me, you were previously not big on the whole kinesthetic awareness thing. I mean, I still totally am but one does try.
Another helpful step might be to make a habit of feeling into the relevant areas and making a point to deliberately soften & relax them. Taking a few slow, dense belly breath often helps to return to a neutral, non-tensed state.
The ‚hardware side‘ is basically yet another starting point for change, just like your thoughts & feelings.
That deep breathing thing is also helpful if feeling into some sensation or neglected spot in your body brings up some emotional reaction – generally it’s recommended to leave your attention on the feeling and resist the temptation to put it elsewhere, while doing this breathing thing to make it more manageable, and with time it should shift, pass or recede. For some it might also be helpful to self-hug or gently stroke themselves as another kind of grounding feedback.
(though if this kind of practice brings up uncontrollable feelings or stuff like serious trauma, you might want to stop messing around on your own and get yourself some professional assistance before you give yourself a panic attack.)
It’s also likely that you’ll manage to get to a calm, relaxed state while standing still & putting all your attention on that task but notice that you snap right back in the usual pattern once you do any complex motion or have to react to something in the external world.
Furthermore, I also found some articles that had specific tips for each type:
For 1:
The main thing you wanna do is loosen up and relax control a bit to allow more pleasure. You might be the sort of person who might benefit from ‚shake it out‘ or ‚scream it out‘ type exercises or making a point to relax your body at various points during the day (this may be a little disorienting at first if done during work times or bring up self-judgements, but it gets easier with practice). If you wanna try breathing exercises, focus on relaxing your diaphragm by taking in a slow, steady breath that gently stretches your ribcage. Then try to simply let it out, without pushing or holding back. If this brings up anxiety, keep breathing, maybe imagine spreading energy & sensation around your body, or, if it gets tough, switch to belly breaths to calm yourself. You might also make movements & sounds to further ‚let it out‘.
For 2:
Make sure to be alone for this so that you can focus on yourself & making contact with your inner landscape of feelings, and sense of boundaries and ceneredness rather than taking on other ppl’s stuff. Bring your attention to the inside of yourself and notice what is happening inside you as you breathe. Practice taking slow, full breaths down into your belly (not so much your chest). Maybe you can imagine sending energy down to your legs and feet with every breath, or that you are connecting with the ground & the earth. If you get overwhelmed doing this, bring your attention back ‚outside‘ and notice things in your environment, or perhaps move around some. – once you get some practice with this, you can try to focus on your own physical sensations & breath when you need to be more grounded in social situations, such as when you want to say ‚no‘ or notice you’re having an excessve emotional reaction.
For 3:
Slow down and put your focus inward. If there’s some inner voice complaining about a waste of time, remember that getting into contact with your deeper self & real priorities is going to make you healthier & better at working with others in the long run, and that it requires you to persevere in investing time and developing self-acceptance. So, follow your breath with your attention and try to breathe deeply into your belly rather than your chest. Try to soften that whole assertive dominant ‚armor‘ you may have in your chest and imagine spreading the energy around your body as you inhale, and surrendering & letting go as much as you can when you exhale. The goal here is to ‚feel‘ the ‚life force‘ inside of you without immediately moving forward to accomplish something, and to allow/ get a sense for the natural rythms of the body, starting with your breath, but perhaps over time by slowing down in this way, you might start to notice sensations like tireness, or maybe some neglected emotions will come up. Critically, you can’t force that, but you’ve got to give it this time to just come up naturally.
For 4:
The goal here is essentially to find a balance between the states that come with the big ups and downs, the big outward drama and the depression or withdrawal. In physical terms, this means you want a balance between the in-breath and out-breath, neither taking in too much or too little air. You want it calm, steady, at a place where you can re-connect to your bodily vitality but not overstimulate yourself. If you’re closer to over-stimulated at the moment, focus on making the breaths deep and slow, and letting go on the exhale to release tension in the chest and diaphragm. If you’re rather in a low energy mood, make a point of drawing more breath more deeply into your chest as well as your belly to build more energy. If emotional stuff comes up during this, try to let it out rather than keeping it festering inside.
For 5:
Soo, what you wanna do here is counteract the whole chronic constricted breathing pattern to get a bit more energy and heighten your capacity to subjectively experience pleasure, vitality or a sense of connecteness to your environment and the people in it.
Focus on slowly deepening your breath more and more, expanding the diaphragm more and more as you go, but do go slow, baby steps, one breath at a time, cause it’s very possible that you’ll find yourself uncomfortably and aware of physical sensations & body processes and find this unpleasant, aversive or even anxiety-inducing. Don’t go too far too quick, just stay at a level where it’s bearable and try to tolerate it. So far as you can, don’t resist/brace against the sensations but just accept them/ let them come.
Once you get a bit of practice at this, you can use breathing into the belly to get grounded if you’re feeling all anxious and frozen up, or breathe into the chest if you’re feeling sorta disconnected in an uncomfortable way that is presently not desired, or getting in the way or enjoying or expressing yourself in a social situation.
(Note from personal experience: The first weeks or months when you start doing breath exercises may be really fucking exhausting, prolly cause the ol’ diagraphm has indeed not been getting a lot of exercise previously. It will not always be this exhausting and you won’t always have to force yourself to keep going this much. Nowdays 10 to 15 min of up-regulating breathwork is a pleasant part of my morning routine. It’s no magic silver bullet & there is no such thing as a free lunch, but I do notice a difference if I’ve been slacking off a few days. Though I wonder now if i could’ve skipped some of the awful starter period if I had begun ‚taking it slow‘ like this guide says, I just started with your classic wim hof breathing. Nowdays my usual morning exercise is this or this. Don’t read the comments & give yourself an insufficiency complex over comparing yoursel with all those gushier ppl having ig spiritual experiences or crying & shit. You are your own person & your own response is what’s authentic to you.)
For 6:
So what you wanna do is get a feel for when your inner alarm system is going haywire & strategically counteract whatever bullshit it’s currently pulling on a physical level. Feeling inhibited or out of control? Stretch out that diaphragm with some slow, deep breaths and release/relax as much as you can with the exhale. Feeling anxious, hostile or some confusing mix of those? Breathe deep into the belly, making a point of allowing sensations of pleasure & calmness to build. Need more energy & confidence to handle a challenge or difficulty? Breathe into the chest to snap yourself into action mode deliberately. Are you on a spiral of overthinking & over-worrying? Check if you’re holding or constricting your breath, and return to some steadier pace.
For 7:
The thing to do here is to practice getting grounded and avoiding distraction so that eventually you’ll be able to calm down your active mind, stay focussed on a priority or stay with difficult feelings when that is something you’d benefit from doing. You can think of it as counteracting the ‚upwards displacement‘ of your ‚energy‘ to spend more time ‚down‘ in your feelings & body. Sooo, what you wanna do is breathe into your belly, notice physical sensation in your lower body and the places where your body touches the ground or the surface below. You can imagine that you are bringing down your ‚life force‘ from up in your head & upper body to your belly & feet, and/or extending roots down into the ground. If you notice that you got distracted either by thinking of some tempting pleasure or some manner of worry or difficult emotion, simply direct your attention back to your belly & feet and keep focussing on your breath. You are going to want to start slow, maybe with a short, 3 or 5 minute session. There’s no point in shooting for the moon right away if you’re not going to realistically follow through with it. Your capacity to keep going will likely increase over time. If it seems boring or tedious at first, remind yourself how doing this might open you up to a new realm of experience if you don’t quit too early.
For 8:
So, for 8 one of the common problems can be excess impulsivity or reactivity to the point where you wind up with results you later regret. This is something you may counteract by noticing when you’re about to ‚power yourself up‘ by breathing into the chest. Trying to just stop or resist it is often too hard so instead substitute another action, like taking a few deep belly breaths when you start feeling yourself getting worked up & activated. Another thing 8s might benefit from is the practice of pausing, where you just interrupt and contain your reaction for a moment (in mid-argument, for example), which you use to mindfully look inside – before you react follow your breath ‚down and in‘ all the way and sense inside of yourself for what kind of sensations & feelings are going on. (a relevant one might be feeling hurt or slighted in some way) – usually this helps you reaction to be less excessive and more conscious, flexible & appropriate afterwards. Another practice you can do, particularly if you’re feeling a lot of ‚big energy‘ inside (whether it’s from anger, restlessness, craving, desire, zest etc.) is to practice relaxing & letting go as fully as you can on the exhale, letting go of control and the need to be defended and braced for the short moment of the outbreath.
For 9:
Soo, unlike most of the other types, you’re gonna have to resist your tendency to lower your activation level by breathing into the belly, but rather, you might want to breathe into your chest to get yourself more activated. Do also resist the temptation to immediately disperse whatever energy you built up by doing some other relaxing, homeostasis.keeping activity or going straight to socializing or non-essential tasks. This is not to say that 9s can’t benefit from just laying down & observing their breath exactly as it is, indeed combining such a conscious breathing practice with paying attention to what’s going on inside them may particularly be helpful for folks who have trouble locating their feelings, opinions or priorities, or just have a tendency to be numbed out a lot of the time – you can counteract this by deliberately looking inside.

Part: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19
Notes: Preparation, Setup, Emotions. Got some Fuck Yeah action coming in Part 21
…….
Part 20
Owing to the fact that Bright-Eyes did not drink he found himself up first the next day. As he ate his morning meal Artemis joined him taking a seat directly next to him. She looked at him, furrowed her eyebrows then punched him in the arm lightly. “Ow! What was that for?” He groaned at her. She did it again. “Ouch, seriously?”
“Hmm could it be something about how you hung up on me last time we spoke?” Bright-Eyes thought back then grew embarrassed. “I, you were free, I didn’t want you in anymore danger!” Artemis raised her arm to whack him again. “Okay..okay…I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight at the time.” She put her hand down. “It wasn’t your decision to make for me. Don’t ever sideline me again, got it?” He rubbed the back of his neck in awkwardness as he blushed feeling thoroughly scolded. “I got it.” Then he quipped at her “How did we go from you ‘Yes Sir-ing Me’ to this…?” She rolled her eyes “I imagined you as some big muscly General with the way you spoke back then” He grew petulant “What so now you’ve seen me you’ve changed your mind?”
She looked him up and down “No, you’re still strong and good looking, honey. But you don’t have ‘Sir’ vibes about you. That’s The Captain, now Alder…he has ‘Daddy’ vibes in a rough cave man sort of way….you’re…” He stopped her. “Actually Artemis, I don’t think I want to know.” she tapped her nose “Good, I don’t feel like saying now anyhow.”
He changed the topic. “So, you already know my story I presume, what’s yours?” she shrugged her shoulders “not much of a story, after I was freed they interrogated me, I blamed everything on the Commander and they dropped me off at a small human run farm on some backwater planet. I worked like all the others there but kept to myself until out of the blue an officer arrives asking if I’d testify in your trial.” A long-forgotten question surfaced in his mind. “The Commander, did you ever learn what happened with him?” She shook her head. “Tried to ask once. Got told it’s not my concern and not to poke my tail where it didn’t belong.”
Just as she finished speaking the Captain walked in, Boy, following close behind. “See, son I told you there’d be someone else here already” his voice sleepy, disgruntled. Boy argued back, “But you know how to do it best!” The Captain rolled his eyes, “Son, it’s a machine whether you, or Lad, or Artemis press the buttons, the food comes out the same.” It was mostly true, The Captain unbeknownst to the rest of the crew did treat himself and Boy to an extra level of sweetness by altering a small knob on the back of the synthetic-food dispenser every now and again, it’s not that he intended to keep it a secret, the information had just never come up in conversation.”
When Bright-Eyes attempted to speak the grumpy Captain stopped him. “Not now lad, give me an hour to recover, annd if I ever want to drink again. Shoot Me.” Three-Quarters of an hour later Alder and Valera too sat with them. Nursing their own hangovers looking equally glum.
The Captain finally spoke “Well, this headache isn’t going away anytime soon, and unless the whole thing with that guard was some drunken fantasy you must have news for us, Lad?” Bright-Eyes brought them up to speed swiftly recounting Selinas words but leaving out any mention of the ‘extra curricula’s’ he had with her. When he finished Artemis whistled “That’s one crazy ass ask if you want my opinion.”
Alder grunted “mmmmhhmm, could smuggle food in but won’t make it safe to live permanently.” The Captain pondered“ Theres gotta be a way….” Valera although silent had an awkward look to her. Like she knew something but was afraid to speak. “Val?” Artemis said in a motherly tone. Valera shook her head. “Forget it. It’s nothing.” The Captain pressed her, “Come on Valera, we don’t do secrets remember.” She shot out her seat “it’s not a fucking ‘Secret’ that last plan was mine and Ganthar died. It’s my fault, I suggested they sneak in with Alder dressed as a Guard. If I kept my mouth shut….” She got up rushing to leave. Bright-Eyes called out to her “It’s not…” she snapped at him. “Don’t fucking lie to me, you want another suicidal idea go ask someone else!”
As she strode off, tears in her eyes, the room was dead silent. Boy, was the one to break it. “Baba, will she be ok?” The Captain gave him a sad look. “In time son, in time.” A few moments later Artemis got up to leave. “Where you going?” Bright-Eyes asked her. “I’ll talk to her, I’m new, she might listen to someone new instead of you knuckleheads.”
After that The Captain left with Boy who was eager to show his Baba the repairs he had worked on with the new Material he was given. Bright-Eyes and Alder went off together for combat training. As they sparred Bright-Eyes questioned him. “Alder, are you ok?” He grunted putting extra force into his punches. “I’ve grieved, but I’ll have closure when Dusty is dead.” The tone in which he said it brooked no argument so Bright-Eyes left it at that. Truthfully he felt guilty at his own lack of grief Am I broken? I miss him yes but why don’t I feel the loss like they do, I don’t even feel sad right now.
Outside Valeras room Artemis knocked on the door softly. “Val, honey. I just want to make sure you’re ok.” When the door opened Valeras face was red and streaked with tears. Artemis pulled her into a tight hug. “Shhhh honey, it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t, do you know why? Because from what I heard it only went bad because of that Dusty?” Valera nodded still sobbing against Artemis’ shoulder. “And I also heard Ganthar went out laughing. Thats not how someone who had regrets about the plan would go right?” Valeras sobs quietened down into sniffles.
Valera took a step back. Artemis gazed down at her own tear and snot stained top. “Look what you did Val?” Valera was in no mood for humour but still the comment tickled her enough to force out a laugh. “I …I have an idea but if it goes wrong again …” Artemis shushed her. “It won’t go wrong. You tell me what it is and I promise if I see even a single way it could go wrong I’ll say so, agreed?” Valera paused a moment to think, then ever so slightly she nodded.
At lunch-time Valera cleared her throat and announced before anyone could speak. “I have an idea..” she looked at Artemis first who smiled at her encouragingly. “We were able to warp into this ships Hangar? So why can’t we warp into other ship Hangars?” The Captain stroked his beard in thought. “Still they’d be full of troops, from the information Selina sent me there’s twenty warships, each with who knows how many on them.” Valera shook her head “No, not us, we fill a shuttle with explosives and have it warp inside a warship.”
Alder made a deep rumbling sound of approval. “I like it.” Bright-Eyes wasn’t sure. “What about their shields?” Boy hopped to his feet speaking excitedly. “Shields won’t matter! Warping is Wormholes. Going so fast you change dimensions! Once you’re in you just open a new Wormhole to come out wherever you want, we could do it for one but…” He looked at the Captain, worry in his eyes, who encouraged him. “Go on, son” the boy sat back down “I can’t think of how to make it work for multiple targets…unless….He hopped out his seat again, pacing up and down. “I improve the algorithm, make it so all the shuttles have to do is pick a target, then whooosh” Bright-Eyes fought the urge to laugh when the boy stretched his arms out making the silly sound.”
Valera questioned him gently. “Sweetheart, it’s a good idea but how do we set twenty shuttles to go at the same time?” The boy looked down kicking at the floor dejectedly. A random thought occurred to Bright-Eyes “Plug-In-Pilot?” He blurted it out cursing himself even as he did so. The boy fist-pumped the air excitedly. “I can crack one, program it to do what we need, copy the program to however many we need to run it on. Wouldn’t even need to sync them to each other, not really. We just set them to follow us, and then to all warp at a single push of a button! Program them so no warship is locked onto by more than one. KABOOM PSSSSHHH. Boy span in a full circle arms out wide as he performed the sight and sound of twenty ships exploding, uncaring about the obvious fact that there is no sound in Space.”
The Captain guffawed, yet Bright-Eyes could see a sparkle of pride in his eyes. “Lad, I think you should see Selina and tell her we need ships, a Plug-In-Pilot and around twenty blank drives to fit a standard navigation console.”
Later that Evening Bright-Eyes took the tedious trip back to Selinas suite. By now her Guards recognised him and let him pass without issue. This time he was surprised to find they pointed him to her lavish bathroom, its door was open, and her form lay covered beneath countless bubbles as she bathed. “I wasn’t expecting guests, handsome?” She greeted him.
He got straight to business. “We need ships, Lady Selina, nothing fancy, just shuttles will do, about twenty, a Plug-In-Pilot and some twenty blank drives.” She breathed out a sigh of contentment “It’s curious, when people come needing something they call me ‘Lady Selina’ yet I recall last time we talked business you neglected at least once to use my Title. if I am ‘just Selina’ to you it should be ‘just Selina’ even when you want something, no?”
He countered “I give respect when I feel respected, if I feel like I’m being toyed with I opt to withdraw such respect.” She smirked at him. “I recall you quite enjoyed being toyed with last night….” He sputtered and coughed in shock, his face turning red. He never expected her to be so forward. At least not during ‘business’. She practically purred as she stretched herself out cracking life back into her muscles before standing upright before him. “Ordinarily I would have refused, but we still have Dusty’s collection of ships in our charge. They are yours if you need them. Tell the Guards watching over them I said so. As for a Plug-In-Pilot I do not know why you’d want such a janky thing but tell your Captain to see the Naga at Death’s Door again, he should also have the blank drives you need. Inform that Scaly fellow Management will cover it.”
Bright-Eyes couldn’t have imagined this going any better but the same old question still ate at him Why is she helping humanity? A Power-Broker allies with the Powerful not the weak, it makes no sense Lady Selina saw he was spaced out. “Something on your mind, handsome? You shouldn’t think so much it’s bad for human health. How about I help you to relax a little? This time, unlike the last, he did listen to his inner voice. “Maybe another time, Lady Selina, that Planet won’t liberate itself. She tilted her head and let out a curious “Hmm. Indeed it won’t.” With that, before desire could overwhelm him, he left, taking with him his doubts about her motives and a unsatiated carnal longing below his belt.
He arrived at the ship to find the others cheering and hollering in celebration. When they noticed him walk in they all looked on with bright smiley faces. The Captain stopped anyone else from spoiling the good news. “No one say nothing, let the boy tell him.” Bright-Eyes looked to the boy. “I’ve picked a name he whispered.” The Captain patted the boy on the back. “Well go on then, tell him proudly, it’s yours you might as well get used to using it!” The boy grew shy feeling all the eyes on him. Looking down he mumbled just barely above normal volume “I’m Vector” the Crew cheered again. Alder picked up the boy giving him an impromptu piggyback as the others began chanting “Vector! Vector! Vector!” Bright-Eyes joined in with them as they did.
When the ruckus died down and young Vector had his feet planted firmly on the ground once more The Captain asked Bright-Eyes. “Well lad, what did she say?” Bright-Eyes trying not to chuckle spoke “We can have whatever ships Dusty left behind, and the proprietor of Deaths Door will give us the Plug-In-Pilot plus the blank drives on her orders.” Vector who was listening butted in “So, it’s all on me then?” The Captain squeezed his shoulder affectionately “Just try your best son, we can always find another way.” Alder still riding the high of celebration swept the boy up again chanting once more “Vector! Vector! Vector!”
The chant went on until late in the night, so that even when Bright-Eyes closed his eyes to sleep the name continued to ring endlessly in his mind…Vector, Vector……Vector.
Part 21: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/pzbLYVhM54

Hi Mama and Papa creeper ! firstly, i just adore you two. I find myself saying “Owh Baybee…. NAURR” in my best Stew voice five times a week. Listening to the episode made me think of a really sinister thing that happened to me and my now husband on our honeymoon almost exactly a year ago! You can use my name (Kora) if you were to ever bring it up on the pod , cause everyone who knows me knows this story.
So me and my husband Chris honeymooned in myrtle beach. We were so exited to try out all the cute dive bars and eat a ton of food. We had made so many new friends along the way because we had painted “Just married” on the back of my white chevy cruz, Shirley. (this is important later) We found what seemed to be a cool pool bar and decided to have some drinks and order crappy pub food to go. When we walked in at about 3 pm, the bar was completely smokey and dark , and we were the youngest people in there. We’re 29 and 31 , and the bar was packed with what i can only describe as old yt men. All of them….. aside from one guy who seemed to be in his thirties as well.
The vibe was off when we walked in. Everyone’s heads turned at once to the source of the light from outside and we immediately felt like we were intruding but didn’t think much of it.
when we walked up to the bartender, instead of greeting us like a normal bartender would on a slow tuesday shift, he just looks at us and said “what are you two doing here? no one new ever comes here” Yikes… okay. Considering i’m also a bartender, that is NOT how i would greet a guest…. but okay. We decide to grab 2 shots and 2 beers and head outside for a smoke to gossip about the weird vibes. When we got out there, a group of older men followed us out and the younger man followed suit.
we all strike up a conversation about being married and where we’re from/ what we do, etc…and my sweet friendly husband started showing him pictures from our big day. They eventually all started hovering around my husband which made me a little uncomfortable cause it felt like they were separating us or trying to. I shrugged it off as paranoia (YALLS FAULT) and decided to grab us another round of beers while we waited for our food.
I stopped by the bathroom before grabbing drinks and the second i walked in and sat down i felt extremely dizzy. It felt like i was trying to wake up from a dream… my skin was hot. I thought i just needed to eat something. After a few minutes of realizing that it wasn’t going to get better, i went to the bar and asked for a water, and planned on asking chris if we could go back to our room.
When i got to the bar, a beautiful redhead woman approached me and said “Hey! aren’t you the bride?”
Weird. I don’t know her. and where did she come from? it was all gross old men 10 minutes ago… “Yeah ! that’s me. Why?”
“I think your husband is outside bleeding”
Immediate panic sets in and i rush out to him on the patio, and sure enough… he had a wound busted open on his head and had since fallen to the ground… and was being tended to by the group of men.
I pushed through the gaggle of geezers to get to my husband, but when i looked in his eyes… the lights were on but no one was home. He seemed extremely drunk and when i tell yall my husband can hold his beer, he can!!! There’s no way the amount of alcohol we had would do this to him. I realized in that moment what had happened. small backstory: from 2013-2022 i was a bartender in houston texas, and a lot of people use G h B for fun… or not so fun intentions… so that’s something bartenders had to look out for. I can’t describe it other than intuition. I just knew… When i finally stopped panicking and got him off the ground , things got really weird. The whole group started volunteering to drive us home, one guy even went for my sweater i had draped over the back of a chair, like he was helping gather my things to go. I snatched up our stuff, looked my husband in the eyes and asked if he trusted me to get us back to our spot and of course he said no, but i didn’t want to call the police in a state we’re not local to (can’t trust county, babies!) We were also a block away from where we were staying, and to be honest… Your girl used to party and I Knew i could hold my own for the next ten minutes to get us out of there. I wasn’t willing to take any chances. When i finally got my husband in the passenger seat, the younger guy of the bunch had come up behind me and insisted i let the group take us to another bar to apologize for Chris falling. I immediately knew that something was sinister and wrong … because i thought he just lost his balance? I shoved past him and went to leave but they were standing behind our car. I had to rev the engine like i was gunna hit them to get them all to move.
Eventually, we did get back safe… but when i tell you … once i pulled into that parking space and shut off the car, i have no memory of us getting back into our suite.. it was lights out. and the seven stories of wooden stairs and the broken elevator to get back to our room isn’t something you forget.
We woke up the next day at around 10 am and we both felt horribly sick and couldn’t remember a thing… but we both knew we were dr*gged. I couldn’t shake the feeling that we weren’t safe , so when i could finally stand again, i raced back down to the car and washed off the “just married” paint.
The rest of the honeymoon was fairly normal , other than my poor husband having a black eye, a gash over his eyebrow and a bit of hurt pride cause of his new shiner. We spent the next two days playing mario kart on our switch and ordering take out, and staying the f*ck inside.
Looking back, i know we should have gotten tested for any substances at a hospital, but again… out of state, can’t trust county…. plus i had driven us back and was not ready to go to jail on my honeymoon for driving under the influence.
Maybe i’m putting too much into this, but it really felt bone chilling to listen to the Smiley Face Murder Ep and retrace our unfortunate steps on our honeymoon.
if you made it this far, thanks for reading ! Love you mom and dad! let me know what you think about this ! -Kora

Part 1: here
Part 2: here
Part 3: here
Part 4: here
Part 5: here
Part 6: here
Part 7: here
Part 8: here
Part 9: here
Part 10: here
Part 11: here
Part 12: here
Part 13: here
Part 14: here
Notes: Bright-Eyes gets his first look at the Gerwanthir home world. He has a brush with the Tabloid press.
Part 15:
Throughout the next several days Bright-Eyes found his condition much improved. He suspected Cass’ threats were the reason. They provided him with normal clothes and two hearty meals a day. They also removed the collar from his neck with no trouble at all unlike the first time since this one was a dud.
When Cass did eventually return she wasn’t alone. To his surprise with her was The Gerwanthir Admiral and Kalimbo. The latter holding a small bundle of papers. He eyed Cass suspiciously “What’s going on Cass?” She looked to her two acquaintances both of whom nodded urging her to speak. “The Federation has an offer for you, it’s one I think you should accept.” Bright-Eyes did not like the sound of that. “Go on.” He said. “The ship you arrived in was a prototype that would’ve proved problematic for the Federation. You know that. The Xenthians don’t know the Federation has it and is working on reverse engineering it as we speak. You will therefore say nothing of it. You will keep this story to yourself and if anyone asks how you came to be here you were simply rescued from your escape pod by passing Gerwanthir traders.”
That didn’t sound nearly as bad as her initial tone suggested “Is that it?” she shook her head. “No, some of the rebellions being supported off the record are losing steam. You will help the Federation reinvigorate them.” Bright-Eyes laughed in disbelief “Me? How?” The Admiral spoke “You’re a symbol. ‘Bright-Eyes’ is a symbol, the Xenthians made sure of that when they put that bounty on your head. So we’re gonna show you off to every species that has access to Federation communications apparatus. Hopefully once they see you’re a real breathing person they will be more motivated.
Bright-Eyes shook his head “I’m just one man, and it takes more than symbols to win wars.” The Admiral countered “Whether you agree or not is inconsequential. This is the offer. If you accept you’ll find yourself a free subject of the Federation. You’ll work for us, as and when we require. You will stick to the script we provide. You will not step out of line or go off track. You will be paid a sum of 35000 credits a year. Once we deem it no longer necessary to parade you around you will be free to do as you wish.
He thought for a moment….”and if I refuse?” he asked looking over at Cass. She gestured for The Admiral and Kalimbo to leave. They left the cell but remained outside the door. “Cass?” she sighed at him. “If you refuse you’ll be stuck here while I go kicking up a fuss to whoever will listen. It’s not a bad offer. You get paid fairly, you do a few gigs where you say what they tell you to say, and you’ll probably rub shoulders with Gerwanthir high society in the process, though personally? I would not find that as exciting as most. It’s your choice?”
There’s only one thing he needed to know “Do you really think me doing this would make a difference?” She shrugged. “Who’s to say? After you killed the Empress copy-cat revolts were reported all over. Will it make a difference to humanities fight for freedom? I’m doubtful but at the least bringing you back to the forefront will likely inspire more to take the same course of action.” He pondered for a few seconds then said “Hope. You think they’ll see me and have hope. Hope unfounded can be dangerous.” She nodded “Like I said it’s your choice.”
Before the day was out he had signed papers and was being escorted down to the Capital city of Gerwanthir. Home planet of The Gerwanthir Federation. He had been provided with a handler to show him around and keep him on schedule. A flamboyant Gerwanthir named Trestor (since the native race and planet shared a name). When he stepped off the transport he couldn’t help but pause to look around in wonder. The city was stupid large. Oblong Skyscrapers adorned with screens advertising various products were everywhere. The Sky was a reddish hue, food vendors with roasted meats shouted out to passerby’s inviting them to come eat.
He was broken out of his gawking by Trestor. “B.E, darlin’ close your mouth you’re gonna catch critters” looking at Trestor he spoke “ok…right…so what now?” Trestor clapped his hands almost jumping up and down on the spot. “Welllll……we’ve got a fabulous schedule lined up already. I’m gonna take you to this human inspired food place, it’s run by a friend, Everything is super low-fat and healthy. It was even visited by Zafira herself. Then I’m gonna take you to where we’re staying. The interior design ughhh gross but the military don’t pay for keeping up with style, that’s all me. Tomorrow, first thing we have a Press Conference. We’re gonna wake up early and make you look stunning. Complete makeover and get rid of that horrendous beard. You’ll look soooo pretty.”
Bright-Eyes’ adrenaline shot up, his fists clenched, eyebrows furrowed but he controlled it with deep breaths, recalling to his mind the music he found calming. “Trestor. Don’t ever call me pretty. The beard stays. I don’t mind a trim, but the beard stays.” Trestor took a step back. “I know that look darlin’, we gotta get you booked in with a professional, someone to talk to before someone gets hurt for saying the wrong thing.”
Trestor led him across the city streets, talking about daily life in the city as they went. Further out from the pedestrian areas Bright-Eyes caught his first glimpse of Hovercarts. Small vehicles designed for local planetary travel. For his own safety Trestor had to teach him how to cross roads and what the various symbols on road signs meant. “See darlin’ we’ll have you walking around like you belong in no time.” Bright-Eyes however wasn’t so sure. Now I know why the Cap and crew preferred being pirates. It’s easier up there than down here. He thought.
The most uncomfortable part as they went about was the lack of other humans. He asked Trestor “So far I haven’t seen any other humans?” Trestor replied with pity “Aww darlin, escapes to the Federation used to only happen occasionally, a few hundred every few years at most. Now there’s been an increase but still most of them to Federation border worlds. On Gerwanthir? Your kind are a rarity, ain’t that gonna make you feel special.”
Bright-Eyes did not like the way he said “Special”, not one bit. He held his tongue as they arrived at a fancy looking restaurant. Inside it was well furnished in Gerwenthian style, dark purple cushioned seats with red table cloths on the tables. Apart from the two of them it was empty.
A slim older lady came over to greet them. “Tressstooor, baby, long time no see, I heard you were in the military?” Trestor replied back with equal enthusiasm. “Darleya, you heard right! I found crawling through mud bad for my skin, girl you wouldn’t believe how terribly my Tail started shedding. Soooooo I got myself transferred to a new gig!” Darleya laughed “Must be some gig if you’re coming to eat here, you will be paying this time won’t you?” Trestor opened his mouth wide, placing a hand on his heart in dramatic mock offence “Darleya, please, that was one time. I’m now in the PR department. Pay is good and I get to be the handler for this human here. You wouldn’t believe who he is, just guess?”
Bright-Eyes grew frustrated again. They were talking about him like he wasn’t there. His ghost stood behind Darleya giving voice to his anger in the most toxic way possible Is this the freedom you wanted so badly? He’s treating you like a child, Worse, he’s showing you off like some pet, he even used the word ‘handler’. Is there really a difference between a slave and a pet?
Bright-Eyes interrupted them by clearing his throat. “My designation was Bright-Eyes, I’ve yet to commit to a name” Darleya looked him up and down “Wonderful, don’t you worry. Trestor will take good care of you.” She spoke to Trestor again, this time in native Gerwenth, An awkward language to human ears full of harsh throaty sounds unpronounceable by human tongues.
Every now and again Trestor would gesture to Bright-Eyes and Darleya would stare at him intently. He recognised her look. One of pity. I hate it, with the Cap and crew I was truly an equal not a charity case. Here they’ll never see me as just an ordinary person. He thought.
Finally Darleya gestured for them both to take a seat at a table. She passed him a menu written in Galactic Common. “Now, Trestor has probably told you that all the dishes here are inspired by human cuisine, but I’ve been experimenting with new recipes. So you test one or two out, let me know if it gets an official human stamp of approval and I won’t charge for it?”
Bright-Eyes nodded. Trestor too placed down the menu not looking at it. “Girl, don’t be thinking of leaving me out of this?” Darleya huffed. “Fine you can have the same deal but only because I like you…so much for saying you’ll pay.”
The food that came was an inferior imitation of the chicken dish he had eaten with the crew during his first days aboard the Captains ship. The donuts she brought for dessert were nowhere near as sweet as the ones in Raul’s Scar. Still he had to credit her. She had done well for a non-human. As for drinks there was no lemonade just a fruity juice the source of which he didn’t care to ask.
After they had eaten he politely gave his approval to Darleya, rolled his eyes behind Trestors back as he waited for the two of them to say their goodbyes then left with Trestor out the way they came in. Trestor led him on a walk for another fifteen minutes until they came to a stop before a black door among a row of terraced houses. Pulling out a key Trestor said to Bright-Eyes “Don’t worry B.E I’ll give you your own key once we’re inside. I prefer access card systems but these ancient buildings still use manual locks.”
The house was itself split into two apartments. Trestor was to take the bottom floor while Bright-Eyes was to take the top floor. It was reasonably well furnished. A brand new access drive was left for him on his bed. A Gerwanthir entertainment system was stuck on one wall though he did not know how to use it nor did he feel inclined to ask Trestor. The bathroom was lavish with a large hot tub and shower.
As he was getting settled a message from Trestor popped up on his access drive. “Hope you like the access drive, it’s connected to the human database. Settle in. Tomorrow the fun begins” A set of Gerwenthian symbols ended the message followed by a love heart and a smiley face. “PS I’ll wake you up at around 6.00am with breakfast. Makeover crew will be here around 7.00. Press Conference for your big reveal to the public around 9.00.”
Bright-Eyes lay back on his bed with a grumble of annoyance. I wonder where you are Captain? Suppose it’d be too much of a miracle to hope you might find me again?
The next day he was awoken early exactly as promised by a banging on his door. He opened it to find Trestor all dressed up in eccentric finery. The man handed him a tray, on it contained a bowl with white liquid, floating in the liquid were two brown blocks topped with berries. Trestor saw his look. “It’s just Catrisco Milk, fully organic, some Danther oat blocks topped with some Sarsip berries. Perfectly healthy breakfast. My nutritionist has some experience with humans too, he said this would be good.”
Bright-Eyes took the tray, moved to sit at a small table in the corner then dug in. He had to admit as much as he hated feeling like he was being controlled again the food did taste nice. His enjoyment was tempered by Trestor who droned on about the day’s itinerary “Makeover crew is on the way, told them we’re planning to keep the beard. They said they’ll make it work. I think they’ll be focusing more on the outfit than anything….”
When the Makeover team did arrive they came with several elegant outfits some designed for men, some designed for women and some unisex. Bright-Eyes went through them one by one until he got to the last. A stylish navy blue suit jacket to be worn with a white shirt and matching trousers. It also came with a tie. He turned to the head of the team. “This one, but without this thing. I can’t stand having something around my neck anymore”
The head of the team glared at him. “I knew I should’ve left that one behind. No, no, no Sir, especially without the tie, The tie makes it complete. Look on your access drive at old human pictures you’ll see” Bright-Eyes was in no mood to negotiate on this point. “No, for all my life I’ve been forced to wear a collar. Now I do have a choice and I’m saying No.” The fashion guru still did not relent. “Ackh such human dramatics. It is not a collar, it is a tie. Trestor tell ‘im please.”
Bright-Eyes was surprised to find Trestor backing him up. “Sorry, B.E made his choice. It’ll do.” The fashion guru huffed visibly annoyed but did not argue. Bright-Eyes however found the indignities had only just begun. For the next two hours they made every other decision for him from what soap and hair products he used to bathe with to what perfumes he was anointed with.
They cut his hair back short, they trimmed his beard and moustache, they applied a black substance to his eyes, as a final touch they insisted he choose either a bracelet, wrist-band or watch to wear. In the end he chose a stylish ruby red bracelet. He could not deny that when he saw his reflection he looked good. Better than good. He looked like one of the mysterious heroes in some of the films he watched back when he was on The Captains ship. All he’d need to complete the look would be a gun.
The Makeover team left, leaving Trestor to usher Bright-Eyes out the building into a hovercart. As the chauffeur drove them Trestor coached him on what to expect. “B.E don’t be nervous, there’ll be a huge crowd taking pictures and videos. Keep cool. You wanna look powerful got it darlin’?” Bright-Eyes nodded. “They’ll be asking you questions directly. Admiral says for this one he didn’t care to write a script so just improvise with your answers. Don’t mention that we have the Xenthian prototype ship. Everything else is fair game. Admiral will be there too, Zafira might show up if she can make time.”
The Hovercart dropped them off outside a large domed building. Trestor led him inside into a hall. Immediately as they entered lights flashed all around. Trestor gestured for him to take a seat at a table at the front of the room. The Admiral and Zafira of all people were already there.
The Admiral opened up “Thank You, Thank you all for joining us today. The elected ruling council has asked me to host this press conference to confirm the existence of the Human known as Bright-Eyes, Also to put to death rumours of Federation involvement in the organic uprisings taking place across Xenthian border worlds….while we are now ready to confirm that we have indeed given Sanctuary to Bright-Eyes as you can see. That is all we have done. I and Zafira will be taking more questions about the War declared on us by the Xenthians, a very serious threat indeed, even if no blows have been exchanged we cannot take such declarations lightly. Anyway as I was saying the human designated Bright-Eyes is here to publicly answer questions for the first time. We open the floor to questions.”
Hundreds of voices rose up all at once. One voice reached above all the others until they quietened “Sir! Sir! is it true you killed the Xenthian Empress before your escape?” Bright-Eyes leaned forward “Yes it is….I had no choice.” Another voice butted in “What do you mean by no choice?” Bright-Eyes took a deep breath. I can get through this. It will be good even. Tell the world what a monster she was “She wanted me to force myself on a human girl, to create a new slave, I refused.”
Gasps of shock echoed throughout the hall another voice took the opportunity to ask further “You’re the only human we know of that has a name-like designation. This indicates some favouritism at least….did the Empress suddenly turn cruel or was there something else going on?” He wanted to curse at the questioner they’re implying I deserved her cruelty? He replied offensively “If you think there’s anything that can justify such a demand perhaps Gerwanthir isn’t the bastion of high values I was led to believe. It’s true I was treated well for a time. Until I asked for freedom then she became cruel. Do you think freedom is an unreasonable ask?”
Another voice continued on the subject. “You mentioned one instance of cruelty, was there any others?” Bright-Eyes grimaced “The whole institution of slavery is cruelty manifest. The training centres use beatings, food and sleep deprivation, and forced stress positions to condition obedience. I went through that just like all others.”
The questioner retorted “Sir what about other instances of cruelty by the Empress, were there any before you asked for freedom?” Is the one not enough? Do they think what I did was unjustified? “She didn’t physically torture me before that, no, I was her plaything, her pet. I fully believed at the time that she was one of the good ones. Even though I could not leave the ship on which she travelled, even though I was deprived of real clothes and forced to wear a torture collar, I was happy, yet would any outsider looking in not describe such restrictions as cruel? When I asked for freedom she said I stepped over the line and deserved punishment. I still have nightmares of the pain I endured that day.”
Another voice called out. “So one demand to mate, and one denied request for freedom was all it took for you to decide to kill her?” Bright-Eyes couldn’t understand Why are they defending her with their questioning. None of them could deal with what I went through. Not one. He resolved to shock sense into them. To Trestors horror he began to remove his suit jacket then his shirt leaving himself topless showing off the ugly scars he bore from when she had bitten into his flesh over and over. Lights flashed again and again to capture his image. The crowd uproared in shock.
“I killed her because her request was unconscionable but if you want visible proof of cruelty look no further.” He traced each scar with his fingers as he spoke “After she showed me off to Chief Diplomat Zafira and her delegation, she delighted in biting my flesh until I was bathed in my own blood. Is that enough cruelty for you all?” He put back on his upper garments.
Another question was shouted at him once he was dressed. “Reports from Zafira’s visit stated you seemed most docile, that the Empress was petting you, that she insisted humans lacked higher functioning yet here you are most eloquent?” Bright-Eyes did not know what to make of the question. Is it intended as an insult or to provide me an opportunity? “The Empress under pain of torture commanded me to be like furniture. I did not move nor did I speak while the Federation delegation was there. I am glad to prove such baseless assertions wrong…” He thought for a moment. Getting Zafira on-side might help me later “…and I am grateful to Chief Diplomat Zafira for doing what she could at the time to challenge the Empress’ treatment. I will not forget that kindness.”
The Admiral spoke next to the crowd “I think that’s enough of those questions…” but was interrupted by someone shouting one last question “What happened to the human girl?” The room fell silent. Bright-Eyes spoke, his voice sad and shaky “I tried to take her with me. I promised her I would. We got to the escape pod doors. They killed her. She was just a child and they killed her before I could get her inside the pod.”
Bright-Eyes felt that was enough, further, he wanted out. He would not lose composure. Not here, not in front of this pack of rabid devils eager to tear me apart with their questions. When the Admiral began to speak again Bright-Eyes as discreetly as he could stood up and left leaving Trestor to run hurriedly after him.
Trestor found him sitting with his face in his hands near a stairwell. “B.E?” Bright-Eyes did not respond. “Oh darlin’ that was the hard part. I promise you won’t have to do that again. I’ll tell the Admiral so myself. Come on, let’s get you back home.” Wiping his face Bright-Eyes stood.
Taking deep breaths he simply muttered a strained “ok, let’s go.” While Bright-Eyes on some level appreciated Trestors attempt at comfort he had one thought Home? Home is with the Cap, with Alder and Valera, out there where I’m truly free.
Part 16: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/s/xloEGPZkmf