My Helix piercing isn't healing very well. Below is a timeline and details. I use the NielMed Niel Cleanse Piercing Aftercare fine mist.

• August 13, 2023 - Got my helix pierced at Stud's. They used a needle and the jewelry was a titanium flatback.
• Mid-December 2023 - Went back to Stud's to get it downsized. They said my ear was too swollen. The piercer said that it looked great for 4 months and it was healing on track.
• Mid-January 2024 - Got my piercing downsized at Studs.
• February 28, 2024 - I had some issues with my piercing. A lot of pain. A pus-like discharge. I reached out to some friends who have piercings and they recommended going to a different shop. I went to a different - and quite honestly a more reputable shop and the piercer told me that it was downsized too early and that my jewelry was sinking. I got new jewelry and it's a 14K Yellow Gold flat black.
• May 14, 2024 - My earlobe got really red and really warm. It didn't hurt.
• May 16, 2024 - After I showered, I noticed some weird stuff on my piercing. I'm pretty sure it was just conditioner, but there was something that looked like blood. I did a really thorough cleaning. Wiped away all the conditioner. Used a Q-tip and sprayed it with the cleansing mist and swabbed my piercing. It looked like it was sinking again. I started being a lot more consistent with my cleaning.
• May 19, 2024 - Piercing looks a lot better. It just still hasn't fully healed.

Did getting the new jewelry in February restart the healing timeline? My piercing is now 9 months old, but it's still a little sore when I touch the cartilage and I can't move the jewelry at all when it's dry.

“You’re always in the way.” She remarked crudely, an edge to her voice that sounded steely and unfamiliar. I stood still, biting my tongue as her words reverberated in my head.
“...What?” I managed to mutter, my mouth agape and my tone unassuming. She whipped her head around, dark eyes boring mine as I stared at her, dumbfounded. Sunlight poured through the window, making otherwise invisible dust visible as it danced in the air. The light framed her silhouette, a thin line of yellow outlining her figure yet failing to confine the darkness emanating from her.
“What do you mean ‘what?’ No matter what I do, or where I go–mental or physical, literally or metaphorically, you are always in my way,” Her tone began to rise as if climbing stairs, a vein bursting on her forehead. I swallowed, my tongue feeling like sandpaper against the roof of my mouth. “I feel like I’m always so close. I’m always this close to getting away from you–to being happy! Feeling some sort of bliss! But no, it’s short lived… because somehow, by some means, you get in my fucking way every. Single. Time!” She screeched, only a few feet away from me now. My feet remained glued to the floor as I tore my eyes away from hers, blinking rapidly and rubbing my eyes as if something had gotten in them. I shifted my weight to either foot, running my hands through my hair, still looking down, afraid to face the scowl that awaited my gazes return.
“Darling, I’m sorry, I love y–”
“No, no, no! That’s what you always do, you sweet-talk your way out of every knot you get yourself into but not this time! Why aren’t you listening to me? You’re hearing what I’m saying, but you’re not LISTENING! LISTEN! LISTEN, GODAMMIT, LISTEN TO ME!” Her screams reached their crescendo before she broke down into sobs, hastily rubbing her eyes as black rings formed around them. I opened my mouth to respond, only to realize it had been open the whole time. She sighed as she collapsed to the ground, her body dropping like a ragdoll before she looked up at me sullenly. “What? Nothing to say?” She asked expectantly.
“I… what can I do? To fix this?” I looked at her hopefully, reaching my hand out so as to help her up. The exhausted look in her eyes faded as they now ignited with rage, an ear-splitting scream escaping her lips as she made her way to her feet.
“GET OUTTTTTTT! GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT NOW! NOW, NOW, NOW!” She exclaimed shrilly as she pointed at the front door, stomping to enunciate every word. My ears became hot as my eyes widened, her tan complexion now donning a tomato-red tinge. Only silence managed to follow as I failed to move or find the right words–silence, only to be broken by two distant voices beyond the floorboards.
“God, don’t tell me it’s the Lawson’s again…”
“Of course it is, honey, that couple’s a nightmare.”
“So much for being newlyweds, right?”
“You got that right. Remember when we got married?”
“We actually liked each other.”
The two voices broke into snickers, the echoes of their snarky remarks a distant memory as I saw the look in her eyes. Her dark eyes twinkled as they brimmed with tears that threatened to pour out, her mouth quivering as she sniffled, trying to keep her composure.
“Just… go, Dylan. Go… please. This was a mistake.” I watch her hopelessly as her words trail off, her lithe figure walking into our bedroom and out of my view.
Her bedroom, as of right now.

(Hi! This is the first time I've posted a long text about the society of keys. I hope you like it. It about Edward and Erin. I know long texts don't usually work here. But I made this from the heart and I wanted to share it with you. Without further ado, let's get started!)
Out of Continuity: Lair of the Society of Keys
The basement/clinic was completely silent, only disturbed by the occasional beeping of one of the Medical Teams. Suddenly the 5 members of the society entered, all carrying Erin, who was in a very weak state of health, black marks came out of her mouth, and spread across her skin.
Elizabeth: Leave her on the bed, carefully…
They gently placed her on her bed, while they hooked her up to monitors to view her vital signs. Which were at worryingly low levels. The 5 members left all their keys on top of Edward's desk. Next to a small black device similar to a wristwatch.
Eechiro: Damn, what did they inject herwith?
Eric: No idea, that guy came out of nowhere, although he left this syringe behind.
Elizabeth: We have more important issues right now. Her signs are stable but they are declining at a worrying speed, we have to find a way to cure her...
Edward moves away a little to lean against one of the laboratory counters. His mind was still racing, Erin's voice began to hit his psyche. Repeating her name over and over again. Until his mind decided to take him to THAT night. He could feel like Erin was hugging him...
"Please…"
His pupils shrank, turning into small black dots. His arms had the reflex of trying to hug the air in front of him. The only thing that could bring him back to reality was Eechiro's clicking noises. Which was in front of him, trying to get his attention, while he repeated his name.
“Edward! Edward! Richter!” Eechiro gave up and returned to the rest of the society, who were surrounding Erin “Nothing! "He's like in Shock, I can't get him out of there!"
Edelgard: “Leave it, we have to do something soon! If we don't find a way to cure her, she's going to die."
Those last words gave Edward the boost he needed, without saying a single word. He approached his desk and took 5 keys next to the strange clock. After this, he began to leave the basement. While he put the watch on his wrist.
“We have to make a plan to get into his base, Edward, do you have any ideas…?” Eric noticed that Edward was leaving the basement, and after a quick glance he also saw that he had taken the keys. “Get him, it’s trying to leave the house!”
The four members of the society followed Edward who walked determinedly towards the door to leave the society base. Just a few meters away, Elizabeth and Eechiro began to pull his arms. While Edelgard held him by the back of the neck.
Eechiro: “You're not leaving!”
Edward quickly crouched and performed a roundhouse kick to knock down the three who were trying to pin him down. Eric placed himself between Edward and the door to prevent him from leaving.
Eric: “Edward, No! We need a plan!" He said as he held on to the door frame to prevent Edward from pushing him.
“ERIC, I KNOW YOU HAVE GOOD INTENTION. BUT I ASK YOU TO GET OUT OF THE WAY” Edward said as he looked at the floor. Eric remained immovable in place.
“I can't do that Edward, I know you're angry. But going like this is…” Eric didn't finish his sentence, because Edward put his hand on his shoulder, after which he made eye contact with him. Eric looked closely into the eyes of forensic. It wasn't the look of someone angry, but of someone scared and determined. For the first time, he could see a look on Edward that wasn't one of indifference. But of absolute concern. After which, the young diver take his decision, getting out of the way. Edward just nodded his head and walked out the door. When Elizabeth, Edelgard and Eechiro stood up they went directly to face Eric.
Eechiro: “What did you do Eric? You went crazy. He ran away and take the keys!”
Elizabeth: “He didn't take everything… he lefts Erin's key. Although Eechiro is right, what were you thinking? Did you let him go alone to face an army? What were you thinking?”
Eric: “You didn't see it… that look was relentless. I'm afraid of what will happen..."
Edelgard: “If you were afraid, why did you let him go?”
Eric: “I'm not afraid for Edward... I'm afraid for whoever decides to stand in his way. Although that is secondary now, We have to make sure we keep her alive.... Come on, let's get moving!”
Universe 18-24-53: Lair of the Steelwater.
Edward arrived at the outskirts of a bar, from outside he could see multiple men sitting at the tables. Most of them had baseball bats or brass knuckles. At the centre table there were four men playing poker. After a few seconds of thinking, he decided to go inside.
“Look and cry gentlemen, I have Full House,” said a man as he slammed the table hard. Another responded to him, as he revealed his cards, “Very interesting, but…”
"What!? An R-Royal straight!? “That's impossible, you bastard,” said the first, while he looked at his partner's letters in astonishment. The lucky gangster was about to say something, until suddenly, Edward grabbed his sleeve, causing multiple hidden cards to fall out.
The gangster was surprised by the presence of Edward standing next to them. "Where the hell did it come from?" Wait… you cheated!?” The gangster replied, now addressing his partner.
“O-Of course not… and also who the hell is this blue-haired?” Said the other man who was still sitting. A dead silence was maintained until multiple windows were heard breaking. When Edward turned around he saw a man at another table, with the bat in his hand. He had dropped his beer on the floor in shock. “Idiots! That blue-haired is one of those multiverse travellers! The Forensic Killer! You let the enemy in!
"What!?" The Full House man lunged at Edward, who simply dodged him. Placing his leg to cause the gangster to fall to the ground, the man's forehead collided with one of the wooden chairs. The other men launched themselves at Edward, who limited himself to Dodge, and responded to them with the furniture of the place. He attacked them with chairs, plates. Even with the same poker cards. “Why don't you die!?” It was probably the phrase that was repeated the most in that fight.
When there were only two men left, they both decided to distance themselves from Edward, and tried to go to the back of the bar. Quickly, Edward took out a pair of sharp metal scissors from his pocket and threw them hard, aiming for the head of one of the men. Which remained nailed to the wall next to the door, while his companion managed to escape. Edward followed at a fast pace, but without running, maintaining unwavering composure. Which only generated more fear in the man who ran.
Edward followed the man to some underground warehouses. The contrast with the bar was clear, while the first looked like a stereotypical 80s movie, this was more like an apocalypse bunker. The man continued running down the long hallway, until he reached a huge room at the end. Due to the distance he had managed to get from the coroner. He had time to activate the Security system. Edward saw three huge metal doors close between him and the man. At this, Edward said nothing. He just approached and tapped the metal plate in front of him, after which he took out of his pocket one of the keys that he had taken from the base. It had a drawing of a dragon. And small burn marks. Edward took the key and inserted it into a small slot in the device on his wrist, suddenly a flash of orange light invaded the tunnel…
On the other side of the door the Gangster is celebrating — “Let's see how you get through that, Four Eyes!” Until he felt 2 presence behind him “What the hell are you doing?” The man turned around to see his boss, a man in a beige suit, with his hair combed back with gel. Next to him was a woman with red hair and green eyes. She dressed in a trench coat, shirt and black pants.
"Boss! Miss Octavia! “He is the coroner, he is here, and he has eliminated everyone in the bar!” The man said as his legs trembled. The boss hardly flinched. While the woman only managed to murmur a phrase, “I was already wondering when we would see each other again, Edward.”
The man guided his boss and the redhead to a screen, which showed the security camera in the hallway. “You don't need to worry anyway, there are three metal doors between him and us. Look… there is no way he can pass- WHAT?”
The three of them were stunned. The metal on the doors was melting. Edward, dressed in a black and orange kimono, shooting a burst of fire. Making a circle to melt the door. The boss rushed towards his minion, holding him by the shoulders. “You told me he was the coroner, not the arsonist!”
“He's the coroner, I don't have the slightest idea how he's throwing fire.” The boss released his minion and approached the redhead. “Listen to me, Octavia. You told me that if he eliminated one of those crazy people, The Guardians would fulfil a wish of mine. But you didn't tell me that they would come to try to destroy me.” The woman broke her silence and said, “Calm down, Tragliatore. Our pact still stands. The guardians will fulfil your greatest wish. You have my word as a Detective” The redhead said as she put her hand on his shoulder.
"Boss! He already went through 2 of the doors! Look” The henchman shouted at his boss, while he pointed at the door that was turning increasingly reddish. The boss removed Octavia's hand from his shoulder. “Quickly, you lazy bunch, everyone pointing at the door.” all the soldiers pointed directly towards the door. “I want anyone who walks through that door with more holes than a damn sieve.”
Multiple men stood at a safe distance from the melting door. Everyone was waiting for what was about to happen. The sound of the flame on the other side of the door invaded the environment, until suddenly... Brain. Causing chills to almost all the people present there. A yellow glow could be seen from under the door that was melting…
The silence was interrupted by the sudden ejection of the door, which was thrown directly towards the soldiers in front. A large amount of smoke came out of the hole that was left. And a couple of yellow dots lit up. Edward ran out of the smoke, wearing a black trench coat, the inside of which shone bright yellow. In his face there was a pair of Goggles, also yellow, which emitted an intense light.
"There is! “Shoot him!” He shouted loudly, as Octavia dragged him towards a door to get him away from the shooting. The henchmen fired volleys of bullets at Edward, who was blocking the shots with Edelgard's trench coat.
Edward tackled one of the men and took cover behind some wooden boxes. He took the gun from the anklet, knocked out the guard next to him and took his gun from him. To start responding to shots. Taking advantage of the lens aiming system. After several minutes, Edward realized that he needed to increase speed... He removed the key that was inserted into the device. Which had the symbol of a Sniper sight, I inserted another one that had the symbol of skates.
After this, he threw his pistol into the air, while a green light enveloped him. The gangsters were perplexed, watching as the gun transformed into a UZI with neon green markings. They were even more perplexed, when Edward jumped out from behind the box... Dressed in a black one-piece suit, with silver lines. In large white letters it was written "Ritcher" and a number 3 in large.
Edward caught the UZI out of the air, and it clicked on his heels. The white soles began to glow, and he levitated a few centimetres from the floor. The next thing the gangsters saw was this blue-haired boy attacking them while he fired with the UZI.
“Quickly, Tragliatore. Over here!” She told Octavia to the mafia leader, As she dragged him through one of the doors, and she kept crouched down so as not to be seen.
Edward continued to dodge bullets while he in turn returned fire. He quickly positioned himself in the centre of the room, and began to spin on its axis at high speed, while he continued shooting with the UZI and one of the gangsters' weapons. Generating a storm of bullets, which filled the room. When he stopped, Edward realized that he had made holes in all the walls, covers and enemies in the place. He began to walk towards the hallway that Tragliatore left down. With all the calm in the world, he removed the key from the device, and placed a different one with the symbol of an Oxygen mask and a Sickle.
“Come in! Come in! Quick!" Octavia shouted at Tragliatore, while holding the door of a small laboratory, which had a small window with a curtain, inside was another of the henchmen, dressed in a white coat. After entering, Octavia's attention was quickly caught by a shelf with some books. Tragliatore watched as his protector began to search the bookshelf. “What's happening, boss? I heard a lot of gunshots and-” Quickly, the scientist's words were interrupted by the screams of their leader. “That doesn't matter now! We are under attack, scan the bunker. I want to see how many of my men are still alive!” The henchman typed something on a nearby computer. While Tragliatore was still confused by what Octavia was doing. He was about to ask her, when his employee's surprised moan distracted him. “Bo-boss, there are only four living beings left in the Building…” Tragliatore raised his hands to his face, passing them all over his face, while he let out a long sigh through his mouth.
“Okay, okay, it's manageable, it's manageable… Octavia, we need a plan, can you think of it… Octavia!?” The gangster was surprised when he saw the red-haired girl, with a book from which a white glow came out. And a white circle surrounded her. “I'm sorry, boy, but our deal is going to have to end here…” When Tragliatore tried to stop her, he realized that he couldn't get through the circle. “This was not what was agreed upon, you said that The Guardians were going to fulfil my wish…” Octavia tore the pages from the book, and held them up. “I told you that they were going to grant your wish…” He released her leaves, which began to orbit around her. “If you survived…” Tragliatore was about to reply, until his minion shouted at him, with a tone of perennial terror in his voice. "MISTER! “She's coming down the hallway, she's coming this way.” Tragliatore's shock was evident in his eyes. And when he turned around to look to Octavia for a solution, he saw that she had disappeared, and the circle on the floor was on fire.
The scientist quickly approached Tragliatore, holding him by the shoulders, his body aligned with the door. On the other side of which footsteps could be heard in the distance. “What do we do now, boss? There are only the two of us left, I don't want to die! My notes are still on the table, if he finds out that I designed that poison, I don't know what he'll do to me!” Tragliatore quickly slapped the soldier away from him. “We're not going to give up, listen this is what we're going to-”
Before Tragliatore could finish the sentence, a metal sickle came flying through the door window. The sickle hit the scientist directly and stuck into the wall. Blood began to drip from the inert body. Tragliatore recoiled in shock, blood had splattered on his face.
The bottom of the Sickle opened and a small stream of water came out, which floated forming a hand. Which I grab the sickle and take it out of the wall. Causing the man to fall to the floor, Tragliatore watched in shock as his hand stopped in front of the door and slammed hard against the handle. Causing the door to open.
Edward entered through the door, dressed in a black jacket with grey sleeves, accompanied by black neoprene pants. The footsteps of his boots broke the silence of the room like thunder in the night. His face was covered by a hood, accompanied by a black oxygen mask. Tragliatore tried to pull the gun from him, but was quickly restrained by Edward. Which he held against the wall.
“What the fuck do you want? If you're going to kill me, do it now! Tragliatore tried to say with the most threatening tone he could. Edward remained silent, taking one of his scissors out of his pocket, beginning to run it across the neck of his mafia leader. "Wait! Wait! You want money? “I can give you money.” At the offer, Edward stuck the scissors into Tragliatore's leg. Causing blood to flow out, along with a gasp of pain “Uh… Okay, Okay, no money. What do you want?"
Edward took out the syringe with a black liquid from his pocket. And he shook it in front of him. "The poison? Do you want to know how the poison is made? Why do you think I would tell you?” Tragliatore said, finishing his sentence by spitting at Edward. Which was Stoic, took another scissors from his pocket, and stuck it in Tragliatore's hand. Leaving it nailed to the wall. The scream of pain was even louder. “Ugh! In the table! In the notebook on the table!” Edward alone tragliatore, letting the scissors support him. While he went towards what he had come for. He took the leather-bound notebook, and opened it to the page that was marked with a red ribbon. On the same page, the process with which the poison had been made was detailed.
After seeing this, Edward began to walk towards the exit door. A white glow enveloped him and his clothes returned to his usual trench coat. Tragliatore couldn't contain his frustration and shouted at Edward, “Really? You entered my base, you killed all my staff, that's why? All this for that Bea-” Before he could finish the sentence, Edward turned on his heel. Throwing a pair of scissors directly at Tragliatore's forehead. The scissors remained stuck in the wall. Leaving a hole in Tragliatore's face. “DON'T INSULT HER AGAIN, NEVER!" After this, Edward adjusts his bangs, and begins to walk out of the underground base. Willing to achieve it.
Out of Continuity: Lair of the Key Society / One week later…
Erin woke up on the morgue gurney, her eyes slowly opening as her senses began to return. She looked around her, recognizing the medical equipment and monitors that were still beeping softly. She sat up on the bed with some effort, and her gaze fell on Edward, who was sitting next to her.
Edward was completely disheveled, with deep circles under his eyes that marked his tired face. He tapped his foot on the floor at high speed, clearly nervous. Next to him, the table was littered with empty coffee cups and a stopwatch
"Edward?" Erin asked in a weak voice. Edward looked up quickly, his eyes filled with a mix of surprise and relief. Realizing that he hadn't imagined the sound of Erin's voice, he jumped up and hugged her with all of her strength.
"Are you OK!" he exclaimed, her words filled with her emotion. Edward moved away from her a little, holding Erin's face with her hands under her cheeks.
"Yeah...I'm fine," Erin responded, still a little disoriented. She noticed the black marks under Edward's eyes and frowned in concern. "My God...Edward, are your eyes okay?"
Edward couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "You wake up from a coma, and the first thing you ask me is if I'm okay?" After that, Edward hugged her again, resting her jaw on top of her head. Erin just enjoyed the hug, feeling the warmth and security that she gave her.
Suddenly, she felt drops falling on her head. Erin looked up and saw the tears falling from Edward's eyes. "Edward? What's wrong?" she asked in a soft voice.
Edward grabbed her chin again and brought her face closer to his, causing Erin to blush. "What's going on?" Edward moved forward, planting a kiss on Erin's lips. The shock to Erin's mind was brutal, but she soon began to enjoy it. After several minutes, Edward broke the kiss and looked at Erin with a look he'd never had before. "That's what happens," Edward said softly, hugging her again. "I Love you"

So lost a part of a tooth Friday 10th of May (probably swallowed it), temp filling dentist said theyd see me on Tuesday.
Woke up Monday night with swollen lymphs in throat, ate honey on toast took an ibuprofen and went back to sleep. Tuesday morning fine, at 11.30am Dentist after 5mins says can't treat, signs of infection in throat but around tooth looks fine, in there opinion its a viral infection due to the pattern, said they've seen measles presenting in adults this way recently even if they were vaccinated (I am). Said options were to go to the Debtal Hospital about 1h away where they may treat it immediately or go to GP get diagnosed, get better and come back.
GP is not my normal one (my normal one retired) I say normal but I've only been to the GP 3 times in the last 20 years, last time was 2020 before that 2016, before that 2006. GP looks and also notices now damage presenting on roof of mouth, says mouth and throat are infected gives me a prescription for 3 things, I ask what infection... GP says infections but doesn't say what.
Prescription was : 500mg Profloxin twice daily. 400mg Flagyl 3 times daily. 6ml mycostatin 4 times daily, rinse but don't swallow.
Peak Symptoms: From Tuesday night till Thursday night multiple small ulcers on my throat, side of tongue, lower front lip inside and tonsil. Anything other than cool water felt like hot burning on roof of mouth. Roof of mouth was yellow with black veins briefly. Tongue ulcers were no longer painful Thursday, ulcers in throat started healing Friday but some combined into bigger ones that are now healing (tonsil and left side of throat). I tried carrot soup and tomato soup initially but were painful to swallow and cols tomato soup burned like no ones business, tried a chicken soup also hurt... settled on water rice porridge cooked with fresh ginger and stirring in honey to cool it, this was easy to swallow and seemed to even reduce irritation slightly. Solid food again sat night. Drank about 8l of water a day, still because sparkling burned.
I'm 40 male otherwise healthy, no known allergies, no serious medical illnesses except I did get Covid but I was vaccinated so it was just like a particularly bad cold.
Would really like to know what I have, googling prescriptions didn't help as one is anti-fungal, one is a broadspectrum antibiotic and thr third appears to be for genital infections but downstairs had no symptoms and was all clear.

I was brought up in a church. It was always boring and strange and I never really felt welcome, despite everyone's persistent attempts to tell me how happy they were to see me every week. Nevertheless, the stories I was taught there were all I had. And even if I didn’t fully understand them, to me, there was a god and good and evil, and I was just a mortal caught in the middle of it all.
I was around 12 or 13 years old at the time. I remember it being spring time outside, beautiful but tainted by a plague of allergies that had come over me. I was stuck in a habit back then of reading books late into the night. My mom was mostly supportive of it though and bought me a book light to use in the dark, with the caveat that I put the book down by 10PM at the latest.
On the first night that it happened, I remember being very sucked into the story I was reading. I had started a new book and I distinctly remember thinking that the story wasn’t for someone my age, and if my mother found out what I was reading, she might not let me keep it. The feeling that I was doing something wrong had me on edge in a sort of fun and exciting way, and my heart was beginning to beat somewhat quickly as I continued.
And then I heard it. A rustling sound like something had slid off of a hanger in my closet. I jumped in place, dropping my book down on the blanket, the clip-on book light casting a long and imposing shadow across the room. What I saw next was difficult to make out and is even harder to picture in my mind all these years later. I remember my clothes hung up in the closet, swaying in place, almost shivering or jittering from the movement coming from behind them. The book light was cut off along one edge of the closet opening, only showing the bottom of my hanging clothes and part way down onto the floor where some old shoeboxes and retired sports equipment was stored. But there was something odd and quite noticeable partially in view within the small glow of light that existed there. At the time it was puzzling to interpret as I had been expecting my angry mother to have somehow divined that I was reading something she didn’t approve of. But with time and reflection it became clear that the dark shape I saw amongst my belongings was an abnormally long and trembling leg.
“P-please!! P-put that down!”
It spoke with a frantic whisper, as if I was inadvertently pointing a loaded gun at it. I froze for a moment, staring at the indiscernible shape, watching my jacket and button down shirts shivering on their hangers when it suddenly occurred to me. I frantically grabbed the book light and pulled it to my chest. I could have quickly turned and shown it directly into the closet, but for some reason, I didn’t.
The nights that followed were difficult. I kept looking over my shoulder, staring in the direction of my closet, wondering if something would happen instead of falling asleep or reading. My mother even took notice of the sudden change, asking me, “Is something wrong, sweetie?” before tucking me in one night.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I’m just bored with my book,” I lied.
“You can’t give up on it now, dear! Even if it’s not for you, at least try and finish it so you know for sure.”
That night I pulled the book out again and continued from where I left off. I felt bad, as if I was taking advantage of my mom’s ignorance as she advocated for me to read a book that she must not have known the full story behind. But still, I wasn’t really bored of it. In fact, once I had the book out and in my hands again, I felt that same itch I had before. An excitement to see what came next. To know what else lies between the pages of the coming chapters. And as I read further, my heart began to race again. I felt a tingle going up my spine now, and for some reason, I began to sweat.
“Can you hear us?”
The voice was closer this time, somewhere off to my side now, away from the closet and more toward the center of my room. I remained still, careful not to bounce the book light around in fear that I would drive the being away.
“Yes.” I told it. The moment after I spoke back to it for the first time, the strangeness of the situation became somewhat mildly apparent to me, although it still did not deter me or drive me toward fear.
“Good.”
I had church that next morning. What I didn’t realize that day, as we piled into the car at the crack of dawn, was that it would be the last time I would ever go to church for the rest of my life. I remember this day very well, as you’ll soon be able to tell.
“Did you sleep okay?” Mother asked me, peering into the backseat through the rear view mirror.
“Okay, yea.”
“How about your book? Did you read any?”
“Yeah.”
“Good! I’m glad.” She said, smiling with her eyes as they returned to the road ahead.
We pulled up to the church and parked in the small parking lot out front. It was altogether a poorly cared for area with faded yellow lines on the ground separating the parking spaces, and chunks of concrete broken apart as if the urban environment had somehow fallen victim to a recent bombing. Our church service was held in an office park of all places, down a flight of stairs and through a long hallway that always smelt like damp carpet. The church pastor had acquired the space for a good deal, and always talked about the location as if it were merely the humble beginning compared to where they would someday be.
We took our seats in the cramped room as usual and an eerie silence was broken by the sound of an old, muffled electronic organ that tried and failed to lift the energy of the room before our pastor walked out center stage.
“Welcome and good morning to everyone on this fine, somewhat humid day. I hope you all are doing well and the drive in wasn’t too problematic, what with all the traffic cones blooming for the summer.” He gave a sort of wincing smile as a few members of the crowd let out a light chuckle. “I’m sure we’re all eager to get on with service today as this is the day we’ve all been waiting for for almost 18 years now - wow! But I just wanted to take a brief moment before we begin to acknowledge the significant achievement of everyone here, and the endless effort you all have gone through in order to make sure that today happened at all.” The room filled with gentle clapping, everyone turning toward one another as they nodded in approval.
“Very good. Now, without any further delay. Let us begin.”
Several quick yet world changing events occurred in the minutes after his speech. Minutes that have dominated my life and memory ever since they happened. My mother stood up and took me by the hand, looking down at me with a large smile across her face.
“Come on! It’s time!”
“What for?” I hesitated, only slowly scooching off of my seat.
“It’s ok, you’re just going to read something out loud for everyone. Think of it like a speech in class, except everyone here is excited just to hear you speak. You won’t do anything wrong, I promise.” I nodded nervously and followed her up to the front of the congregation where she positioned me in front of a mic stand, adjusted down to my height, before leaving to stand next to the pastor. And then I saw her do something quite strange. She took the pastor's hand in her own and kissed him on the lips. The room was deadly silent as the lights overhead were shut off, suddenly leaving us all in a thick darkness. I squinted my eyes as I tried to look back towards my mother, hoping to god I could catch even the slightest hint of her familiar face.
The shadows were pierced by something on the far side of the room. A glow of red light parting the darkness like a curtain, illuminating the pages of an old looking but familiar book that was slowly making its way down the aisle and toward me. Somebody placed the book in my hands and opened it to the first page.
And then a familiar voice spoke.
“Read.”
“But… I’ve already read the beginning before.” I replied quietly.
“But they haven’t.” The voice explained with a seductive hiss. I held the book closer and looked it over. It was my book. It was my light.
As I began reading the words from the pages, I could hear people in the crowd whispering. Some of them were praying, some were crying, one woman in particular I could hear whispering excitedly to her partner: “He can read it! Can you believe that?”
And there were other noises as well. Chanting. Whaling. A sound that I can only explain as a guttural choking noise. I tried to stay focused. To read loudly and not stutter. But as I read further, another noise began to distract me. A drumming or clanging of metal, followed by a rhythmic grinding, over and over and over. Eventually the noise was so loud it was hard to hear my own voice, but I could tell that the audience was loving it. In fact, they were beginning to yell out their approval: “Amazing,” “We’ve finally found him,” “Praise be!”
The tingling had returned up my spine again and my skin felt electric, like I was being filled with some sort of strange energy. It was as if I was moving with momentum as the words of the book were flowing from my mouth like I had somehow memorized every page - even the parts I hadn’t read before. It was so easy I didn’t even need to look at the pages at a certain point, but by that time, something had started to come over me. A hesitance or doubt. I felt wrong and I desperately wanted to leave.
I looked at my book light, examining the streaks of red marker across the glowing plastic, and without a second thought, I scratched it off with my thumb nail. The rhythmic sounds of metal ceased and a blood curdling scream sounded off across the room, followed by several animal-like growls from the now seething congregation. I had stopped reading now and dropped the book to the ground, clutching the light firmly in my trembling hands as the light showed all around me.
“Mom?” I called out with no reply. There wasn’t a sound in the room now apart from the heavy breathing of the congregation, as if they had all just finished running in a triathlon. I started inching my way forward, stepping down the aisle way between all the seats, swinging my head over each shoulder as the sound of bare footsteps sounded off the linoleum floor, mere inches around my glowing circle of protection. I had considered aiming my light around the room, but couldn’t stomach to see what I might reveal. “Mom?” I called again. A sea of hisses erupted from everyone in the room, and without any further investigation, I ran. I pushed open the office door, turned down the long hallway and made short work of the stairs leading up and out of the building. The light outside was blinding, and everything after that was a blur.
The people who found me, wandering alone around a park, brought me to the police who quickly started a search for missing children. Shortly after that, an investigator was brought in who had already been tipped off that I may not have been the child of the woman who raised me.
Years later, I have now learned who my true biological parents are. The woman who I had once called mother had kidnapped me from the hospital on the day I was born, and several lengthy trials later, she has been placed in prison.
I don’t know what the book really was, and for some reason I have no recollection of its contents either. While these events do haunt my memory, it also helps me to share the bizarre and horrifying tale with others. As time has gone on the days have gotten easier to get through, while the nights are still haunted by the feeling of something lingering in the shadows, watching me with anger but unable to act as I always keep my book-light nearby and ready.

--⧼ BEGIN Broadcast Message ⧽--
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
Priority Level: Urgent
:: From ::
Center Arm of the Emperor, Planet Laran
:: To ::
All Survivors of Fellow Royal Cast Broods
:: Message ::
The Emperor has graciously permitted the use of his Excellency's summer home on Planet Laran, located in the Empire's Center Arm, as a temporary refuge during the unprecedented violent Terran offences against His Holiness and the holiness of the Omni-brood of Ix.
:: Attachments ::
Coordinates and Flight Key
:: Royal Cryptographic Signature ::
Lord La'Ix, The Emperor's Right-Center Arm
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
--⧼ END Broadcast Message ⧽--

earlier

"CURSE THEM! The great houses are going to have my bloody head for this! There is no way this should've happened and under my command too! The Golden Emperor's own exotic holiday world has gone to ash and the only one to blame is going to be me. Well it was basically my watch anyways. Curse. Them. All"
Those were the only legible sounds one could hear among the frantic stamping of one particular Ixian lord as he hurried away through the underbrush of the royal reserve just outside the centre palace. The same Ixian lord that, only hours earlier, was delighting in his typical cooked boar while enjoying his evening's entertainment of a young Terran girl running for her life from a loose Laran tiger. Something about the way those bipeds run always makes him laugh. Some similarly caste Ixian would call this form of entertainment childish, lowbrow, and immature. He would tend to agree. But sometimes he just wanted cheap slapstick humour. The day to day life of the royal caste tends to get dull with all the fine arts an Ixian of his caste is meant to enjoy.
"How did it all go to shit!?! I was always attentive, and there hasn't been an uprising since those terrans were tamed for the palace. I mean we mostly neuter the problematic ones anyways, so why all the sudden aggression?", he shouted in agitation at the emptiness in front of him.
Speeding through the royal garden which in actuality is a repurposed Savannah of the island the palace is on. The Ixian was a beast of speed. Perfectly honed and trained over decades, and genetically maintained over eons, he always proudly held that he was the fasted in his brood of 16. Making a name for himself among the other broodkin for being the most genetically suited for the rank of high general (not that there was any need for generals, there hasn't been need for war in so long). Of course the Ixians always pride themselves in having no excess potential, and adapting your environment to suit your biology, but it never hurts to have perfect biology. That's the true pride of an Ixian.
That innate need to change the universe rather than changing themselves is what led to their vast interstellar empire. One that reached from constellation to constellation and then eventually to the arms of entire galaxies, terraforming worlds to the same environment they were already adapted to. Since forcing nature into one's bidding was the most sacred duty of any that shared a lick of Ix biology.
Which was why the Ix was confident in themselves. This Ixian in particular surely felt surprised, but mainly he was only moderately upset at the sudden change of situation, from being comfortable in the royal dining hall to sudden exercise.
"Everything can be changed back. Everything can be changed back." It repeated the mantra to itself. As it began to relax and turn its snarled sharp mouth into a toothy grin.
"Yes, there is nothing to worry about at all. Then let's make a game plan. Just need to make it to the space port at the harbour. Grab a ride out and find someone else to take the fall. That old royal butler is as ancient as the dirt of the broodworld. Hell, he probably was there when it vanished in the shadow of the holy empire's long past." chuckling to himself at the quite witty remark, but saddened that no one else was there to hear it.
Should be realistic enough for the others to believe. But first things first, I need to reach the harbour-master. It thought while its dense muscles powered the beastly lizard-like form on its journey, as it bound in the direction of its destination at top speed on all fours.
The blood red sun was already kissing the horizon by the time the Ixian went to nearly collapse under exhaustion of the extended sprint. He hasn't ran this far and fast than when he a young broodling that won competitions and competitions in the royal sports. I think I might have overdid it. He thought while massaging the oncoming threat of a sneaky cramp in his hind leg.
The Ixian were well known for speed. But their stamina was another thing. There bodies simply didn't have the evolved features for long distance travel. There was never truly any need in the past, as their very steady and controlled climate and sparsely diverse ecosystem on Ix never truly required much challenge.
It turned its panting head to face the way it came, gazing proudly at the great distance it made in such a short while.
But something was off by that view. Something different to what he was expecting. The view itself was mostly fine. Well, as fine as a smoking mark in the distance, presumably from the summer palace being engulfed in flame and spitting great plumes of black smoke. But no, something about this view chilled him to this spine. Craning his neck from his vantage point he could swear there was a small speck in the distance.
What on great Ix is that?
All of a sudden realisation hit like a rock on a peaceful pond. Something was following him. Something unknown and cold was making its way to his location. He was certain it wasn't any of his guards, all guards permitted to serve under the royal summer home were Ixian of course. Physically bred for their strength and speed, and placed into roles of importance like protecting the higher caste such as himself. (Whereas this day being the only exception). It did look like he was the only Ixian that actually made it out of the palace so far. Ixians are able to cover short distances in phenomenal speed, akin to a scaly 4 legged beast of the hunt.
No this was something else.
Feeling a very small panic build up inside, but veiling that cold, unwanted terror as impatience at how far he still needs to travel yet. Lord La'Ix flexed his anterior legs and sped on leaving behind a red-yellow cloud of dust in his wake.
He frowned. Feeling strange at a never before felt sensation. Like something in the back of his perfectly designed brain was screaming a silent, but terrifyingly familiar warning.
"Ix itself is an ancient world. Temperate in climate, while abundant in vegetation and small game. It is unknown how the Ixian was formed on paradise.
The old priest can drum into your heads that I'Ix made us into being by indenting his form in the sand of the first beach and filling the shape with his life. Moulding us into being.
The heretic would counter and say we evolved from a previous species akin to ourselves over the course of untold lengths of time.
The philosopher would suggest that only on paradise would the sentient universe fill in the space for the perfect beings to enjoy the fruits of existence.
Lastly, even the lowest caste Ixian would point and laugh at the rest and say 'why talk about antiquity, when we can make more paradise to fill the heavens'."
-A popular Ixian parable
Lord La'Ix bolted up all of a sudden from his resting spot. Heart suddenly beating frantically. The stars had barely enough time to shift positions when last rested his weary body, only a couple hours must have passed since dusk fell and the world plunged into night.
The silence of the Savannah made sound from afar travel better. Aside from the quiet rustling of the wind he wasn't so sure what he heard. Assuming his bored ears were playing tricks on him.
Calming down, curling up on the flat cool rock he found he started to drift to the shadowless lands where all Ixian go when they dream...
Drums, no, not drums. Some sort of mechanical tool? Not that I ever heard of a tool that just beat the ground senseless. A strange beating sound could be heard, pounding into the ground. As he stayed frozen and very awake, he could have sworn it was getting louder. Closer.
CRACK. SNAP. CRACK.
Suddenly the entire valley echoed the sounds of a few broken sticks.
La'Ix jumped up, whirling around, and came to face something approaching fast that could only be described as a cold predator, not that there were any predators on the homeworld's recorded history. But every cell in his aching body reacted the same. DANGER, DANGER, RUN, RUN.
The silver light of the planet's 3 moons barely lit the valley but what that light bounced off of was a figure in motion. Front Legs pumping up and down, nostrils flaring, eyes too close together, and pupils so large it was like staring at darkness itself.
Hold on there are only 2 legs right? Sudden familiarity hit him hard, memories of last night's entertainment stained his mind. In the name of Ix is that a Terran?!?
La'Ix didn't realise it then, but it was looking at a Terran, despite the Terrans characteristics looking different to the standard slave he was used to seeing. The pumping body of the runner was made for such long distances. Sweat acting as a cooling mechanism, making the man glisten in the harsh moonlight, the enlarged nostrils taking in all the air the body needs for this type of strenuous activity. And the enlarged pupils, made for adjusting to low light environments.
Down on the plains of the Savannah were two creatures. One a perfect evolutionary miracle, practically evolution's first try gone right, Perfectly made for its environment and was never truly exposed to varying climates and environments. And the other, having crawled through the primordial ooze, and struggled and fought its way through dangers, diseases, and competition on its own horrifying world. Where deadly heat in deserts can dry out any living thing, and such freezing poles that can turn anything that enters it in pure ice.
The man's lean and sweat-slicken form was steadily making its way towards the frozen statue of La'Ix. Just as he got within 50 paces did La'Ix sprint away scattering pebbles in its path the echoes of which bounced back from the valley's sharp walls. Undeterred, the chaser kept steadily running. Jaws grit. Eyes locked on afar.
And afar was its prey. Sprinting away.
HOW IN IX'S NAME DID THAT THING KNOW WHERE I AM? The La'Ix in a fit of sudden excitement mixed with a heavy dose of panic, began its high octane sprint from the sudden looming threat of being found. Hind Legs propelling the creature's body forward, while its front arms, which were historically also for four legged locomotion, pulled the terrain closer with each stride. Increasing its momentum until it reached max speed.
"Broodling La'Ix!" said a stern but educated voice.
"Huh? Oh! Yessir!" a young Ix jumped to attention still thinking about more enjoyable things specifically outside of the classroom walls.
"Well? Can you please answer my question or will you make your other broodkin wait until Ix falls to ash first", the tutor said expectantly, prompting several muffles giggles in the room.
"Sorry sir. What makes the Ixian race its place in eternity is the attention we put in perfection. After our home-world of Ix's climate and terrain began to change, the leaders from antiquity decreed we carry on the spirit of the home-world in maintaining a consistent biological and genetic profile that will always be suited to Ix's surface. As we change worlds to be more like Ix, we can spread the spirit of Ix to them. As such, Change is- uh, change is..."
"Change is the poison of perfection, Remaining unchanged for Ix enable us to carry its spirit to other planets in the heavens", continued the tutor. "Well you certainly paid some attention to today's lesson at the very least. But remember that final part. It's the last of the core tenants you will need to remember."
"Yessir!"
A good half night passed on the surface of the Savanna. Where a previously noble and alert Ixian who took great care in appearances and status was no longer to be seen. Instead of that proud domineering alien representative of ix was a dishevelled, dusty, ragged creature, dehydrated, hungry, and exhausted from the various sprints it forced itself to endure to stay ahead of fate's ever closing hand.
Is this the sword of Damocles that was mentioned in the ancient Terran records? Always hanging down on those who hold power and seek more? Fate's sharp blade? But why me? I was never in any real power. All I wanted out of this life was a comfortable posting with no dirt and grime from the lower worlds. Why me? Why now? Why do I-
La'Ix snapped himself out of a daze. Is he here- No, no I should be far far away from that Terran now. Maybe I can find some-
A dim glow interrupted its train of thought. Much too early to be the Sunrise on the Emperor's summer planet, and much to low to be the light from one of it's 2 moons. It was a light from a town.
"That's right!" The Ixian barely managed to rasp in between haggard breaths. Its body barely able to continue the amount of self inflicted abuse it has suddenly been put in.
A lot more hunched over than the Ixian was earlier. It made its way towards a small town it knew was in between the palace and the harbour. The emperor loved his royal rustic towns and villages. It is said that his royal emperor would sometimes tour around them marvelling at the romantic theme of a simple rustic life. Although getting a personal town full of Ixians required a lot of lower caste be forced into long and expensive work contracts as background entertainers for the king's planet, all this excessive show of wealth was partially for peackocking the emperor's reputation, and partially for his own personal enjoyment. The Emperor is almost culturally required to flaunt his royal wealth in all forms in order to keep connections with all the royal houses. An emperor that doesn't shower their supporting aides and houses with grand gifts is fated to eventually be found cold on the floor of the royal banquet due to 'suicide from accidentally ingesting poison', as was the previous emperor.
To avoid such an unfortunate passing, the Higher Royals would trade vast resources, delicacies, and even exotic slaves to court 'royal favours'. Slaves of the Terran variety especially are considered to be the most unique of gifts the empire has ever acquired.
Terrans weren't necessarily large and bulky. Fighters were assigned to the Slave Obniraks. Powerful creatures used to fill the fields on tougher worlds where mechanical services would be deemed to expensive. The growth of a Obnirak into full working adulthood is only a few cycles. Meaning mass producing a workforce is quite an easy feat.
Terrans instead would take vast cycles to mature from a childling to an average adult. Meaning growing a slave force would take vast quantities of resources, immense patience, and strict guidance from their owners as to not create faulty creatures. All of which increases the general standing on any house that manages to keep a vast amount of Terran slaves in the best quality.
Terrans weren't necessarily docile and obedient. That role was perhaps given to the oldest slave race the Ix ever controlled. The Iralisa. It was known that they were made remarkably docile due to generations upon generations of select breeding, and pruning off the 'aggressive traits' from the gene pool. However, that led to the adverse effect of physically weakening them to a point where such docility and lack of a frame to keep up with their workload led to a general lack of Ixian interest and were subsequently purified.
Terrans are notoriously independent and herd-minded in larger quantities. Similar to growing a very stubborn Terulian Rose Vine. Which only looks impressive when great care have been given. Terrans need to be given an illusion of being ever so slightly free. Which typically involves owning vast amounts of land and nature to let them roam and graze. Of course, the only ones that can accommodate grand work forces of Terrans are the larger houses with the appropriate territory for humans, as is studied in the Ixian art of Servitude.
One can only guess which species is the Emperor's favourite.
The following town should indeed have both, low caste Ixians, and possibly none of the Emperor's favourite slaves.
The Ixian approached the glowing town. As it reached closer it straightened its back, upright on its hindlegs in the royal fashion. And proclaimed. "It is I! La'Ix, royal courtier. Lend me aid imme-"
Something is off. Not a single shadow in the town, I can see lights but no movement, where is every-
After turning the corner to the center of the small town, the dustied and weary creature froze in its tracks when it saw it. A pit nearly as wide as an Ixian land cruiser and who knows how deep filled with a stench so powerful it watered his eyes. Despite the Ixian's lack of a proper sense of smell. It knew the foul fetor of death.
The crudely dug pit was nearly overflowing when he approached it. Large, smoking, smouldering pyres cast that eerie light that had drawn him in.
"H-how? Wha-What the..." he trailed off when a local species of Laran boar growled and squealed as it tore a dead Ixian limb from the mountain of corpses.
"Who could've..."
He stopped. The shock of seeing his own kind laid like broken dolls in a bleeding pit slowly faded, replaced by a numbness. The Ixian had just noticed they were of Ix. Only of Ix.
Not a single terran colour was visible in the black and spotted pit of bodies. Not a single slave body was visible.
I-Impossible...
His legs gave way, either from the strain of the entire nights run, the horror facing him, or the threat from behind. He just dropped.
Minutes passed, or hours. It was hard to tell. But the Ixian lay slumped. Body unwilling to move further. Battered flesh unwilling to be propelled by a shattered spirit.
Mind slowly spinning up again. Thoughts began whirring to life in its mind. Could the rumours actually have been true? It had read the sparse reports of odd activity from certain Ixian-controlled worlds on the outer arms of the empire. Small uprisings of unknown origin. Hardly anything of note. If it had no affect on the greater houses then it was of no real concern to Ix and its emperor.
Could this threat have made its way to the centre arm already? Impossible. But what else could have done this to us?
Something caught the Ixian's eyes. In the middle of the pit it stood. A large stake, wet with deep Ixian crimson, dripping ever so slowly. Towering over the pit like a battlefield flag was a head of an Ixian rammed onto the tip of the spike. But the particular detail that caught the Ixian's eyes was a symbol cut into the flesh of the large forehead.
Looking from the outward-in. Eight concentric rings, which proceeded to get smaller and smaller in size until it reached a dark mass at the centre of the symbol. The Ixian never forgot the symbol and the affect it had on it.
Eight concentric rings, and a centre mass. Eight rings, and a mass. Eight- Eight what? Eight planets? And a star? ...
A growing pool of cold dread rose in its guts that made it shiver despite the fair night. This dread reflected the sharp reality on its frigid surface.
This Ixian was well-bred, well-trained, and well-educated. Although anyone with a basic education would know of such a pattern.
Terra and her sisters. THEIR star system...
Thump, thump, thump, thump.
It's not possible!-
Knowing what that sound meant, the Ixian tried to whirl around, its body barely being able to heed its masters commands. Just when it was starting to move again it felt it.
Sudden sharp agony. Sudden sharp, raging agony. The Ixian looked at it's hind leg. A sharpened wooden stake was jutting out of it.
It loud out a tight lipped scream, as it grasped the pulsating wound as one does immediately after an injury. It barely had enough time to look up at its attacker when the Terran bolted forward, shortening the distance between hunter and prey from metres to mere paces. The Ixian barely had enough time to block the hand grasping the knife as the arm flew forward at the last minute with a crash.
What phenomenal force!
Using the momentum from that sprint plus the wind up of his arm. The Terran was able to impart a phenomal show of force for a creature its size. That's when La'Ix for the first time saw a human in its raw unchanged form. Great beads of sweat collecting dust on its brow, to prevent it from entering the eyes. The constant release of sweat from the countless pores on its soft fleshy skin. Constant cooling? Even the visible veins and capillaries visible from the fire light.
What a beast of endurance-
Suddenly the horizon fell before the Ixian only to reveal the inky black sky dotted with pigments from stars like a painters masterpiece. When did I look up? Then a crash and blunt force from the ground.
The Ixian had been toppled over by that ferocious exchange of force.
Barely able to get up due to the wind being knocked out of its single large lung, the searing pain in its hind leg, and the exhaustion from the chase. It was too late. The terran was already on top of it. Taking up the entire view of the sky as the terran stepped forward into its field of vision.
The sudden perspective change made a once small and frail looking slave look grander than life, grander than all the legends told to Ixian broodlings.
The punches rained down. Repeatedly. A constant bombardment of beating rained like the drops of rain before the first dew. The previous pain in its leg forgotten, to invite a new visitor in the form of blunt force trauma. So ferocious were the raw blows to its carapace that the Ixian felt the exoskeleton crack under the increasing pressure and strain.
Something cracked, another thing snapped. The amount of pain too much to comprehend. The neurons firing in its second brain just assumed it was everywhere. Its half-working eye glimpsed the fist as it came down for the nth time. Red and split knuckles, revealing pure white bone beneath—a reinforced weapon. The perfect natural offence. All the muscles moved to propel it downwards where something else cracked and split.
Is this where I die?
As if understanding its fate the Ixian's form slumped over. Its body barely holding onto the natural exoskeleton shielding that covered its chest and facial area. Fluids leaking from the cracks that went too deep, and who knows how many internal ribs are shattered.
Its body, knowing that that more movement will cause more injuries, and further stimuli would confuse it further. It simply shut down.
The last moments it had as it fell backwards on its side. Was a small running figure. Hand clutching wooden spears. But the truly petrifying sight was behind it. A vast shadow flickering from the light of the lit pyres from the hunter in front of it. A shadow cast so large, jagged, and menacing it appeared to swallow the town whole.
And into a hole did the Ixian fall. A vacuum with no sensation or thought. Just darkness.
How... did we never notice such a... monster... in their... shadow...
All Ixians were taught about 'violence' and 'conflict' at an early age. As a sort of rite of passage that any of them would go through as they survive their early broodling days. As Ix have no natural predators, they had begun to instil a serving of some necessary conflict to keep their generations fresh and somewhat physically strong. As a precaution, only rudimentary forms of civil sports, races, shows of strength and courage were ever really explored. But always in a controlled and calm settings, as there would never be any true need for actual conflict.
As there was always a need to maintain ones own environment. The need never arose for the development of fighting techniques and schools of training. That was one of the best parts of being an Ix that many thought. Having supreme control over the worlds you inhabit means setting gravity, atmospheric pressure, humidity, and temperatures to the perfect levels for comfort replaced any need for biological change. Why grow when you can keep everything the same way, how you like it.
They were a vast empire. An empire of statues.
-Excerpt from the history of extra-solarian species, Author unknown
It awoke to a burning radiating heat from in front. The large sun was already starting to set on the horizon when it awoke. Had a whole day passed? Or two?
Trying to block the setting sun from its eyes it couldn't. "What?...", barely made out in a whisper.
I'm tied up.
And indeed the Ixian was right. Tied up next to a small brook, with a scorching fire in front of it. The monster nowhere to be seen.
"No good... it's too tight", it grunted in an attempt to escape its bindings.
Going slack in defeat it avoided any additional movement. Not having the energy to spare to move. It was lucky to have always been lazy at shedding its carapace - a frequent nag from its broodmother - might just have become its salvation in this case.
Thank Ix.
So there it stayed.
Hours passed. The Sun fully set and the stars awake in this dark world barely lit up the wildlands. Only the prisoner in this cone of firelight existed out here.
A rustling up ahead caught the prisoner's attention disturbing the eerily still silence of the Savannah night. And ungodly horror of a squeal ruptured the air invoking a deep visceral terror within the bound prisoner. Something. Something close but just outside the firelight was eyeing it, glinting from beyond the light. Those dark predatory eyes stabbed the prisoner with a sudden coldness. All while the squealing suddenly halted. SNAP. SQUELCH.
Now it came, emerging into the light. A beast. Holding a knife in one bloodied hand, dripping on the dirt. And dragging by the leg, a massive adult Laran boar grotesquely smearing thick blood still warm from the cut in the neck on the dirt.
The prisoner watched, barely moving, barely breathing. Frozen with the horror in front of it as the bloodied carcass was skinned; fur sliced away with harsh, scraping sounds with the crude knife. Spurting remaining blood all over the site.
The pink naked flesh then washed in the brook, leaving a distinct smell of oxidised blood in the air, before being skewered and roasted over the roaring flames. Fat popping violently in the heat.
In this gruesome display, the beast revealed not just a fate for the boar, but a dark hint of what might come. The realisation struck deep—this could be more than just a demonstration; it was a terrifying preview of its own potential end.
It passed out again.
Only to be awoken by the haunting echoes of a wild, desperate squeal that once thrummed through the savannah's eerie silence. Dare it open its eyes?
After a great heavy effort -utilizing its every last drop of courage- one eye cracked open. And what it saw. Made it regret ever having done so.
Right across from it, the hunter was a grotesque silhouette against the flickering fire. Grasping a severed boar leg was a mouth viciously biting, ripping, tearing into the flesh with primal ferocity. Each bite was deliberate, each tear of sinew was a clear, calculated demonstration of supreme savagery. Its jaw muscles bulged with the force of a bite.
All the while, the eyes—deep, abyssal pits—fixed intently on the prisoner. Deepest black pits stared back at it. Watching. Observing. Calculating, with a dark intelligence. it was calculating. It was relishing the terror it inspired and the control it exerted. Or planning its next meal.
The sounds of ripping flesh filled the thick, blood-soaked air. Deep into the night. Deep into this never-ending nightmare.
Never once did the prisoner move. Not an iota. Frozen in abject horror.
The night passed quietly. After the feast the human had, or the desecration of life that the prisoner saw, whichever way you look at it. The human nodded off to sleep. Content in the success of his mission. But the tied up creature had no such rest. Sending silent pleas to the stars that it might be saved. But not daring to make a sound, less it awaken that sleeping horror. Or was it sleeping? Dear Ix, it might be watching me. Feigning sleep to keep an eye on its meal. Dear Ix I'm next...
All through the night, the demons plagued its mind. Until the warmth of the morning rose, and with it the sound of an Ixian cruiser.
Elation could not be an understatement for the tired, tied, beat, and bruised thing. Craning its neck to the direction of the sound about to bellow out an Ixian warning to the demon resting next it.
"BE CAREFUL! THERE'S ONE HERE-". It stopped speaking. That previous elation it felt at a saviour arriving to rescue it from the demons grasp, fizzled out like a drop of water in a drought.
That all so familiar cold remained. And the dryness of despair. As pairs of dark pupils shot back at it.
On the cruiser were tall adult Terrans. Clean cut, well fed, well dressed Terrans. Four, no Six, no eight of them. All hanging onto the side of cruiser while it made its way to their location. Compared to the demon waking up beside it, these creatures were organised. A savageness neatly packaged in a uniform with a symbol. The prisoners eyes grew wide in its sunken sockets. 8 rings, and a centre mass. They must be the cause of, well all this.
Accepting fate, its head fell in part defiance, in part to avoid the stinging eyes of these others. It felt their gaze burn through—cold, cruel, calculating. There is nothing I can do any longer.
"You're finally here. What took you so long?" The runner said to his approaching comrades, "Took all night to catch up to him."
"Hey Jan, great work", the tall militant woman shot back. With a playful punch to his arm. "Guess all that cardio really paid off, didn't I tell you it would!" She let out a playful guffaw.
"Thanks Chel", replied Jan.
"Ok chop chop people, we're on a schedule. We need to reach the port ASAP remember? Come on Jan, rest up all you like, you're still on the clock."
"Aye sir." Jan shot back in a mock salute, gaining a sneer from the commandant, then a sneaky smile.
"Don't forget your trash. And make sure its breathing still."
It creaked open its eyes, seeing pairs of boots moving towards it and standing in front. In silence. Then all of a sudden, felt pairs and pairs of hands pull and tug. and lift it up The thing let out a pathetic silent sob. While it was loaded in the back of the cruiser, face up. Staring at eyes, piercing black dots peering back. It could never understand what was being felt by those eyes and those faces.
Ixians wear their emotions on their carapace; spots and stripes would slowly appear in certain parts, representing emotions and feeling that their bodies felt in a general sense. But the most private thoughts were of course, still kept private.
But this. This was just too foreign. The eyes never stopped. Even in the swaying movement of the cruiser the pupils never broke contact. Those eyes. As if it was peering into it, envelops your entire mind. There was no way to hide, even hiding in his inner self would do no good. Those eyes. Those predator eyes can find me anywhere I try to escape to. Inside and out.
Some times passes.
"You know. I lost good friends to the royal caste. Especially to this one's brood clan or whatever they like to call it." One of them was looking right at it when they said it. It turned its eyes over to the source. A short one, with a slave scar on the neck said it. A scar that shot through his memories. A scar inflicted to property owned by, his brood. This one is dangerous..., it thought.
Jan, and the others didn't look but felt it. The cold darkness in that tone made it clear what it intended to do.
The female militant, Chel, I think her name was. Slowly reached to the side arm on her holster. Sensing the oncoming problem.
"You still understand me don't you? I've had to watch good people die. Damn good people." The scarred one one stood, grabbing the upper rail of the cruiser to steady themselves. "I hear that even if you get ill, you become the entertainment for the night. What was it now?" She paused for a brief second. "Oh I remember".
"Stil" Chel said slowly. "Cool it". Hand still on the butt of the sidearm.
Not hearing or not wanting to reply. Stil continued. "Torn apart by those raptor pets. Hands or feet cut off as souvenirs for those fucked-up parties and those fucked-up guests. Oh yea, and the 'toy play' or whatever they call it. Can't have Ken and Barbie fight back now, can we?"
Stil leaned closer to the now cowering, shaking thing, "I wonder which one was your favourite." The words cut through La'Ix like an icicle. This was the first time these demons actually spoke to it directly. And it didn't like it. It could sense the venom from the words.
"Stil..." Chel slowly got up, hand still at the ready. "I said cool it." The line had a steely warning to it. Chel wouldn't risk the mission. Even if it meant doing what must be done.
Agonizing seconds passed. The cowering, shaking thing seemed to grow whiter and whiter by the second, It's spots clearly showing what it felt. Staring up, Not willing to move but being unable to hide. It felt the absolute crushing weight of the present. Grinding it down to a paste.
Everyone stayed still. The two militants didn't move. The rest didn't seem to even have paid attention to the converstation, still looked away.
Longer passed.
Stil smiled, "Oh come on Chel, you know I wouldn't do anything to our friend here? You know I was just playing around." Stil laughed. Chel didn't react.
Stil immediately crouched, faced the shaking prisoner inches apart eye to eye, and in a whisper said "Right friend?"
She wants me to reply? Dear Ix I can't even think with those eyes in front of me What do I do?! What do I say?!
"Right. Friend?" Stil repeated slower and colder. Like the blade of a surgeon hovering over skin, ready to plunge.
The gears of its Ixian brain grinded to a screeching halt. In utter desperation to find a reply it simply gave up. Instead, it felt a warmth slowly spread. Slowly spread between its hind legs. It had released its bladder.
"BAHAHAHAHA LOOK AT IT" Stil roared in laughter. The sound of it rattling the prisoners brain with the sound. Disorienting its senses. "NOW THAT'S CLASSIC TIMING IF I'VE EVER SEEN IT!" She plopped back down face red and still laughing.
The Ixian didn't know what to do but tremble and sob silently on the cold surface of the cruiser surrounded by laughter. and the warmth of its piss. It tried to plug its ears. But the sound still came. Laughter. Laughter. Laughter. Dear Ix, what are these demons... where are they taking me? To hell?...
The cruiser kept cruising. Towards the port across the island. Trailing laughter behind. Or to the sobbing wreck of a thing, demonic cackling.
The scent of familiarity wafted into the senses of the prisoner as the cruiser started to slow. The smell of the salt, the chirping of familiar aviaries. Sound of the crash of sea. The port.
Braving a sentence for the first time in for what seems eternity. It let out a question "...w..w..where ... why... are... ... we ...h... here?" It managed to say shakily, eyes downcast.
As if in response, a sharp shove greeted it from the back and a hard hit on the ground was as much of an answer it was getting.
"Move it", Jan said gruffly.
They walked. the ixian still bound but free to walk in the middle of the group of humans. Towards a destination still not known. The walk twisted, and turned, and twisted again. One thing struck out to the prisoner. It was too clean, especially for what it was expecting, it's last experience being in the previous blood-soaked town laden with bodies and carrion eaters.
The port town was completely silent, free from the regular hustle and bustle it usually had even when the emperor was not present. And superbly clean. Not a single piece of dirt to be seen. Not a single Ixian either. Where did everyone go? Did they make it out somehow when these invaders came?
In the background, the surf broke relentlessly.
Piercing eyes caught the prisoners glance, as it wandered curiously around the town. Realising its mistake La'Ix tried to look away but the burning gaze gripped his own.
As if reading its soul. The human answered the hidden question bubbling up in La'Ix. "You should've seen them your royal majesty". The one called Stil said while bending in mocking courtesy.
The surf pounded the shore even more loudly now.
"They don't swim well. Especially the young ones. They dropped like stones. Turning all white by the time they stopped moving."
Louder now. The sea roared.
Nothing came. Not a thought in La'Ix's mind. Its mind struggled to comprehend the depth of what was said by Stil, the scarred human.
The waves boomed louder now. Louder than the sun, echoing louder than the screams of all the Ixians that must have perished.
It saw the lips of the standing-devil in front of it. But all the came from its blood red lips were obscured by the sound of the pounding of the waves. The echoes of drowned kin, thudding and slapping against the shore, merged with the relentless surf in La'Ix's mind.
This is for our sins.
Wave after wave, the relentless surge continued, each one a haunting reminder of the souls lost to the sea, each crash a ghostly thud of bodies hitting the shore.
Very slowly did some exhausted neuron in the Ixian's head come to a conclusion as to how these creatures in front of it can be so relentless, so cruel, and so evil. When pushed to beyond its breaking point, did their true carnivorous instincts rear their ugly head.
Oh dear Ix. What sort of environment could breed such demons?
La'Ix didn't remember what happened next. The memories feel like a distant dream now as he sits watching the port sky now.
The aching brand on his forehead of the 8 ringed system, pulsed in pain—a departing gift from his newly made friends, stung from the salty sea air.
He barely recalls the staggered walk from the empty inter-arm transmission office and the inputting of his biometric royal seal. He barely even remembers the message that was sent under his name and signature
And even less does he remember what he heard what will happen next.
All alone now, he stares at the sky of the empty port town. As he watches more royal ships enter the atmosphere.
He gazes upward, thoughtlessly, statue-like Knowing fate will come for them all. Fate in the form of piercing black eyes and a monster so large it can fit in a shadow.
A single thought, carried its way from above the despair to the surface. Slowly. Like a bubble in a pool of tar.
What was I meant to tell the emperor again?

I've been dealing with severe irritant/allergic contact dermatitis to linalool and rubber for the past 2 years. Something odd about my dermatitis is that it is non-localized, meaning if I touch rubber or scented soap with my hands, my flair-up is ALWAYS on my lips and surrounding skin. I was unaware of the cause of my dermatitis for about 1 1/4 years though, until I got more extensive patch testing and confirmed my allergens. I was able to cut out all products containing linalool and found ways to avoid rubber (I'm allergic to a rubber accelerator so not all rubber poses as an allergen, but it's difficult because not all companies list the rubber accelerator in their MSDS or ingredients lists because accelerators are so frequently used).
Anyways, recently, I came in contact with linalool (from "Fragrance" in Aquaphor which I didn't know contained fragrance, as well as perfume). After being free from flair-ups for more than 6 months, and my skin being at the healthiest and strongest it's been in over 2 years, it all went away in a week. It started as some irritation and cracking in one corner of my lips and slowly spread to the entirety of the skin surrounding my lips. It's not NEARLY as bad as my flair-ups from when I was constantly exposed to my allergens, and I haven't been in contact with any of my allergens since the event in which I was, which was approximately 3-4 weeks ago. However, the symptoms did not begin to appear for about a week after my exposure.
My symptoms include:

• Red, itchy skin
• Mild swelling
• Burning sensation
• Skin peeling/constant exfoliation
• Raw skin/cracking
• Clearish-yellow fluid weeping and crusting over (BIGGEST CONCERN)

As I highlighted, my biggest concern is the weeping and crusting over. Its uncomfortable, makes me self-conscious, and also makes me think its a staph infection (which my derm also thought initially until antibiotics posed no change). Currently, I have been using tacrolimus 0.1% ointment to reduce the redness, swelling, pain, and weeping, which also leads to my skin healing slowly. Although, I do not like having to rely on tacrolimus because when I stop using it or after several hours of applying it, my skin goes back to the way it was before. I've also been taking benadryl to help me manage the pain and itching but don't want to keep using it everyday.
I guess what I'm looking for is some tips on how to manage/treat my allergic and irritant contact dermatitis without the use of any over extensive products or medications.

This is a case for a 78-year-old female. The issue arose when her hernia mesh deteriorated with time and caused an infection. So her surgery was put on hold because of her rising vitals and infection. And got admitted to a hospital. They found out she was dehydrated and had high blood pressure. Also, she already has thyroid ( hypothyroidism) and colon issues which she is on medication. Doctors believe that might be the main cause of the issue at hand now which is cirrhosis. At first, they found out that she had fluid in her stomach which she was diagnosed with ascites and then fatty liver. Now to cirrhosis in a matter of days. So what I am asking now is to understand the results and reports until her next appointment with a doctor. What kind of meals and lifestyle changes would she need to make now? I have written down the results someone can explain it, please?
P. S sorry about the grammar. English is not my first language. Also not from the USA
The results are for urine
Test
Physical Examination
Volume Fresh sample
Aspect Slightly Turbid
Colour Yellow
Sp. Gr. Q.N.S
Chemical Examination
Albumin Trace
Bilirubin Nil
Blood Nil
Urobilinogen Normal trace
Nitrite Nil
Glucose Nil
Acetone Nil
PH Acidic
Microscopic Examination
Mucus Nil
Pus Cells 12-14
R.B.Cs 4-6
Crystals Nil
Amorphous Nil
Epith. Cells +
Ova Nil
Casts Hyaline cast
Hormones Report
Test Result Unit
TSH 1.04 ulU/ml
Free T3 1.32 pg/ml
Free T4 1.07 ng/di
Test Result
HAIC (Glycosylated Hb.) 8.1
Serum Albumin: 2.8 g/di
Creatinine (urine) 35.0 mg/di
Albumin in Urine 17.7 mg/l
Albumin / Creatinine Ratio. 50.6 ug Alb /
ABDOMEN & PELVIS ULTRASOUND
Status: * Liver: small in size with course echopatter, irregular border. No focal lesions. N biliary dilatation or hepatic venous congestion. * PV is not dilated. * Spleen: Average size. No focal lesions. * GB: Average capacity, Normal wall thickness, No stones or polyps. * CBD: not dilated. No stones. * Pancreas & para aortic region: sonographically free. * Right Kidney: normal site, size, and increased echogenicity. Reduced parenchymal thickness. No back pressure changes. No stones. It shows multiple simple renal cysts largest is about 5x6 cm * Left Kidney: normal site, size, and increased echogenicity. Reduced parenchymal thickness. No back pressure changes. No stones. * UB: empty. • No sizable adnexal masses of cysts. * Moderate ascites. CONCLUSION - Cirrhotic liver. - Bilateral grade III-IV nephropathy with right simple cysts. - Moderate ascites

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Edited by WaveOfWire
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Two days… It had been two days that Tracy had gone to sleep while Harrison was working, only to come back in the morning to see him still in the workshop. She knew he was damn productive, sure, but that really couldn’t be healthy. Apparently, it had something to do with the weird bowl of orange… soup… that Cera gave him. No way was it just caffeine; any amount of the stuff would have been filtered out of his system by now. He mentioned a tingling feeling too…
Damn, she did not know enough about drugs to even start assuming what that massive alien had Harrison fucked up on. At least the scanner said he was ‘fine’—if you ignore the other glaring issues the machine brought up. Plus, he said he didn’t mind it. Either way, he managed to complete the weaving component and a few other electrical backbones of the fabricator last night, so the project was practically done, and after seeing the engineer work himself half to death, she was dead-set on finishing it.
She was currently tits-deep into the upper manufacturing portion of the towering machine. It took a tall step-stool—on top of the nearby desk—for her to push her small shoulders through the even smaller access panels high on the everything-printer. It was difficult to fit her torso in, but she managed, holding a flashlight between her teeth as she fiddled with a stubborn series of mechanical ‘hands.’ Nothing new. The situation reminded her of the ‘shop back on Mars; it had the same ever-present scent of copper and industrial sealant. All that was missing was her dad’s ancient tunes blasting through some shitty speakers… Hold on…
The modular component in her grip was successfully attached with a resonating thock. Tracy squirmed out of the dim wire-filled crevice, trying her best to not rip her only tank-top on any bolts or corners, and getting a face-full of the bright flood-lights illuminating the workshop. She scowled and blocked out the searing light with a hand, but she was a bit too late to avoid going half-blind.
“Are the mechanical manipulators in?” Harrison grunted, poking his head out underneath the printer’s floor-adjacent maintenance hatch. She looked down at him as she tried to blink off the spots in her vision. His hair was messy, barely kept in line by his habit of combing through it with his fingers. The areas around his eyes were dark and sunken… Guess that’s what two all-nighters did to a man. He’d be seeing the hat man or start hallucinating if he didn’t get any sleep soon… but then again, the two of them were so close to finishing the fabricator…
“You bet.” She gave him a thumbs up, slamming the panel cover closed. “Feel free to test it.”
He nodded and slid back underneath the machine. “Gotcha”
She gently stepped off the stool and slid off the side of the desk, stretching herself out. If her piss-poor sitting posture or her tank-top puppies hadn’t already fucked her spine up, bending over backward to build this fabricator sure as hell would. She sat down next to the panel where Harrison resided, resting her back against the fabrication tower. Her excited voice broke the muffled noises of the engineer’s work. “So… Harrison?”
“Hmm—”
“—Mind if I play some music?”
The sounds from the hatch stopped, followed by his muffled, shocked tone echoing from beneath the fabricator. “You have music!?”
She smirked at seeing the expression on his face when his head popped out again. “I sure do… Did you seriously not download any to your data pad?”
He slipped out from beneath the fabricator fully, huffing as he took a knee beside her. The scent of melded rubber, wire, and his liquid labor reached her nose not-so-unpleasantly. “You would not believe how much of a pain it is to repair an entire barracks without it… So, yeah, I didn’t.”
“Sooooooooo, whatcha wanna listen to? I’ve got almost everything on here—besides the super niche, of course.” She pulled her data pad out, swiping to the massive music folder
“You wouldn’t like the kinda music I listen to; It’s ancient.”
She gave him a lighthearted, annoyed glare. “Welcome to the club… Now what’ll it be?”
“It’s Old Earth kind of ancient… but alright” He looked up at the ceiling in thought, lips pursed. “Do you have anything from Styx or Sweet?”
She stared at him incredulously, her smirk turning into a fully-fledged smile. “Oh my God. You are an absolute dork! You actually listen to Golden Age music?”
His brows raised, accusatory. “And you somehow know exactly who those bands were and what age of Old Earth music they came from?”
She smugly leaned in closer. “That’s because I’m just as much of a nerd with that kinda music as you apparently are.” She quickly looked upward, addressing the workshop AI. “Sebas, connect nearby speakers to my data pad’s audio.” Tracy elbowed the engineer lightly as the PA system chirped its affirmation. “Now, Mr. Golden Age music, which albums do ya want me to queue up?”
- - - - -
The two of them listened to music for hours, tossing on songs they liked as they came to mind while they worked. Harrison had a ton of recommendations that spanned all over the Golden Ages and some twenty-first century classics. She didn’t even know half of them, but she was vibing either way, adding on her own taste by intermingling some older rock tracks and newer electronic beats. The playlist was steadily built up as the day went on. Thank God her dad showed her a vast array of tunes; she might not have been able to keep up with the engineer if her old man hadn't.
It made the work go by so fast, their conversations blurring as they jumped from topic to topic. They discussed whatever came to mind—old hobbies, old jobs, and old interests. A lot was left behind in Sol… At least she knew that the only other human on the planet was more interesting than a soulless workaholic. It turned out that he was a pretty big history buff, and he apparently read a lot about the colonization of the Sol system and the various wars of independence thereafter. Curious, she asked where the interest stemmed from, and he explained that his grandfather was an admiral in the Slavic-Europan deep-ice submarine fleet, which explained how Harrison’s mother was able to afford to immigrate to Mars from Europa.
He could also play an acoustic guitar, and, unfortunately for Tracy, he wasn’t even the slightest bit interested in printing one out, citing that it was a waste of time and material that would be better used elsewhere. That didn’t stop her from writing a note on her data pad to do so later, though. She hadn’t seen someone play one of those in years—the last time was probably in some old music video from the early twenty-second century. What a shame. She would have liked to hear some of the Europan songs his grandmother taught him.
On the bright side, the man seemed to take an interest in her odd hobbies. He brought up the folder of 3D models that she accidentally uploaded to the inter-module system and asked where she got the inspiration for what was in it. Boy, was he not ready for her ‘WarHalberd40k’ lore dump. Props to the guy for not standing up and leaving the workshop throughout her rambling. He even asked questions about the different factions and their weapons, which she was more than happy to talk about.
She also ended up going over the other franchises and hobbies she was interested in, such as robotics and the like. The only interruptions to their chat were the occasional Akula or Craftsman asking for insight regarding the various tasks he had allotted to them, or Shar coming in to check up on Harrison between guard shifts.
The new dynamic of the group was pretty interesting, to say the least. Tracy hadn’t been out to interact with the whole lot of Malkrin, but she definitely noticed how they treated the engineer. They’d started to look up to him in a way ever since he started showing off technology. In a little over two days, the man had shown them that he could provide the materials for a brick house, fine clothing—especially by the alien’s standards—armor, and delicious food. That wasn’t even mentioning the other benefits the technician heard a few of the ‘banished’ talking about over their meals: heating, electric lights, and other assorted machines.
She’d be feeling pretty happy about herself if she was in his position, having so many look up to him and be grateful at the same time. He seemed to view it a lot more robotically, however, only striving to get the basics done. Luckily for him, his basics were their luxury.
That wasn’t all there was to the topic; the engineer lamented about how the colony was going through food just as quickly as materials. The meals weren’t the direct issue he had, more that he had to start focusing on long-term resource harvesting rather than directly preparing for a literal horde of monsters—which wasn’t exactly ideal. It was a good thing that they just so happened to take on an influx of Malkrin then…
Either way, they finally finished the ‘totally legal modification’ for the fabricator, meaning they could at least partially address the latter half of his worries. The whole process of ripping out an old printer and replacing the parts for a new one felt a lot easier than she imagined… even if it took her at least forty-eight hours to complete it… with help from Harrison. Maybe that was why it felt so easy… She supposed the colony overseers didn’t choose the man for no reason, so his skills made sense.
“So… what do we want to print out first?” Tracy questioned, having finished testing the last major component.
The engineer stretched his arms up into the air and rotated his shoulders, then pulled back the desk’s chair and took a seat. “I’ve had just one thing in mind since the start of this whole project.”
Her brows raised in a mix of excitement and curiosity. She leaned forward, looking at the computer monitor from over his shoulder. “Oh? What’s that, then?”
A smirk formed along his cheek, the computer mouse rapidly clicking through the blueprint folder. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about what kind of firearm we need since I started dabbling in belt-fed weapon systems.” He opened one final file, a short loading bar preceding the exploded assembly view of… “An M2 Browning machine gun. It’s more than powerful enough to kill in one shot, while also being capable of fully-automatic fire, with a capacity of however many rounds we want in a belt-box.”
“Uh…huh…” She gave a skeptical nod and took a step back, not exactly sold on the idea. “It looks ancient. It’s kinetic, right? Why aren’t we using energy-based weapons? Don’t we have a gunpowder shortage coming up?”
He moved his chair off to the side to look back at her. “We just can’t; Simple as. We’ll need who knows how many more AI cores before we can get started on that level of equipment, Trace,” he huffed, returning his gaze to the specifications of the firearm. “This isn’t the most ‘modern’ weapon we can make, but its twenty-first century counterpart helps with an improved design… somewhat. And, as I said before, it should be more than capable of killing a bug in one shot, so Shar can just tap-fire it to save ammunition.”
Her head tilted quizzically. “Shar?”
“Yup,” he returned confidently. “It’s the perfect weapon for her.”
She raised a brow. “How so?”
He held his hand up, counting his reasons on his fingers. “She’s always on the front line with a shield, she can absolutely handle the weight and recoil, her four arms make reloading it simple, plus she’ll need something with range and power that isn’t a spear. So, why not? And, if for some reason, she doesn’t want to use it, we can just convert it into a turret—which is something I was planning on doing anyways with however more M2s we print out later.”
“I doubt she’ll say no to any gun you give her,” Tracy chuckled while shaking her head, inadvertently causing her bangs to cover her eyes.
“Fair enough,” he conceded with a bob of his head. “What do you think, then? What kinda weapons do you have in mind?”
She reapplied her goggles into an impromptu hairband, feeling a smirk cross her face. “Thought you’d never ask. What purpose do we need these guns to fulfill? Hordes I’m guessing?”
“That’s the idea, yeah. That doesn’t mean they all need to be machine guns, though.” He tapped the belt-fed shotgun beside him.
“Well, lemme see what we’re working with first.” She suddenly stepped forward, leaning over Harrison’s seat to access the keyboard and mouse. Her arms briefly rubbed against him, forcing him to roll his chair backward. She suppressed a giggle at seeing his incredulous frown.
Her eyes quickly traced the hundreds of individual files, clicking through all sorts of folders, each arranged from pre-twenty-first century ‘antiques,’ to more modern iterations of kinetics and particle weaponry. There was… a lot on there—almost too much to reasonably comb through. Why? Did the colony overseers just say ‘fuck it’ and put whatever they could find on here? Were they expecting the pioneers to make a museum of everything?
She sighed, standing up straight and facing Harrison. “Y’know, I’m actually impressed you managed to find that M2-whatever in there…”
He shifted in his seat, resting an elbow on the desk. “Yup, there’s a lot. I’m almost tempted to just make several of those machine guns and just call it a day, but I feel like that’d be too much of a strain on resources, no?”
“I don’t really know enough about how you fight those spider-crab things, or how to get more gunpowder, so… maybe?” She shrugged, biting her cheek in contemplation. “You might just wanna make a few smaller caliber weapons… like, uh… those old kinetic service rifles. If your pump-action shotgun works fine, I’m sure some normal guns would work just fine for now, right?”
He hardily gripped his firearm, hauling it up to his lap. “Depends on what you mean by ‘smaller caliber.’ The whole reason why the KS-23 here works—” he pulled out a massive shell from the ammo belt, displaying it on his palm. “—is because the twenty-three-millimeter round has enough energy transfer to mess up any bug's shell and insides. I’d say the smallest rounds we could use would be point-two-forty-three caliber to get any similar results.”
Brief flickers of grungy orange shells and gnashing teeth marred Tracy’s sight. She forcibly suppressed them, distracting herself with dry humor and a strained laugh. “Guess those fuckers can really take a punch, huh?”
He shook his head somberly. “I couldn’t imagine going up against them without a gun… Anyway, I like your idea of a standard rifle for now. Then, when we have some product lines up, we can go a little more in depth into personal weapons.”
“So are you gonna take one?” She hopped up on the desk, letting her legs swing off the side.
“Don’t think so, no. I’ll stick with my shotty.” The internals of the heavily modified weapon rattled as he held it up and inspected it. “Doesn’t mean I’ll keep it as is. I’m thinking of printing a laser aiming module so I can point-fire it accurately, and maybe a melee-oriented muzzle brake or a lighter chassis to reduce weight… Not sure though.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, her cheeks in her palms. “Melee-oriented? Oooooh, like a chain-sword or something?”
His short chuckle coerced a smirk to her face. “No, not like that. More something to use as a bludgeoning tool. Right before the blood-moon, I ended up getting just as much use out of this shotgun as a hammer than as a… well, a shotgun.”
“That’s pretty fuckin’ metal. So are you just gonna make the barrel into a giant bayonet?”
He nodded. “Not exactly a bayonet, but something more like a door-breaching break.”
A short silence settled on their conversation, the faint sounds of the fabricator’s hum and distant woodwork coming to light. Right, there was an outside world… She’d been too caught up talking to Harrison for however many hours it had been. She wondered how successful the fisherwomen were in collecting, and how things had been for the others working on the wood storage shack. Maybe it was already completed? The sun peered through the cargo bay door, proving that it was only about midday. What else would they work on today?
“Hey,” she ventured.
“Hm?” the engineer hummed, his eyes focused on the monitor beside the technician.
She scooted closer to his keyboard. “What’re we doing after this?”
“What do you mean?”
She leaned backward, propping herself up on two hands. “Project wise; what’s the next big thing?”
“Uhmmm…” he muttered, interacting with the computer for a few more seconds before finally meeting her gaze. “Well, I’ve just allocated the fabricator to print out the M2, three FALs—wood furniture, of course—then there’s the magazines and ammunition, so we’ve got a lot of time to kill. The next big thing is definitely going to be metal procurement, and— Oh, right!” Harrison stopped mid-sentence, reaching into his backpack and pulling out several finger-sized metallic cubes, a sudden fire in his eyes. “Okay, so a while ago, during an encounter with three colossi, Shar and Akula found a cave with some ‘surface’ metal deposits. I took a piece off to analyze, but never got the chance to until last night. Anyway, we don’t have any machines to examine the ore, so I made use of the recycler and broke it down to its baser components.”
She nodded along, seeing where he was going with his explanation. “I’m guessing those shiny cubes are the metals from the ore?”
“Sure is. So, as it turns out, we have a pretty damn close supply of not only iron, but also, zinc, sulfur, and a small amount of cadmium. I talked with Sebas about it and did a little research. We believe it’s something akin to sphalerite, given its composition and looks, which implies it’s a sedimentary exhalative deposit. That means there must have been some volcanic…”
Harrison continued talking about underwater deposits and ancient rock formations, bringing up some theories brought forward by the now 4-AI-core-powered Sebas, delving into the current land mass’ history and possible ore output. A lot of it went over the tradewoman’s head, but she still listened intently… Honestly, she could have listened to the man talk about finding metals for hours. It was sort of like the podcasts she used to listen to while completing colonist training, but even more personal and somehow easier to get lost in…
“…find some other minerals further down like silver, but it also might be an active lava zone. Again, these are all theories and this world could just throw the fundamentals of geology away as it does for physics. Anyway, sorry for going on for so long about that, just thought it’d be important for getting some metals in the future.”
“No, no,” Tracy assured, alleviating him of concern with a wave of her hand. “If there’s anything the colony overseers emphasized, it was farming and mineral acquisition. Don’t worry.” She smiled, pointing a thumb to herself. “I just wanna know how I can help.”
“Actually, I’ve a few things only you can do. I’d like to make use of your impressive drone-making expertise for a few applications, if you don’t mind.”
The task of keeping eye contact slipped into an impossible feat in the span of a singular second, planting a pang of embarrassment on her reddened face, forcing her to inspect her fidgeting hands. “I-I wouldn’t say ‘impressive’… b-but what do you have in mind?”
She could see him raise a brow out of the corner of her vision. “Well, after what you’ve shown me with the reconnaissance flyers, I’d like your help in setting up a more permanent ‘net’ of them to scour the meadow and parts of the nearby forest to look out for any approaching hordes. I don’t want to be snuck up on… again…”
‘Again.’
She noted his small frown and sunken eyes, both a little more exaggerated than they already were. It wasn’t like she’d deny his request, but the pangs of empathy over their shared situation all but solidified her resolve. It was the least she could do. She could help him. She would help him.
The technician exhaled slowly, taking on a more serious and understanding tone than before. “I… can do that. For sure. What else?”
“I appreciate it.” He gave a wane smile. “I’ll help you with whatever you need for the project. For the other drones, I’m thinking about a small exploration vehicle to map out caves around us and mark any minerals, as well as a submersible to look for potassium deposits in the ocean.”
“So… search bots?” She crossed her arms, confidence growing; those were her specialty. “Depending on how long the fabricators take and what kind of base drones are in the blueprint folders, I should be able to get those done in no time. All I need to know are the search cues for potassium and how many drones you want.”
He quickly shuffled a few folders on the computer, turning the monitor for her to see some scientific documents with various images and walls upon walls of text. “There’re plenty of resources for that on here for what to look for, and there’s always Sebas, so feel free to ask him since he can just sort through the data for you anyway. If you can, I’d like it if you could focus on the submersible after the reconnaissance drones.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll be right on it, then.” She gave him a thumbs up, slipping off his desk and toward her own.
“I’ll bring you lunch in a bit. Imma go check on the others,” he called.
Her stomach grumbled at the mention, her head turning to give him an appreciative smile. “Oh! Thanks!”
\= = = = =
Avian creatures chirped from their perches in the trees nearby. The wind softly rustled red leaves as grass gently gave way to calculated footfalls. A warm sun laid its light on Shar’khee’s neck. It was surprisingly pleasant, were one to take the time to notice. The mainland was a confusing place for the paladin, with its disparate representations of nature contrasting so heavily. Some days were filled with blood and ravenous beasts, while others were left within the domain of simplicity and beauty. She was content to have the latter, yet it felt like a facade veiling the former—a soft exterior covering the maliciously spiked interior. Never could she leave herself to carelessness, no matter how welcoming it might be.
Hence why she worked to ensure the safety of the star-sent’s castles and their inhabitants, her days largely spent patrolling for any roaming swarms that may wish to cause them harm. She typically used the routine to think, but today offered little in the way of solitude. This time, she was accompanied by the previously banished guardswoman, and was tasked with instructing the new one, though the specifics of what such lessons should entail were vague. Still, Shar’khee did all that she could so as not to disappoint Harrison, so she could only attempt to meet his expectations of her.
She told the yellow-skinned female of the threats that the settlement faced, how one was to defeat them, and what to expect from the beasts. The guardswoman was directed to practice her form with the spear in both thrusts and throwing for some time afterward, proving herself to be well-built. Such was expected of her profession after all.
It was pleasing to have another capable of patrolling the settlement’s outskirts for swarms, as it would greatly impact how effectively the colony could react to such a threat. If her routine was to suffer for the colony’s well-being, she was happy to show the new one her patrol route and note what to look out for.
The guardswoman was not a perfect student, however. Shar’khee never addressed it directly, but the yellow-skinned female obviously discredited the danger posed by the abhorrent, not-so-subtly shrugging off any warnings.
…That was until they stumbled upon the ‘hyena-boars,’ as Harrison called them.
The beasts resided in a clearing not too far from the castles, carelessly meandering across the sea of tall grass. Shar’khee quickly crouched, dragging the guardswoman down with her. Once she assessed that the creatures were not an imminent danger, she decided it would be an excellent opportunity to show the new one how to properly engage a threat. She was about to propose the idea, yet her speech was silenced just as swiftly.
Orange flashes darted through the trees around the glade. Taloned feet and gnashing teeth tore across the ground toward the unsuspecting beasts at the center. It was much too late for them. They were slow. Surrounded. Unaware. It was as quick as it was vicious, the forest’s reds turning a deeper crimson hue in a moment's notice underneath the abhorrent’s brutality.
Gangly monstrosities gnawed and ripped at the dead creatures, brief glimpses of raw flesh and white bone protruding from the small spaces between the clumped-up beasts. Repulsive wet splatters of blood and gore overlapped the calm noises of the forest, the grisly scene serenaded by the softest of nature’s symphonies. It was a sickening juxtaposition.
Shar’khee bit back the unease and steeled herself. They were within twenty paces—close enough to smell the abhorrent’s vile stench of rot and bile, yet far enough so as not to be noticed. She briefly considered backing away and retreating, her focus bouncing between the different avenues of escape, or how to cover her footst—
Crack.
Several sets of feral, eyeless maws snapped in their direction, the blood dripping off freshly dampened teeth. The guardswoman gasped, Shar’khee’s gaze following to see the mistake: a singular broken branch crinkled as a yellow-colored foot raised off the splintering twig.
The paladin exhaled sharply and smoothly stood up, brandishing two spears and her shield. Her glare settled on the still crouching guardswoman. “You are to stay behind my shield and let them appr—ch. Rem—ber what I have told you. Aim for their maws when you thrust y—r lance.”
The other female nodded, shakily pulling out her own weapons with unsteady placement hampering her grip. There was an obvious nervousness to her gaze. Hesitance. That would not do.
Shar’khee faced the prowling abhorrent her knuckles shifting hue as she prepared for their advance, for there was no chance that they wouldn’t. True to her experience, the stalking turned to a gallop with several clicks of grotesque tongues, the swarm bolting toward her as one. She snarled and slammed her bulwark into the ground, letting the approaching beasts skewer themselves amongst its spikes.
There were only ten—a paltry amount. She had defended against magnitudes more, and yet she still stood. What is more, they were mindless. Uncoordinated. They would be but stains in the cloth she used to clean her armor. Perhaps, if they were fortunate, they might leave a furrow in her shield to remember them by. Her arms tensed as the first leapt.
One by one, the abhorrent fell, their repulsive green blood splattering under her thrusts. Each awaiting corpse tore across the grove’s grass, lunging to their deaths with gaping maws and unfeeling hunger, yet she did not yield. Their shells were crushed by her shield and impaled by her Goddess-blessed spears, becoming but one more smear across their surface. Ten motionless lumps lay before her, seeping their ichor into the soil, none having passed the barrier she became. Dead, just as the Creator intended. She remained vigilant for a few moments longer, watching for any more of the disgusting creatures.
None showed themselves, finally allowing blood to flow to her fingers once again. The shield’s heavy presence weighed down her back, the blood flicked off of her spears before she returned them to their place.
“Are y–u well?” Shar’khee addressed the frozen Malkrin, wiping away the splatter on her bracers. The guardswoman stared at the small pile of deceased creatures, her heavy breaths and widened eyes moving from the spear from her singular kill. The paladin huffed. “We are fort—ate that there were so few.”
“F-Few? God help us…” Her horrified, stunned gaze slowly met the paladin’s. “Y-You said there were hundreds on the crimson nights? H-How do you… They were s-so fast.”*
”As I h–ve warned,” Shar’khee affirmed.
“You are a paladin! You all exaggerate your feats… I thought it was just a facade!”
“I have no r—son to lie,” she returned tersely, shrugging off the insult to her station and shaking her head. “The mainl—d is far more dangerous than ten gnash—g beasts; more so than that of your island hamlet. Pick yourself up. We m—t inform the others of this incursion.”
The yellow-skinned female snarled, furrowing her brows at the ground in frustration. At whom…? Shar’khee? Herself? Regardless, the female promptly gathered her composure, pushing air through clenched jaws. A step forward had her feet splash in the small pool of blood, the Malkrin nodding toward the paladin to continue back to the castles.
“…for the village.”
Shar’khee paused in her stride and faced her, frowning at the determination and anger leaking through the intent. “W—t was that?”
Her question was returned with honesty, a huffed voice marred by vexation. “Paladin, how am I to defend my village-mates as I am now?”
“‘As you are now?’ What do you m—n?”
The guardswoman stared down at her spear, wood creaking under her grip. “I have faltered before what you deem a paltry threat, and the thought of an even greater one sows dread deep within my bones. I wish… I wish to be better prepared to defend those of my village. I cannot help but see their faces on those of the furred creature in the clearing, and yet, even if I am so close, I am just as unable to protect them.”
Shar’khee stared down the yellow female, a long gaze taking in a rare showing of sincerity. “Y—r fears are one we all share, new one. Do not be ashamed of them. All t—t matters is that you do not let them rem—n mere fear, but make them your strength. So tell me, do you wish to impr—e? To ensure they do not fall while you are support—g them?”
The yellow-skinned female released a shuddering breath that bled off the worst of her indecision, a newly invoked flame flaring within her visage. “I do, paladin. I seek to protect and to be of use.”
“Then, if you wish to make y—rself resilient in the face of all that opposes us, it would be my undertak—g to forge you anew. Fortunately, Harrison has ordered such already, and his guidance shall prove ever useful, should you pursue it.”
The guardswoman shuffled in place at the star-sent’s mention, her eyes slipping downwards. “He is of a great many resources, but I would rather receive your teachings than those of a craftsman… or that of a male, deity-sent he might be.”
She placed a palm on the female’s shoulder. “He is far more than you might ever k—w. Regardless of if you ac—pt his guidance, I commend your conviction. However—” Her hand gripped tighter, though not enough to instill hostility. “—understand that you are protecting more than just your vi—age-mates.”
The new one nodded, staring up at the paladin with stallwart resolve. “Of course. I shall be in your tutelage, then.”
Shar’khee smiled. “T—n let us begin.”
\= = = = =
Akula was becoming increasingly certain that she knew how her parents once felt. The green-skinned fisherwoman was currently rotating between the many tasks placed upon her, guiding the newcomers through the minutia of their tasks so they might live up to the potential Harrison saw within them. She was gratified to have her own talents recognized by the Creator, but it also placed a great many responsibilities in her talons. Of course, she handled each new addition with finesse befitting her heritage, never once balking from the increasing demands. If anything, she felt validated; it was required of her as a female anyway, was it not? The more feminine-appropriate labor and management one undertakes, the higher authority they were granted.
It began with a simple assignment to oversee the chef’s introduction to the star-sent’s provided cooking appliances. As fascinating and convenient as utilities were, she held no interest in preparing any more food than she already had, but teaching another to operate the machines would alleviate such requirements of her. She reluctantly accepted the task when it was proposed, especially considering the fact that Harrison was much too busy with his other projects to bother with something as benign as cooking. His work was more valuable elsewhere.
The task itself went well, and the pink-skinned chef was quick to pick up on the use of the various kitchen devices, as well as the smoker. A grin had grown when she considered the possibility of all males understanding such domestic things readily, yet her mirth at removing the masculine job required of her was short-lived. Despite the newly initiated Malkrin’s success, Harrison had Akula frequently return to oversee the numerous cooking operations being conducted. That was in tandem with the back-to-back fishing trips made by both herself and the newly acquired females.
…Which was something else the green-skinned cycle-worshipper was ordered to oversee.
She had left the chef to his devices after producing another batch of partially seasoned meals, returning to the Creator with hopes of a break. He applauded her efforts with a nod and tersely spoken appreciation, then quickly pushed two spearguns into her hand and directed her to the ocean, where the twins were ‘working with jack shit,’ as the busy male said. She was to give the fisherwomen the tools and make sure they were used properly, and offer additional assistance in acquiring ‘enough fish to have us fed for a little bit.’
So, she left to complete the given task, feeling somewhat appreciative that her speargun was of superior quality to those she would be delivering—the newcomers were only afforded the lesser, roped-bolt version. It was only natural that she was in possession of their greatest assets, of course; the star-sent saw her as the only one capable of wielding such fantastic ammunition, showing trust that was rightfully placed in her. That did not mean the gray-skinned females were unsatisfied with their own gifts, however. The twins were swiftly caught up on the ‘manual of arms’ and sent to work, somehow managing to keep up with Akula in spite of their land-based origins. The two were fast enough to outpace the cycle-worshipper in sheer speed, but their lack of numerous winters spent traversing deeper waters meant they required frequent rests, breaking the ocean’s surface after every third captured fish or so.
Still, she had to appreciate their dedication to their task. They never complained about Akula pushing them further to reach the star-sent’s vague objective. Such a task was entrusted to her—and by proxy, the other two—and thus it would be completed, no matter how much her comfortable bed… couch called her tiring muscles.
The group of three hauled net after full net of fresh meat to the chef—and sewist, who later joined him—forcing him to relegate much of the catch to long-term storage as the kitchen simply could not deal with the surplus. At least three-quarters of the fish were put to slow cook in the now Malkrin-sized smoker. The craftsman had upgraded it with a kit provided by Harrison, who had recycled much of the dining room and workshop furniture to accommodate it. The Creator’s showcased urgency to gather materials was clearly not unfounded… It was admirable how he used what little he had left to ensure food would not be scarce. Additionally, the apparatus exuded an excellent scent for all the survivors to enjoy, the earthy aroma drawing in some of the other Malkrin for their breaks or meals.
Those were not the end of the cycle-worshiper’s tasks, however. She was also required to report on Shar’khee’s progress in training the guardswoman—helping to recycle the small swarm of abhorrent they cleared earlier—as well as the wood storage building’s progress. Indeed, she was advising and assisting however and wherever applicable. To say she was seen all around the settlement would be an understatement.
Nevertheless, she was appreciative to see her efforts bearing fruit by sundown. The processing of their meals from sea to plate was quite efficient, and those that Akula taught were now well-practiced in their duties. The twin fisherwomen dove from wave to wave, bringing fish back to the barracks, where the cook and sewist swiftly worked to transfer the meat to pans and smoker hooks alike. Then, the remnants of the Sea Goddess’ aquatic gifts would be subsequently recycled and given purpose anew as biofuel or perhaps future fertilizer.
The endless onslaught of duties and responsibilities had enlightened her, in a way. She could see where Harrison came from now; having a working project go from one point to another without input nor difficulty was a sight to behold, and it made her swell with pride. It was a surmountable feat to teach the barbaric ground-worshippers to do something properly.
…Well, they were not horrible Malkrin, so perhaps simply calling them ‘uninitiated’ was a more apt descriptor…
No matter the tribulations faced, and no matter how draining her new authority might be, her rest at the end of the day would be one that was well-earned, and it would be had with a sense of satisfaction. She deserved it, and perhaps that extended to the rest of the settlement as well.
- - - - -
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Next time on Total Drama Anomaly Island - Mine! Mine! Mine!

Nature of Humanity Ch 67 A NoP fic
Under Pressure Part 10
A Fanfic of u/SpacePaladin15’s work “The Nature of Predators.” Thank you for the story!
___
Memory transcription subject: Silvera, Factory 13 Manager
Date [standardized human time]: November 4th, 2136
If it wasn't for the clearly artificial sky above my head someone could possibly convince me I was outside in a new park. The neon blue screen with a white dot to represent the sun was nothing like the actual pale gray visage a mile above. Yet, it did have an enjoyable warmth to it.
A smooth artificial wind swept through the saplings ensuring that they would develop healthy stress wood. It also pleasantly cooled the fur of anyone in here, providing a nice little respite from the heater simulating the sun's unbearable hatred of us. Fuck you fake sun!
Any flora used to decorate the park would be exotic to Frozen Mountain, even if it came from the nearby tundra, but my humans decided to do something interesting. While they had covered most of the ground with a soft short-growing Terran clover, they chose to make the rest of the decorative plants functional. All of the saplings were different types of fruit trees that, when mature, would be free for anyone to harvest as much as they want. Even the decorative topiary isn't hardy tasteless plants, but berry bushes that would provide a variety of sweet treats relatively soon.
Agurcorp was more than happy to allow its failed startup out here to be turned into a local park. Well, so long as they didn't have to pay for this expensive mistake of theirs. The Mayor was all too happy with this, especially since my humans were happy to let him have all the credit so long as they got to design the park. With voting season right around the corner, the Mayor that ‘Brought life to this blighted land’ was a shoo-in to get re-elected. Or would be if he also wasn't ‘The idiot who allowed predators into the city.’
With everything that's happened I am still a bit surprised at everyone currently enjoying the park. A small herd of Venlil are exercising in the open field. A family of Gojids are walking along the cobblestone path. All the while, some humans are playing a very weird game of throwing a round plastic plate into chain nets. It's almost as if this city didn't have two separate riots on the same day.
The sound of wheels traveling across a bumpy path caught my attention. I glanced across the way to see an embarrassed-looking John driving an electric wheelchair over to me. His eyes locked onto mine before quickly switching to the ground. He tried to laze in a chair designed to enforce good posture and looked rather silly as he adjusted himself.
He came to a stop just a foot away from where I sat, “Hey Silv… I, uh… I don't actually need the wheelchair but Mikvia threatened to break my legs if I didn't use it, so I'm just humoring her.”
Oh, don't freaking tell me. Why are humans like this… “John… you were hospitalized with a punctured lung. Sure, doctors have some miracles they can perform these days, but you know you shouldn't be stressing yourself by walking.”
He huffed, “Please, I'm fine. Really. It wasn't as serious as everyone is making it out to be.”
I thumped my hind paw against the ground, “John.”
He threw his hands into the air with a huff, “I'm in the damn wheelchair ain't I? Gawd…”
He grasped his nose before calming down, “I apologize. Shouldn't have raised my voice like that. I mean… I am using the wheelchair and not lifting stuff. Doctor's orders. They even said getting out in this park would be fine. Said it might even help!”
We let out a deep sigh together. I hopped down from my bench and back up onto his lap, “Let's go for a ride… while we figure… us out…”
I could see John's guard drop as the exhaustion crept back onto his face, “...alright...” He pressed his controls forward, and we slowly began our first lap of the park.
John wrapped one of his lanky ape arms around me like a fleshy seatbelt and I laid my head on his chest appreciating the contrast of his warmth with the cool artificial breeze. I could have slept like this. The beating of his heart was rhythmic, and his deep breaths sounded a bit like waves washing up on a shore.
I even heard his heart quicken as I cleared my throat, “So… we aren't really dating are we?”
His exhaustion was quickly replaced with unease as he started to fidget a little, “I'm sorry…”
I held his hand and stared into the ocean blue eyes of his, “Don't be sorry. I think we were both drunk when we agreed to go on a date…”
He shook his head, “I still should have said something before then.”
It wasn't like I couldn't have taken the initiative and talked to him sooner too, “I know you were going through a lot. Actually, I know you still are… I'm really only able to guess but… Are you one of the types that thinks Xeno-dating is weird?”
He looked ashamed as he scrambled to smooth things over, “I- No- well, yes- but- it's just… ok. Let me start over… alright… yeah… so… uhm… the thing is… how do I put this… it sounds bad… well, it is bad… it’s just…”
My tail wagged involuntarily at the rather cute display of embarrassment radiating from John. I leaned in and let him have a doey-eyed look to help heap the embarrassment on.
It felt like John tried to stop the next words from rolling out of his mouth, “Sometimes I have trouble thinking of you all as people.”
John came to a complete stop as I just stared at him wide-eyed. My brain struggled to grasp what he was saying and the implications of it. He cringed and covered his face with his hands, “Gawd, that sounds horrible. It's just… It's not as bad with you and the others… I talk to y’all a lot. It's easier for it to click that you are people too.”
I was desperately trying to see this from his angle, “Wha- why does this happen in the first place?”
His hands drug down his face trying to drag the flesh with it, “I think it’s cause you are always naked. Like your back brace helps a little bit, but still everything else is… That and I hear your voice and the chip in my head then gives it meaning. Like its disjointed. Then it's the way your body language works and- and- fuck. Just…. Fuck me man. I don't even think that's all that's wrong with me. It’s just… like you look, sound, and smell like animals. It's just not really what my mind had in place for aliens. So- like- ugh! Why can't I just explain it!?”
It's difficult to explain, but his words connected to a deep sad memory, “It's like everything is just too… slightly wrong…”
It felt like I had been whisked back decades to my own childhood. I could still smell the bleached halls of the Venlil orphanage on Nevis. My heart whimpered when the Sivkits who came to adopt me shuddered with fear and disgust. Their strange voices sounded slow as they spoke a strange version of Klipic. Like hearing a pale imitation of yourself, try and pretend to be just like you.
My eyes locked with his as I carried on “It’s like you look at them and a part of you knows what they are, but your brain just snaps back to… to what you think reality is.”
I could see a glimmer of hope well up with his tears, “Y-you know? I-Iv've felt like such a monster! How can I- How can I look them in the eyes when they took me in and say- say- that I can't see them as people sometimes!? After everything they've done for me?! They want to adopt me and I- I- I can't even!”
I wrapped my arms around his neck as he buried his face in mine. It felt like he could crush me with his arms, yet they held me gently. What was causing me pain was this damn back brace. The blasted thing was trying to force my arms down while it hunched me over. I wiggled out of John's embrace and ripped the freaking thing off and chucked it as far as I could before burying myself in his embrace again.
We held each other as he drew in shuddering breaths and let his emotions flow out. John’s grip eventually began to loosen and we both took a moment to calm down. I gently tugged at the shirt covering John's torso, “So… Us not wearing clothes constantly is… disconnecting for you?”
He nodded his head, “Y-yeah… It’s like… every person I have ever known wears clothes. Animals never wear clothes and at most wear like a collar or harness if someone owns them. Then a few months ago, a bunch of nudist aliens show up and… well, my brain lops them into the animal category and the translator isn't helping.”
I glanced down at my body and suddenly felt… exposed, “So now that I am no longer wearing clothes…”
He cringed, “You look more like a large rabbit thing than a person… when you had the brace on it helped a little, but you were on all fours… When you were wearing your weather suit and had your hood off, It felt like you were a person, just different.”
An idea crossed into my skull, “Ok then… so your brain attaches personhood with a level of nudity, body plan, and familiarity… take your shirt off and give it to me- Don't give me that look! I know you’re male and are far less sensitive about people seeing your nipples. So gimme.”
He begrudgingly took off his shirt, revealing a pelt of fur that caught me off guard. I shook off the confusion as I slipped his shirt overhead and stuck my arms through the sleeves. It immediately tried to slip down my body and off. Mostly due to how large the hole for his head is, but also due to my utter lack of true shoulders. Another gift of my freak mutation. The ability to walk upright as well as sprint on all fours like a fucking Arxur.
I bunched up the collar and knotted it on itself, solving the slipping issue. With a small twirl, I spun in a circle, “So how is this?”
A smile formed on his face, “You look adorable!”
I happily flicked my tail, “Is that girlfriend adorable or pet animal adorable?”
His grin beamed with happy, mischievous energy, “Little sister adorable.”
I stomped my hind paw again, “Wha- why?!”
He held out his arms and I hopped back into his embrace, “Its cause it's my shirt. Jamie would wear my clothes sometimes, and they were so baggy on him, and well… on you that's practically a sundress! … you’d look really nice in like… a yellow sundress with like a straw hat.”
My mind tried and failed to make an image to match his description, “Hrm… well… I wouldn't know where to even start getting a… sundress.”
John carried on like clothes shopping was a normal intergalactic thing, “You would have to go to a tailor and have it custom-made. Like you already had to adjust my shirt cause you don't have shoulders like we or the Gojids do.”
We sat in a comfortable silence as John started the wheelchair back on its path. I almost fell asleep in his arms before I asked, “So… Are we dating?”
John didn't hesitate to bend over and freaking bite the top of my head! I, rather fruitlessly, slapped my paws against his face as fast as I could and only managed to elicit a laugh from him. Jumping up, I got a mouth full of his cheek in my teeth.
I made sure not to crush as I mimicked what he had done to me back, “Ah! The turns! They've tabled! I'm sorry! We're dating! Augh!” I spit out the lump of flesh between my teeth and sat down rather proudly.
It was only then I looked around to see most of the nearby groups staring at us. As well as three silver suited flame whack jobs walking our way. One of them held up his paws to try and seem as big as possible, “YOU! PREDATORS! DON'T MOVE!”
John growled at them, “YOU FUCKING IDIOTS. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?”
The trio froze in their steps and reached for weapons they didn't have. The boldest one took another step forward and shouted, “SHUT UP PREDATOR!”
John held his issued jacket up, letting the reflective emblem of the guild shine for all to see, “I WORK WITH YOU NUMB NUTS! I'M JOHN! ADOPTED SON OF YOUR FUCKING CHIEF! RING ANY BELLS?”
The trio halted in their tracks and the most skittish of them turned a one-eighty on their paws and began to walk away. The boldest one’s paws slowly dropped, “J-John?! I- I've never seen you without the mask or artificial pelt… wait! You're supposed to be in the hospital!”
Johns voice grew cold, “They said I could go out around the park so long as I mostly stayed in the chair. If it pleases you, you can talk to Loke. He's right over there with his wife and two kids. I bet he'd be thrilled to learn you three are going around accusing people of being predators.”
The bold moron took a fearful half step back, “D-d-d-d-don't twist my words! You bit her and she bit you back! I have witnesses! That's predatory!”
John leaned back and stroked the fur on my cheek, “No, it’s erotic.”
I could see the gears turning in the bold one's head grind, “What.”
John pressed his lips into my neck, “Ya know… sexy. It’s like… gently grooming your significant other's neck from behind but more playful.”
They looked revolted, “That's disgusting.”
John cocked his head to the side like a confused Gojid, “That’s odd.”
The look of revulsion quickly transitioned back to confusion, “What?”
A smirk grew on John's face as his fingers massaged into the sore muscles on my back, “It's just, that’s exactly what your mom said last night, but she grew to like it.”
I slapped my paws to my mouth to avoid laughing as the rage flared up in the bold one's eyes, “WHAT!?”
I let out a happy purr as John began to work at my sore muscles and utterly humiliate the idiot bothering us, “Yeeeeah. You weren't supposed to find out like this, but I'm your dad now.”
Their ears pinned back in rage, “You're lying to me.”
John waved a hand at our surroundings, “We are in a hermetically sealed park. There is no way for any significantly threatening animal to get in here. You are only here looking for trouble and I assure you, this will be looked into. Go clean your nose and keep it clean. Understood?”
They both tucked their tails, “Understood, sir.”
John nodded his head and calmed his tone, “Dismissed.”
As the trio of troublemakers left, we sat in relative silence as John continued to work away at the stress in my muscles. If you proved this was how humans prepared their food before eating it, I would argue that it's still worth it.
His rough voice messaged my ears, “Hey Silv?”
I stretched and enjoyed the pops my spine made as it took its natural shape, “Hrm?”
A hint of curiosity hung in his voice, “Why did you understand what I meant? Shouldn't… You've lived with aliens being a part of everyday life for… Like… ever right?”
I slumped against John and thought. Dredging up old memories that I almost wished I didn't have, “It was… a very long time ago. My doctor told me I was making up false memories to cover up a traumatic event and make it to where I was normal and everyone around me were the weird ones…”
I could hear John doubt my doctor's claims, “That sounds… fishy.”
Despite John's odd word choice, the meaning still fit perfectly, “It feels like it, but I just have no proof. I swear to you, I remember running along a beach, with my parents on two legs. Every Sivkit I knew as a child walked on two legs. It’s like… well…”
I grabbed John's hand to stop it from distracting me, “One day I woke up, and I was unbelievably cold. I thought I was a corpse. There was this strange… tentacle thing with bulgy eyes standing above me. His words didn't match his lips, but I understood him. It was terrifying.”
“He scooped me up and started running. Said I was in grave danger, and he was going to keep me safe. I didn't trust him one bit. He jumped into some strange ship and told me I had to be very quiet. The bad people would attack us if they heard either of us talking.”
“Eventually, he crashed the ship into something and pulled me out of it. I was surprised to see we had been on a submarine that entire time. That and the sky was the wrong color. I didn't even have an opportunity to think about it as he carried me to a weird looking vehicle that once again surprised me as a giant wall turned into a window.”
“I had never even heard of spaceships before, and I watched as we went up and just moved into space like it was nothing. He tried to calm me down, but he told me my parents were dead. I- just remember sobbing in his tentacles for hours. Eventually, I calmed down enough for him to play with me.”
“For a few days it was just me and him. Then we met up with another ship, and he left that one to drift in the void. He said we were meeting his friend Aylin on Nevis… a Venlil colony not too far from here, actually. I got to meet more aliens on that ship but Kalova- sorry that was the name of the Kolshian who took me out here. Kalova didn't want me to talk about anything to anyone. Said to just say I was his adopted daughter, and he just got a job on Nevis managing the new colony.”
“He never saw it. I didn't know what they were at the time but the Arxur attacked. They were trying to raid the colony and the Gojids and Venlil where desperately trying to protect it. I remember the alarm going off the second the ship’s captain announced we were leaving FTL. Kalova sprinted through the ship carrying me. He placed me in an escape pod just before that terrible lizard spotted us. He pulled the lever and my pod jettisoned down to the surface.”
“I was in that pod for three days before the Venlil found me and put me in an orphanage. Every time I met other Sivkits… they made my skin crawl. There's something wrong with all of them. I swear to you, we Sivkits are supposed to walk on two legs. We also aren't supposed to be that… stupid. Between how they talk being just… off, and the fact what they said was often either retarded or downright wrong, I couldn't ever feel like one of the so-called Grand Herd.”
“Eventually, I aged out. Graduated college, top of my class. And started working out here when they began to rebuild my plant after it burned down. That’s all there… Well, there is more, but It's not actually relevant to your question.”
John leaned down and kissed the top of my head, “Thank you for sharing that with me.”
I groomed the tip of his nose in return, “You're welcome. … Hey John?”
I could see a small bit of… hope in the back of his eyes, “Yes Silv?”
“Can you tell me about your past?”
He frowned as memories came back to him, yet he smiled still. “Yeah… it’s not a happy story either.”
I pressed myself into him, “Well… we can both be sad together, at least.”
John's hands began to absentmindedly work through my fur again, “Yeah… That doesn't sound as bad.”
___/\___
Important question, do you want a chapter dedicated to John retelling his story? Or would you like it smash cut out in favor of more of their first real date? I am not sure how I want to do it and am happy with both, so please let me know.
John and Silvera finally had the relationship talk! Woooooo! John's confessed something he'd rather never bring up, but knows he needs to address to start living a happy life with his new family. Aaaaand, It's time for Silvera’s tragic backstory! (Trademark pending). Strange names though, right? Kalova… weird how John's old boss has a missing brother with the same name as an alien Ivan the Arxur knows! And Aylin… strange they share a name with Talen's dead wife! Man that's just weird!
Special thanks to u/JulianSkies for proofreading! Seriously it felt like my eyes were melting out of my skull and your feedback was everything I needed!
___/\___
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It's just so sticky and ugh. Pus I feel like it ruins a makeup look - I've got nothing against satin or lustreglass lipsticks but lip gloss just looks... wet. I hate the feeling of it on my lips, too. And getting my hair stuck in it.
Anyone else?

My last flat was unbearable.
I mean, you try having a family of 11 live above you, when half of them are under the age of 8. Also try having a pair of raging alcoholic neighbours on either side of you. A pair who were once married to each other. My eyes rivalled that of pigeons’ due to no sleep.
I lasted a total of 21 days. I know, new record huh? I just about shoved the keys back in the grubby hands of my landlord when I finally saw the lunacy inscribed on his face. No wonder the rent was dirt cheap.
So I was back on the road, not on the streets though. Luckily enough I started questioning the flat by day 8, looked around for another place by day 15, and made a decision to get the hell out on day 18. 3 days of packing and it was bye-bye.
My new place seemed all the better too: yes, the rent was more expensive, and yes, it only has 2 bedrooms. But at least it was a house, one where pesky neighbours were at least 5 metres away. On my right, at least. On my left? Their house - thankfully - couldn’t even be seen where I stood.
Parking my car, I skipped up towards my new house with my fresh set of keys. And on entering? Silence. Perfect still silence. Thank the Lord. I basked in it for a while before returning to my car, unloading some of my baggage. It took 3-4 hauls, but I managed to fit it into one of the bedrooms. Thankfully, the rest of my things were to be brought by moving vans in about an hour.
I envisioned what the house could look like with a few finishing touches.
“But first…”
I eyed the 2 rooms. “Mine!”
The room I had chosen to be mine gave a bright view of my own smaller garden, as well as a portion of my right neighbour’s house, but that didn’t matter much. The view in the other room would suck: just my car and some reeds.
I was just about done heaving some of my baggage into my newly-chosen room when the doorbell gave an obnoxious ring. I stood, fighting the urge to just run away into one of my rooms when it beeped again.
Reaching the door, I eyed out of the peephole to see nothing but an opaque whiteness. I guess the downside in this house is that the last tenant was a slob. I eyed some of the yellowing walls. Sighing, I opened the door.
“Hello! We’re your neighbours, Jack and Sally, and we live just there,” She motioned towards my right, “We came to introduce ourselves, and to let you know that if you ever need anything, we’re right here.”
She then shoved a basket full of biscuits at my chest, a motherly-smile stretched around her lips. She turned to leave, husband - clearly forced to follow her - in tow, when she turned around.
“Your name, dear?”
“Leen!” I shouted after her.
“Perfect.”
And perfect it was, I thought. Neighbours that respect their distance from you, and give you food? I eyed the delicious snacks in front of me. Definitely an upgrade.
Though it was at dawn the very next day that I woke up, shook.
~
See, I was just sleeping in my newly delivered bed when I heard it. Something that sounded like a bird, a huge caw, before it alternated into different pitches. Disoriented, I tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes in order to focus better. But it just made me more confused.
It sounded like a chicken.
As far as I know, this new place was not the countryside, nor farmland. So what? And why?
I stepped up to my window to take a good look outside. I wouldn’t keep a rooster in my home that’s for sure. Whatever it was, it was coming from…
My jaw dropped.
I closed my eyes and scrubbed at them harshly.
Please tell me why I opened my eyes and saw the exact same thing.
A man, on his haunches, face pointed towards the sky, was making rooster noises.
And he was on my neighbours’ garden. The ones I met earlier.
He looked absolutely demented. I wasn’t even scared then, just flabbergasted. I wasted no time calling the police at this disturbing nuisance.
When they arrived though, I saw my neighbours’ shoot straight from their house, speaking or…was it pleading? With the officers. What on Earth..?
Anyway, it was their problem now, so I went back to bed. I had a whole bunch of chores the next day, and had to get it all sorted before I returned to work.
Shutting my eyes, I wished for peace. And quiet, thank you very much.
~
At last, I woke up at 10 AM. By 1 PM, I had sorted my clothing into its respective drawers, and had decorated my bedroom walls, including a new golden addition. And now? I had food cooking on the stove. It felt satisfying, having cleaned up and now awaiting the prize of food.
I scrolled on my phone as I waited for the pasta to cook, before another ding turned my attention towards the door.
“Huh, what now?”
Unfortunately I hadn’t cleaned the peephole yet, so I had to open the door. There stood Jack and Sally. Or Sally and Jack. Jack looked lost. Sally stared deep into my eyes.
“Was it you?”
“Me? What do you mean?”
“That called the police last night?”
I recalled the past night, and gave her a thumbs up, hoping my smile was reassuring. “Yep, don’t worry, that lunatic will not be coming back ever again. He can go to the zoo if he wants to squawk.”
I should’ve taken the cue from Jack’s paling face, but Sally grabbed hold of me. “Listen here, okay? That man, the one you called the police on...” She trembled, “He’s my son! You can’t do that! He was not even on your property!”
My eyes widened. “He’s…your son?”
“Of course! How can you not see that?”
Nodding at her, I relinquished myself from the hold she had on my arms. “Okay then, sorry for the call. But I do have to mention something,” Jack started to shake his head behind his wife, but I ignored the little-to-say man, “Is there any way you can keep the noise down to a minimum? Honestly, your son has vocal cords of steel! It would wake the entire neighbourhood at this rate.”
Sally stared pointedly at me, then took a look around my house. “Very well.”
She grabbed her husband’s arm as she turned to leave, and I caught the slightest look of fear in his eyes before he was abruptly pulled away.
I dismissed it - and the sinking feeling - on discovering my very soft, overcooked pasta when I came back into my home though.
I managed to also do one thing before wrapping up: I cleaned out my door's peephole. Now I wouldn't have to open the door to know it's them. I'd just speak at them from the inside if they were to come back.
~
I woke, jolting out of my bed the very next morning, or night. I checked my bedside clock to see it was 3:50 AM. The cock-a-doodle-doo was breaking into my head. I grasped my hair in frustration, knowing that I didn’t have the madman’s parents phone numbers’ to call, or maybe scream at them. It was the exact same thing as the day before! Except…maybe…
I strained my ear.
It sounded a lot closer.
My hands, for some reason, became clammy instantly, and the urgent thumping of my own heart - the fragility of my own life - became all the more prominent.
I tiptoed to my window and peeked outside. Nothing.
I then slowly treaded to my spare bedroom, and pulled the curtains apart. Zilch. Nada. Though…
Almost as if under a spell, my head turned towards my main door. I…I could somehow feel it. Just to confirm though, I peeked out of the door-hole.
And with a slam, I collapsed in my new, dream home.
~
When I came to, I was lying on white sheets, and a bright white light hung over me.
A hospital.
I was in my own room, which I found odd. It was not like I needed it. But then a doctor walked in, followed by 3 other people, and it all made sense. Everything - blurs and sureness - melted into a perfect picture.
Sally, Jack, and their son.
He couldn’t be more than 17 really. Though he looked 37 a few hours ago. Face pressed against the glass of my peephole, mouth wide open towards it, eyes pointing in different directions as his face reddened and contorted.
I was deaf in one moment. Then came the COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO.
Of course I fainted. Who could blame me?
“Good afternoon, I’m Dr Lam. You’re in A&E right now. Are you able to tell me your full name and date of birth?
My voice answered the Doctor’s questions, but my eyes stared dazed at the youngster’s abdomen, not daring to reach his its eyes.
“Well, nothing seems to be wrong with you. You may have just been dehydrated. Did you have any headache or pain before you fainted?”
I replied in the negative.
“Luckily, your friends’ son had found you passed out, and ensured your speedy arrival to hospital, so I wouldn’t be worried about any damage.”
My eyes finally strayed, looking towards the ground. I held the nauseousness of bile down my throat. Following a brief check-up, I was allowed to leave.
And 2 people and a demon followed me out.
“Well, Leen, that should give you a lesson,”
Sally.
I turned towards the family, who stood in a 3 person arc. Only 1 managed to look away, equal parts shame and guilt. I don’t need to mention who that was.
“Don’t worry. You can look at me, I don’t bite: not now and not at dawn,” a strained voice whispered at me. “I promise, it’s only at dawn when I…when I…”
“Hush Dean, don’t work your voice that much. You’ll need to save it for later.”
I was still dizzy. That didn’t stop me from running half-hobbled to the taxi stand, where I begged and claimed to many that I would provide double payment if they were to take me to my house.
It took a while, but I managed to pack some of my clothes. There was no way in hell I was sleeping at that damned house again, not now, not ever. I called and booked at a nearby hotel in the meantime.
I was done packing necessities by the evening. Walking out of my house, I saw no sign of those three. I would have been relieved, had I not come face to face with than one thing: standing in my garden, leaning against my car. My breathing picked up instantly.
Dean
It stood with its back resting against my car. And It noticed me immediately. Seems like it was just waiting for me to notice it.
“Are you leaving?” It sounded almost sad, but I needed it to move away, or my only way out of there would be in jeopardy.
“For the night.” My answer? Almost smooth, but even I could hear the first shake in my voice.
It nodded though. “Okay.” And he moved from my car. I counted the distance. 1 metre. 2. 2.5-
It made a sudden dash at me as I - in flight response - ran frantically to the driver’s seat, locking the door. I came in half-squashed, my backpack still on my back. But I didn’t care.
Its face was pressed against the window.
“Mum is waiting for a person that will like me for me, not run away. You’re supposed to like me.” It said, matter-of-factly. It then wailed, and sunk beneath the car window.
I did not dare to sit up and see what it was doing.
I didn’t even need to though. The sound came a split-second later.
COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO
Tears spilled from my eyes. My limbs felt weak. I couldn’t even breathe. It suddenly sprang up to the window. Eyes enlarged: looking at me and everywhere at once.
“I can actually tur-COCK- in the day too, but M-DOODLE- said it would be too much for you,” wheezing, it exclaimed again before adding, “but this is ME. Do you-do you, do you like me?”
With dead limbs I weighed my foot on the pedal, and jump-started the car to speed off. My head shook left-and-right in response, stomach heaving with nausea.
Human preservation kicked me into taking proper control of the car when I saw, out of the rear view mirror, Sally. This time with a rope, which locked around the creature’s neck before she tugged, drawing it into her house. At one point we locked eyes. And what do I mean by we?
Answer: the 2 of them and me.
It was honestly a miracle that I did not get into a road traffic accident.
I spent 3 days living in the hotel after that, my job long-forgotten in the aftermath.
By day 4 I broke down and called my older sister, asking to stay at her place for a while. Her house and area seemed fine the times I’d stopped over. I guess I clearly did not seem right though, as she many-a-time asked me what was wrong. My answer? Stress. She persisted, years of living together as kids helping her figure out my lies, though she ultimately gave up after a week. She knew it was something I didn’t want to share, and that I was safe now. That was enough for her.
For me? I guess at the time I so badly wanted to tell someone. Though it couldn’t be my sister. I didn’t want to cause any trouble. Nor see if she’d even believe me, or instead rank me at the same IQ level as her two 5-year-olds.
For a few weeks, I stayed with my sister and her family, reassuring both her and myself that I was fine. Thankfully, we worked together to find a small apartment. Next to a kids school too - bonus points. I now craved safety above all else. After moving out though, I realised I needed my belongings back.
So, who picked up my stuff from that cursed residence, you ask? The moving people. I called the police from a random phone booth first to head over to that area, emphasising on seeing some suspicious looking men, whilst I got them to collect everything. I did not dare to call the police on that family though. I would prefer if the link between me and them got cut, drawn and quartered.
So now I’m here, in an apartment which thankfully hasn’t shown any sign of insanity. Inspecting my belongings, I noticed that there was one thing missing.
My gold frame, used to encase my make-shift certificate - made by yours truly after her 21-day record from the previous apartment - was gone.
I felt somewhat miffed, but then I realised something.
Something which can maybe bring the light out in this whole situation.
I counted carefully. I broke my record.
With a grand stay of 2 days. Now that - that I don’t think I’d ever be able to beat.

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

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

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

I first started noticing that something was wrong around 3 months ago. At the time, I was working from home and would usually light a scented candle while I worked, which usually helped me relax and stay focused on my work. I would usually burn through a candle a week, but over time, the candles started to take less time to fully burn up. At first, I thought that this was because of a change in ingredients the company that made the candles used, but the problem persisted after I switched candle brands, which I once again blamed on the candle manufacturers.
I kept this belief for another week until the first incident. While getting up from my computer desk, which faces away from the candle, to take a quick bathroom break, I caught a glimpse of the lit candle. A two-inch layer of molten wax rested on another three-inch layer of solid wax, the wicks rising out at first and being somewhat visible through the molten layer, finally breaking the surface and being slowly burned away. The flames flickered as I swung the door open and walked out of the room. When I returned 10 minutes later, the molten layer was gone, and the wicks had been shortened so that the flames rested right above the solid layer of the wax. At first, I thought that the glass jar that contained the candle was leaking, but after a short inspection, I was only able to find two small drops of candle wax that had solidified right next to the candle on the bedside table. I still had 2 hours of work left to do, but I was too lost in thought and was unable to do any work for the rest of the day.
Every night before I go to sleep, I like to read for at least 30 minutes, and while reading, I usually light a candle. Around 4 days later, I had mostly forgotten about the incident and went back to using candles. Due to my naivety, it returned.
I fell asleep while reading with a candle lit on my bedside table. I woke up to loud slurping noises. As I opened my eyes, the brightness of the light I had not turned off almost blinded me. As my eyes tried to readjust to the light and focus on what was in front of me, I saw a somewhat humanoid dark gray to light blue blur that contrasted with the white paint on the walls behind it. Another gray line stretched from the shape's head to the candle on my bedside table. I could feel my heart skip five consecutive beats. I opened my mouth and tried to force out a scream for help, but the pressure I applied to my throat was way beyond what it was able to handle, leading me to only produce a light wheezing sound. I tried to sit up or to at least prop myself up, but my muscles failed me. Trying to push myself up with my arms felt impossible. As I stared at the figure that had suddenly appeared in my room, my eyes finally managed to focus, making it possible for me to see the intruder who was now staring at me. The figure was a man at least 7 feet tall, fully naked; he looked bloated; his eyes were bloodshot and looked like they would pop out of their sockets; at any point, his skin was a grayish light blue.
HIS LIPS
His lips extended from his mouth like an elephant's trunk, which had been split in half. The lips extended from the man's face to the candle; the flames had been put out. He was using his lips as a makeshift straw, slowly sucking up all the molten wax from the candle, which had fully liquified while I was asleep. I laid in bed, unable to move, unable to scream for help, staring until he emptied the jar. His lips retracted back to his face, the molten wax solidifying on their tips and cracking, flakes of wax falling off the man's lips and falling to the floor. The man grinned, staring at me. The ridges and gaps between the teeth were filled in with wax, making it impossible to make out where one tooth ended and the next one began. The man opened the door he was standing next to, but instead of walking out of the room, he stepped behind it. His face peered at me from above the door, and then once again, like he had done to drink the wax, the man puckered his lips, which stretched from his mouth and floated to me. I shook and tried to roll over away from him. I wanted to get up and run, but my fear had taken over my body. Tears flowed from my eyes. He kissed me on the cheek, leaving flakes of wax and light moisture. He retracted his lips and lowered his head behind the door.
I don't remember falling asleep, but when I woke up, I saw the empty glass jar, which at one point contained the candle. Even though I had hoped that what had happened was a dream, it wasn't. I still had flakes of wax on my cheek, and on my bedroom floor, the wax in the jar had disappeared. I called the police, but they were unable to find anyone in my apartment; they also could not find any evidence of a break-in.
After the break-in, I started looking for a new apartment to move to, thinking that the man was tied to the building I was in, but even though I had thrown out all of my candles, I could not stomach spending another hour in my apartment, constantly looking over my shoulder or walking around with my back pressed up against the wall to not allow it to creep up on me. Thankfully, my friend Emma was able to let me stay over at her apartment while I looked for a new one for myself.
Me and Emma have been friends since we were 8, and we've been there to support each other when times get rough. This isn’t the first time I've had to stay over at her house for an extended amount of time; in fact, I have had to stay over at Emma’s as many times as she has had to stay over at my apartment, whether it was because of evictions after losing a job, breakups, or a candle wax drinking squatter. I didn't even know if it was human. I mean, sure, it looked like one, but human lips are not supposed to do what his did, and somehow it didn't have a reaction to molten wax being poured down its esophagus. I didn't tell Emma about what happened—the details at least—I just told her that a man had broken into my house and was watching me sleep. The only people I told the truth to were my therapist and the cops, and all of them disregarded what I told them as my mind making things up after a traumatic event.
For a while, I believed what they said—I mean, why wouldn’t I?—but then I started seeing him again. For a few days, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me again like it had done during the night of the incident. For split seconds out of the corner of my eye, I would see the outline of a tall, bloated figure. At first, they were hours apart, but after a while, it became constant. He was standing in each room I passed, in every single dark corner I glanced past, and then he spoke.
“FeeD MeEeee”
It stood in the kitchen, peering over from a small gap between the fridge and the sink, where the trash can that had been knocked over onto its side usually stood. His voice was raspy, and every word that came out of his mouth was distorted as if he were gargling water, but still, I could somehow clearly make out each word he said from over 15 feet away.
“Please just leave me alone I… why are you following me?”
I shouted at the figure, the same fear that had taken over my body during the night I saw him for the first time paralyzing me, making it impossible for me to move anything other than my eyes, eyelids, and mouth.
“i’M sTarviNg, I nEEd You To FeEd ME”
It replied again. Now, stepping out from behind the fridge, he stepped directly onto a rotten banana. Its mushy brown content’s seeping out of the peel under the pressure of his decomposing foot, which was covered in scabs, and took up the same grayish light blue color as the rest of his body. He mostly looked the same; his bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets, but now his tongue was swollen. It peeked out from between his bloated, cracked gray lips; it stared at me, waiting for an answer.
“Ok, I’ll.. I’ll feed you, but please just... leave me alone.”
I replied, the tone of my voice shifting into high-pitched squeals with every quick breath I took. He looked satisfied by my response. He somehow squeezed his bloated body back into the gap that was at least four times smaller than him. After peering over at me from above the fridge, he bent over backwards, his spine releasing a series of sickening cracks until he was fully obscured by the fridge, and then he vanished.
Still barely in control of my body, I limped over to the couch tucked away in the back corner of the living room, it took me at least 10 minutes to steady my breathing and 20 more to fully regain control of my body again but as soon as I did I ran out the house and to the nearest store, during the 15-minute walk he stared at me through dark windows and the backs of cars, peered out at me from gaps between leaves in the trees and bushes, he even followed me into the store staring at me from the middle of deserted isles before disappearing right before my eyes were able to fully catch him, once I finally got the candles I randomly picked four off of the shelves and rushed to the self checkout.
When I arrived home, I had 2 hours before Emma got off work. I didn't want to feed it while she was home, and I didn't want her to see it. I pulled out two of the candles from the black plastic bag and placed them on the kitchen table, the first a light blue candle named “Garden Rain” and the second a red candle named “Juicy Watermelon." I pulled out a lighter from one of the drawers Emma used after her stove stopped lighting on its own and lit each of the 6 wicks on the candles. As soon as I started seeing the wax melt under the heat of the burning wicks, I dropped the lighter onto the table next to the candles and ran out of the room. I could not stomach seeing that thing again; even just thinking about it made me shudder and hyperventilate. The paralyzing fear that seeing him caused me made me want to vomit.
At least 30 minutes later I started to hear it drink even though the living room and kitchen were separated by a wall, even though I had closed the door I could still hear what at first started as slurping sounds which were followed up by loud gulps, then it stopped, and once again 30 minutes later it started drinking, as the slurping started once again I heard the door to the apartment crack open, it was Emma, as she stepped through the door I saw her carrying two large brown paper bags of groceries in her hands, she was headed to the kitchen.
“Hey let me grab those for you”
I said running over to her, my voice shaking.
“Oh, thanks. Are you… okay, you look scared?”
My eyes shot wide open in a mixture of fear and surprise. I said the first thing that came to mind.
“Yeah just umm… I didn't expect you to come home so early and I got a bit spooked”
“shit sorry, I know I should have called you, work let me off early today,”
I started to turn away from her walking to the kitchen.
Trying to keep her away from the kitchen I told her to wait for me in the living room because I wanted to talk to her about something. I didn't know what I would talk to her about but that was a problem for future me to resolve, somehow it worked.
“What's that sound?”
She called out to me while walking towards the living room couch. It took me a few seconds to come up with an excuse.
“I think it’s the sink, or the pipes at least”
I opened the door to the kitchen with my eyes closed at first hesitant to look knowing what would be greeting me. slowly prying my eyes open I started to see its outline, my muscles started to lose strength as the details of the man came into my view, I felt the grocery bags start to slip from my arms, my knees buckled, face first I fell onto the kitchen floor scattering the groceries all over the floor, I mixture of a light scream and a yelp escaped from my mouth as my body made contact with the floor, Emma concerned for my safety ran into the kitchen, she didn't scream, using all of the strength and mobility I had left in my muscles I rolled over expecting to see her face drenched in terror, her body frozen still unable to move just like my body had done the first time that I saw him, but Emma looked concerned, the man was gone, she crouched down beside me.
“Oh my god are you ok? What happened?”
I looked around observing my surroundings.
“I um… I… I tripped on the little thing at the bottom of the doorframe”
I finally managed to blurt out another excuse, not being able to remember what the name of a door sill was. I started to sit up using a part of the energy that had returned to my body, pain pulsed through my chest and arms, Emma looked at me with a concerned face.
“You've been acting really weird since I got home, are you sure you're ok?”
“Yeah… I think I’m just having one of those days you know”
The confusion on Emma’s face said that she didn’t know and to be honest I didn't either, I guess my luck of pulling random excuses out of my ass ran out, Emma thought that she triggered some sort of PTSD response after barging into the house unannounced at first apologizing then trying to change the subject to stop my trembling which I was still unsuccessfully trying to hide from her.
“Did you buy candles?”
Emma asked picking the groceries apart from the garbage that spilled out the can that the man had knocked over, placing them on the table next to the now half-empty glass jars, the flames flickered above the inch or so of molten wax the man was unable to finish drinking.
“Yeah I’ve been struggling with work lately, they usually help me focus”
“Huh Interesting combination you’ve got going on here”
She looked at me and smiled slightly, I smiled back and chuckled to seem normal.
“Yeah even I don't know what I was trying to accomplish here, to be honest”
I tried to help Emma clean up the spilled groceries but she did not let me, she told me that I needed to recover like I had been in a car crash instead of having taken a little tumble. After a few seconds of silence, Emma spoke again.
“Anyway, what did you want to talk to me about earlier?”
A quick jolt of stress shot through my body, in a jumbled mess of lies and fear I had forgotten what I had told Emma, I sat there in silence for a few seconds unable to come up with an excuse
“I…umm… I don’t remember, it wasn't anything serious though”
“Damn did you hit your head too?”
She said once again proudly smiling at her joke.
At this point Emma picked up the last bag of potato chips from the floor and placed it on the table, then she opened the fridge and started loading the groceries into it.
“Anyway I gotta go get back to work’’
I blurted out after a few more seconds of awkward silence.
“Alright well good luck”
I walked over into the living room and sat down in front of my workstation, which now consisted of a laptop sitting on a small foldable TV tray that had just barely enough room left on it to fit a small USB mouse.
The last thing I remember, before I fell asleep, was me mindlessly scrolling through apartment listings while Emma watched a random 90’s horror movie I’m positive only had a budget of $500.
I woke up with a light stinging pain shooting through my dry throat, and a dim hissing sound caused by thousands of water drops striking the ground outside filled the room. I pressed the spacebar on my laptop, the brightness of the screen blinding me temporarily, after taking a few seconds to let my eyes readjust I managed to make out the time, 3:45 AM. A strong smell I was unable to make out the origin of assaulted my nostrils. Lavender.
The smell hitting my nose had the same effect on me that I would expect smelling salts would have on a weightlifter right before they set a world record. Before I knew it my legs were moving on their own at an almost uncontrollable pace, fighting back against my mind which was telling them to slow down after years of being used to navigating both mine and Emma’s apartment as steadily as possible to not bother the neighbors.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity I stood before Emma’s bedroom door, a faint, yellow, pulsating light radiated from a lamp and snuck out of a small gap between the door and the doorframe, reluctantly I pushed my left hand up against the door, my right hand grasping onto the door frame for a sense of stability, once the door was fully agape I scanned the inside of the room my heart skipping a beat for every humanoid shadow cast up onto the wall by the lights from the wicks which were set ablaze and were being slowly burnt away.
I walked into Emma’s room and made my way over to her bedside table to put out the candle, as I stepped closer towards her, her face became more defined, I could finally make out her features, she was awake, but no she could not have been, even though her eyes were wide open they never blinked, she didn't even move slightly, as I moved closer I finally managed to fully make out the expression of pure terror on her face, her mouth wide agape as if she was about to release a deafening screach, but she could not have, a single drop of solidified wax dribbled out of the corner of her mouth and clung to her cheek, my eyes traced the cream colored path back towards her mouth, first up her cheek then between the corner of her mouth and finally behind her teeth, there instead of her tongue or the roof of her mouth I saw a wall of wax which had filled in the entirety of her mouth.
I fell to my knees and hunched forward supporting my body weight with my arms, I was too late, I resisted the urge to vomit and got back up onto my feet, a mixture of tears and snot slid down my face and onto my lips, shaking now I slowly started limping over towards my phone which I had left on the couch next to where I had awoken just minutes before, just minutes before my life was destroyed because of my lies if I had just told Emma what I had gone through, if I had just told her what had happened on the night of the incident which now seemed trivial, even if she thought that I was crazy, I know that she would have complied just to make me feel comfortable.
It took me at least 30 seconds of repeated attempts to stabilize my hands enough to properly dial 911. “Someone broke into my apartment and hurt my friend” was the only reasonable explanation I could come up with that would not get the operator to hang up on me thinking that this was a prank call.
I sat there in the living room for an agonizing 10 minutes, crying, my sadness slowly transformed into anger towards myself, and my mind raced thinking of all the lies I’d told, I kept thinking that if I had just told her the truth she would not have been laying there in her bed, her body bloated, “every single orifice has signs of forced penetration and has been filled with what seems to be candle wax” is what was written on her autopsy report.
For a few days I was the main suspect in Emma’s murder, but due to the almost unstoppable crying and the unresponsive state that I was in when the police arrived, mixed with the lack of evidence of me having a way to produce 30 pounds of candle wax led to me being released out of police custody, but because I was the main suspect I was not told any details about what had fully happened to Emma, for days all I had to work off of was the image of her face frozen in terror, and a short glance I caught of her bloated body as she was being carted out on a stretcher.
I recounted every single word of our last conversations over and over again until they became permanently etched into my brain.
Emma’s parents originally wanted to cremate her, as that is what she had somewhat jokingly asked for whenever the topic of funerals came up, well she had joked about wanting to have had unpopped popcorn shoved down her throat before she was sent off to “scare the shit out of the guy cremating me” but due to all the wax which would have been impossible to get out of her body they were forced to bury her.
A few days before Emma’s funeral her body disappeared.
After Emma’s death, her parents took me into their home, after reading the autopsy reports and seeing her corpse they had thrown out every single candle they owned which made their home the safest choice I had, still, this did not stop me from buying a machete and keeping it under my bed, just in case.
I was laying on the bed in their guest bedroom The day that the police informed Emma’s parents about her disappearance, the bedroom is right above the front porch of the house, at first I heard them ring the doorbell which was followed up by 3 powerful knocks on the door, for about a minute I laid there on the bed listening to muffled voices exchanging distorted words I was barely able to make out which slowly transformed into distorted weeps, curious I lifted myself up from the bed, made my way over to the window and carefully lifted the bottom panel making Shure to not make too much noise, the distorted muffled sounds started forming into coherent words “We checked the security footage but the only strange thing we could see was a 5 second time jump” one of the officers spoke in a serious and almost monotone voice “which meant that the security guard who was the only person in the building had to climb down 2 flights of stairs walk through a 40 foot long hallway and then drag her body back up stairs and out of the building in 5 seconds” Emma’s mom let out yelp “ but don’t worry ma'am that’s actually good news because we know that her corpse is still somewhere within the building and was probably brought to the wrong floor by an intern, we’ve already warned all of the staff at the hospital to keep an eye out, and we also sent 5 officers to search the hospital”
I could not believe what I was hearing, my breathing quickened, but this time instead of fear I felt anger, that fucker stole her corpse and was probably in the weird separate plane of existence he always went back to after terrorizing me, cutting off chunks of her body, melting her, and drinking her.
I closed the window Emma’s mom's cries once again turned into a muffled rumble which was only possible to make out if you knew what to look for, I took a few steps back away from the window planning to lay back down, not wanting to bother Emma’s parents. I bumped into something, not something, someone, its fleshy towering form as solid as a wall sent me tumbling forward, I knew it was him, he had returned to take me too, to stretch his swollen cracked lips, push them down my esophagus, fill my lungs and stomach with wax. But despite all of that this time I was not scared, I was angry, and I was not going to stand there in terror like I had the last time I saw him.
I fell forward onto my knees my face missing the window sill just by mere inches, I put my hands onto the floor, lifted one of my knees, and rotated 180 degrees now facing the monster, to the right of him pushed up against the wall was the bed, light from the sun reflected off of the metallic button which kept my machete in it’s sheathe, the man started to stretch his lips, they were moving towards me, waving a wiggling through the air like a snake slithering towards me.
I dove towards the bed one of my feet pushing off of the floor and the other pushing against the wall which creaked under the pressure applied to it, I flew for a few moments before slamming down onto the carpet and sliding forward, the heat generated by my skin brushing against the carpet released a sharp stinging pain throughout my body, my outstretched arm landed just a few inches short of the machete, I quickly bent my arms, pushing my body up and crawled towards the machete. my fingers wrapped around the handle I spun around, my back pushed up against the bedside table, once again facing the man, he was still facing the window but his lips faced me and were just a few feet away from me, for what felt like minutes but was most likely no longer than a second, I struggled to hook my finger under the strap securing the machete into its sheath, as the lips inched towards me the man started producing gurgling noises, he was regurgitation wax.
I finally pulled the machete out of its sheath, I swung the blade at the man's lips, the blade was not met with any resistance as it sliced through the man’s lips which landed on the carpeted floor with an audible thud, the man did not have a physical reaction to my counter-attack, his lips kept creeping towards me, once again I slashed at the lips, still no reaction, I repeated this at least 3 more times.
I wanted to kill him, I wanted to take revenge for what he had done to Emma, but fighting back was pointless. I realized that no matter how much I tried to hurt it, I could not kill him, I could not get rid of him.
My rage dissipated and a mixture of fear and sadness crept in, and soon took over my body, I screamed for help, I screamed in fear, in agony, tears streamed down my face as the man's lips finally reached my face, he wasn’t met with any resistance as his lips snuck between mine, pried my jaw open and finally started to slide down my esophagus.
I heard the cops run up the stairs, they started banging on the door asking if I was okay only to have been met with muffled screams, hot wax started to pour down inside of me, the stinging pain of the heat made me want to plunge the machete which I had dropped onto the ground next to me into my stomach to create a gaping wound that the wax would hopefully funnel out of, the texture of the man's slippery, oily lips matched with the poison like flavor of the wax caused me to start gagging, I felt my insides bulging like at any moment my intestines would have been filled to the point where they would pop, I wanted to vomit, the drain myself of the filth I was filled with, but his lips had plugged my throat not allowing anything to get out.
Hearing my muffled screams the cops started kicking the door down, the man retracted his lips, the suction aided my attempts at cleansing my insides, I got onto my hands and knees streams of molten wax pouring out of me, solidifying on the the carpet, with another loud thud the door swung open slamming into the wall, the man was gone.
That’s the last thing I remember before I passed out, but according to one of the doctors who was in the ambulance that brought me to the hospital, I was still semi-responsive during the first 10 minutes of the ride to the hospital.
Approximately 13.4 pounds of wax were removed from my body, the doctors said that I was in a critical condition and some of them did not expect me to make it.
One of the officers who was there the day the man attacked me took a report of what had happened to me, due to the unmistakable evidence of what had happened to both me and Emma, and the fact that this was the 3rd instance of me reporting something like this the police finally started investigating who this man might have been.
Around a month later I was discharged from the hospital and once again have been staying in the living room of Emma’s parent's house.
I’ve been seeing the man again, candles were not allowed in the hospital I stayed at, which means that he’s probably very hungry, he’s close to attacking me again, I know it, he wants to finish what he started and I don't know if I have the power to fight back, I’m not sure if defeating him is even possible, I’m tired.
I’ve been seeing Emma too, her bloated, reanimated corpse often appears to be standing next to the man. If I let him take me will I get to join them? I’ve tried asking but they don’t answer, they just stare, I can’t keep living in constant fear, always looking over my shoulder, I miss Emma.

Last week we went to urgent care because our babies cheeks had two main eczema spots (seemingly irritated from drool on cheeks rubbing against a sleep sack) that began to weep after trying a few at home remedies. The urgent care doc prescribed a steroid (Des) and mupirocin topical antibacterial ointment. We were applying both as directed and coming up on five days and there was some improvement especially with the antibacterial, some redness as we continued to use the steroid and yet seemingly increased eczema appearing higher on the cheek.
A rash started on baby’s torso so I called our primary care to be seen and the pediatrician changed the steroid that we were applying to the two main sites at the bottom of the cheek to hydrocortisone saying the original one prescribed was too strong and not recommended. She also advised to lubricate with some cream or Vaseline.
That night we applied the hydrocortisone to the two main sites and some eucerine baby eczema cream to the rest of his face and body.
BAM-TOTAL INFLAMMATORY RESPONSE on face and body. By midnight that night baby’s face was swollen, pimply, red, and warm. I think the colloidal oatmeal is a trigger for his skin as this whole thing really blew up after first applying Tubby Todd ointment which caused increase irritation at the two main sites on his cheeks.
I went into pediatric ER that next morning and they told us to stop the steroid and started an oral antibiotic. They suggested giving the skin a break from anything but also apply Vaseline and topical antibacterial, yet we’ve waited 24 hours after the ER visit before we applied anything else to the skin.
We do see improvement within 20 minutes of the oral antibiotic but when we applied Vaseline, the skin on his face just seems to increase in pimples and redness.
The two main sites seems like their healing but it’s hard to look at because it’s not all the great looking—like when you really bust up your skin on a fall and the yellow pus/scab begins to form. There’s an eczema rash all over his arms right now. ER docs say the body rash is unrelated—that it looks viral??
We’ve gotten a few different forms of information and instructions from urgent care, our peds clinic, and the ER. It’s so hard watching my baby in pain, to be itching his face, and the tumultuous turns for these two intense sites on his cheeks.
My last resort is hoping and praying the oral meds kick this out. We’re day 2 of 7.
All this to say, I am gluten, dairy, soy, and egg free. This rash has intensified over the last two weeks and I’m losing my strength and it’s hard to feel like this is going to end or heal and I’ll be able to see my baby’s skin clear again.

This is for us normies who don’t want to sift through a hundred youtube videos just to figure out basic information that should be readily available. This guide is designed for people who are new to modding.
This LLO follows Brxsie’s model. For more detailed info on categorization refer to their reddit post.
You can leave out any mod on this list that you don’t want except for USSEP.
Key:
*= my personal notes explaining what a mod does or why I added it
e.g. = extra examples of popular mods that should be placed in that category
Blurb
(skip this section if you want the quick version of this post)
Hi everyone; I’m not a modder nor a PC player, but I was desperate to figure out how to safely load my game with reasonable lore-friendly updates. Every LLO guide I’ve found so far has either been outdated, contradictory to other sources, does not specify which mods fall under what category, is way too vague, or way too specific. The mods I’ve listed here should be easily searchable on the recently updated Xbox creations menu so that any Xbox player can easily copy this list. Originally, I was just recording my LLO for my own personal use, but I figured this could help people who don’t have the time to put in as much research as I have.
If you are brand new to modding, vanilla+ means that you want to stay faithful to the original game as much as possible while upgrading the look of your Skyrim world and making a few convenient tweaks. The least “true to the original game” mod on this list is convenient horses. In my experience so far, this LLO plays just as smoothly as vanilla Skyrim.
Unless I wrote a note next to the mod stating otherwise, all of these mods are independent of one another, except for: divine atmosphere, divine atmosphere snowflake edit, and realistic snowflakes. If you like the ugly fractal snowflakes in divine atmosphere then don’t bother with the other two mods, but if not, you need the vanilla snowflake edit and the snowflake texture mod to go together. Therefore, you can leave out any mod on this list that you don’t want except for USSEP), and the game will function normally.
To customize settings of mods while in-game, go to magic -> powers. “Equip” the mod you want to change and press RB once out of the menu. This is relevant to divine atmospheres, divine interiors, flute finder, convenient horses, and some dialogue mods.
Most mods on this list can be downloaded or deleted safely while playing a pre-existing save file. Deleting mods become problematic when you have already added and interacted with a custom item to the game and then delete the mod that supported the item. When testing new mods, I suggest only adding a few at a time so that you know what to delete if you encounter any issues.
If you are reading this on a laptop or PC, you can press command/control F to search for keywords of the mods you want to install to find where they belong in the LLO.
Personally, my favorite mods that I’ve added to the game are the dialogue mods and the texture mods. They make Skyrim feel like a real world with real people living in it and I would highly suggest using some or all of them. I’d also love to hear everyone’s suggestions on proposed edits to this load order. Please let me know if you are aware of any conflicting mods or bugs, or if I have made any mistakes in my layperson's explanation of techy stuff. Unsure if this is relevant information, but I’m located in the USA.
Extra notes:
What the heck is a leveled list? A leveled list is a change in the code that makes changes to certain values. Such as changing how much gold a character has or how powerful an enemy is.
And what exactly is an area edit? An area edit is any mod that adds or significantly changes a location in the game. This includes adding extra trees, adding extra smelters, or adding custom player homes that do not exist in vanilla, among other things.
Why are there all of these categories and why is it so complicated? LLO sorts mods so that the game can load the most important files first. When LLO is not followed, the game will inevitably crash. Categories allow us to sort mods into the LLO based on how they interact with the game's code. People sometimes disagree on what order to put the categories in, but all LLO templates use the same basic categories.
I do not use immersive citizens AI because multiple people have reported bugs. Other people have no issues with it, but I prefer to stay on the safe side.
Remember to lower your in-game brightness, especially when you are using divine interiors and divine atmospheres. If the brightness is all the way up, things will start to glow. You will have to use torches in locations with zero light, such as corners in caves. This adds a realistic feel to the game. If you give a torch to your follower, they will automatically use it in in low-light conditions. I switch between default/glimmegrim/vivid depending on where I am and how colorful I want things to be. The game may look darker overall as you can see in the screenshots, but this is more true to how lighting works in the real world.
Skyrim 101 tip: When you ditch items to reduce your carry weight, store them somewhere (such as a dead body or a chest) instead of dropping them on the ground. If you drop items all over your game it will eventually lag.
When creating a new character, keep in mind that once you start playing, you might change the lighting and make the colors more saturated. For example: I accidentally gave myself yellow hair instead of natural blonde because I forgot about lighting and atmosphere changes. This is another reason to install the vanity mirror mod, which allows you to change your character mid-game.
Storage space: all of the mods I have listed here take up approximately 4.36GB.
I suggest keeping a note of your LLO on your phone so that you can easily categorize mods you want to add the future.
Sometimes LLO will not save, so I recommend double-checking that everything landed in the right spot or backing up your LLO to bethesda before exiting the LLO menu.
Sometimes you need to restart your game to enable a newly installed mod.
How to delete a complex mod without causing problems: disable the mod, hard reset (hold power button for 10 secs or unplug the console), uninstall the mod, hard reset.
I’ve noticed a bug where I cannot tell my follower (Lydia) to do anything in “command mode”. I don’t know what’s causing this- it seems like a dialogue issue but I rarely use the command mode feature anyway so it’s small enough for me to ignore for now. EDIT 5/19/24 More to say 9.0.2 was causing this issue so I uninstalled it.
*Blurb over\*
Master Files

• Unofficial skyrim special edition patch (USSEP) *almost every source says that this must be installed. It fixes core bugs in the game that developers have not bothered to update themselves

Foundations: Lots of game changes (e.g. cheat room, encounters overhaul, etc.)

• Convenient horses *allows you to summon your horse from anywhere, store items on your horse, give followers horses, etc.

Dialogue Overhauls

• Guard dialogue overhaul
• Follower commentary overhaul
• Misc dialogue edits and more
• Relationship dialogue overhaul

Fonts/UI (excluding map mods)

• Font replacer - eadui

Alterations to vanilla quests
Any craftable item

• Vanity Mirror *this is to fix the makeup bug where your lips are off center when you create your character. I have not tested this yet, but apparently if you open up the customization menu with the vanity mirror then the makeup will work again. Cheat room also works for the makeup issue, but I didn’t want so many extra cheats in my game just to fix this one ridiculous bug
• Get no more dead followers *functionally turns off friendly fire for followers

Game mechanic changes: races, perks, vampires, adoptions, etc.

• Flute finder - a skyrim gps tracker for npcs *this is because I always lost my followers in vanilla and it was super annoying
• Multiple Marriages *haven’t tested this yet so cannot vouch for its effectiveness
• Auto unequip ammo *unequips arrows when you uneauip your bow so that you’re not always walking around with a sheath on your back

Level Progression (e.g. Clever leveling)
Perk overhauls/changes
Magic additions and modifications

• Master of Destruction (xb1) *adds new high level spells that target specific characters instead of killing everyone in the area
• Mining spell *I hate carrying a stupid pickaxe everywhere, so this spell mines for you. I haven't tested this mod yet though

Leveled list changes (e.g. rebalanced leveled lists)

• Better gold *adds slightly more gold when looting specific high level enemies
• Master trader 1x *this replenishes merchant gold each time you speak to them

NPC Leveled list (e.g. organized bandits in skyrim)
Any audio

• Chapter II - Jeremy Soule inspired music *Jeremy Soule composed the original game soundtrack. This adds a few hours of similar sounding music that blend in with the game

Weather and Atmosphere (put weather up ^ in LLO if the mod is just a weather mod and not an atmosphere mod)

• Divine Atmosphere: Aetherius *my favorite setting is vivid or grim
• Divine Atmosphere: Aetherius vanilla snowflakes option
• Ultra realistic snow flakes (custom snowflake texture) *if searching for this mod, search for “snow flakes” instead of “snowflakes”

Grass
Grass Fixes
Skin/skeleton physics and appearance changes

• pristine vanilla movement
• XP32 maximum skeleton special edition plus *changes some physics for smoother movement

Animation mods

• 360 walk and run *at first I put this in the gameplay mechanics category, but it did not work there. In the animation category it works as intended

Meshes and Textures
*The mods I’ve listed in this section should cover almost every visual in the game. Nothing is too drastic of a style change and fits right in to the game’s vibe.

• Wear multiple rings *this mod is more useful for stacking enchantments rather than pure aesthetics. Not necessary if you want a more vanilla game
• Divine texture pack - architecture
• Dark ages: fantasy dungeons
• Dark ages: dragon Textures
• Divine creatures texture pack
• Omen armors weapons and clothing *I highly recommend this one!
• Fluffy snow
• Dark ages - landscapes
• Divine skins and bodies for men *misleading name: this is actually unisex. Make sure this goes above^ divine people otherwise you might experience an occasional face glitch. This must be used along with divine people in order to work correctly
• Granite mountains *another mod I highly recommend
• Dark Ages: Trees of the north
• Divine SMIM *Static mesh improvement mod. SMIM mods redesign lots of small items in the game
• Lucidaps’ high poly project v5.x *This corrects blocky items to make things look more realistic. It cooperates with the SMIM to create beautifully textured and realistic item designs, such as the ridiculously good looking head of cabbage

Non-combat NPC AI
Immersion (e.g. immersive patrols, landlord etc.) - can be tricky to categorize
Anything that changes a character’s/npc face or hair (e.g natural eyes)

• Divine people of skyrim: celestial *For more vanilla/gritty looking people, try the dark ages texture pack. Both divine people and dark ages people mods must be paired with its corresponding skins mod, otherwise the textures will get cut off at the neck due to mismatching colors

Interior lighting changes

• Divine interiors shadows and light *my favorite setting is glimmer or default if the game looks too oversaturated because of the lighting. I highly recommend this mod, it makes the game feel much richer

Interior decorating changes
Lightweight multiple area edits

• Unique bridges of skyrim
• Divine forests
• Get more smelters *haven’t tested this extensively but I don’t foresee any issues since it doesn’t interfere with anything big

Single area edits like player homes
Multiple area edits (e.g. divine cities)
*I do not recommend divine cities or divine villages because it can be buggy. One time Lydia got permanently stuck in a modded tavern and I had to backtrack through an hour of progress to get her back out
Adding individual unique objects

• Auto Harvest Ring *because I like alchemy but hate picking flowers. Equipping this ring automatically harvests ingredients in range. Just remember to ditch the cabbages to reduce your carry weight

Combat changes, combat AI (e.g. realistic damage, wildcat)

• Dark ages: immersive dragon ai
• Better stealth ai for followers *followers will not start fighting automatically while you are trying to be sneaky

Unique follower mods (e.g. Sofia)
Mods that add new quests (mods that alter vanilla quests do not go here)

• More to say 9.0.2 *this dialogue mod is here because it adds new quests. The other dialogue mods I’ve added are less consequential and simply add a little immersion. I’m unsure if this conflicts with the other dialogue mods EDIT 5/19/24 I'll be uninstalling this mod because caused the issue with Lydia that I mentioned in the blurb. To be fair, the author stated that installing this mod mid-game could cause issues, but disabling the mod didn't work to fix the bug so I just uninstalled it since I already have other dialogue mods that I like.

Map mods

• A quality world map - vivid with stone roads *map mods use up VRAM and many people recommend against using them. I’m not a tech person, so forgive me if this isn’t accurate, but VRAM is similar to regular RAM. This means you can reset VRAM if you hard restart your console. If you are playing with tons of heavyweight mods all the time then maybe you should skip map mods, however in this LLO I have not noticed any FPS changes at all and personally, it’s worth it to me to hard restart the console every once in a while so that I can keep this mod. Source for the tech info (posted Oct. 2023) - https://www.xboxforums.com/threads/ram-and-vram.24007/
• Pastel map markers *Can you tell I like organizing? Color coding the map makes it more readable and gives locations a touch more personality

Mods that specify bottom LO

Royal Road here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/80877/nop-atalors-fate
Discord Tag: notafurrylad
It's been a while, huh?

First Last Next
Memory transcription subject: Yivreen, Cyonian Survivor
Date [standardized human time]: February 22nd, 2134
The flash daymares hadn’t stopped. Four nights since they’d set in, and now those two fire and brimstone eyes were lingering, waiting to come out when I was asleep. I’d thought that first daymare had been a fluke. It’d felt real, getting chomped up like that, crushed. But... ah.
I’d had more. Once I was in the mouth of that Arxur who’d kicked down the tree. Then I was in the cages with Hens Jr and Sr, and Alma... And each time if there was time for it that swampheaded, red eyed, smokey Arxur would come on in. Try and guilt me like I’d done something wrong.
It was working.
“Yiv. Yiv! I think I got it!” I blinked, my stupor broken by Junior. The kid had been a good help with the computer system since we’d let him fiddle with it instead of me. Much to my... begrudging admission: he was better at it. So, I stood from the chair and headed over to him. The monitor and console were lit up good as new, but they’d been like that for a couple nights now. We’d finally got access to a local map when that’d happened. Or rather a map of the surrounding area, outdated as it was it still had the location of the city on it. It wasn’t like anything had significantly changed in the past hundreds of years since this place had been abandoned. It had been the whole ‘trying to page it into the rest of the old systems at the outpost’ part that’d eluded Juniors little pet project.
“What did you get?” I replied, leaning over his shoulder with a paw on the console while he typed at it.
He cleared his throat. “W-well. I was able to find the wire that’d been causing the problem with the connection to the outpost’s server.” A server? What?
“What do you mean a server? I thought the only computer systems in here were in this room?” He turned his head, a brown eye winking at me. “Nuh-uh! Were you even listening when I explained it earlier? It’s more than just a weather monitoring station. It had a server, otherwise why would it need so many type-v connectors. See?” He pointed a claw to the bundle of wiring running up the wall and into a concrete hole that looked to lead to the next floor above us. Probably. I hadn’t really cared about how many wires there were.
“So... there’s more than just the databanks here in this room?” I asked. My eyes were tasked with looking over the monitor with pursed lips. I’d dug through some ye olde outpost files in the past nights for my journalist program but evidently I’d been missing things if all it took was one kid who had a knack for tech to ascertain there was more to these places.
Before my question could be answered though the command lines and startup protocols on the operating system for the thing had popped by and opened up onto a familiar desktop of our more modern tech. Junior went about clicking immediately to some command line and writing in some jibberish... And- my eyes widened. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing my claw to all the commands on his little black background’d screen.

1: Status
2: Logs
3: Garage Door
4: Barrack Override
5: Communications

Were among the top five, with a half dozen more I didn’t quite have time to think on. “Quick- quick! The uh- There’s a garage?” Don’t get distracted Yivreen. Ahhh moss-heaps.. “The Barrack Override. See what that does.”
The boy swatted away my paw trying to push at it. “Calm down! Calm down jeez, fine!” He jammed his digit into the corresponding number and pressed enter. A few moments passed as it simply displayed three dots. I waited... I waited.. Cmoooo-
Clank. VV-vv-vvv-veeeeeee....
It sounded like something behind the wall to our left was trying to unrust itself and move. A couple hundred years of not moving or being maintained had probably ensured it’d never get moving smooth again. Then of course the universe proved me wrong, and the wall actually shifted. The rounded metal slab I’d taken for a part of the tower’s superstructure began to lower, and behind it... “Holy shit.”
I don’t know where the extreme language had come from but... Wow. My eyes lit. Bunks. Bedding. Lockers.. It looked like the room beyond had been some sort of lodging area for soldiery when this place was built. But there’d been a grow-in on the back wall from a massive root. Snaring part of the room in its gripping-vinelike vice grip. The root was long dead, and the hole it’d bored through the concrete had left the inside exposed to the elements a touch more than if it’d just been left... At least there wasn’t much evidence of water damage.
“Yiv? Are you-” But I was already headed through the way, a paw on my pistol as I glanced around the abandoned room. My mind went right to checking out the lockers, which turned out to be a good idea. My little training sessions into understanding the named bits for guns with Alma were about to start paying off.
“We’ve got guns. Or... Something like guns.” I announced, pulling out the carrying case and flipping it open. Inside I found what looked to be a.. Hrm- no magazine, no bullets... I lifted it up, the rifle-like hardened carbon material was in remarkably good shape. Probably due to the case and materials, but something was different about it. I glanced my eyes over it, noting the electronic aiming system on top which... when I clicked at it offered a red circle for looking through the little scope with. Huh. Not a common thing to find on a Cyonian designed weapon, at least not these nights. This place was old, but this weapon looked like it’d been built by something more ambitious than Federation paws. Federation handhelds were all modified from the same combustion based lead belchers. A fact that rarely ever went unspoken on our own networks when we needed a reason to criticize Aafa.
It took a while longer, but eventually I did find a snap-button on the back of the trigger grip that made something inside it hum to life. My eyes widened. “It’s... An energy weapon.” I murmured. My tail flicking in apprehension. Would it even still fire? The red blinking just below the button told me it must have no power perhaps but... “Hey. Junior. You think you could figure out how to charge one of these guys-?”
I turned my head to see the kid standing at the threshold with his tail in his paws, gripping them anxiously. “Yiv. The uh. The communications aren’t working, but I think the garage door might open if we try it. It could be that cropping of wall and sealed door we figured the old power system must have been housed in right?” He glanced to the rifle in my paws. “I mean, if it uses the same standards as the computer out here it should still be compatible with our stuff. But- we don’t have anything to charge power packs of that size.” He pointed to the fixture sticking out the bottom of the stock. Hrm, he was right.
“See if you can’t get the garage open. I’ll keep looking in here and see if there’s something to help with that.” Came my own voice, I felt... Giddy. Alive. The potential to fight back was intoxicating. Before all I’d had was this dinky pistol I’d used to... kill a couple of the greys. But if we could bring the fight to their patrols, save more people-
I shook my head. Why was I thinking like this? I couldn’t stand up to an invasion fleet. I’d been a frightened Sivkit on the first night of the attack. I- I’d stampeded. I couldn’t remember any of it, but the chance I’d trampled someone in my panic was not zero. I might have contributed to someone being crushed... I’d failed Els, that soldier I’d dragged into the house. Obelisk I couldn’t even keep my mind straight in a fight with those howling, laughing Arxur in my head. The campfire fight had been a fluke!
I didn’t quite know how long I just sat there, staring at the rifle beating myself up, but eventually I was shaken from it by Keick when she sat beside me, an arm on my shoulder. “Hey. I heard you and Junior had a bit breakthrough eh?” She said non-chalantly. I could tell though, even with the chipper tone she’d read me. The accountant knew I’d been in one of my little moods. She’d known me the longest of anyone here, everyone else was like... a pack of convenience? Maybe not Junior. Keick and I had survived the woods together. I’d pulled her from her own hells next to that burning car.
“Hey.” I returned back. “Yeah. Junior got the servers working. Or something like that.” I pointed a claw over at the computer, only to notice he was gone now. I blinked. Had I been out of it that long?
Keick filled in the hole in my head. “He went with his old man to go check out the garage.” Oh. Yeah.
I looked around, “Ah. The guns. We have guns now. Real guns.” I explained, holding the one I had in my paws up for her to inspect.
“Doesn’t look like any gun I’ve seen.” She mused back, taking it from my grip. My body was moving on its own now, rummaging deeper into the lockers. Some of these cases had been broken by the snaring, smaller branches of the grow-in. The firearms within cracked open and busted. Probably no good at all, exposed to the ambient humidity as they had been for so long. Still, couple of the other rifle cases were good. We had weapons, plural. Binoculars? Got em. Spare power packs that needed charging? Got em. There was a lot of survival gear here. Like a militarized ranger outpost had been stationed here. The synthetic material of the camouflaged cloak I found proudly proclaimed it’d reflect thermal scanning on its faded label even! “Either the old rangers from before the treaties were really into operator stuff or the Obelisk put all this here just for us.” I murmured.
Keick, for her part seemed to be looking it all over with a little inventory in her head. Already tapping in the number of each item into her dataslate. “Well. I’d go with the former. The Obelisk hasn’t been around for us lately.” Came the reply as she poked a claw at one of the now entirely spoiled ration packs. “Still, there’s enough stuff here you could arm a squad of soldiers probably. If you know where we can find some spare soldiers that is.”
I flicked my ear at the poor humoured joke. “Ahuh.” Came my reply. “Maybe you should go try the radio again, they’d love to get their paws on stuff like this I think. Pre-war tech actually made to fight predators like this is rare.” Which begged the question... Why did the cloak boast about defeating thermals? These outposts were dated after our discovery and incorporation into the Federation as an early member, and WELL before the Arxur war. So why had we built cloaks like these? Was this equipment used during the years when we’d resisted the burning of our forests and jungles? If so, it meant it might have been auhh... much more violent then the archives made it out to be. Maybe there was a story here? My inner journalist was theorizing.
___________________________
I’d had to pick my jaw up off the ground after headed over to the garage. Hens Senior and Alma were leaned over the the opened hood of what looked like a remarkably still intact forest rover. The design was actually recognizable, having not changed much from what we had tonight. Six thick grooved tires, a buggy-like cockpit four seater set in the middle, and a back and top rack for storing anything you could want. “Is it working?” I asked the obvious as I stepped inside, noting Junior sat off to the side, fiddling with some wall mounted box or other. He didn’t look to actually know what he was doing beyond dusting it off and giving it a deep stare.
“I wouldn’t think so.” Came the chime of Keick, who’d followed me inside. It was around now my monocular visioned eyes were noting the various tools and spare parts laying around in the garage. Whoever had last been here had left in a hurry seemingly, because it was mostly stocked. No mess on all the immensely dusty parts. I could see a couple smaller fauna in the corners. A lizard here, a rodent there. Obviously there had been some way they’d chewed their way in at some point... Or they’d come in when the door was opened to the bustle and noise of the forest to my back.
It was Senior who looked back at my question, standing to his full height before leaning his back against the old vehicle. “No. It isn’t working. Or at least it won’t be until I figure a way to give the battery juice.” I tilted my head.
“Is it one of those older ones that zap out after a hundred years or so?” Came my obvious question.
He flicked his tail no. “It’s got one of the standard ones, it’s just that it stopped auto-cycling a couple hundred years ago. The electric motor looks like it should work if we pop it on. But we’ll have to see.” He glanced around the workshop. “I want to say we could probably get it working with the tools we have, but if the battery can’t be jumped, or it’s spent, or the motor needs a complete replacement we’re up a creek on getting it working.” It sounded like he knew a bit about it.
The feeling of my face scrunching ever so much came. “You didn’t tell me you were a handyman.” I said, crossing my arms.
“Well it never came up.” He said back with an affable smile. “Listen, it’s been a long couple weeks. Don’t get all spotty with me. We didn’t have anything a hobbying mechanic could fix anyhow.” Just a roll of the eyes from myself is all that met him as Keick spoke up, stepping over to the other three.
“So what’re you gonna jump it with?” She asked incredulously, leaning over the open cabin. From there I sort of... zoned out. All the older Cyonians present were bickering and blathering about the buggy which was quickly losing interest for me. I didn’t understand anything about mechanics like that beyond the bare minimum, so it was out of my purview. If they got it working that’d be another thing but I wouldn’t have been any help right now, so instead I placed a couple careful paws down until I was beside Junior, sitting next to him as he seemed to be eyeballing some far too faded label.
He had a paw lightly rubbing out the dust that’d caked an outlet, still one brown eye fixed on the label. All I could make out myself was the little yellow square symbol warning of an electric charge hazard. Weird to think even now those hadn’t changed. Had Federation technology really not changed all that much? Was it just us? A sigh. “So. What’s got your your nose twitching little dude?”
The past couple nights he’d gotten better with his anger, and... hadn’t destroyed any important tech in a fit of rage. All he’d needed was something to set himself to in a difficult situation like this. Keich had been right to set him on that computer. And.. I’d felt myself trying to encourage him along the way. Partly because I had an investment in getting those maps, and then partly because he’d ended up filling in a spot in my head like a younger cousin. Him and his old man had only been around for a little bit, but I guess maybe I didn’t want to think too hard about what had probably happened to my real family. For now, maybe I felt the most ‘at home’ around Keich and this little tinkerer. Was that weird? It felt like it should be weird.
He answered, looking up with a small upturn in his lips. “I think I found your energy cell charger for those guns you had.” He said simply. “One of the manuals over there wasn’t totally ruined, I saw something about a ‘optical projector weapon’ and ‘charger’ so I was trying to figure out if this was it. I... Think it might be, but I’d need one of those batteries to make sure.”
Now I felt like smirking. “Oh yeah? Well go get one swamp brain. Let’s see if these things still work huh?” Dutifully, he was up and off, tail shaking behind him in what I recognized as excitement. We weren’t totally defenceless anymore, and if the buggy could be salvaged there would be a means at least to relocate if we had to. Or... Maybe I could take a trip down to the city and paint a couple more of those scumbags red-
I shook my head. Where had that thought come from? If I was going back to Ataln it was to try and save more people... Yeah. I still needed to see if Gael was alive, maybe check that old house I’d left Els in. I don’t even know if I could find it now, knowing how scatterbrained I’d been at the time but- making a return to at least try seemed worth it.
Regardless, the box on the wall did turn out to be the correct port to charge energy cells for the guns. We’d just need to rig it up to the solar power system and juice them up to test them. Things were looking up! Our mobility had the potential to go from nights in every direction for shelter to mere hours, I’d just have to hope Senior knew what he was doing.
“Hey. Buddy.” I’d wrapped my arm around Junior’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go take a break for now huh? You were working on the computer all night. Maybe it’d be a good idea to just go relax. Enjoy how much you got done eh?” Besides. Gave me a good way to check out the logs page on the computer system myself before he stumbled on anything. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him with it but- well there was no way to know what was in those logs.
He nodded, and with that I stood up, streeeetched out, and headed toward the tower. “Good, it’s your shift on the guard tower anyway.” I intoned politely. It was going to be a long day, assuming there was anything of substance in those logs... Scrounging through those would be preferable to sleeping right now anyway.

2024 FIRST WEEK SALES

Rank	Artist	Album	Label	Pure Sales	Track Sales	Streaming Sales	TOTAL SALES
1	Beyoncé	Cowboy Carter	Columbia	170,764	7,085	240,276	418,125
2	Future & Metro Boomin	WE DON'T TRUST YOU	Republic/Epic	4,448	1,554	244,193	250,195
3	¥$	Vultures 1	YZY	16,206	779	135,957	152,942
4	21 Savage	american dream	Epic	5,212	592	124,954	130,759
5	Future & Metro Boomin	WE STILL DON'T TRUST YOU	Republic/Epic	2,944	576	125,970	129,490
6	J. Cole	Might Delete Later	Interscope	9,157	851	108,628	118,636
7	USHER	Coming Home	Mega/Gamma	54,449	3,080	33,846	91,375
8	Gunna	One Of Wun	YSL/Warner	933	264	82,270	83,467
9	Yeat	2093	Field Trip/Capitol	15,710	116	56,771	72,597
10	Kali Uchis	ORQUÍDEAS	Geffen	31,773	239	35,282	67,294
11	Justin Timberlake	Everything I Thought I Was	RCA	39,699	1,928	23,283	64,910
12	French Montana	Mac & Cheese 5	gamma	50,445	1,557	10,355	62,356
13	J-Hope	Hope on the Streets, Vol. 1	Big Hit/Geffen	43,004	1,758	4,203	48,965
14	Bryson Tiller	Bryson Tiller	RCA	1,133	317	37,594	39,044
15	PARTYNEXTDOOR	PARTYNEXTDOOR 4	OVO/Santa Anna	3,506	170	34,046	37,722
16	Kid Cudi	INSANO	Republic	8,423	284	27,521	36,228
17	ScHoolboy Q	Blue Lips	TDE/Interscope	5,860	380	29,319	34,153
18	GloRilla	Ehhthang Ehhthang	CMG/Interscope	3,721	1,961	26,856	32,537
19	Doja Cat	Scarlet 2 CLAUDE	Kemosabe/RCA	449	436	27,776	28,661
20	Chris Brown	11:11 Deluxe	RCA	693	548	23,491	24,732
21	BossMan Dlow	Mr. Beat The Road	Alamo	133	91	23,685	23,909
22	Kevin Gates	The Ceremony	Atlantic	2,847	172	19,957	22,976
23	Chief Keef	Almighty So 2	Glo Gang	498	74	22,271	22,843
24	Tyla	TYLA	FAX/Epic	3,075	412	19,084	22,571
25	4batz	gamma	2,266	618	18,956	21,840
26	Eladio Carrión	Sol Maria	Rimas	1,412	56	17,901	19,369
27	Lyrical Lemonade	All Is Yellow	Def Jam	1,751	210	16,689	18,650
28	Yung Bleu	Jeremy	EMPIRE	13,160	12	4,255	17,427
29	Joyner Lucas	Not Now I'm Busy	The Orchard	2,504	431	14,115	17,050
30	mgk & Trippie Redd	Genre:SadBoy	10k/Interscope	3,684	93	13,185	16,961
31	Lil Dicky	Penith	Commission	5,520	382	10,281	16,183

FAQ:
Q: Source?
A: http://hitsdailydouble.com/sales_plus_streaming
Q: How is this list sorted?
A: It's sorted by the total first-week sales
Q: What are pure sales?
A: Pure sales are purchases of the album (iTunes, Amazon, physicals, etc)
Q: What are track equivalent sales?
A: Track equivalent sales (or TEA/Track Equivalent Albums) is a term used to describe the sale of music downloads or singles. A track equivalent album is equal to 10 tracks, or 10 songs
Q: Where is X album?
A: Only albums that make the top 50 in sales+streaming for their debut week are counted
Q: Where can I find last year's list?
A: 2023, 2022, 2021 list, 2020 list, 2019 list, 2018 list, 2017 list, 2016 list

Dr Jorden's expert testimony about the December 15th, 2015 incident from Disclosure of Expert Witnesses
Substance of Dr. Jorden's Opinion
Dr. Jorden will testify regarding the pathology of Amber's multiple injuries…Specifically, Dr. Jorden will testify that
(1) the injuries depicted in the photographs reviewed are consistent with Amber's description of the incidents of physical violence;
(2) Amber's description of her injuries is consistent with the type of injuries that would result from the recounted incidents of physical violence
_____________
AH'S DESCRIPTION OF THE DECEMBER 15TH INCIDENT

• I remember him getting on top of me at some point…he was hitting me in my face.
• Grabbing my hair…and dragging me up the stairs the rest of the way.
• By the second or third shove, he sent me toppling over… a little low-line sofa seat and I hit my head on the...exposed brick wall.
• I remember I stood up…shoved me back down,
• I stood back up again. This time, he hits me in the face.
• I stand back up and look him right in the eye…He balled up his fist, leaned back, and head-butted me square in the nose…slammed me right in the nose. Instantly, searing pain.
• We had another struggle…I was trying to get his body off of me...he was just pummeling me.
• I went down to the floor. I remember him being on top of me, and he was screaming and swinging at me while I was on the floor.
• He had me by the hair and dragged me the rest of the way from the office into the neighbouring apartment.
• I remember the door that connected these two rooms had…metal bottom, a metal floor that separated it, and a big heavy bank door. And I remember he was dragging me and I tried to grab onto the metal door to prevent him from dragging me into the room. But I couldn't stop him.
• I remember feeling the carpet and the metal, and he drags me up to the bed, throws me down onto the bed… And he kneels on my back with one leg.
• I was face down on the bed top…And he's punching me, punching me with a closed fist, punching me repeatedly.
• And then pounding the back of my head, pounding it with his fist.
• And I don't know how many times he just hit me over and over and over again,
• I couldn't breathe… I was suffocating in this pillow top with him holding me down, punching me over and over.
• I don't have any memory after that until I woke up.
• There was blood everywhere, blood all over those pillows.
• My head was bleeding from the ripped-out hair
• Chunks of my hair that Johnny ripped out while dragging me and punching me.

____________
Definitions provided by Dr Jorden
Blunt force trauma: physical trauma or impactful force to a body part resulting from an impact with a dull, firm surface or object. It is different from penetrating trauma, where an object pierces the skin.
Contusion: a region of injured tissue or skin in which blood capillaries have been ruptured. A contusion is a bruise.
Abrasion: rubbing or scraping of the surface layer of cells or tissues from the skin or from a mucous membrane.
______________
PHOTOGRAPHS REVIEWED BY DR JORDEN
Dr. Jorden considered the following photographs taken on December 16th -17th, 2015:
Photos taken on the 16th of December, 2015
Photo 1: 11:44 AM
Photo 2: 11:44 AM
Photo 3: 2:39 PM
Photo 4: 2:40 PM
Photo 5: 2:40 PM
Photo 6: 2:41 PM
Photos taken on the 17th December, 2015
Photo 7: 00:46 AM
Photo 8: 00:46 AM
Photo 9: 10:19 AM
Photo 10: 10:19 AM
Photo 11: 10:20 AM
ANALYSIS
Dr Jorden identified:

• A contusion under Amber's right eye, with very distinct purple and red discolouration
• Injury to the lower right lip
• An apparent streak of dry blood on the chin
• A red abrasion, scraping of the skin, in Amber's temple area hairline.

Dr. Jorden will opine that Amber's injuries from this event were caused by blunt-force trauma to the head.
The hairline abrasion appears to have been caused by an acute injury, which is consistent with Amber's description of events.
Not all abrasions result in swelling nor do they result in infection and the appearance of pus.
The photographs do not demonstrate evidence of traumatic alopecia; rather, the photographs show pink/red abraded areas in the scalp, and the hair follicles are intact.
_______________
AH'S TESTIMONY ABOUT THE PHOTOS
Photo 1: 11:44 AM
AH: It’s a few days later. My face is healing. (AH lied about when the photo was taken to explain the lack of injuries)
Photo 2: 11:44 AM
AH: I had a pretty gross bruise right in my head, my temple. Difficult to see it in this light, but I remember it was pretty ugly.
Photo 3: 2:39 PM
AH: This is my face with a busted lip, which is difficult to see in this picture, but my two black eyes, one is worse than the other…and my broken nose. (Dr Jorden only identified "a contusion under Amber's right eye", not "two black eyes". AH's lip injury doesn't appear until the following day, and Dr Jorden doesn't even mention AH's nose, let alone her "broken nose".)
Photo 4: 2:40 PM
AH: That's my face sometime after Johnny beat me up.
Photo 5: 2:40 PM
AH: This is my face sometime after.
Photo 6: 2:41 PM
EB: I'm just going to draw your attention to an area up here. What, if any, bruising did you sustain in that area? (EB drew big yellow circles on the photo around Amber’s “bruises” because there is nothing there to see)
AH: I had bruising on my temple, my chin, my neck, and the back of my head. I had swelling and pieces of my scalp...ripped, torn. They were gross, and pusey, but this is from the bruising around my temple from one of the blows. One of several blows. (None of the photos depict "bruising on AH's chin, neck, back of my head, or ripped/torn pieces of scalp)
Photo 7: 00:46 AM
AH: I think that's maybe that night or the next night after Johnny left me on the bed. (First appearance of lip injury. The lip is uninjured in photos 1-6)
Photo 8: 00:46 AM
EB: What’s portrayed on your lip?
AH: Well, he busted my lip when he punched me. It's bleeding in this picture. It kept reopening. You know, it's a mouth. Your lips move. (Streak of dry blood on the chin is for dramatic effect...wash your face Amber!)
Photo 9: 10:19 AM
AH: It's a picture of my bruised temple. Johnny had his hand on part of my face with my face down, and he was punching my head, repeatedly punching my head. That's what caused that bruise on my temple.
Photo 10: 10:19 AM
AH: This is my lip a few days later.
Photo 11: 10:20 AM
AH: That's my scalp with a chunk of it missing from when Johnny was dragging me by my hair. (Dr Jorden stated the photographs "do not demonstrate evidence of traumatic alopecia". But rather "pink/red abraded areas in the scalp and the hair follicles are intact".)
That doesnt line up with the testimony from AH who stated
"My head was bleeding from the ripped-out hair, chunks of hair on the floor, all over the place, actually. It was just all over the apartment.”
AH also testified that THIS PHOTO depicted “chunks of my hair that Johnny ripped out while dragging me and punching me”
Or Raquel Pennington's testimony
Q: What is this a picture of, Miss Pennington?
A: The picture is hair pulled back to show the abrasion on the scalp where hair has been removed.
Q: What is this a picture of, Miss Pennington?
A: It's a picture of a clump of Amber's hair on the black carpet in the bedroom, PH4, with my finger there to show the scale of the hair.
Q And how did you know that that was Amber's hair?
A: Hair had been ripped out of her head. This is the colour of her hair. It's her home.
_____________
It’s no wonder they scrapped calling Dr. Jorden to testify. After AH’s fictional fairytale of events, there is no way Dr. Jorden could testify in good conscience that the photos are consistent with AH’s description of events.