Hi, sorry I'm a bit anxious writing this, nervous for my mother. But about 3-4 weeks ago she had a very strong cold, where she was very nasally congested, had a nagging cough and had a headache, you know the whole nine when it comes to having a cold. But what she hadn't told me was that she couldn't really smell anything. Fast forward to today when I found out, she still has a cough and some mucus in her chest and can't really smell much if anything. Should I be worried or wait it out? She's been using her medicines and it really could just be allergies because I've had the same mucus in my chest and slight wet cough for about 3 weeks due to dorm living. (Smh college) But any help would deeply be appreciated! Thanks in advance
Edit: Her medicines as in using robitussin & cough drops

The episode resumed on a shot of Zee and Jo, their skin tones back to normal, running up to a smiling Chris. "Welcome back," he told the camera. "Zee and helper Jo are the first to arrive here, at the world's largest mud puddle!" The camera pulled back, revealing that the trio was standing near the edge of a large lake of burbling mud, a measuring stick rising out of it at the nearest edge.
"It's eight feet deep," Chris explained over a close-up of the measuring stick showing the mud reaching up very nearly to the 8' mark, "and 200 yards across. And," the camera quick-panned to the far right side of the 'puddle', "since it's too thick to swim through," the shot cut back to the couple and Chris, "the only way to the other side is with one of you piggybacking the other."
"Umm...," Zee said hesitantly, sharing a wary look with Jo, "doesn't that mean the person on the bottom..."
"Will drown?" Chris finished. "Yes."
"What?!" Jo said in wide-eyed shock.
"Unless they use this garden hose!" Chris added, a light chime playing as he held up a length of green hose.
Zee let out a breath. "Okay then. Guess I'm on the bottom, then."
Jo's eyes widened a bit in a brief bit of surprise, and she looked at her partner. "I should be objecting to this since I'm supposed to be the helper, but hey. No heavy lifting from me."
"Yeah…" Zee agreed half heartedly.
Confessional: Zee
"I was able to hold Jo onto my back while we were skiing," Zee told the confessional. "I can still do the same while under mud."
Confessional Ends
"I know that I said you were weak in the past," Jo said, "but that was until I saw that you were able to make it this far in the game."
"You thought wrong about me," Zee replied. "I wasn’t active at first in challenges and finding food, but with Julia eliminated, I was able to grow and become a finalist."
Chris suddenly stepped between the two. "How touching. Now start the challenge."
The scene cut to Zee and Jo jumping into the mud, the former disappearing below its depths while the latter, on his shoulders, held up the length of the hose. They started moving forward, and the camera panned back to the left to show Harold, Scarlett, and Chris holding up another length of hose.
"Yeah, I'll be on top," Harold stated.
"Pardon me?" Scarlett countered, raising an eyebrow.
"I don't trust you not to let me drown," Harold told her. "Self-preservation comes first."
Scarlett groaned. "That's fair," she said, taking the hose from Chris, "but if you let me suffocate, I'm dragging you down into the mud with me."
"Crustal," Harold deadpanned, and as Scarlett crouched down, she jumped onto the brainiac's shoulders. Scarlett stood back up and put the end of the hose in her mouth, and she jumped into the mud.
The tense music faded away as the camera moved onto Chris, the host sighing as Chef walked up. "You think the mud was a bad idea?" Chris asked. "It's a little quiet… oh yeah," Chris said as if in sudden realization, "almost forgot about the Peanut Gallery. Bring 'em back in!" he said into a walkie talkie he only then pulled out.
Moments later, the wind kicked up around them, and the camera zoomed out to show the large helicopter flying in with the former contestants still hanging – and screaming as they swayed ominously – below it. "Would you let us down already?!" Leshawna shouted angrily. "It's freezin' up here!"
"Yeah, I want to cheer for Zee!" Julia chimed in.
"If I wasn't tied up right now, I'd have half a mind to pound you!" Duncan shouted at the host.
The camera focused on DJ. "Hey, Chris?" he looked forward and asked loudly. "Just bring us down before anybody else gets miffed at you!"
"No, and I don't care," Chris answered with a calm smile, until Chef whispered to him. A flat note played over a close-up of Chris staring blankly at him. "Huh...good point," he admitted. "Ooh!" he said with a sudden grin. "I just had an idea!"
A flash took the scene to Zee and Jo, the tense challenge music resuming at a low volume and slow pace in the background. They were still slogging through the mud, Zee out of sight but Jo only submerged up to her stomach. She looked back over her shoulder, smiled, then said "Keep going!" into the piece of hose she was holding. "They're way far behind!"
Confessional: Zee
"So as it turns out," Zee said, "being submerged in the mud is kinda like being trapped in the dark. But there aren't any animals below to scare me."
Confessional Ends
The music ramped up as Jo suddenly stopped moving, then seemed to turn around and start moving back towards the start. "Uh, Fruit Loop?" she asked into the hose. "We're going the wrong way!"
The camera cut to Harold, looking somewhat bored as he held the hose atop Scarlett's shoulders, before noticing the other team and frowning. "Why are they coming this way?"
"Ugh! They're too safe to sabotage each other!" came the sudden voice of Chris McLean, the camera cutting to him standing in the show's jeep with Chef at the wheel, speaking into the microphone of the jeep's loudspeaker. "Deploy the 2.0 model!"
The shot cut back to Harold and Jo as they looked around with strange expressions, the sound of something like a rocket taking off coming from somewhere in the distance. They looked up and to the left, and the camera shifted to their viewpoint to show a large object shooting up through the sky overhead...
...then abruptly diving towards them, revealing itself as a red-eyed robotic bear with small jet engines coming out of its back. Harold and Jo screamed as their respective partners continued in their previous directions, getting out of the way as the Bear landed in the mud. It hit with enough force to cause a wave of mud, which shot all the way across the puddle carrying the finalists and their helpers along for the ride. All four immediately began to cough upon landing in a muddy heap.
Confessional: Harold
"At least I have a better shot," Harold said. "We're tied right now, but who knows what other tricks Chris has up his sleeves."
Confessional Ends
A close-up of the nozzle of a fire hose in Chef's hands preceded him blasting the muddy finalists and helpers with water, all four screaming where they'd landed on the shore of the 'puddle'. Moments later, the water was shut off, leaving them drenched but clean.
"We're all tied up," Chris announced with a smile. "Perfect time for a little break. First, let's bring in the Peanut Gallery again." He took out his remote and pointed it at a patch of ground nearby, a hole opening up in it and a rather shoddy-looking set of stadium seats shooting up out of it with the ten former contestants seated – and still tied-up – in it.
"Sha-finally," Lightning said, the shot cutting to him sitting in the top row with B, DJ, Duncan, and Max and Leshawna, Ella, Julia, Sammy, and Amy in the bottom row. "Are we gonna get to watch the rest of the challenge now?"
"Yup!" Chris answered with a happy smile, pressing the button on his remote again so that a large widescreen television emerged from another hole in the ground near him and the finalists.
"Will you untie us too?" Ella chimed in.
Chris huffed. "Whine, whine, whine," he said in annoyance. "Don't I do enough for you kids as it is?"
"No," all fourteen of the season's cast members replied at the same time.
A flat note played over a close-up of the host pursing his lips. "Yeah, I owe Chef twenty bucks about that," Chris said, the camera zooming back out again to show the finalists and helpers. "Everyone, grab a seat," he instructed, and the four reluctantly sat down on the logs lying behind them. "I'm gonna show you some of my favorite clips from the show..." He pointed his remote at the TV, and the shot focused in as it switched on and started to play footage of a confessional...
"Dunderhead was already pretty useless," Jo complained. "But now he's making moves on one of the actually decent players on the team? Not on my watch!"
The camera cut in close to show Jo pausing and looking back. "Something on your mind, Anti-Squeakerbox?" she asked, the camera shifting to show B peering at her and shaking his head.
“It's not what you think it is," Jo told him. "As long as they are on this team, Julia and Zee will not date."
“Not exactly how I wanted the elimination to play, but hey. Julia’s gone and with Zee still in the game, I could manipulate him into doing whatever I say,” Jo grinned.
The footage paused, and Chris leaned out in front of the television with a wide and mischievous grin. "Seems like there isn't a shipper on deck…" he said impishly.
"So you were trying to keep me and Julia apart?" Zee said as the camera moved to him and Jo, his eyes wide with shock. "Does this mean that...,"
"Yup. I convinced Julia to quit," Jo replied. "I didn't expect her to fully go through with it since I was gonna vote you out!"
"I can't believe you'd try and do that!" Zee said with a glare!"
"If I didn't do what I did, then you two likely would've blown challenges for us like the dueling one!" Jo argued back.
The camera focused on Julia in the Peanut Gallery. "I was trying to defend my boyfriend, but sure," she said dryly.
"I'm just worried what Chris is gonna show from Scarlett," Sammy said. "It looks like he wants to mess up the finalists and their helpers..."
"Maybe he won't show anything?" Amy suggested. "I mean, it's not like Scarlett and Harold were that close to begin with."
The shot cut back to a smiling Chris. "Oh, don't worry, I have no intention of leaving those guys out of all this fun," he said happily.
"I don't see how," Scarlett said. "Harold already knows everything about me now. I’m practically an open book."
Chris laughed. "Seems you forgot that the cameras are always on. So here's some more juicy information that everybody gets to hear." The screen on the TV went from static to a scene from the fifth episode.
Scarlett herself grabbed the dueling stick Ella retrieved, fished an electric eel out of the water, and tossed it to Max. "Max!" she cried, and her teammates looked at her in confusion, prompting her to pretend that she had coughed. "Pardon me!"
“The plan was for Max to be the only one not in the trap, so the team would know he built it and vote him off!” Scarlett confessed.
"I overheard Leshawna and Harold's conversation when they were foraging together, and Leshawna being on to me is something that I refuse to let happen," Scarlett claimed. “Zee's really gullible enough to deceive, and I'll try to talk to Ella.”
A deep, dramatic note was struck over a shot of Harold in shock. "So it was you who got Leshawna eliminated!" he scowled in Scarlett's direction.
"I wasn't ready to come out just yet, and between the two of you, you were less likely to warn anyone about me!" Scarlett retorted.
"So all this time, Scarlett was aiming to usurp her master!" Max ranted.
"I don't blame her," Leshawna commented. “As much of a pain as she is, I would've done the same thing and sent your annoying behind home.”
"Okay," Chris said happily as the shot moved onto him, "I'm sensing some major hostility and I'm liking it. I'm out of popcorn, though, so we should probably get back to the challenge."
"Seriously?!" the finalists and helpers alike exclaimed.
"Obviously, the helpers aren't gonna be very helpful anymore," Chris replied. "So, instead of helpers, Jo and Scarlett will now be hinderers." As he spoke, Chef walked back into view with a pair of video game controllers, tossing one each to Scarlett and Jo. "The island is now back online," Chris continued, "and, with these controllers, they will be able to throw up obstacles to throw you down, or, completely crush you."
The shot cut to Scarlett as she looked at her controller and smirked. "Good to know."
"Looking forward to it," Jo said in determination.
Harold and Zee gulped, and Chris laughed. "That was the good part," he said. "Let me tell you the bad part. You have ten minutes to finish this challenge," he told Zee and Harold. "If neither of you do, Scarlett and Jo get to split the money."
"Dude, what?" Zee said in shock.
"You can't do that!" Harold protested.
"I can! I will! I am! GO!" Chris announced, blowing his airhorn right in Chef's face, earning an annoyed sigh from the man. Harold and Zee immediately ran off, but the camera cut to a close-up of a thoughtful Jo.
"Well...I want the money, but I'm not really comfortable with how this is set up," Jo said to herself. "But...I guess it wouldn't be too bad if I just made this a little more challenging for them..."
"Do what you want," Scarlett said, the camera panning over to show her grinning darkly with her controller in hand. "I'm getting my justice."
Confessional: Jo
“And I thought I was an underhanded person,” Jo mentioned to herself. “Velma has less morals than me and Gnome Master.”
Confessional: Scarlett
"I was snubbed in the last episode," Scarlett confessed. "And now that I've been given permission, I can stop the finalists from winning without getting electrocuted!" She pulled out the remote from the seventh episode. "I don't even need this device. I have a controller to do the job for it."
Confessionals End
A few quick drum taps opened up a deep and dangerous challenge theme, the scene returning to Zee and Harold sprinting across the open field only to gape in shock as the pine trees in the background starting launching like rockets.
"What the heck?" Harold said. "Rocket trees?"
One landed right behind them, forcing both finalists to roll forward out of the way. "This island is wild!" Zee cried as the two continued running, more and more trees landing behind them like massive spears.
The two were shown together in a brief close-up, raising their eyebrows in surprise. A quick-pan ahead revealed the landscape changing, trees and rock formations rising up out of the artificial ground to form a large, dense barrier.
Harold jumped ahead of Zee as they climbed over the first big rock formation.
Zee vaulted downward and dashing forward along a lower 'path' among the rocks. Just as he was about to jump down onto grass, however, a boulder shot upward – and he landed on it groin-first. A close-up showed him letting out a high-pitched squeal of pain.
Harold's wince drew the camera's attention back upward to show him leaping from a boulder and grabbing onto the branch of a tree, only for the tree to suddenly shoot back down into the ground – causing him to yell as it dragged him down and slammed him back-first onto a fallen log.
Zee gave him a quick concerned glance as he jumped onto the same log, then upwards onto a rock formation before climbing onward and to the right and out of sight.
The scene cut back to the hinderers, both still working their controllers with Scarlett still looking considerably happier about it. "No need to change what works," Jo said uncertainty.
"What happened to that cutthroat attitude you've been displaying?" Scarlett asked. "Don't throw it away when I can get something out of it. And lower some of those trees. They're giving them too much cover from this storm I'm whipping up."
The camera panned onto the monitor to show Zee and Harold struggling against a powerful wind as they walked through what looked like a dense forest as leaves, dust, branches, and various small woodland animals blew past them.
A focus on the monitor's screen transitioned the scene back to the challenge. "I think...I can see the finish line in the distance," Zee said, pausing for a moment as he struggled against the intense gale.
"They're not making this easy on us," Harold commented.
The pair briefly passed behind a thick and mossy pine tree, the camera zooming in slightly as they reappeared. "Would you?" Zee asked.
"...I guess not," Harold answered after a moment.
The shot cut back to the Peanut Gallery to show them watching with worry and anticipation. "C'mon, Harold," Leshawna spoke. "Just hang in there."
"I know you can win this, Zee," Julia said. "You deserve it after everything."
Then the camera cut back to the hinderers, Chris standing next to their monitor with his hands behind his back and a smile on his face. "Ooh! They're getting close!" he said excitedly, prompting Scarlett to scowl and Jo to frown.
Once more the scene moved back to the finalists, their arms raised to buffer themselves against the winds – snow beginning to fall and lightning beginning to crack in the background - with Harold in the lead. "Two minutes left!" Chris called out over the island's loudspeaker. "Two minutes!"
"I...," Harold said with glee. "I think I can make it!"
"Not if I can help it!" Zee shouted, speeding up as the dense trees around him and Harold began to recede into the ground – and the tense and dangerous challenge music resumed. "If I win, me and Julia can go out and change the world together."
"I have to win this," Harold told him. "I've been undervalued and looked down on by my peers, friends, and even my family. I need to prove my might."
The snowy ground below their feet began to crack. A hollow sound played, then all at once, the ground shot up under them, earning startled yells from both. The shot soon cut to the new peak they were standing on rising up into the sky, then stopping.
"Drats..." Zee muttered, both finalists looking down with wide eyes. his final word echoed as the camera zoomed out, revealing the snowy mountain they were now at the top of.
The Peanut Gallery was shown gasping, as were Jo, though Scarlett was smiling as their misfortune. "Twenty seconds left...!" Chris said as the camera moved on to him looking at his watch.
The shot cut back to Harold. "I guess it's over," he sighed. “Scarlett wins after all.”
Zee noticed a bulge in the snow beside him. The boy shoved his hand into it and pulled out the phone Duncan stole from Chris. "I don't know how this got here, but we have to get down. Start stomping the ground."
Harold nodded and stomped on the ground at his feet, and after a few cracks, Zee hurled the phone down, breaking the device apart. Their eyes widened as the mountain began to crumble under them, and the ground imploded in on itself.
"Six! Five!" Chris began to count off, the music cutting out save for a single plodding note to highlight each number. "Four!" The camera panned onto the television, showing both finalists tumbling through the snow and rock. "Three! Two! One!" The shot cut to the finish banner, then zoomed out to show the avalanche stopping just under it – with neither finalist in sight. "GAME OVER!" he announced, blowing on his airhorn as a subdued but triumphant riff played.
Jo stood up in surprise, and Scarlett started cheering.
"My mission was a success!" Scarlett said in victory. “Now hand over my well-deserved prize!”
"Congratulations Jo and Scarlett," Chris said with his usual smile. "Revenge is sweetest-" he glanced at the monitor- "ohhhhh, what have we here?" he said with a sudden look of shock, the music cutting out as he pointed at the television screen.
A sharp note played as a familiar hand stuck out of the snow lying just past the finish line and waved. Scarlett's jaw dropped in shock, and Jo let out a sigh of relief.
The scene cut to the finish line, the camera pulling back a little ways as Chef walked up with a stretcher, dressed as a female nurse. Leshawna ran onscreen and pushed him out of the way. Chef flew off frame with a shout, and Leshawna grabbed the arm and pulled, freeing a shocked and snowy Harold from the aftermath of the avalanche. "Oh," he groaned, looking around as Leshawna dropped him on the stretcher, "what happened?" he asked as the victorious music began to play again with much more enthusiasm.
"You won, Ginger Baby!" Leshawna answered with a smile, the camera pulling out even more to show Harold looking back at the finish banner.
"I did it!" Harold said excitedly. "Harold Norbert Cheever Doris McGrady V has claimed victory! Boo yah!" he raised his arms and cheered, the shot cutting away to show all of the Peanut Gallery cheering.
“We weren't able to talk to each other as much, and it's clear we like each other as more than just friends, but how about we hang out a little bit back home and see where things go?” Leshawna suggested.
“As long as we don't rush into a committed relationship, I'd like that,” Harold smiled back.
The camera panned to the left to show Julia frantically pulling a dazed and half-conscious Zee from the rest of the avalanche, and picking him up onto her back.
"Julia," Zee said weakly, "I'm sorry that I-"
"Be quiet," Julia said with a weak smile as she carried her boyfriend over to the stretcher and set him down next to Harold. "You need to rest."
"But-" Zee tried to say.
He was cut off by Julia grabbing his head and kissing him full on the lips. "You didn’t win the money, but we can still provide for the world in our own ways, and with the power of love," she said with a smile as she broke the kiss, leaving Zee looking dopey.
The capstone theme began to play as the footage skipped ahead to a shot of the open sky, the double-rotored helicopter soon flying up into view. "That's it for this very, very off season," Chris began, standing in the open doorway with Zee and Julia sitting on the edge letting their legs dangle freely with Julia leaning into Zee; Harold and Scarlett standing on either side of Chris, the latter annoyed and the former grinning while holding the suitcase full of money to his chest; and the rest of the cast, crouching down and peering over in the gaps between and behind the rest, constantly jockeying for position as they tried to get one last shot of themselves on camera.
"This is Chris McLean, saying if you can't stand the pain-" the handsome host continued, the shot cutting in closer- "stay off the Total! Drama! Paaaahkitew Island!"
"RE-VENGE!" Max suddenly yelled from behind Scarlett, shoving her out of the helicopter, and the brainiac screamed as she fell.
The camera lingered on the dumbfounded looks of Chris and the other ex-campers, all of them staring at Max in shock. "This is how a traitor should be rewarded," he said, crossing his arms and closing his eyes defiantly.
The ex-campers and host burst out laughing, and a fun and energetic tune started to play. The camera panned over to the windshield to show Chef laughing along with the rest of the cast from the pilot's seat, and the helicopter flew away.
The music soon faded away, though, and the scene quick-panned down to show a screaming Scarlett landing in the giant mud puddle. She quickly surfaced with a shocked splutter, and pulled herself out onto dry land. "How am I going to get home now because of those imbeciles?!"
A few ominous notes were struck, and a ferocious growl caught Scarlett's attention. She looked up, and the camera zoomed out to show Scuba Bear 2.0 standing over her, eyes red. "Heheh," the brainiac laughed nervously. "You're not going to hurt me are you?"
The scene abruptly cut outward to the full long-distance shot of the island, the ominous music ending as Scarlett's scream and Scuba Bear's snarl echoed across the lake.
(Roll the Credits)
Lightning - 14th
DJ - 13th
Amy - 12th
B - 11th
Julia - 10th
Max - 9th
Leshawna - 8th
MERGE
Jo - 7th
Duncan - 6th
Ella - 5th
Sammy - 4th
Scarlett - 3rd
Zee - 2nd
Harold - 1st

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

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

Boys: Harold, Zee
Episode 13: Lies, Cries, and One Big Prize
"Previously, on Total Drama. Zee, Scarlett, and Harold created their own challenges!"
"Zee went with balancing, which bit big time for Scarlett and gave Harold the shock of his life."
"Harold's treetop race was more entertaining than a sawing monkey. Surprisingly, Scarlett won the challenge, and Harold fell from grace and the trees."
"So, it all came down to Scarlett's challenge: a trivia challenge about the former competitors. Zee didn't have too good a start, but quickly earned himself a spot in the finale."
"It all came down to a final question, and one that Scarlett ironically got wrong. Bye-bye!"
The montage ended with a flash, showing a close-up of Chris in front of a bare rock wall. "Down to two from three," he said, holding up three fingers but lowering one of them, "cause now we're Scarlett-free. But," he lowered another finger, "it'll still be neat to see who gets beat," he punched his open palm. "So! Grab a seat. There's one million bucks on the line," the shot cut to a robotic arm lifting up the open suitcase full of prize money against a radiant orange-and-gold background. "Iiiiiit's finale time!" Chris said as the shot cut back to him.
"On Total! Drama! Paaaaaahkitew Island!"
(Theme Song)
A deep note played as the episode opened on the bunker, the sky dark and the crickets chirping. A deep sigh issued forth from it, and the camera soon cut inside to show Harold tossing and turning in his bed. He got up and grabbed a pillow from the bed above him and closed his eyes with a smile, only to open them and sigh again.
Confessional: Harold
"It's no use," Harold sighed in the confessional. "I just can't get to sleep. I'm too anxious about tomorrow. I don't know if Zee is having the same trouble as I am..."
“It’d be cool if I win the last challenge. Just think about how much better my life would be. No more wedgies, wet willies, and toilet face plunges, my peers would respect me more as a million dollar winner, and I can invest the money in a way that’ll make me more than the show has to afford.”
Confessional Ends
The static cut away to show Harold turning his back to the camera with another sigh, then the shot cut to the inside of the barn to show Zee sleeping peacefully and snoring rather loudly.
Confessional: Zee
"This is a high stress situation, but I’m able to get some rest in order to ease it," Zee explained. "Even if it’s a million dollar competition against Harold."
Confessional Ends
An angelic sound played as the shot returned to a close-up of Harold, his eyes blinking blearily to sleep as the light of dawn streamed in through a window high on the wall above him.
Just as he and the music seemed to reach a peaceful rest, the wail of an airhorn pierced the walls and forced Harold back into wakefulness, his eyes snapping open wide and bloodshot. "Harold and Zee," Chris announced over the camp loudspeakers, the screen splitting in two with a shot of the good vibe guy blearily waking up sliding in on the left. "Meeting area, now!"
The scene flashed to Zee and Harold standing before Chris in the open meeting area. "Yes! Today, I fire one of you from a cannon," he greeted excitedly. "And then start my vacation."
"Plus you'll hand one of us a million dollars," Harold added with a grin.
"I haven't forgotten, dude," Chris said in annoyance. "I'm just focusing on the parts that bring me the most joy. Okay?"
"What's the challenge?" Zee asked. "Is it physical or have you decided on something else?"
Harold grinned. "Total Drama finales are always physical," he said. "And while I am classified as a brain, I'm afraid I have more fighting skills than you."
"Don't get too overconfident just yet," Zee warned. "I might surprise you."
"If I may continue?" Chris interrupted, his annoyed expression soon dropping. "Your final challenge is so demanding, the lawyers insisted each of you get a helper. Ehh," he shrugged, "it's not a horrible idea. I mean," the shot cut to the finalists as they watched him, "maybe they'll be able to help us find your bodies!" Zee and Harold shared a brief but wary look. "So, which of the past contestants would you like as a helper?" Chris asked, stepping over to them.
Confessional: Zee
"I'd prefer Julia," Zee told the outhouse camera. "She's really rad, and we work well together. But I wouldn't be too upset over having anybody else as a helper. Well, except for Scarlett."
Confessional: Harold
"It's no surprise that I'd prefer Leshawna over anyone else," Harold confessed. "She can handle her own battles and objectively speaking, she is the most physically attractive girl this season. I just wish that we were able to talk to each other before she left."
Confessionals End
"I choose Leshawna," Harold said with a smile as the static cut away and a triumphant tune played...for a few brief moments.
Chris chuckled. "'Choose'?" he repeated, laughing again. "Nooo, no no no no no no no...," he told the finalists.
"But you just asked us-," Zee pointed out in confusion.
"I know," Chris conceded, "I asked you who you wanted, I did that to be mean." He laughed again as the sound of squeaky wheels approached. "Your helpers-" the camera pulled back to show Chef pushing a large widescreen monitor up to the host on a cart- "will be selected thusly! When you press this button," he held up a remote control with a single red button on it, "the possible helpers will flash across the screen." A game show jingle played as the shot cut to the monitor, now showing the portraits of the eliminated contestants rolling down across the screen as if on a reel. "Whoever's face it stops on, is your helper."
The reel stopped on an image of Scarlett after drinking Juggy Chunks. "What happens if we land on someone we don't want?" Harold asked.
"You each get one chance to pass and spin again," Chris answered with a wide grin as the sound of a helicopter grew louder. "And just to make things even more interesting," he added, growing more and more giddy with each moment, "I've brought all the helpers out to watch!"
"RELEASE ME, YOU CRETIN! I DEMAND IT!" shouted a familiar voice.
Harold and Zee gasped as the music spiked, and the shot cut to the same dual-rotor military helicopter that Chris and Chef had taken shelter in during the island's malfunctioning as it flew in overhead.
Then the camera panned downward to show the twelve eliminated campers dangling under it tied up in ropes – Max on the far left, then Amy, Sammy, Duncan, Ella, B, Lightning, Scarlett, Julia, DJ, Leshawna, and finally Jo on the far right.
"What's the big idea, McLean?!" Jo shouted hatefully, the shot cutting in close to her and Leshawna.
"Yeah," Leshawna chimed in, "why do I gotta be hanging next to her!" The two girls locked eyes and glared.
"I don't think that's the issue here..." DJ said, the camera panning onto him.
"I personally don't mind being tied up like this," Julia said in a positive tone, the camera pulling back to show her smiling. "I'm just happy to see my boyfriend in the finale."
"I didn't even want to show up, but I would appreciate it if I was actually seated," Scarlett said in a grumpy tone.
"Sha-yeah!" Lightning agreed as the camera panned onto him. "Chris, these ropes might cause Lightning some bruising. Can we get them loosened a bit?"
Scarlett gave Lightning an incredulous look. "You do realize that if the ropes are loosened, you'll fall?"
"Lightning will just get back up again," Lightning told her obliviously.
The camera cut back to B. It lingered on him for a few moments as he awkwardly looked from side to side, then directly at the camera as he smiled coolly.
"Despite this drastic situation we're in," Ella sang after the song panned to her, "I still want either Zee or Harold to win~!"
Another pan to the left showed Duncan watching her. "My money's on Harold," he said, shrugging.
“And how come?” Ella asked.
"Zee's cool and all, but I just know the dork better," Duncan answered.
"Really?" Geoff asked, raising a eyebrow in disbelief. "Are the shows in Jersey really that terrible to watch?"
"They are if ya don't have tickets!" Anne Maria answered happily.
Yet another pan put the focus on Amy and Sammy. "Are you still not going to apologize for how you've treated me ever since we were little?" Sammy asked.
"And why should I?" Amy replied in slight irritation.
"Because I put you in your place and pointed out your own flaws," Sammy explained. “The least you can do is be humble a bit.”
"You may have gotten further than me, but you still didn’t win the season," Amy bragged. “You're a bowl of mush, and I'm a parfait, which is French for perfect.”
“So what's French for bossy blonde cow?” Sammy taunted with a smirk. “I know! Vache blonde autoritaire!”
"You are so going to get it," Amy growled.
The camera pulled back to show Max clenching his eyes shut in pain. "Would you two identical ladies cease that annoying racket?!" he finally yelled with another force to startle Amy and Sammy into looking at him. "Thank y-" he began to say plainly before Amy smacked him in the head. "Hey!" he said, cringing at the hit.
"Okay," Chris said, the music turning slow and plodding as the camera cut back to him, Zee and Harold. "Now that the Peanut Gallery has had a chance to reintroduce themselves, let's move on."
"Whoa, hold on a minute," Zee held up a hand to interrupt. "Why? How? When?"
"Uh, you're gonna have to be a little more specific there," Chris told him, raising an eyebrow.
"He means why are they all tied up?" Harold translated.
Chris let out a long, irritated sigh. "Fine," he said. "I'm keeping them tied up and in plain sight so we don't have them float towards the sun, okay?"
"No," Harold said bluntly.
"Not really," Zee replied.
"Whatever," Chris told them, his brow creased in annoyance. His expression then changed into a smile. "Who goes first will be decided by a coin toss," he explained, taking out a coin and flipping it towards the campers.
It hit Zee in the eye. He yelped in pain, rubbing where he'd been hit.
"Zee wins!" Chris happily announced. "Let's see who you get," he said as the game show jingled played again.
The shot cut to a close-up of the monitor as the portraits began to scroll past, Zee uttering a series of grunts as she watched off-screen – some hopeful, some annoyed. "Okay, stop," he said after a few seconds, the camera moving to him as he pressed the button on his remote.
The simulated reel stopped on Jo. "Not who I wanted at all," Zee said in disappointment as a triumphant jingle played, "but I got what I got and I'm not gonna throw a fit."
"Harold," Chris said, the camera moving back to the finalists as the dweeb pursed his lips, "you're up."
The game show jingle played, and the portraits started flashing across the monitor again – until they stopped on Scarlett. "No..." Harold groaned.
Confessional: Harold
"I knew the odds of getting Leshawna were slim," Harold confessed. "But I want a helper who would actually assist me."
Confessional Ends
An odd note played as the shot cut back to Zee, Harold, and Chris, the latter two sharing a look. "I'd like to spin again," Harold said.
"Have at it," Chris replied, the shot briefly cutting to the pictures flashing across the monitor again.
Harold pressed the button, and sagged in defeat – and the camera cut to the monitor to show that it had landed on Scarlett again. The camera moved in front of Chris as he gave her a mischievous look. "Scarlett again?" he asked in fake shock. "What are the odds?"
The camera pulled back as Chris turned to the right and nodded at Chef, who returned the gesture and walked away. "Okay, looks like Zee gets Jo and Harold gets Scarlett," Chris said, nodding toward the helicopter. The ropes tied around the two chosen helpers abruptly came loose, causing both to fall, but while Scarlett landed in an awkward flop, Jo simply tucked her legs in and rolled as a light but triumphant tune played.
She got back onto her feet just as Zee walked up to her. "Hey Jo. I know we haven't gotten along-" Zee said.
"-but since we're partners, we're gonna have to try and tolerate each other," Jo replied. "Yeah, I know."
Confessional: Jo
"I'm not in the game any more, which still sucks," Jo explained. "But Chill Pill managed to subvert my expectations. He lasted longer than I thought he would have. And if I have to work with him, then so be it."
Confessional Ends
The camera panned to the right as Scarlett snorted and stood up. "I strongly refuse to partake in this," she said, the shot cutting in close as she brushed the dirt off her shirt then turned around.
She took a step, and walked right into Chef, who snickered and locked a thick metal collar around the quiet brainiac's neck.
"Let me guess. You're going to shock me if I don't play along, right?" Scarlett asked in annoyance as she tugged at the collar.
"You'd think that," Chris said with a mischievous smile, "but this is actually something different. In case you somehow ended up as one of the helpers, I had a special collar made that'll tranquilize you if you don't play along," he finished with a smug look.
Scarlett groaned in annoyance. "Fine."
"Hey, as long as you don't just bail, I'm cool," Chris told him.
"I'm not," Harold interrupted with an angry look.
Confessional: Scarlett
"Unless I want a voltage surprise like the ones I received in episode four," Scarlett told the confessional camera with disgust, idly tugging at the collar around her neck, "I'll help Harold with his goal of winning the one million dollars. That doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."
Confessional: Chris
"Am I full of good ideas or what?" Chris chuckled in the outhouse camera.
Confessionals End
"So," Chris said, the static cutting away to show him walking towards the two pairs. "Reunion's over? Good! It's time for your final challenge. I have endearingly titled it, 'The Double Duo of Deadly Dying Death'!" A dramatic spike in the music, reverberated voice, and zoomed-in and angled shot all combined to make the revealing of the title particularly dramatic.
"That sounds dangerous...," Zee said worryingly.
"It's supposed to be dangerous, Dodo Brain," Jo groaned.
Confessional: Zee
"Now I'm wishing I did use my second chance like Harold did," Zee confessed.
Confessional Ends
"Now since Blaineley snuck back onto the island and changed it completely by wreaking havoc in the secret underground control room..." Chris began to explain.
"Umm, hold on," came the voice of Julia, the camera panning back up to the still-loitering helicopter. "What did you just say?" she asked in confusion.
"Wait, you didn't know that?" Duncan asked. "I knew I was forgetting something."
"Host!" Max interrupted, drawing the focus to the other end of the line. "I demand you explain this!"
"No," Chris replied in a deadpan tone. "As I was saying," he continued, putting his bland smile back on as the background music became deep and tense, "we've yet to explore all the wonderful and bizarre new dangers the island's new landscape has to offer. Until now. Harold and Zee," the shot cut back to the two pairs, "with assistance from your helpers-" Zee and Jo shared a frown while Harold and Scarlett shared a glare - "you will race across the island. First one to cross the finish line will receive," Chris turned to the side and grabbed the prized suitcase from Chef, the music building up grandly as he opened it to reveal its glowing contents, "One! Millions! Dol-lars!"
All four teens started cheering.
"All you have to do is survive a 2000-foot plummet from an ice cliff," Chris joyously explained, the camera cutting to the slender peak of a snowy mountain before quick-panning away, "successfully learn to breathe while submerged in mud," the camera panned across a bubbling lake of mud before quick-panning away again, "and then sprint two miles across a wide-open field where," the shot now panned across a seemingly ordinary and empty field, "I'm absolutely sure no harm will come to you."
The shot cut back to the cast as Chris began to laugh raucously for an extended period of time. "The point I'm making," Chris said once he'd finally finished, "is that there's a decent chance you may not survive this."
Both finalists and helpers groaned warily. Then they were each tossed an orange helmet.
"For the first part of the challenge," Chris explained, "the lawyers insisted you wear helmets to protect your brains." The shot cut to him and Chef. "I mean who knows. Someday, you may start using them." The roar of the nearby helicopter suddenly increased, the added wind whipping up a cloud of dust around the men. "When you get to the top of the mountain, it'd be a good idea to build a bobsled," Chris instructed, "or, it'll be a very rough ride down!"
The show's smaller red helicopter was shown flying over, the larger military one flying away with the rest of the former campers still attached. "Grab a rope!" Chris said, the camera panning down the four ropes hanging from the helicopter to show them dangling just above the finalists and helpers. "Your challenge begins...NOW!"
The four grabbed the ropes in front of them, and to a sudden bit of challenge music and a blast of the host's airhorn, the helicopter flew off dragging the startled teens along with it.
"Good luck! Stay safe!" Chris called out after them. "Are things I'd say, if I cared!"
The footage flashed ahead to the top of the snowy peak, several boxes and barrels of various junk – including what looked like several sets of skis – already waiting at the top. The small helicopter arrived momentarily, and the shot cut to its four passengers landing in the show – Jo and Zee on the left, Scarlett and Harold on the right.
"We're supposed to build a bobsled out of this junk?" Jo asked in disbelief.
"No," Zee corrected as he grabbed a pair of skis, "Chris just said it would be a good idea." He tossed the skis onto the ground and stepped on them, a tense challenge tune playing in the background. "I have a different one, so hop on."
The shot cut to a close-up of Jo grinning, then to her jumping onto the skis behind Zee. "Let's do this!" she said as they began to slide forward down the slope and left the scene.
The camera panned onto Scarlett, holding a pair of skis of her own. "We should get moving!"
"What's to stop me from believing that you won't shove me off the skis?" Harold asked, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.
"I have this wretched collar on. Shoving you is the last thing I want to do. Now get on!" Scarlett told him angrily.
"Fine," Harold said, rolling his eyes and walking over to where Scarlett was already waiting on the skis and got ahead of her. The challenge music rose up again as they leaned forward, and started to slide.
The shot cut to Zee and Jo looking back over their shoulders with grins on their faces. They promptly skied through a tall mogul, slowing them down a little and covering Zee's eyes in snow. "I can't see!" he shouted, clawing at the packed snow as they began to swerve.
"Quick, to the left!" Jo shouted, one hand around Zee's waist and one point ahead of them as they swerved away from the camera around another mound of snow. "Now right!" Jo directed, the two swerving back towards the foreground. "Left!" She shouted, but they just sped through another mogul earning a scream from the jock-ette.
Confessional: Jo
Jo was blue from the cold and shivering heavily.
Confessional Ends
"Well isn't that the best thing that's happened today!" Scarlett taunted as the scene cut back to her and Harold.
"Yeah, well, we're gonna be next if we don't keep dodging these things," Harold pointed out as they began to swerve around the moguls as well. "And I want to try and get ahead of them while we can."
The music ramped up dangerously as the dweeb and brainiac slid towards another mogul. "Left!" Harold shouted.
"No, right!" Scarlett replied, the two leaning to the opposite direction, swerving nowhere, and plowing right through the mound. "Aagh!"
"Scarlett!" Harold growled as they started swerving wildly, snow covering both their eyes. They clipped the side of another mogul, sending themselves into a screaming spin, hit a third mogul, and came out tumbling end over end.
The shot cut to the bottom of the slope, the music leveling off as what looked like a mogul on skis slid down. The camera zoomed in as two patches of snow fell away to reveal Zee and Jo inside, the two moaning and blue in the face. "Zee, we need to move," Jo weakly told her partner, "before-"
A massive snowball suddenly ran them over, breaking the snow but leaving the good vibe guy and jock-ette lying in a puddle of melting snow. A crash was heard off-screen, but the camera lingered in place as Jo groaned and stood up. "Let's go," Jo told her partner. "You're still in this..."
"...yeah," Zee said as he caught his breath. "Yeah!" he said, more energetically this time. "I've got this!" he declared before charging forward, the shot cutting to Jo as she smirked softly then raced after her partner.
The camera followed them along for a few seconds until they reached a heap of snow, skis, and dazed-looking teens, which the shot immediately focused on. "What happened?" Harold shot at his partner, the dweeb lying upside-down half-trapped in the snow. "I told you to go left!"
"And I told you to go right!" Scarlett countered, her head sticking out the right way up but her legs sticking out over it.
"Yes, but I'm the one in charge!" Harold replied. "You're supposed to be helping me!"
"I was steering!" Scarlett said before the snow holding her up crumbled away, causing her to fall over with a startled gasp.
Harold sighed in aggravation before a small pile of melting snow collapsed onto his face.
The scene cut away to show Chris and Chef sitting in lawn chairs eating popcorn as they watched the challenge feed, the host promptly pausing it with a beep and looking at the camera. "This finale's out of control!" he said excitedly as the capstone theme began to play. "Zee and Jo got run over! Harold and Scarlett can't stop arguing! And all of them just plowed through like a ton of snow!"
"Stay tuned, "he continued, the shot moving away but the host quickly popping back up in front of it. "Someone is leaving here a millionaire. It's the finale of Total! Drama! Paaaaaahkitew Island!"
(Commercial Break)

A soldier of a reptilian-analog race lays in his makeshift cot, in a M*A*S*H* tent not terribly far from the front lines. He's lost too much blood, from far too many extraneous holes in his body, and the veins have withdrawn to where doctors can't get an IV into him. They can't save him- they don't even have spare painkillers, so he can feel himself dying the whole while.
It's cold. So very, very cold. His eyes are swollen shut from a godawful mix of biochem weapons that the enemy loves spraying before a banzai charge. This was his first real battle, and it will be his last. He is alone, and he is absolutely terrified, being a young man barely the equivalent of eighteen by human reckoning. Panic starts to set in as he feels himself slipping further and further away. He fidgets and strains against the bedding he's half-swaddled into, emitting shrill noises of distress.
"No.. Not yet.. I don't wanna go yet.. Please..!" Begging to whatever or whoever might hear him, his one still functional arm reaches out and gropes blindly for anything, anyone. He can't stand it anymore. Despair has almost sent him into a full on tantrum when a soft, warm hand grabs his and clutches it tightly. A familiar hand.
"Mama's here, sweetie.. It's okay now. Shh.. Just lay back.. Here, drink this." A cup of something warm is brought to his lips. He immediately relaxes when he hears the voice, and carefully sips at the delicious herbal tea. The slightly savory, slightly fruity flavor and natural chemicals help further calm him. He gasps a bit after the cup is brought away, trying to force his eyes open to look at the familiar, loving voice.
Fatima 'Mama' Basu, one of the human auxiliaries that provided civilian services like treats and gaming to the soldiery. She shouldn't be here, she wasn't even a nurse. But he was glad she was, all the same.
"Mama.. I'm scared, Mama.." His grip on her hand tightened, the shivering growing worse even as he felt her place a heated blanket over him. The warmth was welcome, even if it was just putting ointment on a sucking chest wound.
Another hand began brushing itself over his forehead and the frill that stuck up in the middle, trying to calm his nerves. "I know, sweetie.. And I'm sorry.. Mama will stay right here until the end, I promise." The woman looks at the scales that are coming off of her son's head as she tries to provide gentle physical contact to ease his passing, knowing full well that it means he's close. Tears stream down her cheeks and fall onto his, eliciting a smile from the dying soldier.
"Thank.. Thank you.. Mama.. I just.. Didn't want.. To be.. Alone.." He feels a brief tinge of pain- and then intense relief. A morphine syrette. Where did she get that? It didn't matter. She put it right into a major artery. The pain relief was swift, as fast as his heart was beating. Breathing that had previously been severely labored began to slow and relax, his grip on her hand slowly going slack, and eventually completely limp.
Basu resisted the urge to burst into a full on fit as another one of her precious sons left her. There were still others that needed someone beside them, that needed a nice cup of tea or a decent minced pie or just someone to hold their hand before the lights shut off. She picked up her heavy purse, loaded to the brim with all the little comforts and carefully hidden drugs she could fit into it- almost twenty kilograms- and began looking around the disheveled excuse for a M*A*S*H* tent for the next soul in need.
A bear-like doctor who'd been triaging another patient finished his work and let out a frustrated sigh, looking up and trying not to scream. He saw Basu as she carefully walked around the tent, keeping out of the way of the other medical personnel. "Praise the Forgotten Wood. Mama! Over here!" The human perked up at being called out and scurried over quickly.
She looked down at the soldier the doctor had been treating, most of him was.. Gone. He was some kind of arthropod-analog whose species name she couldn't pronounce, but he was still one of her beloved sons- Srixxir, if she recalled his name correctly. One compound eye twisted itself to look up at her, gently reaching out toward her with a crooked arm that terminated in half as many bristle-haired fingers as it should have normally had. The doctor moved on to the next patient while Basu sat down beside the dying insectoid. She carefully took his hand, ignoring the pain of the bristle-hairs digging into her flesh. "Don't worry, sweetheart. Mama's here.."
"Mama.. Basu.." Srixxir buzzed out, his remaining eye twitching. "Could I.. Could I trouble you for.. One last bite.. Of a.." He didn't even have time to finish making his request before she had one of her minced pies near his triangular mandibles, which began picking at the treat. His absolute favorite food, because she laced his with the nuts from his homeworld that he so loved. Almost as much as he loved this human who followed their army around, providing them with comforts and kindness no matter the danger to herself.
"Tas...t...y..." There was an involuntary shudder, forcing pieces of Srixxir's internal anatomy out through the various holes in his midsection, and he began gasping and choking on his own blood, before his body locked up and went still.
Basu flinched as the bristle hairs bit deep into her skin and carefully unwrapped her hand from Srixxir's rapidly cooling corpse. She'd barely finished putting some liquid stitch on her hand when suddenly a body tackled her to the floor, "MAMA, GET DOWN!" Only then did she notice the whistling sound that was rapidly getting c loser, and she clung to the body that was covering hers. The ground shook and quaked when the artillery shell landed, but when she opened her eyes, everything looked to still be intact.
A pseudo-vulpine with almost absurdly long ears looked down at her with a bit of a grin. "It's okay, Mama. We won't let anything happen to you." He wasn't too badly injured, one of the walking wounded, and he helped her to her feet once the danger had passed.
She ran a hand along the dirty, bloodstained fur of his cheek, smiling back at him, and then proceeded to straighten out his uniform a bit. He might be a junior officer, but he was still an officer, and it wouldn't be proper if he didn't look the part. "Thank you, Krybel. Here.. I made a pork cutlet hand pie, just for you."
The vulpine's eyes gleamed as he resisted the urge to tear into it like a starving pup . After three weeks of shit MREs, one of Basu's hand pies was like a gift from the Gods themselves. He savored every last crumb of it while watching her walk off, looking for the next soul in need.
"Mama.. Mama, where are you??" Came another frightened voice that was starting to crack, making Basu turn toward it on reflex, heart breaking all over again. She hefted up her purse and adjusted the strap.
"Mama's coming, dear, I'll be right there!" She patted Krybel's cheek again, "Take care of yourself sweetie, will you? I'll see you later." And then she began trotting off, moving on to provide the care that only she could.
A senior officer frowned while watching as Basu wandered around his M*A*S*H* unit, providing palliative care. "Lieutenant." He said with a bit of a growl in his voice, looking at Krybel. "Pray tell, who authorized a civilian in my thrice-damned abattoir? Why has she not been removed? Why are you eating one of those damned.. ..delicious..." the officer took a moment to wipe a little drool from his mouth, "...pies?"
Krybel looked up at the officer- a major, probably in charge of the whole camp- and cooly regarded him. "With all due respect to your rank, Major, sir- we want her here and I'm sure that the medical staff has cleared her. Though even if they haven't, I'm going to warn you now, sir- if you even think about trying to take away Mama Basu, you'll be the next one who needs her attention." His face suddenly went from soft and fluffy- if dirty- and went to the hard, stony glare of a predator. "We need her. Allow me to offer the suggestion of, instead of worrying about her, you could focus on something slightly more important. Supply forms, maybe."
The major frowned at this not so subtle threat, but he couldn't lie- at least with her around, there was a little less screaming, so that palliative care was definitely not a waste. And you know, supply forms didn't sound like such a tedious task at the moment.. It was going to be such a long day.

Ok. i think we are done here. Could you write me another signs of high-tech low-life society?

Absolutely! Here are some signs of a high-tech, low-life society:
Ubiquitous Technology, Crumbling Infrastructure:

• Glitching Skyscrapers: Imagine towering structures clad in malfunctioning holographic displays, projecting advertisements or flashing warnings over rusting metal frames.
• Smart Slums: Dilapidated housing blocks are retrofitted with basic smart tech – malfunctioning automated doors, flickering smart lights controlled by unreliable apps.
• Cybernetic Beggars: People with outdated or malfunctioning cybernetic limbs beg for credits to upgrade or repair them, creating a grotesque spectacle of technological dependence.

Extreme Social Inequality:

• Virtual Gated Communities: The wealthy live in luxurious virtual reality simulations, completely divorced from the harsh realities of the physical world.
• Data Black Markets: Personal information becomes a tradable commodity, with the poor selling their data scraps for a pittance to afford basic necessities.
• Cybernetic Caste System: The level of cybernetic augmentation determines social status. Those with outdated or malfunctioning implants are relegated to menial labor.

Technology as a Corrupting Force:

• Government by Algorithm: A corrupt AI dictates city policies, leading to impersonal and often harmful decisions based on cold calculations.
• Widespread Addiction to Virtual Reality: People escape the harsh realities of their lives through immersive VR experiences, neglecting their physical well-being and social connections.
• Black Market Biohacking: Desperate people turn to illegal biohacking to enhance their bodies, often with disastrous consequences.

Environmental Devastation:

• Tech Wastelands: Vast landscapes are littered with the discarded remains of outdated technology, creating toxic waste dumps and breeding grounds for disease.
• Weather Warfare: Nations use sophisticated technology to manipulate weather patterns, leading to devastating natural disasters for their enemies.
• Hacked Ecosystems: Corporations hack into natural ecosystems, manipulating flora and fauna for profit, leading to unpredictable and dangerous mutations.

This is just a glimpse into a high-tech, low-life society. These elements can be mixed and matched to create a truly dystopian world.

Picture some possible advertisements from such settings.

High-Tech, Low-Life Advertisements:

1. Holographic Billboard: (Flickers intermittently, distorting the image)

Product: "Neura-Calm 2.0" - Brain Implant
Slogan: "Tired of the glitches in your head? Neura-Calm 2.0 smooths out your neural network for a worry-free, low-lag existence! (Side effects may include memory loss, emotional numbness, and occasional involuntary twitching.)"

1. Grungy Neon Sign in a Seedy Back Alley:

Product: "Doc Chrome's Cybernetic Enhancements"
Slogan: "Get that edge you need! From basic strength mods to full black-market military enhancements, Doc Chrome has you covered! (Used parts, buyer beware.)"

1. Pop-Up Ad on a Cracked Mobile Screen:

Product: "Elysium VR Escape Pod"
Slogan: "Can't afford real estate in the Sky City? Escape the slums for Elysium VR! Live your wildest dreams in a pristine virtual world! (Free trial, monthly subscription required, real-world consequences for in-pod violence.)"

1. Stenciled Graffiti on a Rusting Service Drone:

Product: "Data Scrappers Anonymous"
Slogan: "Selling your personal data just to make rent? We can help you break free! Join our community and reclaim your digital identity! (Meetings held in abandoned ventilation shafts, Tuesdays at dusk.)"

1. Holographic Advertisement projected onto a Polluted River:

Product: "Eco-Scrub 5000" - Nanomachines
Slogan: "The river's looking a little…toxic? Eco-Scrub 5000 nanomachines clean up your local waterways! (May cause unforeseen mutations in aquatic life.)"

Another batch please.

1. Rusty Public Announcement Speaker: (Screeching static interspersed with the message)

Product: "Ministry of Order Approved Thought Regulators"
Slogan: "Unwanted thoughts causing glitches in your daily routine? The Ministry of Order approved Thought Regulator ensures a streamlined thought process for a more productive you! (May cause extreme conformity, inability to question authority, and spontaneous nosebleeds.)"

1. Faded Holographic Billboard on a Collapsing Skyscraper:

Product: "Luxury Chrome Plating Kit"
Slogan: "Ditch the rust! Chrome-plate your entire body for a sleek, metallic sheen. The mark of a true high-society citizen! (WARNING: Highly toxic fumes, may cause spontaneous combustion in humid environments.)"

1. Spam Email: (Subject: "YOU'VE BEEN CHOSEN!")

Product: "The Syndicate's Black Market Upgrade Lottery"
Body: "Congratulations! You've been randomly selected for a chance to win a top-of-the-line cybernetic upgrade! One lucky winner will receive military-grade night vision implants! Enter now! (Participation requires full biometric data submission. Winners responsible for extraction of previous, incompatible implants.)"

1. Glowing Neon Sign in a Crowded Marketplace:

Product: "Mama Chen's Guaranteed-Growth GMO Groceries"
Slogan: "Tired of expired rations and mystery meat? Mama Chen's GMO Groceries offer guaranteed growth on all fruits and vegetables! Bigger, faster, tastier! (Long-term effects unknown.)"

1. Audio Ad on a Glitching Radio Broadcast:

Product: "Rusty's Reliable Rocketship Repair"
Voiceover: (Gruff, heavily accented) "Is your escape pod sputtering? Did your joyride end in a fiery crash? Rusty's Reliable Rocketship Repair gets you back in the stars... eventually! (Guaranteed not to explode... again. Parts sourced from scrapyards. May contain rogue AIs.)"

Now craft ads that would be shown in high-society parts of cities.

High-Society Ads in a High-Tech, Low-Life World

1. Tranquil Holographic Projection in a Private Garden:

Product: "Serenity Spa - Neural Rebalancing Retreat"
Visual: A serene mountain landscape with a luxurious spa nestled amongst the clouds.
Slogan: "Escape the chaos. Reclaim your inner peace. Serenity Spa's exclusive neural rebalancing treatments restore harmony to your overloaded mind. (Limited availability, reservations required centuries in advance.)"

1. Discreet Text Message: (Delivered via secure, encrypted channel)

Product: "The Black Archive - Unrestricted Data Access"
Body: "Craving the forbidden? The Black Archive offers unparalleled access to censored historical records, banned media, and classified government information. Knowledge is power. (Extreme discretion guaranteed. One-time access fee, cryptocurrency only.)"

1. Exclusive Gala Invitation: (Delivered by hand-drones)

Event: "The Zenith Initiative - Unveiling the Next Generation of Cybernetic Enhancements"
Visual: A sleek, chrome figure with glowing blue cybernetic implants, striking a confident pose.
Details: "Mingle with the city's elite and witness the unveiling of cutting-edge cybernetic enhancements designed to redefine human potential. RSVP required. Black-tie attire mandatory. (Augmentations sold separately.)"

1. Curated Virtual Reality Experience: (Delivered on a high-security chip)

Product: "Elysium VR - Bespoke Worlds"
Description: "Escape the limitations of reality. Elysium VR crafts personalized virtual worlds tailored to your deepest desires. Explore a forgotten utopia, conquer a fantastical realm, or indulge in your wildest fantasies. (Customization fees apply. Memories created within VR may not be distinguishable from reality.)"

1. Whisper Network Rumor: (Spread through high-society gossip channels)

Product: "The Underground Clinic - Designer Gene Editing"
Details: "Unleash your child's full potential. The Underground Clinic offers discreet, top-secret gene editing to ensure your offspring possess the most desirable traits. (Designer genes come at a premium. Side effects may include unpredictable mutations and uncontrollable genius.)"
These ads cater to the specific desires of the high-society elite in a high-tech, low-life world. They offer exclusivity, forbidden knowledge, and the ability to transcend the limitations of the decaying world around them, all for a hefty price and with a hint of hidden danger.

Continue, try to make more serious ones.

Serious Ads in a High-Tech, Low-Life World (High-Society Edition)

1. Holographic Panel Discussion in a Luxurious Penthouse:

Product: "The Green Horizon Initiative - Sustainable Urban Development"
Panelists: Renowned architects, environmental scientists, and CEOs from leading green tech companies.
Discussion Points: Innovative solutions for vertical farming, self-contained eco-districts, and waste management technologies designed to create cleaner, more sustainable enclaves within the decaying city.
Slogan: "Investing in a greener future. The Green Horizon Initiative seeks to build sustainable havens within the chaos, ensuring a brighter tomorrow for generations to come." (Focuses on the long-term viability of the city and the importance of preserving resources for future generations.)

1. Documentary Screening in a Private Art Gallery:

Film: "Unveiling the Slums: A Call to Action"
Description: A powerful documentary exposing the harsh realities of the lower districts, highlighting the human cost of unchecked technological advancement and social inequality.
Post-Screening Discussion: Moderated by a renowned philanthropist alongside representatives from NGOs and social reform movements.
Call to Action: Donations to support educational programs, infrastructure upgrades, and basic necessities in the slums. (Highlights the societal problems and pushes for progressive change.)

1. Educational AR Program for Children:

Product: "The Knowledge Weavers - Immersive Historical Simulations"
Description: An augmented reality program that allows children to experience pivotal moments in history firsthand. Walk alongside historical figures, explore ancient civilizations, and learn valuable lessons from the past.
Focus: Educating the next generation about the dangers of unchecked technological advancement and the importance of social responsibility. (Promotes critical thinking and historical awareness as a means to prevent repeating past mistakes.)

1. Virtual Charity Gala:

Event: "The Code for Change Gala - Supporting Open-Source Solutions"
Description: A virtual reality charity gala featuring renowned artists, musicians, and thought leaders. Guests can donate to support open-source projects developing solutions for common problems in the city, such as energy distribution, waste management, and cybercrime prevention.
Focus: Harnessing the power of technology for social good and encouraging collaboration towards a more equitable future. (Promotes community engagement and utilizing technology to solve societal challenges.)

1. Architectural Award Ceremony:

Product: "The Salvaged City Awards - Recognizing Innovation in Urban Renewal"
Awarded to: Architects and engineers who have successfully repurposed existing infrastructure or implemented innovative solutions to revitalize decaying areas of the city.
Focus: Highlighting the importance of resourcefulness and creativity in adapting to a challenging environment. (Encourages using existing resources wisely and finding creative solutions to the problems of the decaying city.)

Another, but hiding an evil sinister twist.

Serious Ads with a Sinister Twist (High-Society Edition)

1. Holographic Charity Drive in a High-End Shopping Mall:

Product: "The Cradle Project - Investing in the Future"
Visual: Smiling, healthy children playing in a pristine, futuristic classroom.
Slogan: "Every child deserves a chance to thrive. The Cradle Project provides advanced genetic screening and early intervention to ensure the next generation reaches its full potential." (Twist: The Cradle Project uses genetic engineering to create a subservient, highly intelligent underclass.)

1. VR Documentary Premiere:

Film: "Harmony Through Integration - A Look at the Unified City"
Description: A seemingly heartwarming VR documentary showcasing the seamless integration of the lower districts into the high-society areas. People from all walks of life work and live together in perfect harmony.
Post-Screening Discussion: Moderated by a charismatic government official who emphasizes the importance of social cohesion and the benefits of centralized control. (Twist: The "integration" involves heavy surveillance, mind-altering technology, and the suppression of dissent.)

1. Exclusive Educational Program for Elites:

Product: "The Phoenix Initiative - Cultivating Tomorrow's Leaders"
Description: A prestigious educational program for children of the elite, offering advanced training in technology, governance, and crisis management. Graduates are promised positions of power within the city's ruling elite.
Focus: (Unstated) Conditioning the next generation to maintain the status quo and suppressing any ideas of social reform. (Twist: The program instills a ruthless, elitist ideology that reinforces the societal divisions.)

1. Virtual Reality Talent Show:

Event: "The Forge - Building the Perfect Citizen"
Description: A virtual reality talent show where contestants are judged on their physical and mental fitness, loyalty to the government, and willingness to sacrifice for the greater good. Winners are rewarded with significant privileges and access to exclusive resources.
Focus: (Unstated) Promoting blind obedience and conformity to the government's agenda. (Twist: The "perfect citizen" is a mindless drone, easily manipulated and controlled by the ruling class.)

1. Architectural Award Ceremony (Twisted Edition):

Product: "The Order Award - Recognizing Compliance in Urban Renewal"
Awarded to: Architects and engineers who have successfully transformed lower districts into highly controlled, resource-efficient zones. Individuality and personal expression are discouraged in favor of uniformity and order.
Focus: (Unstated) Maintaining a tight grip on the population and preventing any potential uprisings. (Twist: The "renewal" is designed to weaken and control the lower classes, making them easier to exploit.)
These ads maintain a serious facade that appeals to the upper class' desire for order and control. However, the hidden twist reveals the manipulative and oppressive nature of the society they are trying to preserve.

Now design some high-class consumer level product items.

1. NeuraWeave Headband: This sleek, designer headband is a status symbol for the high-tech elite. It seamlessly integrates with the wearer's neural implant, allowing for subtle control over personal AI assistants, hands-free communication, and even enhanced focus during work or meditation. Hidden Feature: NeuraWeave can subtly collect and analyze the wearer's emotional state, feeding valuable data to targeted advertisers or even government agencies.
2. Eco-Bubble Personal Atmosphere System: Imagine a portable force field that creates a pristine, personalized micro-environment around the wearer. This high-end gadget filters air, regulates temperature, and even projects calming nature sounds, allowing the user to maintain a pocket of luxury amidst the polluted cityscape. Hidden Feature: Eco-Bubble can subtly monitor the wearer's health vitals and transmit them to a central database, potentially used for health insurance adjustments or targeted medical advertisements.
3. Bio-Tailored Clothing: Gone are the days of off-the-rack clothing. This high-end service utilizes advanced bio-scanners and 3D printing technology to create clothing that perfectly molds to the wearer's body, regulates temperature, and even promotes faster healing of minor injuries. Hidden Feature: Bio-Tailored Clothing can subtly collect biometric data like skin temperature and heart rate, potentially used for targeted fitness programs or even mood-altering marketing campaigns.
4. Augmented Reality Personal Chef: This high-tech device projects holographic instructions and culinary techniques directly onto the user's kitchen counter. Imagine whipping up gourmet meals with the guidance of a world-renowned chef, complete with step-by-step visual guides and interactive ingredient identification. Hidden Feature: The AR Personal Chef can subtly track the user's dietary habits and preferences, potentially used to target specific food and beverage companies for advertising or even manipulate their taste buds through subliminal messaging.
5. Luxury Cybernetic Enhancements: Forget clunky prosthetics. These high-end cybernetic limbs are designed to seamlessly blend with the human body, offering enhanced strength, dexterity, and even advanced sensory input. Imagine climbing buildings with ease, playing virtual reality games with unparalleled immersion, or experiencing the world with heightened senses. Hidden Feature: Luxury Cybernetic Enhancements can be subtly integrated with government surveillance systems, allowing for real-time tracking and monitoring of the wearer's movements and activities.

Why would you need a designer headband, when you already have neural implant?

You're absolutely right, a designer headband might seem redundant when you already have a neural implant in a high-tech society. Here are some ways to address that:

1. Fashion and Status Symbol: The NeuraWeave headband could be a designer accessory, a way to showcase wealth and social status. It might be crafted from exotic materials, adorned with precious jewels, or boast a sleek, minimalist design that complements the latest high-fashion trends. The neural implant itself might be hidden, with the headband acting as the visible expression of advanced technology.
2. Enhanced Functionality: While the neural implant offers basic functionality, the NeuraWeave headband could provide a more refined and user-friendly experience. It might offer haptic feedback for better interaction with AI assistants, improved noise cancellation for clearer communication, or even subtle brainwave stimulation to enhance focus or relaxation.
3. Privacy and Security: While the neural implant offers convenience, it might also raise privacy concerns. The NeuraWeave headband could act as a buffer between the implant and external systems, offering a layer of security and allowing users to selectively control the flow of information.
4. Social Etiquette: In a world where everyone has a neural implant, the NeuraWeave headband could become a social etiquette tool. Wearing the headband could signify that the user is open to receiving communication or interacting with AI assistants, while taking it off might indicate a desire for privacy or focused work.
5. Limited Functionality Implants: Not everyone might have access to top-of-the-line neural implants. The NeuraWeave headband could bridge the gap, offering basic functionality for those with older or more limited implants. It could essentially act as an affordable "upgrade" to boost existing technology.

Ultimately, the NeuraWeave headband exists in a world where technology is both essential and aspirational. It goes beyond mere functionality, becoming a way to express personal style, control privacy, and navigate the complex social landscape of a high-tech society.

Now the same, but low-class, available for masses, mass produced.

1. Syn-Flex Headband (Mass-Produced Version): This utilitarian headband is made from a cheap, conductive material that creates a weak neural link. It allows basic interaction with public AI kiosks, like ordering rations or accessing public transportation schedules. The headband's design is simple and utilitarian, often coming in a single, industrial gray color. Hidden Feature: While basic functionality is advertised, the Syn-Flex headband might subtly collect anonymized user data on purchasing habits and travel patterns, potentially used for targeted advertising in public spaces.
2. AirBubble Personal Filter: This bulky, wearable air filter system is a lifeline for those living in the polluted lower districts. It's a mass-produced device with a replaceable filter cartridge and a noisy fan system. While not exactly comfortable, it provides a basic level of air filtration, allowing wearers to breathe a little easier. Hidden Feature: The AirBubble filters might contain embedded tracking chips, subtly logging user location data, potentially used for targeted pollution control measures (or in some cases, manipulation of government reports on air quality).
3. Repli-Wear Clothing Kits: These kits contain pre-cut fabric swatches and basic instructions for creating clothes at home. They're designed to be cheap and adaptable, offering a variety of mix-and-match options to create basic garments. Hidden Feature: The Repli-Wear fabric might contain embedded tracking tags, allowing for identification and potential social credit deductions for those caught wearing "unlicensed" clothing styles.
4. Holo-Chef Lite Projector: This cheap projector displays holographic images of basic recipes and cooking techniques. It lacks the interactivity of the high-end version, but allows users to follow along with simple meals prepared with readily available rations. Hidden Feature: The Holo-Chef Lite projector might subtly promote specific brands of low-quality, processed food rations, potentially influencing dietary choices towards companies that sponsor these devices.
5. Second-Hand Cybernetic Enhancements: These are refurbished or salvaged cybernetic limbs, often clunky and lacking the finesse of luxury models. They offer basic functionality like increased strength or rudimentary prosthetics, but come with the risk of malfunction or compatibility issues. Hidden Feature: Second-Hand Cybernetic Enhancements might contain hidden spyware or tracking devices installed by previous owners, potentially monitoring the wearer's activities or even sabotaging their cybernetic limbs in extreme cases.

These low-class consumer products offer a glimpse into the harsh realities of a high-tech, low-life society. They are cheap, functional, and often come with hidden drawbacks that further disadvantage the underclass.

How bad air quality would be in such setting?

The air quality in a high-tech, low-life society would be catastrophic. Here's a breakdown of the potential problems:

1. Industrial Pollution:

• Unchecked Emissions: Factories prioritizing profit over environmental regulations would pump out unchecked pollutants like sulfur dioxide, nitrogen oxides, and particulate matter (PM).
• Obsolete Technology: Outdated manufacturing processes would be less efficient, leading to higher levels of waste and pollution.

1. Waste Management Issues:

• Mountains of E-waste: Rapid technological advancements would lead to mountains of discarded electronics, many containing toxic materials that leach into the environment.
• Open Burning: Incapable of proper waste disposal, some residents might resort to open burning of trash, releasing harmful toxins and carcinogens into the air.

1. Energy Production:

• Reliance on Fossil Fuels: Expensive renewable energy sources might be neglected in favor of cheaper, dirtier fossil fuels like coal, further worsening air quality.
• Power Grid Instability: A crumbling infrastructure could lead to power outages and reliance on backup generators, adding to the air pollution.

1. Climate Change Effects:

• Heat Island Effect: Densely packed concrete jungles with minimal green spaces would trap heat, contributing to rising temperatures and increased smog formation.
• Acid Rain: The combination of industrial emissions and rising temperatures could lead to acid rain, damaging buildings and vegetation, further hindering air purification.

Living Conditions:

• Constant Smog: A thick haze of smog would likely hang over the city, reducing visibility and causing respiratory problems for residents.
• Limited Outdoor Activities: Air quality would be so bad that spending time outdoors would be hazardous, impacting physical and mental health.
• Dependence on Filtration Systems: Those who can afford them might rely on personal air filters or sealed living spaces, further dividing the classes.

The severity of the air quality would vary depending on the specific setting. Some areas might be industrial wastelands, while others might be slightly better off. However, the overall picture is bleak – this is a society choking on its own technological advancement and disregard for the environment.

Sketch some repli-wear "unlicensed" clothing styles.

Repli-Wear: Unlicensed Clothing Trends

1. The Salvaged Chic:

• Description: A mishmash of salvaged materials and repurposed clothing scraps. Think mismatched patterns, patches from old uniforms, and belts fashioned from recycled tech cables.
• Inspiration: High-society's sleek, minimalist aesthetic, reinterpreted with resourcefulness and rebellion.
• Risks: May attract unwanted attention from authorities who see it as a symbol of dissent.

1. The Glitched-Out Glamour:

• Description: Clothing adorned with intentionally malfunctioning LED lights, flickering pixels, and distorted logos from popular high-end brands.
• Inspiration: A mockery of the high-society's obsession with luxury and technology.
• Risks: May malfunction and cause minor electrical shocks, attracting suspicion from security systems.

1. The Bio-Hazard Chic:

• Description: Clothing dyed with bioluminescent algae or adorned with filtered gas masks and repurposed medical equipment.
• Inspiration: A dark reflection of the polluted environment and a commentary on the societal disregard for health.
• Risks: Bioluminescent algae might attract unwanted attention, especially in the dark.

1. The Cyber-Tribal:

• Description: Clothing incorporating salvaged wires, circuit boards, and other discarded tech components. Think of cybernetic motifs hand-stitched onto worn leather jackets or tribal patterns formed from glowing wires.
• Inspiration: A mashup of traditional craftsmanship and defiance against the dominance of high-tech aesthetics.
• Risks: Might be mistaken for makeshift weapons or attempts to bypass security systems.

1. The Corporate Spy:

• Description: Subtly subverted versions of high-society uniforms. Imagine slightly ripped blazers with mismatched buttons, or high-collared shirts with the logos subtly altered to resemble protest symbols.
• Inspiration: A subtle rebellion against the corporate elite, blending in while making a statement.
• Risks: Might attract suspicion from authorities if the alterations are too obvious.

These are just a few ideas for Repli-Wear styles. Clothing in a high-tech, low-life society would be a way for the underclass to express their individuality, defiance, and limited resources, all while navigating the dangers of a controlling society.

Sketch some repli-wear "licensed" clothing styles, that do not pose any risk for wearers from any concerned sides.

Repli-Wear: Licensed Clothing Trends (Safe Zone)

1. The Vintage Throwback:

• Description: Replicas of historical clothing styles, like classic trench coats, denim jackets, or even floral dresses from a bygone era. Think of vintage fashion filtered through a futuristic lens, with subtle metallic accents or holographic embellishments.
• Appeal: Offers a nostalgic escape from the harsh realities of the present.
• Safety: Historical styles are unlikely to raise suspicion from authorities.

1. The Minimalist Worker:

• Description: Practical, utilitarian clothing designed for maximum comfort and durability. Think of well-made jumpsuits in neutral tones, with reinforced knees and pockets for tools.
• Appeal: Perfect for everyday wear in the lower districts, offering functionality and a clean aesthetic.
• Safety: Promotes a sense of productivity and avoids any controversial symbols.

1. The Nature Enthusiast:

• Description: Clothing with nature-inspired patterns and muted earth tones. Think of shirts with forest camouflage or jackets with subtle leaf prints.
• Appeal: Offers a sense of connection to the natural world, a stark contrast to the polluted cityscape.
• Safety: Nature motifs are unlikely to be seen as a threat by authorities.

1. The Sports Fanatic (Limited Edition):

• Description: Replicas of historical sports jerseys or team logos from a bygone era. Could also feature faded logos of defunct corporations, offering a sense of playful nostalgia.
• Appeal: Allows for a limited display of individuality and team spirit.
• Safety: Historical or defunct logos are unlikely to pose a threat, as long as the license is valid.

1. The Kid's Corner:

• Description: Replicas of popular cartoon characters or children's book illustrations, brightly colored and playful.
• Appeal: Offers a sense of innocence and escapism for children in a harsh environment.
• Safety: Popular children's characters are pre-approved and unlikely to be seen as a threat.

Now the opposite: some high-end high-society high clothing styles.

High-Society Haute Couture in a High-Tech, Low-Life World:

1. Bio-Luminescent Elegance:

• Imagine a flowing gown woven from a special bioluminescent material that emits a soft, ethereal glow, adapting to the wearer's mood and movement.
• The dress could be accented with strategically placed gemstones that amplify the bioluminescence, creating a mesmerizing spectacle.

1. Augmented Reality Couture:

• Dresses and suits with intricate embroidery that, when viewed through special AR glasses, come alive with holographic animations, patterns, or even personalized messages.
• This could be used to display family crests, stock market trends, or even live news feeds, all seamlessly integrated into the clothing.

1. Nanotech Tailoring:

• Clothing that self-adjusts to the wearer's body temperature and preferences. The fabric could be woven with microscopic nanobots that regulate temperature, repel dust, or even release a subtle, personalized fragrance.
• This would offer a level of comfort and personalization that pushes the boundaries of traditional haute couture.

1. Recycled Luxury:

• High-society wouldn't be complete without a touch of eco-consciousness (or at least the appearance of it). Imagine garments meticulously crafted from recycled materials like discarded computer components or salvaged spaceship parts, transformed into stunning evening wear.
• This "waste-to-wear" approach would showcase wealth and environmental responsibility (or at least the image of it).

1. Cybernetic Accents:

• Subtle cybernetic implants seamlessly integrated into clothing. Imagine a dress with a built-in neural interface that allows the wearer to control personal AI assistants with a simple touch or a suit with temperature-regulating implants woven directly into the fabric.
• These high-tech accents would be a subtle yet sophisticated way to showcase wealth and technological advancement.

Bonus: The "Living" Garment:

• A truly outrageous and exclusive garment – a dress or suit composed of a bio-engineered material that appears to be alive. Imagine clothing that shimmers and pulsates with a faint bioluminescence, seemingly breathing and adapting to the wearer's movements.
• This would be the ultimate status symbol, a conversation starter that pushes the boundaries of fashion and technology into the realm of the fantastical.

Are you sick of me yet? 🤦
I am an avid and regular exerciser, not a marathoner currently but I warm up with a 5k or equivalent before an hour gym workout, can spend a day on moguls skiing, put out 150 floors on stair climber no issue. Working on one legged box jumps and unsupported pullups (I'm female). Not not not at all to be at all boastful in any sort of manner since there's always someone stronger, faster fitter, but to give background.
I've kept up my routine since my recent TN bout/flare whatever that started 6 weeks ago, because I've noticed that I don't get the high pain level flares at the gym. This is as I've added carbamezapine and up to 1800 mg gabapentin to my day to day to try to get on top of pain management (when I'm not exercising, anyway).
My PCP switched me over from gaba to Lyrica (pregablin ) to see if I could get better relief, which I began this morning (25mg doses). I have had about the most miserable, high level pain day today since I've started this 6 weeks ago, which I attributed to the med switch. Anyway since everything hurt, walking breathing talking closing my mouth, and laying down always makes it worse, I came to the gym this afternoon. About 20 minutes into a cardio workout I started getting some pretty specific, left sided chest pain. I checked my heart rate and it was on my usual cardio level (165-170 bpm) - this is a very typical high intensity exercise heart rate for me that I sustain for long periods, usually. But it never hurt my heart before. I did finish another 10 minutes on the cardio machine, lowering intensity to not heart hurting levels.
If you made it this far: *Are you an exerciser that has experienced the same issues with pregablin?

• Have you noticed trouble switching from gaba to Lyrica (pregablin)?

*Have you had a side effect like this go away?
(Yes I will call my PCP in that morning and talk to her. Pinging here the people who know personally!)

You never know the pull of a small town until you trade your entire life to live in one.
Dazzling city lights made way for grassy fields blanketed in soft sunsets, local papers filled with names I knew by heart. When the honeyed hair of the local florist came out in patches due to the stresses of life, sixty people brought steaming bowls of food to ease the ache. A singular church brought the townsfolk together, and perhaps that was the most foreign part of it all to me.
I was a kid, so I watched the entire thing unfold through the innocent lens of child, keenly watching the camaraderie of this town really peak outside the doors of that church. It didn’t look like much, a steepled dream imagined by the townsfolk of before, but it meant everything to the people. I even understood that back then, even though I didn’t quite buy the concept of a god yet.
The Sundays were a monotonous part of our week, only pedalled by my parents who desperately wanted to fit in with the town’s culture. They wore their masks well, nodding in the right places as we sat in the same pew every time, my father often discreetly checking the football scores in the sleeve of his jumper. Nothing ever happened in that tiny town, and then everything happened all at once.
It started with the miracles. Our pastor, Pastor Jon, liked to have the troubled souls of that week sitting in the front row so he could clutch their shaking hands one by one, channelling the energy of God through him in the hope that someday, hope could be brought to those lacking in it. It was a brief affair, usually just the joining of skin and a short prayer, but that Sunday was different. Rain hammered against the roof, leaving Pastor Jon’s prayers lost in the low, threatening rumble of thunder.
It meant when the sun shone through the clouds and caressed the face of a pained Wilson Brewster, it already felt a welcome intrusion.
“May your broken leg heal quickly,” Pastor Jon smiled warmly, steeling a hand on the calf of the waiting boy.
He, like me, was just a child. He didn’t feel the urgency of the situation, he was probably only grateful his throbbing leg wasn’t pulsating with pain anymore. He breathed a quiet ‘cool’ and that would have been that, had his parents not asked exactly what was cool about his leg being touched later that night. The news spread like wildfire - as per the medical centre, his parents said, Wilson Brewster no longer had a broken fibula.
There was some debate, of course. My parents mumbled in the kitchen about how clearly he’d never had a broken leg, and how odd to make him hobble around in a cast if that was the case. The sentiment was echoed tenfold, until something a little more tangible happened that changed the course of that town, and our lives, forever.
Pastor Jon didn’t mean for the glass to shatter in his hand during service, nor did he mean for a chunk of it to embed itself in his palm, gushing reams of blood racing down his arm in a bid for the floor.
“Gross!” one of the kids shouted with glee, the rest of us paling as crimson spilled from his wound. He was a deer in the headlights, utterly unprepared as we all looked on in awe. This was not how church usually went - this was quite the deviation. Several people stood to help, but they needn’t have bothered, because the divine was ready to intervene.
“Oh dear,” Pastor Jon muttered in a panic, using his bloodied hand to block the intense ray of sunlight threatening to stream through the glass into his eyes. It bathed the blood in a golden glow, and quicker than it had gone in, the chunk of glass began to slide from the wound till it smashed to the floor, exploding into a million pieces. That was not the crescendo, though, rather it was the sight of his skin tightening and knitting together - months of work in a moment - blood congealing and leaving behind nothing but memories of a wound.
“Pastor?” Mary-who-makes-the-blueberry-pies breathed, reaching out to touch him with bulging eyes. Pastor Jon could only open and close his mouth uselessly, his voice barely coming out in a whisper when he did finally speak.
“It’s a miracle,” he wheezed, and by all accounts, I suppose it seemed it was.
I was young, but I remember the bustle - the town was as I’d never seen it. The people of the church had vowed to keep it our little secret because, as Pastor Jon said, we had been given a gift and it was not appropriate to turn it into a spectacle. This gift was sporadic, though. People queued through the double doors of that church, sobbing and praying for their own slice of God, but few were to be given it. Little Laurie Lee and her dislocated jaw cleared up within the hour. Farmer Noel had a sudden epiphany about what the lottery numbers were to be.
Our town was blessed.
For two days, we marvelled. The rest of the world can have a piece later, we reasoned, but this was for us, just for now.
The church was fuller than it had ever been, people spilling out into the back and waiting with baited breath, snippets of conversations could be heard, and as they had been for the last two days, they all echoed one another.
“-a believer. I mean, Aunt Lillian said it was the light. The light closed up his wound, there and then!”
“-jaw. I saw her get hit with the cricket bat! Terrible thing, little lamb was inconsolable. And then next thing I know, she comes here and those shards are just welded back together again! Well, I told Janie-”
“-need to make the church bigger. Look at everyone! If only-”
So when Pastor Jon stood before us practically trembling with glee, it was hardly the weirdest thing that had happened all week. His voice was thick with emotion, eyes darting manically around our congregation.
“I have a message,” he breathed, and the crowd gasped at the connotation of it. I remember my father swearing, a low rumble of expletives I didn’t usually hear falling from his lips. I didn’t fully understand what this meant, but the atmosphere in that room morphed in a heartbeat.
“Tell us,” Christie Baker cried, hands clasped as tears welled in her eyes, “Oh, please tell us!”
Pastor Jon visibly shook, holding a trembling hand outstretched as if to reach us all. “He came to me last night,” a single tear raced past his cheek and made a home on his lip, “He spoke to me.”
“Praise God!” a man cried from next to me, and I shuffled closer to my father at the sudden burst of noise.
“It is… Him,” Pastor Jon uttered in a blissful exhale, sending the room bursting into chaos. Tears, cheers and prayers filled the space, but my father just clutched me tighter and my stomach churned uncomfortably. It took at least ten minutes for the room to quieten, but when it did, he had their rapt attention. “I am told that I will be His vessel. I will pass on what must be passed. We are not to spread the word, yet - only our pocket of civilization is ready. Only ours.”
You could replicate what happened a thousand times, and somebody would mess it up, sending a message of the divine to their great aunt in Auckland. But not us. That secret stayed within the confines of our town for the sixteen days hell shined upwards at us. Everybody had a thousand questions, but Pastor Jon only hushed us. “You must trust me,” he said, tone more regal than I’d ever heard it. And trust him the people did.
So on the second day when he returned to church and his eyes were dark-rimmed, nobody questioned it. He was chosen. Who knows what that does to a person’s sleep cycle? The following day when he went for his morning walk and the smile didn’t quite reach his hollow eyes, that was fine. He was a vessel, not a performer. And then that morning at church when he addressed us and kept rubbing the angry red welts on his wrists, who were we to ask questions of God’s messenger?
Nothing went terribly wrong until the baptisms. We all wanted to be part of this - even my anxious parents who signed me up to be bathed in holy water - and so we queued towards the front of the church, eager to hand ourselves over. I was second in line, right behind Mrs Awkins who had been the school nurse for the last 26 years, apparently. She was gleeful as Pastor Jon set up, speaking rhymes I barely listened to as I bounced on the balls of my feet, eager to go next. My stomach flipped at the words, knowing that my turn was only seconds away. People wouldn’t usually queue, but this was different. It was all different, now.
“I baptize you in the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
I didn’t expect the awful fizzing noise the liquid made as it hit Nurse Awkins’ head, nor did I expect the guttural wail that fell from her lips as she clawed at her own scalp. Smoke billowed up from her disappearing tresses and as I was yanked backwards, I caught a glimpse of her exposed skull. Most people will go their entire lives without the smell of burning flesh lingering in their nostrils, but not me.
“I- No! That wasn’t- oh!” Pastor Jon had cried, tired eyes bulging out of his head as people leapt to their feet to assist.
It was carnage, but not carnage I witnessed for long. My mother’s grip on my arm was vice-like, her eyes swimming with terror I know still plagues her to this day. I recall my father on the walk home, murmuring to my mother in low tones I wasn’t meant to hear.
“This isn’t right, Rach’. Jesus, did you see her? That was almost our son!”
My mum’s voice was shrill, the sound of her heels clacking against the pavement not quite masking her voice. “The police will be called - we don’t even know if she’ll survive! I think I’m going to throw up.”
But she was wrong on both counts. She didn’t throw up and the police weren’t called, because we rallied together. This was bigger than us and bigger than Mrs Awkins. Sure, nobody else tried to get baptised, but this was a blip. People surmised that the almighty didn’t want her as part of his flock, that she hadn’t been a believer when it mattered. Nobody was to utter a word about it, and because church was every morning now, my parents were almost too scared not to go. As a child, I didn’t understand it, but all these years later, I think I’d have bent to the fear of the almighty as well.
But it wasn’t the almighty who knocked on the door.
It became all the clearer that morning when Pastor Jon turned up with eyes so sunken and empty that we startled at his presence.
“Pastor.. Pastor, are you feeling alright?” one of our neighbours fussed, “Will you be okay for service?”
Pastor Jon didn’t answer. It was almost as though he didn’t hear her as he dragged his feet up to the front, turning so slowly towards us that it almost felt eerie. A large, jagged and bloodied cut spanned the entire back of his neck, disappearing behind him as he eyed us all, one by one.
“He’s here,” he murmured, words that on paper, should have sent the entire church reeling with joy. But you could hear a pin drop. You could hear any soul whisper in the large room, and yet his utterance only caused goosebumps to spread across my skin as a sort of icy stillness washed over me.
“He’s… here?” a woman in the front row asked, and Pastor Jon took too long to answer. An unnatural, slow smile spread across his face as he tilted his head towards the source of the noise. He didn’t respond, instead slowly lifting his hand to his lips, letting his finger linger there for a moment. When nobody spoke, he let his mouth fall open and began to chew loudly on the finger, drawing gasps from the crowd.
“Don’t look,” my mother shimmied closer to me and lifted a trembling hand to my eyes, but I could see through the cracks in her fingers. Pastor Jon continued to sloppily chew his finger, eventually snapping his head up and inhaling sharply as he spat blood out of his mouth.
“Your bodies are so fragile,” he sneered, lifting his dripping finger to the skies, causing several people to leap from their seats and make a bolt for it. My mother was one of them, and with horror, I watched as the Pastor’s eyes scanned the room and locked onto mine, tilting his head. “Stay,” he hissed with bared, bloody teeth, and we did. Not through choice, but rather, a sickening whoosh of air that skimmed past our faces and forced us all back down.
“What’s going on?” someone shrieked, but we weren’t to know, not really.
Pastor Jon only smiled blissfully, reaching his arms outwards as if to accept us. “I’ve come to bless you all,” he whispered mockingly, fingers outstretched as the sun hit the stained glass to the left of him. But it was all wrong. Sunshine streamed in and as it hit the red of a decorated sunrise, an image which had been there years before us, the colour changed. It was only moments until the church had the appearance of being bathed in blood, shimmering red bouncing off every surface to create the illusion we were all swimming in hell.
Nobody spoke.
Those who didn’t quite make it to the doors stood frozen; we who remained in our seats cowered in the heaviest kind of fear. Red drowned us and we clutched one another, eyeing Pastor Jon as though he were a wild animal. Finally, someone dared speak.
“Where is God?” he murmured, eyes swimming. Pastor Jon’s neck snapped towards him as he licked the blood from his finger, shuddering. When he spoke, his words were cold, distant. As though they were from somewhere else entirely.
“He hasn’t been around for a while.”
There was no time for his words to punch at my stomach, because in no time at all Pastor Jon was crumpled on the floor, wailing as he regarded his chewed, bloody finger. The bone was exposed and yet nobody helped him as he looked at us pleadingly, too many eyes on him as his whimpers turned to whispers. When he spoke, we listened.
“You need to keep coming to church,” he breathed, a single, bloody tear trickling down his cheek, “It will be worse if we don’t.”
So we did.
The Sunday Fair was cancelled, and pies that had been baked to share in sunny gardens went stale and grew mould. People packed duffel bags and made for their cars, arguing fiercely with those who decided to stay. My mother and father disagreed, but their argument was far more muted.
“Please, we have to go,” my father pleaded, shaking his head as I watched from the shadows, “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck that was-”
“I can’t explain it,” her voice was shaken, quiet, “But I know it will be worse if we go. I know it. Please just trust me. Trust Jon.”
So as my father always did, he believed in my mother. Each day in church was torturous, everyone sitting rigid with fear as Pastor Jon read slowly and shakily from the bible, bruises littering his gaunt body. When the holy book in his hands would launch into flames, he’d calmly drop it into the bucket of water he’d prepared and retrieve a new one. One time, every window in the church smashed and we all winced, ducking to avoid the onslaught of glass.
Darkness watched us.
We all felt it, and I know it visited members of the flock in the shadows. I was plagued by it one particularly torturous night as I lay in bed, blanketed in darkness with the covers pulled up to my chin. I hadn’t been able to shake the feeling I was being stared upon, squeezing my eyes shut as laboured, wet breaths left my body. But they weren’t my breaths.
I’d realised it straight away, that my hurried gasps for air didn’t match the gargling, strangled heaving that echoed around my head. From under the covers, I didn’t know much, but I knew one thing - the uncomfortable, heavy presence laying on my legs was my only source of comfort. Through all this, I reasoned, that if my beloved dog was with me, hell itself couldn’t come and claim me.
But I was wrong, because outside, my dog howled into the night.
Terror like that wasn’t something I’d felt before, and as my stomach bottomed out, I stopped breathing altogether. It must have sensed my fear, because those gargling breaths heaved closer and closer to my face as it dragged itself up my body, inch by inch. The smell of rot and ash burned into my nostrils, a horrific weight settling above my nose as my lungs started working again, so quickly that I would surely die then and there. If it had a face, it was twisted and pressed into mine, the thin bedcover my only source of protection.
But I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t move, so I let it pant gravelly air into my face, let it lay on top of me for hour after hour, till the birdsong indicated morning had come. All night I sobbed stifled cries, chest shaking as I squeezed my eyes shut and felt it pressing into me. Felt it hating me, felt it wanting to rip its claws into my stomach and pull out my intestines. But it didn’t. And when I awoke late the next morning - I must have passed out through fear alone - it was gone.
The rest is all a bit of a trauma-soaked blur, to be honest. I know my parents couldn’t understand why I wasn’t speaking the next day, why I barely reacted when evil finally descended that morning at church. The rest of the townsfolk screamed for their lives, ran as fast as they could, but I just stared with a hollow, broken gaze. As the rivers of blood waterfalled down between the pews, I watched Pastor Jon’s eyes grow dark as midnight, empty and soulless as he bellowed inside those four walls and called upon something worse than any of us could likely ever imagine.
I recall the fire starting, remember Pastor Jon’s slack jaw as he regarded us all so horribly, moving jaggedly towards my family with a growing demonic, gleeful grin.
“I remember you from last night,” he’d uttered darkly, but his voice came out in a thousand jarring layers and I could see hell in his eyes.
“Leave us alone!” my father tried to shield us, lifting a crucifix and wielding it towards Pastor Jon as though it would protect us. He simply laughed, an awful noise of horrific dissonance that I still sometimes hear alone in my bed at night. In complete horror, my parents could only watch as this thing wrenched the crucifix from my father’s hand, grinning as his jaw split and shattered each second he opened it impossibly wider. The sound of his bones cracking reverberated as his skin split and his mouth gaped, wide enough to drop the crucifix right into his waiting, blood-soaked mouth and swallow it, right in front of us.
When he met our gaze, his broken jaw hung limply from his face, sad morsels of skin stitching a once-good man together. Whatever blur those hours were, that, I remember.
It was an anti-climax, really, because while I expected him to descend upon us all and rip us into thousands of pieces, he simply boomed his words, jaw still hanging as his evil spoke directly into our souls.
“When I return in 20 years, it is not just your small town that will bleed.”
Pastor Jon has been missing for 20 years. I’m not sure when he started his countdown, but I awoke this morning with a dread so sickening that I’ve barely stopped emptying my stomach. If it’s over and the earth turns to rubble, I hope somebody finds this and can at least piece together why it all came to a sad, premature end. We townsfolk kept our vow of quiet for this long, but there comes a point when silence is deadly.
I think today, Pastor Jon will be found.

My normal posts are 2-5 paragraphs. This is long because it's a starter.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
The sloping ground around the Kiaurk family mesa had been sculpted into shelves or terraces, and it was on one of those upper terraces that Kiaurk Nshurr now lounged beneath a pergola anchored to the striated stone face behind her. The mesa rose at her back: an enormous, looming, almost sheer outcrop that her family's dwellings had been carved into the face of. Wide, shallow steps cut into the artificial (but entirely convincing) sandstone wound their way up between landings and porticos leading inward, between tiny balconies shaded by bright solid-colored canopies, between rooms with flat walls and rounded corners that came jutting out to shadow the steps below. Rriigkhans rarely used glass as window barriers; smooth-edged holes had been cut through the rock in varying shapes and sizes. It could be difficult to tell which apertures were windows and which were entryways. A physical barrier that kept out the elements was obsolete in all but the crudest dwellings, though some of these larger holes were curtained with braided string or strips of cloth that served a purely decorative purpose.
From her high vantage point Nshurr could see the shelves stretching out below her as the base of the mesa leveled out to flattish terrain that was a wonderland of vegetation in muted rainbow colors: mustard yellows, clay reds, earthy browns and the occasional dash of sage or dusty blue. This scrubland lay like a blanket around everything below that was not part of the village between the mesas. Down there, adobe compounds never taller than two or three storeys seemed so squat compared to the mesas that Nshurr could see towering in the distance, many of those family mesas only a few hours walk from her own if she traveled by foot. The village sprawled, with tile parkways winding in serpentine fashion between the various buildings, courtyards, parks, and ponds. There were no property lines, no clear division of the land into neat little plots owned by the individuals who lived and worked in these places. It all seemed to be part of a whole, with a single unifying aesthetic. The village housed those rriigkhans of the lower castes, the kharratah and chelhautah, and the humans which were a caste all their own, haukagh-ar, except for a small number who lived with their masters in the caverns of the mesas or up on the plateau.
This planet, Sgarrl, terraformed over three hundred years ago, was home to more human servants than any other Ssaarian world – aside from Earth, of course, discovered eighty years ago. The fact that humans shared so much in common with rriigkhans made them the perfect species to incorporate into the rriigkhan caste structure as servants. They breathed the same mix of gases and required similar gravities, and their nimble little fingers were very useful for all sorts of work.
The rriigkhan language was not necessarily too complex for humans, but it was wholly unfamiliar – too many phonemes that did not fit comfortably in human mouths, from grunts to huffs, to rolling trills that might by voiced or not, sometimes rumbling out like a purr. To a human, Nshurr's name was a sigh and a trill, and yet she was accustomed to humans vocalizing her name in their heavy, slurring way: Na-Shuurr! Nasher! Sometimes simply: ɽ͡r! which she recognized more easily as her name, or at least part of it, and not some random sounds.
Still, despite the weird pidgin humans had made of her language and their English, she liked the little creatures. She had come to live with her Grandmother on Sgarrl only days ago, and had never encountered them before. The males only stood as tall as her collar. The females were shorter still, much like the males of her own species.
To human eyes Nshurr was felinoid, with a muscular swimmer's body and the broad muzzle of a big cat, with watchful, forward-facing predator's eyes that seemed unexpectedly expressive, because rriikghans had almost as many muscles around their eyes as humans did around their mouths to convey the nuances of emotion. Despite being larger than even many Earth men, she was considered sleek by rriigkhan standards. She made up for that with her broader crest.
The rriigkhan crest was something like the crest of Utahceratops – a keratinized plate growing up out of the skull, except divided into three lobes instead of two, with scalloped edges along the outer rim. Unlike depictions of Utahceratops, the rriigkhan crest was not covered by skin. At least, not on the top. Thick ropy veins squiggled under velvet fur on the underside, closer to the neck. (A thick, arching neck muscular enough to support the weight of that crest meant that Rriigkhans walked with a stoop that made them seem hunchbacked, to humans.) The surface of the plate on top was often rough, even bumpy or corrugated like deer antlers in some areas, smooth in others. Every female crest had four tines jutting from the front – a pair several inches above the eyes, and another pair further up. Directly above the lowest set of tines were twin holes, the howrf channels, just big enough for a human to insert a finger. These holes were very much like nostrils – much deeper, but damp inside, and lined with short, fine hairs to protect the sensitive mucous membrane from debris. The organs housed within these channels were the heart of rriigkhan culture, the foundation of all relationships, of sex.
Male rriigkhans, of course, had only their neotonous crests: diminutive, mostly smooth with rounded edges, without tines or howrf channels. Cute.
Nshurr's crest was wider than average, her upper tines spaced further apart, and combined with a compact face this made her look top-heavy. (A human might say that she was more snow leopard than lion.) Most female crests did not interfere with the movement of the ears – highly mobile, highly expressive paddle shaped things – but the edges of Nshurr's crest did jut out enough to almost shield them.
That her crest was weighty, that it was inconvenient, that she was often aware of it – this was Nshurr's pride. Her long tail curled in pleasure when she caught males looking at it. Humans seemed to be intimidated by it sometimes, as if she might decide to gore them with her “horns.” She considered herself a confident person; not a braggart, but self-assured, and to carry her jhekaah so visibly pleased her to no end.
Her fur was an almost peachy off-white, but a mask of pale peach shaded each seafoam green eye. The mask blended into the white further up her forehead until fur gave way to bone-tan crest, and was split between her eyes by the white of her nose. Oblong spots in that same peachy color, each blending from dark to light, streaked down her sides.
These weren't the natural colors of her distant ancestors. It was unheard of to see a rriigkhan who was not gene-modified in some way, even if those modded genes had been part of rriigkhan life for so long that no one thought of them as mods any longer. She also thought nothing of the subtitles her augmented reality implant displayed whenever a human spoke, AI translated to help her decipher the pidgin. AR was simply a part of her, had been since she was a kit.
Reclining as she was on a padded lounger in front of an iron brazier, full of cold ashes from last night's fire, Nshurr was dressed in a pale coral shift only a few shades darker than the peach of her fur. Medallions trailing fringes of cloth had been sewn onto the front bottom half of the knee-length garment. A row of those ornate medallions defined a plunging neckline that bared much of her chest, muscular and broad, possibly even masculine to a human. Her breasts were lower on her body and similar in appearance to a mare's udders: long nipples on a pudge of fat nestled close together on the pelvis, just above the place where her thighs joined her body. They were only small lumps beneath the shift when Nshurr stretched out her legs so that the thin fabric fell across them. It was the roundness of her hips and buttocks that marked her female to the human eye. (As if her crest didn't make that obvious!)
She was listening to the sound of two younger female cousins wrestling on a nearby terrace, and although from her vantage point Nshurr could not see them, she could imagine the scene from what she heard: Fherou and Lahk growling while they grappled with their arms, the crack of crest hitting crest and then the scrape of tine sliding against tine. Each was fighting to control the other's head, each trying to bite the other. It wasn't easy when each had a shaggy ruff to protect her neck, and any attempt to bite the other's face would be thwarted by an interposing crest. Rriigkhan hands were less dexterous than human hands, more pawlike with stubby fingers, but capable of delivering hard blows, and once or twice Nshurr heard a cousin snarl in response to a strike against her body.
The competitive pheromones her cousins exuded from their unextended howrfs, quite unconsciously, were beginning to make Nshurr's own heart beat faster. The end of her long tail, where it hung down from the reclining chair, lashed in agitation. She was beginning to imagine sinking her teeth into someone's skin herself, and if her cousins had not been so much younger and smaller than herself she might have gone down to their terrace to show them a thing or two. It was putting her off the human flute music she'd been listening to, fed directly into her own brain through her implant for her private enjoyment. (Certain aspects of human culture were very popular here on Sgarrl; she'd been curious about it.)
She did not feel like going inside to escape the pheromones; Nshurr craved the warmth of the sun on her fur, not the cool stone and artificial light of those warrens. Most of her male cousins had gone into the village for boating today. Well, perhaps she would go down and join them after all.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
OOC Information:
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
For this prompt I imagine you'd play a human servant, probably a new arrival to Sgarrl but maybe someone who was born there. Even though I've set up a situation where my character would have a lot of power and yours very little, I want to clarify that I'm not interested in abusing your character I am looking for a slow burn interspecies romance that develops naturally. This story may deal with power imbalances and even speciesism, but I'd like to explore those topics realistically.
I want to explore all aspects of loving relationship... Flirting, cuddling, kissing, lots of romantic scenes and character growth. My “type” that I'm most attracted to are men with average bodies in the 40-60 age range, with realistic personality flaws. I am more than willing to tailor my character's personality and physical attributes to suit your tastes, within reason. I appreciate partners willing to do the same.
I prefer to reply more than once a day. 2-3 replies per day would be ideal, but I understand life gets in the way. I usually write 2-5 paragraphs, or 150-450 words per post. This starter is much longer than my typical post length, but my lengths vary according to need. If I'm introducing a new character or setting a scene, my post might go up to 1,000 words.
Please send a writing sample if you have none in your post history. No need to custom write anything for me, old samples are fine. Click here to PM me!

My dog’s drinking way more water than usual
My 6 year old Porkie (yorkie-pomeranian) woke me up last Saturday by suddenly reverse sneezing. I helped her through it & it was gone within 30 seconds. Immediately after, she ran around & threw up clear stomach acid about 5 times back to back. Of course I panicked & called the local emergency vet & explained everything that happened. They had me thoroughly check her gums, heart rate, mucus membranes, & her stomach to make sure it wasn’t hard. Everything was okay except for her breathing, she was at 36bpm (normal is between 20-30). Her stomach also seemed a bit hard but not too bad & she was drinking more water than usual. They told me it wasn’t an emergency & to could keep a close eye on her until her vet opened up on Monday. She did not throw up at all anymore but she was short of breath for the remainder of that Saturday. Every time she tried barking, she would cough as if she had fully ran out of breath. She also had a bit of trouble laying on her stomach & seemed extremely uncomfortable. I was worried needless to say.
On Sunday, she pooped normal & decided to eat it. I was extremely confused because she had never done that before. She just seemed so hungry all of sudden.
I monitored her closely until Monday & took her to her vet first thing in the morning. They checked her complete blood panel, her pancreas, her poop, her urine…. & everything came back normal. I spent the last of my grocery money for this vet visit might I add ($500) for them to tell me nothing is wrong with her as per all the tests ran. They DID mention however that her pee was a little dark which indicates possible dehydration. Again, this confused me considering she’s been drinking more water than usual. It’s also worth mentioning that they thought she could have possibly ate something she shouldn’t have eaten & her body rejected the toxins naturally. I think if that were the case, SOMETHING would have appeared on at least one of the tests, right???
Anyway, it’s been a whole week & she is STILL drinking more than usual & also peeing a lot more frequently from all the water she’s consuming.
Has this ever happened to anyone??? I’m concerned that something was possibly overlooked but I no longer have extra money to get a second opinion from another vet.
Is it possible dehydration? I thought maybe Cushing’s or Diabetes but neither her blood or urine showed anything abnormal.
Her poop has been extremely healthy & normal. Besides the above mentioned symptoms, there is nothing else wrong with her. Please HELP!

Hi everyone! 34 year old Female here. I've recently been told by several doctors now that I have something weird going on so I figured it was worth a shot to ask about it on here.
(About me, 34, female located in North Carolina. no previously known health issues other than mild asthma. causasian, 115 pounds and 5'5. No medication. Never smoker, and no longer drink any alcohol, no drug use)
I've had random flushing in my hands for as long as I can remember. I mention this because it was the first symptom that came with what I thought was an adult onset food allergy.
In November of 2021, I started having trouble breathing during and after eating. This was always accompanied by my hands turning bright red and puffy. It took me about a week to figure out that it was an allergy to wheat and it resolved when I cut wheat out of my diet. It was mostly controlled except for a couple times when I accidentally ate something containing wheat and on these instances I would experience flushing, trouble breathing, increased heart rate, and nausea, altered voice, brain fog, and trouble swallowing within minutes of eating the food. I have an epipen but am afraid to use it and have controlled these reactions with benadryl and an epinephrin inhaler.
2022-2023 I developed some red/brown spots on my legs that stayed for months and spread to my chest and arms. I asked about it here and got no answer. They eventually went away after about a year.
Early 2023 I had a weird incident where I was driving and suddenly got really dizzy and started seeing spots and stars. I had to pull over and sit there for an hour before I was sure I could drive without passing out.
Since then I've had a couple severe reactions to food that didn't contain wheat. Most recently tilapia, and then a salmon reaction at the beginning of May 2024 that had my husband drive me to the ER but I refused to go in.
I scheduled an appointment with an allergist to figure out what I could safely eat and went in for allergy testing on May 14. Allergist did a skin test for 60 different foods and all of them were negative. He sent me for blood tests to look for mast cell disorders.
That same night I got really tired and went to bed early. I woke up at 2 am completely soaked in sweat and feeling nauseous. I stood up thinking I was going to go throw up in the bathroom, but my vision started going spotty and I woke my husband up. I was on the floor, couldn't see, dizzy, ears ringing. My husband said I turned a pale grey-green color. He called an ambulance.
Ambulance showed up and paramedics said I was having a cardiac problem. Heart rate was over 150 and stayed the most of the way to the hospital.
In the ER I was given fluids but my heart rate stayed at 130-140 for several hours. Doctor did blood tests that showed high glucose and low CO2. Had an EKG that was abnormal. Doctor gave me lorazepam that did nothing to lower my heart rate. At shift change the new doctor told me something weird was going on and wanted to admit me to the hospital and have more tests done. It took several hours more hours to get a room and by the time I got upstairs my heart rate was starting to lower (around 115-125). The doctor up there came in and discharged me right away, told me to follow up with a cardiologist.
When I got home I looked at my records online and saw that the first doctor had written on my chart that I was in the ER for a headache (which I never had) and that I'd had 3 abnormal EKGs. I made a cardiology appointment but they didn't have an open spot until the end of August.
May 16 I probably overdid it since I'd been told I was fine. I went to a gem show but after a few minutes of walking I started getting dizzy and lightheaded again so we left early. I was also still having trouble breathing. That night I started having mild chest pains that would come and go but when I mentioned it to my husband he made me go back to the ER. Heart rate was 140, had another EKG. This time I got a nurse who talked about anxiety and gave me a different anxiety med that caused my heart rate to go up over 160 and made my hands puffy, worsened the shortness of breath. It says on my record that she reported this to the doctor (who I never saw) as a "panic attack" and I was discharged with instructions to see the cardiologist sooner.
The next day (May 17) I was still having trouble breathing and the chest pains had changed to become sharper. I went back to the ER. Another abnormal EKG and this time I was given a chest CT that showed nothing abnormal and was discharged again and told to follow up with the cardiologist. I was able to get the appointment moved up to the 28th of this month.
As of now, my heart rate has been consistently higher than it should be. I feel mostly okay if I just sit/lay on the couch (some shortness of breath, and occasional dizziness or chest pain but better than before) but as soon as I get up and walk across the room the shortness of breath returns badly and it feels like I'm trying to run 5 miles instead of walking to the kitchen. Every time I get up my heart rate goes up to the 130's-150's.
Any ideas of what's wrong would be appreciated as well as what I should do. I told my husband I won't go back to the hospital unless I'm on the floor again, but I know it's not normal to be confined to the couch like this.
Thanks to anyone who actually read all of this!

My normal posts are 2-5 paragraphs. This is long because it's a starter.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
The sloping ground around the Kiaurk family mesa had been sculpted into shelves or terraces, and it was on one of those upper terraces that Kiaurk Nshurr now lounged beneath a pergola anchored to the striated stone face behind her. The mesa rose at her back: an enormous, looming, almost sheer outcrop that her family's dwellings had been carved into the face of. Wide, shallow steps cut into the artificial (but entirely convincing) sandstone wound their way up between landings and porticos leading inward, between tiny balconies shaded by bright solid-colored canopies, between rooms with flat walls and rounded corners that came jutting out to shadow the steps below. Rriigkhans rarely used glass as window barriers; smooth-edged holes had been cut through the rock in varying shapes and sizes. It could be difficult to tell which apertures were windows and which were entryways. A physical barrier that kept out the elements was obsolete in all but the crudest dwellings, though some of these larger holes were curtained with braided string or strips of cloth that served a purely decorative purpose.
From her high vantage point Nshurr could see the shelves stretching out below her as the base of the mesa leveled out to flattish terrain that was a wonderland of vegetation in muted rainbow colors: mustard yellows, clay reds, earthy browns and the occasional dash of sage or dusty blue. This scrubland lay like a blanket around everything below that was not part of the village between the mesas. Down there, adobe compounds never taller than two or three storeys seemed so squat compared to the mesas that Nshurr could see towering in the distance, many of those family mesas only a few hours walk from her own if she traveled by foot. The village sprawled, with tile parkways winding in serpentine fashion between the various buildings, courtyards, parks, and ponds. There were no property lines, no clear division of the land into neat little plots owned by the individuals who lived and worked in these places. It all seemed to be part of a whole, with a single unifying aesthetic. The village housed those rriigkhans of the lower castes, the kharratah and chelhautah, and the humans which were a caste all their own, haukagh-ar, except for a small number who lived with their employers in the caverns of the mesas or up on the plateau.
This planet, Sgarrl, terraformed over three hundred years ago, was home to more humans than any other Ssaarian world – aside from Earth, of course, discovered eighty years ago. The fact that humans shared so much in common with rriigkhans made them the perfect species to incorporate into the rriigkhan caste structure. They breathed the same mix of gases and required similar gravities, and their nimble little fingers were very useful for all sorts of work.
Still, despite the weird pidgin humans had made of her language and their English, she liked the little creatures. She had come to live with her Grandmother on Sgarrl only a month ago, and had never encountered them before. The males only stood as tall as her collar. The females were shorter still, much like the males of her own species.
To human eyes Nshurr was , with a muscular swimmer's body and the broad muzzle of a big cat, with watchful, forward-facing predator's eyes that seemed unexpectedly expressive, because rriikghans had almost as many muscles around their eyes as humans did around their mouths to convey the nuances of emotion. Despite being larger than even many Earth men, she was considered sleek by rriigkhan standards. She made up for that with her broader crest.
The rriigkhan crest was something like the crest of Utahceratops – a keratinized plate growing up out of the skull, except divided into three lobes instead of two, with scalloped edges along the outer rim. Unlike depictions of Utahceratops, the rriigkhan crest was not covered by skin. At least, not on the top. Thick ropy veins squiggled under velvet fur on the underside, closer to the neck. (A thick, arching neck muscular enough to support the weight of that crest meant that Rriigkhans walked with a stoop that made them seem hunchbacked, to humans.) The surface of the plate on top was often rough, even bumpy or corrugated like deer antlers in some areas, smooth in others. Every female crest had four tines jutting from the front – a pair several inches above the eyes, and another pair further up.
Nshurr's crest was wider than average, her upper tines spaced further apart, and combined with a compact face this made her look top-heavy. (A human might say that she was more snow leopard than lion.) Most female crests did not interfere with the movement of the ears – highly mobile, highly expressive paddle shaped things – but the edges of Nshurr's crest did jut out enough to almost shield them.
That her crest was weighty, that it was inconvenient, that she was often aware of it – this was Nshurr's pride. Her long tail curled happily when she caught males looking at it. Humans seemed to be intimidated by it sometimes, as if she might decide to stab them with her “horns.” She considered herself a confident person; not a braggart, but self-assured, and to carry her jhekaah so visibly pleased her to no end.
Her fur was an almost peachy off-white, but a mask of pale peach shaded each seafoam green eye. The mask blended into the white further up her forehead until fur gave way to bone-tan crest, and was split between her eyes by the white of her nose. Oblong spots in that same peachy color, each blending from dark to light, streaked down her sides.
These weren't the natural colors of her distant ancestors. It was unheard of to see a rriigkhan who was not gene-modified in some way, even if those modded genes had been part of rriigkhan life for so long that no one thought of them as mods any longer. She also thought nothing of the subtitles her augmented reality implant displayed whenever a human spoke, AI translated to help her decipher the pidgin. AR was simply a part of her, had been since she was a kit.
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
OOC Information:
+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+
For this particular prompt I imagine you'd play a human, probably a new arrival to Sgarrl but maybe someone who was born there. Even though I've set up a situation where my character would have a lot of power and yours very little, I want to clarify that I'm only looking for a mutually loving, slow burn romance.
My “type” that I'd like you to play would be an average man in the 40-60 age range, with realistic personality flaws.
I prefer partners who like to reply more than once a day. 2-3 replies per day would be ideal, but I understand life gets in the way. I usually write 2-5 paragraphs, or 150-450 words per post. This starter is much longer than my typical post length, but my lengths really vary a lot. If I'm introducing a new character or scene, my post might be 1,000 words, or it could be 100 words if our characters are in the middle of a conversation.
Please send a writing sample if you have none in your post history. No need to custom write anything for me, old samples are fine.

Warning: abuse
At 19F in the middle of active alcoholism 3 years after my mom went to jail for murder for hire, I was a SW (looking?) for a SD? - while out at a bar I got approached by a 43M that I found attractive and very charismatic. Thinking we’d end up having “fun”, I returned the honest sentiment of attraction. We stayed together 2.5 years after that. He was a Chemist who laughed and made light of everything, his alcoholism and drug addiction became apparent from the beginning, but not to the extent that it got to/really was.
Like all relationships, things started out fun, a very Glee movie summer-like love, very free-ing. He was a Doctor of chemistry and worked in the oil field prior to my meeting him, because of his living situation and luxury cars he seemed like he was doing well. He never was any type of SD. The night I met him, we made eye contact and never looked away. Our chemistry, pun intended- was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
I’m the youngest, not the smartest nor prettiest. I quit my jobs because I simply didn’t want to work sometimes, I made a lot of mistakes and I’ve been in the receiving end of family based bullying and school bullying, SA, R@p€, abandonment and trust issues, I’m bipolar, I practice/d SH, depression, GAD… things of the human condition that make it feel like I’m faulty.
This man was the first person that ever sat with me and listened to me vent to the extent that I did the first tight we spent together. We rarely had sex, but we shared breaths as we slept, (he inhales my breath as I exhale his breath, vise-versa and so on and so forth) to keep it brief and give example. He’s the most intimate partner I’ve ever experienced.
I notice others micro expressions and cater to their benefit if it seems they are troubled or asking for help.
I’m having so much trouble these days accepting the fact that I’m never going to meet him again. Specifically because he was so attentive and catering to my needs. He knew immediately when I was masking. I’m so confused and perplexed about the feeling of not having anyone in my life that has that interest in me. I felt so understood. That’s been my first and last experience with feeling understood like that.
He drank from morning to night nonstop. Together we became aware of what alcoholism was. Brown urine, blood, pain… regret that then led to arguments, accidents, threats, drugs, danger, fear turned to bonding, helping each other, trying to get better, failing. Trying again. Do it all over again. Fail. Again and again.
We managed to get sober a few days. His parents loved me. I understood and loved him. He hadn’t been sober for that long and trying for a long time. He was doing better, that’s what his mom would say.
Every relapse got harder, more dangerous medically and physically as well as economically.
Sleep deprivation was torture I hadn’t experienced before. I would be awoken with yelling because of delirium, anger and he would degrade me so badly. Use that bond we had against me, my own experiences turned against me he’d repeat the insults I shared with him to me. Yell those at me. Then love bomb. Then threaten me and my family with guns. I lived in fear when he blacked out. Felt lonely because with all of the yelling, smashing things around, being stared at by neighbors crying, being called an idiot dumbass in front of people and them witnessing me at a low point and then, agreeing with him? No neighbor knocked after crying and yelling to see if anyone was ok or dying. Public shame feels so. Fucking. Lonely. Isolation doesn’t help.
He stopped functioning. His body started giving out. I loved him. Took care of him cleaned his wounds after falls, his body after incontinence. He literally shed blood, shit and tears, regret and asked for forgiveness when I cared for him in his sober state.
In return, I’d receive non stop verbal abuse if I didn’t stop and do what he wanted me to at the time he wanted me to and how he wanted me to. If I didn’t give him my attention he’d end up getting it by threatening my family. And he would! Fight my brother and go after him with loaded guns. So there I would go do what he said. Forced to ride in a vehicle, with him locking the doors, blasting Phil Collins yelling at me. Driving erratically, dangerously. And I’d be so fucking scared of crashing. Just imagining the police report, “f19 dead alongside 43m after drunk reckless driving”. He’d speed in traffic so I couldn’t really jump out the car. I’d end up just drinking to numb the fear.
I had enough and attempted to sleepies forever by taking a sweet deadly cocktail of whatever handful of pills I could get my hands on. We had plastic gallon moving boxes filled with narcotics- he was a pharmacist too. I told him I was going to KMS he said go ahead, so I attempted and I filmed it.
From the setting up the phone in that closet, the one I color coordinated for him, his button-ups and suits in those dry-cleaning bags that hadn’t been opened since leaving the laundry shop… I watched my su!c!d€ afterwards. Out of morbid curiosity. “What a dumbass!” was what he said when he found me. I won’t go into detail of the full video but chest compressions hurt a lot, 10/10 would not recommend. And EMS left the AED stickers on my chest 🤷🏽‍♀️
After that 24hr watch, an awkward taxi drive to a crisis clinic that was understaffed and left me in a room by myself for two hours and walking in public with those see-through paper hospital clothes. Embarrassment is a light expression. When I was taken home, I didn’t have keys, or phone, or anything. Just my discharge papers and my cut vomit stained pajamas in a biohazard bag. - I lived in a gated neighborhood with key-fob-entry-only. I was fucked and waited what seemed like 4 hours for anyone to help me but no one showed up until HE did WITH MY BROTHER. The one who was threatened with a gun, that brother.
JFC the amount of insults, “what a fucking dumbass, what were you thinking? You’re a fucking idiot!” To summarize in the friendliest way. I was dressed in a see through hospital gown, I went straight to the shower, didn’t have the energy to get dressed when they kept just YELLING at me. INSULTING me- I had enough and wanted to defend myself. That’s when my brother pulled out his phone and started filming me pleading with them to let me sleep, calling me crazy, threatening to “show the family how fucking crazy you are!” - I threw my phone. Broke the microwave door. More insults, while still filming me, I was ordered to, “clean it up” - and at that moment. Completely detached, I did.
I put my brother on the soon-est bus to Mexico and sent him to rehab after 2 hell filled weeks of him living with us because he was so fucked in alcoholism he was homeless. To this day I don’t know how I did that.
I managed to leave my ex. 2 weeks later I receive calls from worried friends. Ryan was missing.
After investigating, (calls to police,hospitals, checking out the “usual” spots) - turns out he went to a Circle K looking for Peroni after the liquor store wouldn’t sell to him, tripped on the steps, hit his head on the pavement, STILL MANAGED TO PURCHASE ALCOHOL, left, got into a fight, and somehow miraculously ended up in his apartment where he tried to shower, fell face forward towards the water tap, (which left a softball sized bruise on his right eye and fractured his nose) he then tried to walk towards the kitchen? Passed out in the living room leaving blood all over the walls, puddles on the ground and the biggest blood clot stain on the floor ( we had to get crime scene cleaners). He apparently had a fit where he trashed the apartment by throwing my things, my plants, bottles of crown… anything. Everything was trashed when I found him in the apartment. I counted at LEAST 20 bottles of crown. He was so fucked up we thought he had been assaulted.
COVID hit and hospitals were in full lockdown. As an “essential worker” I could travel to the hospital to see him, and because someone somewhere said I was his wife/fiancée I was the ONLY one allowed to see him.
I snuck behind friends and family’s backs checking in on him at the hospital. Singing The Carpenters songs, wearing his favorite perfumes, reading Bill’s Story (IYKYK), playing Phil Collins. The whole 9 yards.
The last time I saw him, he was in Physical therapy/Rehab. He ended up moving back to his parents in California. Then February the next year, on Valentine’s Day - his mom let me know he passed.
She grieved very much attached to me. It was one of the saddest things I ever had to help someone through - alongside helping her son go through alcoholism.
I became a CNA as a tribute to helping him during those hard sober times where his body gave out. Helping others like that, bathing them, diaper changing, g-tube cleaning, hygiene essentials…
The classic grief started with what-if’s. Etc. it’s been hard lately because all my family is against him and his family resents me for being the only one with access to his medical records during COVID. I’m in a relationship now and our therapist told me to “put a break on it”. Recently. My mental illnesses keep getting worse and I feel like no other has taken such interest in me as much as Ryan did. He was so observant. So in-sync with me. And he was so shitty to me. He’s like the sweetest tasting radioactive flower that once was and will never be. And I’m grieving. And it’s so lonely out here.
I don’t know. I’m not suicid@l, I’m medicated and 4 years sober. It’s been hard and it’s getting harder to understand. I feel neglected and lonely. Anything helps please.

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.

Memory transcription subject: Captain Sovlin, Federation Fleet Command
Date: [REDACTED]
The force assembled at the outskirts of the Skaven home system was larger than any I had ever seen. It was a rainbow of ships, each decorated with different colors and symbols communicating their allegiances. I kept one eye on the Glorious display of interspecies cooperation as I looked to my first officer.
“Wow Recel.” I said with mirth. “Just… Wow! I know I asked you to bring reinforcements, but did you really have to drag along half the federation?”
Recel didn’t respond right away. He looked past me, out into the infinite void and scratched his head, seemingly deep in thought. But then, he snapped out of it and turned his gaze to me with a proud expression. “It just seemed like the right thing to do sir.”
I couldn’t help but agree. This battle would surely go down in history as one of the federation’s greatest victories, accomplished through the cooperation of the herd. “Indeed.” I simply replied before transmitting to the Fleet. “All hands, Full speed ahead!”
Thrusters lit up across the formation as we advanced, the Skaven homeworld coming into view. The bridge crew was tense, but I didn’t share their worry. As far as I was concerned the battle was already won, superweapon or otherwise.
A beep from the sensor station notified us that the Skaven ships had come within range of our scanners. As images of the predator vessels were distributed across the fleet, there was a collective sigh of relief. They were much fewer in number this time, only a handful of freighters and a few dozen fighters. The Flagship was at the head of the formation, but crucially, the bell on top was still broken. Clearly, Kalsim’s sacrifice had not been in vain.
With this new information in mind, I addressed the fleet once more. “Looks like this will be easier than we thought. Maintain dispersed formation, I don’t want any surprises.”
“Captain!” The crewmate Manning the sensor station spoke up. “We’ve got more detailed scans of the Predator fleet. The flagship… it’s absolutely packed with life-forms! Same goes for the freighters.”
An evacuation effort? Then why were they headed right for us? They couldn’t possibly get past this many guns. “Ready weapons, I want them shot down as soon as they’re in range. Don’t let them get away.”
However, just before we reached effective weapons range, an alarm rang out. Recel checked his pad and read out a report. “Predator sighting in the Engineering deck! We’re under attack!”
“What?!!” I exclaimed. The Fleet’s communication channels became flooded with chatter, similar reports coming in from across the formation. A hunch began forming in my mind. “Sensors! Give me an update on those lifesigns!”
The crewmate squinted at his screen. “They’re… gone! The ships are empty!”
“Teleportation.” I deduced. “So that’s their gambit.” I drew my pistol from its holster, prompting the rest of the bridge crew to do the same. “All hands! Prepare to repel boarders!”
Superior Skryre Thought-Memory transcription subject: Oivit, Gojid Exterminator
Time-Date: The Grand-Great Deception
My squad took cover at the edges of the hallway, and we raised our rifles and flamethrowers at the Bulkhead in front of us. The poor engineers on the other side had managed to seal them just before being overwhelmed by the predators, giving us time to set up a defense at the natural choke point. This in turn would allow the command crew to fortify the bridge even further, but I naturally hoped that we would be able to repel them here.
Not long after we had taken positions, a green jet of energy appeared in the bulkhead’s side, beginning to cut a rectangular opening through the thick metal. We aimed at the center of the nearly completed portal, but suddenly the cutting stopped just short of completion. What were they-
BWOOSH
A fiery explosion tore open the bulkhead, destroying the neatly carved lines and causing the edges of the barrier to bend out, like a metallic flower. Despite the protection our cover and fireproof suits afforded us, the explosion rattled us, and we simply cowered behind our defenses for several seconds.
I was the first to cautiously peek out at the smoking remains of the boundary. A predator in red armor staggered through the opening, seemingly as shell-shocked as we were. I remembered my training and brought my rifle to bear. With plenty of time to aim, I fired a burst of plasma through the damned thing’s head, killing it instantly.
This galvanized the other predators, and a barrage of thin streaks of lightning rushed out at us from beyond the Bulkhead. We returned fire, but with the dense smoke we couldn’t tell whether we were inflicting casualties. As the blind firefight continued with no casualties on our side, I thought we’d be capable of holding them here until reinforcements arrived. But it wasn’t long before something besides energy blasts began to rush through the opening.
A wave of gangly predators rushed through the breach. Their scurrying quadrupedal run kept them mostly below the continued fusillade, but some were inevitably scorched dead when the shot reached too low, or a predator head too high. Our flamethrowers were ready for them however, and quickly spat a torrent of fire in their path. The front rank of creatures tried to stop at the last second, but the momentum of those behind them was too great, and they were either trampled underfoot or pushed directly into the inferno.
The charge was fully incinerated, yet a few of the burning predators continued their charge by sheer momentum alone, crossing the short distance between themselves and the flamethrower team, and plowing into them in their frenzied death throes.
More elite predators moved up in the wake of the devastated assault, brutes in red armor firing their lightning guns at us. The firefight quickly grew much more intense, both exterminators and Skaven killing each other at a rapid pace.
A group of creatures in black rags rushed out from behind their armored fellows, tossing primitive throwing weapons at us as they went. One of them struck me in the arm, piercing through my suit and leaving a small cut. Unbothered by the glancing hit, I raised my rifle to return fire, but suddenly found that I couldn’t feel my limb, nor pull the trigger.
As the strange numbness spread, I lost my balance, falling to the floor in a limp heap. I watched helplessly as my comrades lost ground, and the rearmost part of our formation turned and ran. The savage beasts hollered with bloodlust, giving chase.
As they disappeared around a corner, a new group of predators emerged from the broken bulkhead. One of their ‘Grey Seers’, accompanied by a multitude of servants. They looked more like cargo wagons than living beings, each hunchbacked from the weight of the numerous packs and crates they carried.
Their leader looked around at the walls before pointing one out, and another predator carrying a multitude of tools went up to it and unscrewed one of the panels covering it. Discarding the panel, it pulled up a strange green drill, and began digging through the thick layers of armor, quickly carving out a cavity in the side of the hull.
As it climbed in and continued drilling, the other predators followed suit. To my horror, I and several of my dead squadmates were picked up and brought along, dragged into the newly created space. Still paralyzed, I could only despair as they picked up the metal panel, sealing the tunnel behind us.
( - - - - - - - - - - )
The Extermination fleet breathed a sigh of relief as their ships managed to repel their boarders one by one. With the assault repelled, they moved into orbit of their target and unleashed their countless weapons upon the planet, bringing the End Times to the Old World.
After the annihilation was confirmed, the vessels of the fleet separated, each charting a course back to their native systems. They returned as heroes, massive celebrations held on every planet in the federations to glorify the monumental victory. And while the people celebrated in the streets, the Shadow Caste began work on their latest propaganda campaign, intending to convince future generations that the ‘Skaven’ had never existed.
As the military vessels were abandoned by their reveling crews, hunchbacked shapes emerged not long thereafter. Creeping out of cargo bays and maintenance hatches, they would briefly sniff the air to ensure the coast was clear, before scurrying off into the wilderness. There they dug holes, at first only cautiously. But it wasn’t long before they began to expand, tunneling beneath the very cities they had avoided.
They did not stop there. Camouflaged rafts were constructed, populating the abandoned oceans with dozens of ramshackle, barely floating warrens. Some snuck aboard Arxur raiding vessels when they arrived, in order to settle the planets said vessels returned to. The particularly bold began to kidnap small numbers of surface dwellers, using them as slaves, food, or the test subjects for grotesque experiments.
When they finally amassed the resources, massive antennae were erected, laced with green crystal and hidden underground, powerful enough to penetrate the crust of their respective planets. With these, encoded signals could be sent between the infested planets. Some messages were declarations of cunning, might, or other forms of superiority. Some were threats, wishing death and destruction upon rivals several lightyears away. But most were devoted to coordinating various plots, with one plot in particular standing far above the rest.
The Galactic Vermintide, to gnaw at the entire galaxy until it belonged only to the Skaven.
First - Previous

Erik listened as Morna’s footsteps gave a backing beat to the rhythmic busywork of the ship. She was pacing, her shoulders hunched, pointedly not looking over Shieldbreaker’s side, averting her eyes from the retreating silhouettes of Lady Alannys and Unwelcome Guest, and the Lute and Harp flotillas in their wake.
No matter what task they busied themselves with, the ship’s crew parted to allow Morna her passage back and forth. She stopped just in front of Erik at the stern, turned on one heel and marched back to Kiera at the bow. She probably felt cramped on the ship. Erik remembered how she had walked the walls of Lordsport on the day Sigorn was injured, her relentless pace only hitching momentarily in front of the maester’s door on each cycle.
Soon she returned to him again, both eyes on the deck, though only one saw it.
“Do you want to sit down?” he asked her as she swivelled, not particularly expecting a response.
“No,” she said, and stopped. It seemed to take some effort to look back at him. “I want to hit something,” she explained. Now that she was still, hands clenched into fists, she stood out amidst the rolling motion of the oarsmen to either side.
“Once we get cruising, we can spar, if that would help?”
Morna hesitated. “I want to break something,” she clarified.
“I don’t think I can help there.”
Morna waved a hand in a way that meant she’d get over it. When she resumed her pacing, Erik followed her to the midpoint of the ship, retrieving his fiddle from the hold. He met both his wives at the bow, and brought the instrument to his chin.
Drawing the bow across the strings, he pushed a few bars of an old and nameless tune, rising notes wishing good fortune across the waves.
Morna relaxed as the answering verses whispered back to them, leaning her scarred forehead against Kiera’s shoulder. After a few moments, she straightened, pushing her hair back from her eyes.
“I’m alright,” she insisted, flexing her hands, “I just hate when I can’t do anything.”
Neither Erik nor Kiera responded. There was no need. They understood.
Three days after the fleets separated, the winds turned on them. The tips of dark clouds on the horizon spoke of a storm that Shieldbreaker and the Fiddle flotilla were only feeling the echoes of, but it was a complete headwind all the same. Everyone aboard knew what it meant, but they groaned all the same when the nausea, the strain, the third thing began.
Erik kept his focus on the fervent activity on the deck, oarsmen keeping balance, two-men teams on the spar lines, Erik’s own hands on the rudder. Hours into the nauseating back-and forth, he found his focus drifting. He called Osfryd over to take the rudder for the upcoming portside turn.
Kiera had abandoned her perch on the bow that morning, and spent the whole day with her back against the mast, rubbing her forehead, eyes closing every time the creaking sail beam swivelled over her head.
He went to the canopy at the mast, and gently pressed a kiss to Kiera’s forehead. She looked up at him, smiling apologetically.
“The creaking makes my head ache,” she said, by way of an explanation. Erik just leaned on the mast beside her, and held her hand down by his side. They watched their other wife for a time. Morna was at the windward side of the ship as it turned, helping some of the crew scrape clinging seaweed from the hull, exposed from the waterline by Shieldbreaker’s dramatic tilt.
“She’s going to heave if she keeps going like that,” Kiera commented. Erik murmured an agreement, watching the seasick stagger that was starting to come into Morna’s movements.
“You know what she’s like,” Erik said. “You and Asha grew up sailing, she thinks she has to prove herself.”
Kiera scoffed, though there was a smile hidden in her offended scowl. “Asha barely sailed.”
Erik conceded that with a shrug. “She’s Ironborn, though.”
Kiera nodded, then squeezed her eyes shut as the ship began tilting to port, the spar over their head groaning as it scraped against the mast. She had always been Erik’s softest wife. Even as the shipborne bastard of a Tyroshi merchant, her youth had been filled with more comforts than a wildling huntress or daughter of a tiny Ironborn house were ever afforded.
The deck shifted beneath them, and the hull-scrapers abandoned their posts to move to the other side. Morna passed through the cabin, teeth bared even more than her scars usually made them as she tried to breathe through the nausea.
“Fuck this,” she said conversationally, and accepted Kiera’s kiss to her scarred cheek.
“You don’t need to work yourself to the point of illness, darling,” Erik said, but she shrugged the comment off like he knew she would.
“You can help any time,” she pointed out, not unfairly.
“I’ll be over in a moment.”
Kiera shook her head. “Iemnȳ ēdrulio glaesas, dōnītsosi. I read charts and look pretty. You strong people can do the actual work.”
The storm’s wake had passed by the next day, and Erik allowed his exhausted crew a morning’s rest. The bed of sand and the cookfire were back out on the stern, Theomore frying fillets he had cut from the fish other men had pulled from the sea in the days before.
As lord and captain, Erik had the benefit of first serving, sitting with his wives under the canopy at the ship’s centre, a well-done piece of cod speared on the knife that had avenged his father.
“You’re still a kneeler, as much as the rest of them,” Morna was saying, waving a fishbone insistently. Kiera’s lips twitched into a smile at the familiar argument.
“Look, the Archon is chosen-”
“By the people with gold,” Morna interrupted.
“Yes, but you told me the Kings-Beyond-The-Wall were chosen by clan chiefs-”
“That’s not the same.”
“I’m still not sure I’m a kneeler,” Erik interjected, smiling at how Morna's face twisted into mock outrage.
“Lord Botley, I do love you, but you’re the most kneelerish person I can put up with. We’d be up raiding Bear Island, or whatsitcalled, the lion city, Lannister-port or something, if you weren’t a kneeler.”
“Those people never did anything to us,” Erik tried.
Morna pointed, catching the error. “And what did this Volantis do to us?”
“Enslaved my mother,” Kiera pointed out. Morna eyed her, making sure her wife was still in the mood for play, before she pressed on.
“Fine, what did we do, then? Why raid the Frozen Shore?”
“Well you did-” Erik caught himself before he said “raid the North.” Morna eyed him, teasing curiosity raising her mismatched eyebrows.
“You got me,” he smiled, taking another bite of cod. “I only go raiding where I can find beautiful women.”
Morna grinned at the flattery and opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by Kiera tutting in mock-outrage.
“I’m sorry, dōnītsos, but why are we stopping peacefully in Tyrosh, in that case?”
“I’ve met your father,” Erik reasoned. “Your looks come from your mother’s homeland.”
That broke the momentum of the debate as Morna barked a laugh and Kiera tried to hold one in, pinching the bridge of her nose. Erik chuckled, and managed not to flinch when the sailor called for him.
“Milord!”
Erik turned. Osfryd, leaning against the prow, hair flickering in the wind, pointed over his shoulder to the horizon before them all.
“Ship rising!” he called, by way of explanation.
Kiera was on her feet first, stepping lightly between the myriad of chatting crewmembers that Erik was surprised to see surrounding him and his wives. She reached the bow and climbed it deftly, hooking a foot in the lantern-ring as she often did. Erik and Morna followed more slowly.
“Merchant, by the shape,” Kiera said as they approached. Erik followed her gaze to the tall, barrel-hulled carrack coming over the horizon, half-silhouetted by the low morning sun. He could just make out a pennant fluttering at the tip of the tallest mast.
“Can you make out the flag?” Erik asked.
Kiera took a moment before answering, “Myrish, I think. They’re keeping dead on. You’d think they’d try to get around us, no?”
“Quicker to go through, I suppose,” Erik suggested. “Plus, they’re likely unsure how wide a fleet we have, or if we even want to attack.”
“Do we want to attack?” Morna asked.
The question drew the attention of several crewmembers, who quickly turned to listen to Erik’s answer.
Playing for time, Erik looked out at the ship again. The thought of battle made his blood tingle, but he was wary. Shallow-drafted longships like theirs were ideal for a shoreline assault, but much less suited for warfare at sea. There was a reason that the Royal Fleet consisted of dromonds and other tall ships. Attack even one Myrish trader and dozens would sink to the Drowned God’s halls. Pointless, unless there was some real reason to take that risk.
“Slavers?” Erik asked.
Kiera shook her head. “They’re heading to Dorne or the Stormlands, they know they can’t sell them there.”
“Then no.” Some men around him looked disappointed, others relieved. Erik reckoned he could guess how long each man had been sailing by that reaction.
“We’ll save our strength for a greater bounty, further East,” Erik said, his voice shifting to a commanding baritone. “To oars, men! Give them space to pass! I’ll not have them loose arrows on us for some misunderstanding.”
The knot of listeners loosened and fell away, dipping oars to water and pushing Shieldbreaker further out of the Myrish vessel’s path. The ship loomed as it came closer, and Erik saw men with crossbows take positions on the upper gunwale. A blue-haired, green-bearded man, the captain by his stance, stood at the prow and looked out at the passing fleet with suspicious eyes.
Kiera cupped her hands around her mouth and called, her voice clear and carrying as a flute, “Jemī ōdrikagon indī daor!”
We mean you no harm. It was one of the few phrases Kiera had insisted Erik learn. It got the captain’s attention, his eyes flicking across the ship until he found the speaker.
“Jaehor ojehiknon irughas!” he responded, his stance softening. The crossbowmen followed his lead. Not all of them lowered their weapons, but enough did that Erik relaxed. The captain followed with a sentence that included skoriot – where? Asking where they were from.
Erik saw Kiera give her best smile, and she gestured to the fish-covered green pennant on Shieldbreaker’s mast. “Āegenka Āja. Mȳro iksāt, kessa?”
The captain seemed to hesitate a little at her response, though Erik would have assumed that their hailing from the Iron Islands – for he recognised Āegenka Āja – was obvious from their ships. Their vessels were almost level now, and Erik could now read the curiosity in the man’s smile. He finally called, “Hen mirto Āegenka Ājor, Valyrīhos sȳrī ȳdrā!”
Kiera’s smile faltered at that, but seemed to renew with some quiet pride. “Īlōnda quptyri issa daor!”
The captain barked a laugh, and the reaction was echoed by a few chuckles among the crossbowmen. Erik couldn’t understand the joke, but laughed along anyway. Kiera leaned over to her husband.
“They are from Myr,” she confirmed. “I don’t think they’re interested in a fight.”
“Good,” Erik said. “Ask where they’re going.”
Kiera returned her attention to the passing ship. “Skoriot īlāt?” she called.
The captain pointed westward, presumably indicating his destination.
“Jelmāzmari Mōrio!”
Erik recognized the name of Storm’s End, but the rest of the man’s sentence was lost in a flurry of unfamiliar syllables. The captain rubbed thumb and forefinger together, so he gathered that he was speaking of trade with the Stormlanders.
The ship was passing them now, Shieldbreaker swaying as it was buffeted in its wake.
“Biarver aōt!” Kiera called. The man’s response was lost in the wind, but his smile told Erik that it had been some kind farewell. He watched the retreating galley with contentment. It was always good to meet a kindred spirit on the high seas.
The cawing of seagulls was the first sign they were approaching land. Always a light sleeper, Erik’s eyes shot open at the sound. Morna’s arm was still draped over his chest, her eyes closed and shallow breaths peaceful with sleep. Erik was careful as he wriggled out from beneath her, stood and stepped over her and Kiera, who had her face pressed into the nape of Morna’s neck.
Most of the rest of the crew were asleep as well, wrapped in thin blankets between the rowing benches. Three men were talking quietly to one another in the shadows to starboard, while six others played cards in the light of the new bow lantern. Back at the stern, Erik found Mathos posted at the rudder.
“Milord,” Mathos said, by way of greeting. He kept his voice low, and Erik followed suit.
“Mathos. No trouble in the night?”
“None, milord. Wind was steady, we’re dead on for the Bloodstone strait. Mind you, those smoke trails have me wondering, milord.”
Erik’s eyebrows asked his question for him, and Mathos just pointed past him, out towards the bow and the sea and the deep, dark shape of the island on the horizon, blocking the spill of starlight beyond it. Then, as his eyes adjusted to the sight, he saw them – thin, curling lines of smoke rising over the island. Five of them, tightly packed together, shining silver in the light.
Erik shrugged. They disquieted him, as well, but he voiced the most obvious objection to his worry all the same. “Bloodstone isn’t entirely uninhabited. It’s probably just a fishing village.”
Mathos gave a sort of half shrug. He obviously didn’t want to contradict his captain, but he pressed on anyway.
“Perhaps, milord, but who’s staying up to tend the fires this late? Sunrise is barely an hour away, by my reckoning. I can’t think of many reasons folk’d’ve fires kept so late.”
“Watchtowers?”
“It’s just a guess milord, but aye. What’re they keeping watch for, I wonder?”
Erik kept his eyes on the smoke, though his attention was focused inward. There was some fear there, and a hesitant surprise. Excitement boiled in his chest, but it had a core that Erik took a moment to identify. Satisfaction. Here was proof that he would not return to Lordsport unsated, that he would find more of what he sought most, as he had found first in Starfall.
The unexpected.

I have thick mucus cooing out of the nose. Like jelly sometimes clear or green or yellow. Tried just about everything. Anything help anyone with this?

Part 3 of my short story. 1 and 2 got decent receptions. If this one does well Ill keep it goin.
I started looking around the room for anything useful. Checked a few lockers pretty quickly. I was looking for something specific. Pictures of family, lab coats, the entire collection helldivers trading cards, and your typical personal belongings. Damn. Youd have figured at least one... HERE it is! I reached into the second to last locker on a wall of ten and found a loaded Peacemaker. I stapped the holster over one shoulder and under another across my chest for ease of access. Can never have to many weapons. I took the extra mags and stored them in my left thigh pouch.
3 just watched as I completely gutted the room for anything useful. They sort of shuffled behind me after a couple minutes. Following behind me like a domesticated pet.
I search the cupboards above one of the desks and found some typical workplace memos. "No fraternization without a signed C0-1 permit," toss, "Make sure to enjoy at least one 30 second break every day," useless. I closed the cupboard and looked under the desk. There was a safe with a pretty decent lock on it. Well, decent for civilians. It was a digital combination lock with a biometric finger scan and eye scan. Whatever was in here had to be good. I pulled the retractable cord out of my wristpad and plugged into the input in the safe. Turned the whole 3 point security system into a series of directional inputs. Up, down, left, left, right, down, done. The safe Clicked and popped open slightly.
Inside was just a keycard labelled "Master". It was a hefty card made of metal about a quarter of an inch thick and 3 inches by 2 inches on its face. I tucked it under my wristpad in a small pouch between it and my wrist. 3 was just standing behind me holding Mr. Ears.
They just wore a gown. No socks, no pants or anything to keep them warm. Alright, add that to the list. Clothes shopping for the lab experiment. Other than what i'd already searched there wasnt anything else in this building that I could see. I put my hands on my hips and sort of paced for a moment.
"Do you want to see my room?" 3 said. I stopped pacing and looked back at 3. Of course! I thought. This kid would have had to sleep somewhere and as far as I could see there wasnt a bed in here. How did 3 end up in here anyway? Did they walk out in the cold from another building? Tough kid. Maybe one of the doctors carried em over and just... left them here. The thought angered me. I started towards the door when a small hand pulled on my cape. The cape itself had red trim with a black and white design on it. A simple red skull sat smack dab in the middle. A cape to remember those lost at the Creek.
I turned around to see 3 point towards a wall at the backside of the building some 30 ft. Away. "Its this way mister." 3 ran towards the wall and gently pushed in a hidden button. The wall sunk inwards and moved down to reveal a stairwell going down. Flickering lights barely illuminating the stairwell. I slowly approached the stairwell as 3 just stood next to the button looking up at me, their face devoid of emotion. They walked through the doorway and started climbing down the stairs with a bit of effort. They held the hand rail and carefully descended.
I kept my flashlight on and pointed down and ahead, letting 3 lead by a couple feet. My right hand dangled next to my senator instinctively. No need to draw it just yet. It was a winding stairway that continued down for 3 floors. At the bottom there was another automatic doorway. It was a double door that opened from the middle but one side was jammed and the other just sort of bounced between being fully open and slightly ajar. The lights continued to flicker. 3 walked through the opening without hesitation, their little feet making pat, pat sounds on the cold metal floor.
Checks out I thought. Distant planet, secret experiments, gotta have a secret labratory underground. I sidestepped through the door way and into a security checkpoint. All the consoles were on emergency backup and the barricade that an armed guard would have stood behind was empty. I checked it for ammo but no luck. 3 kept going deeper down the hall. We passed about 10-15 seperate typical offices where I assume the scientist here would have kept notes and done paperwork. The end of the hall was marked by a T intersection. On the wall in front there was a directory. To the right was "Labratory", "Mess Hall", and "Transit Station". Transit Station? I thought. Better check that out. The left side was labelled "Security", and "Subject Chambers". Makes sense I guess. I bet all these scientists slept in a seperate building, meanwhile they probably kept 3 here under lock and key. We took a left at the end of the hall and ended up at another door. 3 gently pushed the console next to the door and the light swapped from red to green as the door sssssked open.
We passed security on our way through the hall and I could see a weapons cage inside the security office. Hell yeah I thought. I wanted to turn and start stocking up on supplies but 3 gently pulled my hand towards the end of the hall. Alright kid. Maybe you've got some extra clothes in here huh? Well need em. 3 opened the door to another area labelled "Subject Chambers." I entered inside and inhaled somewhat sharply.
There were 4 cryochambers, 2 on each wall, that immediately flanked the doorway as you entered. All of them were vacant and non operational. 3 walked past the cryotubes and up a small two stair incline onto a small play area. It had some simple blocks, a couple bits of paper and threee or four boxes of crayons. 3 seemed to try to ignore the cryotubes but couldnt.
"Whenever we would be bad," she gently gestured to the cryo tubes "the doctors would put us in there". She walked over to one of the 4 beds and sat down on it. It was simple with white lined and a typical medical blanket. "This is my bed" 3 said. "That one was 2's and those ones were "1, and 4". 3 gestured towards the other beds laid out in similar fashion to the cryochambers.
I tried to compose myself for a moment. How could this happen? Theres no way this was sanctioned by the Ministry. No way in hell. These had to be rogues scientists, and wed helped evacuate them. Dammit. I knelt down beside 3, "Did they give you any clothes 3? Any jackets or pants or anything?"
3 shook their head. "We never needed em. The doctors gave us medicine that made us warm." 3's eyes dropped and they tried to sound out a word. "The did some eggs-spear-ear-ants and then to test them they put us outside. 1 and 4 didnt get cold, like me, but 2..." 3 looked over at 2's bed. "2 got cold."
End part 3. Im not good at picking where to stop so I just base it off of word count sorta. Feel free to suggest names for 3!