First
Barbara stared blankly at the screen. She had just finished a call with her supervisor, who had informed her that she was effectively on paid leave for the duration of her remaining two cycle contract, about six months roughly. She had already received a notification that her debts, while minor, had been paid off. The E-mail had been flashing "URGENT" on her communicator when she had woken up. Her GalNet bank account had been loaded with the entirety of her contract with Starlight FTL fund's (all of it, including the 20% she had already been paid!) Only a few moments later as she had just finished washing her face and trying to fully wake up when another alert had posted. Another large sum had been deposited and then her rooms monitor had pinged. That had been her supervisor again informing her that she had been approved for a "Salvage and Reclamation Permit " pursuant to section 21137A....and she had spaced the rest. She had listened to it, but after the spiral of numbers she had been lost trying to catch up. She hadn't filed for anything like a S&R permit. That is until her supervisor had brought her back to the here and now by saying, "Congratulations Ms. Thornton." And vanished, replaced with the traditional Sol Alliance insignia slowly spinning on a white and blue screen.
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?" She asked the empty room, shaking her head in disbelief at the recent events. She absently turned to look at her communicator which had just buzzed on her bunk. Two steps and she had it, the tag on the call read "Dad" and with a grimace she mentally prepared herself for the inevitable. She quickly composed herself, silently thanking her nanites for healing most of her wounds from the day prior. A bruise, and small at that was the only visible sign she had even gotten hurt. With a smile she pressed the green "Take Call" next to her father's wizened wrinkly face. "Hey dad, how's Mom and everyone else doing?" She asked as the screen flash to a live feed of him at his antique mahogany desk. The thing had cost her thrice removed grandfather a literal fortune to get shipped to Mars.
"Oh you know your mom's worried sick! You didn't call or anything! Have you seen the news feed?" When she shook her head"No" he continued, "Your picture has been posted along with your service record in the military scrolling down one side of the viewing screen." She let out a sigh only because she knew BOTH her parents were prone to over exaggerating the situation. Besides, she had served her mandatory six years in the United Sol Alliance Navy's O.D.T.'s and had even distinguished herself during the Omega Crisis. Her dad's voice brought her back to the present as he continued. "The media are calling you both a savior and a criminal! The government hasn't said anything except 'The President will release a statement in due time. Rest assured our citizens are safe "
He finally stopped and seeing the concern on his weathered, caring face she smiled to re assure him. "I'm fine Dad. Really. I can't say much more then that. I know, I know." She put her hand up as if to block something. " I need to visit more often. How about I pop in when I get to Mars Station Hub?"
"Are you sure?" He asked her even as she was beginning to nod, he continued, " Ok, I'll tell your mom to expect you?" She let the question linger for a moment before she replied.
"Three days. I think we should be in orbit by then." Barbara answered.
"Good. Your mother really is worried sick about you Barbara. Those news drones can't get very close to the station you where on,, but the debris field is quite large! I can't wait to hear that story!" He gave her his usual wry grin. "Whatever happened, I'm glad to see your alright. I'll tell your mom to expect a visit in a few days. Give your ol'man a call and I'll be there to pick you up from the rail station in town. Your not going to recognize the place without the dome!" He gave her his usual loving smile, his grey blue eyes both caring and mischievous. "That'll give me a reason to spool up the old sled and take her for a spin. And your mom won't even try to stop me!" He winked, then his face became serious again. "We love you Barbara, you take care of yourself." His smiling face disappeared, replaced by the same blue and white screen with the Sol Alliance insignia slowly rotating.
She had barely had time to comb her hair and braid it. She normally didn't, but since she was on a Navy ship she would follow proper protocol even though she was technically a civilian now. Warning Claxons wailed as the standardized "WARNING! Proximity Alert. Unidentified hostile ship detected." It repeated this every few seconds until someone on the bridge finally shut it off. As soon as the alarm shut down she immediately rushed to the outermost mess hall where a plasteal viewport would be located so she could possibly see what was happening. She was just in time to see four silver Sol Marine Corps boarding shuttles disable and board the much larger spider like ship. The Marines had attached three of the four boarding shuttles at random over the spider-like ships hull and if she had to make an educated guess, probably cut their way in with plasma cutters. All standard practices, or was while she had still been in the Navy.
It took nearly an hour before she could see an blue and white Alliance Military Tug fly into range and began tractoring the large black alien ship with three of the four shuttles still firmly attached. It slowly but surely began to move them towards the Phoenix and Titan 7 with the still undocked Marine Corps shuttle following close behind, weapons visibly trained on the alien ship, even at this distance.
"Well that's different. I don't remember seeing that ship exit the gate." She said to herself as she walked over to the"breakfast" line and went back to her quarters to eat her food in piece. Before long she could feel the ship moving again. Captain Gregory had personally debriefed her as soon as she was on his ship, had quarters assigned to her, and requested her presence on the command bridge as soon as she had rested and eaten something.
Which was why she found herself trying not to stare at what she could only describe as a humanoid cat! Well, except she didn't have a tail. Still, Barbara thought, it was a damn cat person! "Ahh, Captain Thornton, right on time!" Announced Captain Gregory as he noticed she had walked onto his bridge.
"Sargent, Sir." She corrected politely.
He let out a slight chuckle before standing and casually striding towards her, his hands clasp behind him. He stopped not 6 feet away from her and as he did, saluted her. She snapped to, glad after years of not using it in her civilian role her salute was crisp and clean. She heard others around the bridge standing and saluting too. As she stood there she could see the corner of his mouth turn upwards in a slight smirk. Then she heard a gravely voice, deep, and sounding more like two boulders grinding together then anything else she could think of.
"Of course Sargent Thornton. Well then, let me be the first to inform you of your impromptu promotion. Congratulations Captain Thornton." She finally got a look at the man speaking. He was only maybe five feet tall and that was being generous! He also looked very sticky, so probably a heavy grav worlder, probably a colony on Proxima Centauri itself, and he definitely had the stripes of a rear admiral. Her eyes reflexively snapped to his silver crossed sword and spear denoting he was from the O.D.T., the very same battle group she had been assigned to.
"Shit." Was all she could think! Lick a new recruit caught fucking off by the drill instructor back at the Academy. She composed herself before replying. "Umm, thanks Sir. I uhh..." She finally grasped one of the hundred or so thoughts racing through her mind. "But I'm just a civilian now so Sargent is more than is needed. Sir." Ahh, well at least that one would get her out of any press gang tactics the Navy might try to play. She had heard of worse tactics being used, though she had never really believed it herself.
"My name is Rear Admiral Zang." He said, now standing in front of her. Even being much shorter than her he seemed to somehow give her the impression he was looming over everyone else on the command bridge with his sheer presence. He held out his hand and Captain Gregory gave him a folded piece of paper, which he unfolded with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to receiving hardcopy notes, he cleared his throat as he began to read. "President Owlan of the United Sol Alliance, here by gifts the newly salvaged U.S.S. Refuge to Sargent Thornton as per Article 719E, subsection 42, paragraph 3: As the sole officer on duty responsible for Gate B111 when the said vessel was abandoned you are now the owner of one Regent Class hull. Pursuant to subsection 57, paragraph 4 of the same Article of Salvage, you are automatically promoted to the rank of Captain, and if you so choose to serve in the U.S. Navy again, I can absolutely speak for the Centauri Battle Group, if not ALL of Fleet Command when I say it would be an honor to again serve alongside such a distinguished officer." He paused, looking into her eyes as he reached up and pinned a gold button with a relief of an eagle with two crossed anchor's. Before stepping back and giving her a salute.
She could tell his offer was sincere, but for some reason his crooked smile as he dropped his salute made her feel like the other shoe hadn't dropped yet. He held out his hand and she shook it, his grip was strong, and his palms were sweaty. That was NEVER a good sign from an admiral of any stripe. "Please follow me, Captain Gregory has agreed to let us use his office." As she turned to follow him she heard a soft round of applause being given as they walked, it continued until they were in Captain Gregory's office and the door had slid closed. Two other officers entered with them and Admiral Zang motioned for everyone to have a seat. Captain Gregory took a seat next to the Admiral and Barbara sat on the other side, the other two officers taking a seat on either side of her.
"Now then, I know this is a bit of a surprise Captain Thornton, but seeing as things are moving at a much faster pace than expected with the Orion refugees and the subsequent capture of the Broodling Swarm ship. The president in his capacity as figure head of our great Alliance is effectively being hamstrung by the Senate over the new foreign affairs policy we have been operating under technically without the Senates approval since the Orion's arrival." He paused to let her absorb the situation. "So instead of waiting months to get anything done he's used some 'executive' privileges." Admiral Zang said.
"Regardless of wether or not you decide to re join the Navy, your new ship contains tech that is of great value to our R & D department." He motioned to each of the officers either side of her and continued, "Captain Thornton please meet your new Command Master Chief Dillon Boutan and Command Master Engineer Erica Le'Fay." She nodded to each in turn and shook their hands as he introduced them.
"That's uh, great and all, but why am I being briefed like I'm about to receive an important mission?" Barbara asked. She kept wanting to pinch herself to make sure this wasn't some surreal dream. She had hit her head pretty hard on that console.
The Admiral didn't even blink or hesitate. "Because you are Captain Thornton." He paused, nodding to Captain Gregory who pushed at his communicator a few times and then swiped and a virtual blueprint was stationary in the middle of the table. It was the complete diagram of one of the Orion vessels ( the Regents Pride she noted). It was now tagged as the U.S.S. Refuge at 480 meters long and 200 meters at it's widest with four massive engines rated as roughly equivalent to a U.S. built counterpart. It was slightly longer and she sported almost double the energy weapons batteries but only a quarter of her U.S. counterparts number of missile tubes and storage capacity.
However, it looked like her ECM capabilities and targeting computers at least were noted as being much better than her U.S. counterparts. And what the hell was a Spinal Mounted Gauze cannon? The thing took up three weapons batteries itself and had two more on standby in case one of them failed during combat. Typical built-in Navy redundancy's. "How the hell do you expect us to operate that?" She found herself asking. she noticed both Dillon and Erica were staring just as intently as she was. They obviously hadn't been privy to the information prior to this briefing. And the big ass hole midship was disheartening to say the least!
"You'll have some help. You see, our Orion refugees have made a 'deal', or at least there military types. They will do most of the 'operating' until we can get some U.S.A. species trained up on the ships systems, that is unless you decide to keep our Orion refugees employed after this political mess is sorted out. And to facilitate this, the Orion Admiral Vahl Mub has ordered all Orion Military Personnel to join the Sol Military. This is to show that they are willing to join the U.S. Alliance. As such your Second in command will be..." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I don't know what a Junior Claw as rank means but she was designated the best candidate by our AI and was highly recommended by Admiral Vahl Mub to be your new Executive Officer. Hadarra of the Flowstone clan. And before you ask, I have no idea, SR (Sapient Resources) is burning the candle at both ends trying to compile a complete social and cultural overview of the Orion's." He looked at each of them in turn and sighed. "Let's just try not to cause any blood feud's or misunderstanding's that can't be easily resolved." He raised his communicator and said"Please send in XO Hadarra." The door slid open and the cat person walked in, saluted somewhat awkwardly and then Barbara could see her spine stiffen and she finally committed to it fully.
"Junior Claw Hadarra reporting for duty Second Fang!" She said while looking at Admiral Zang. Barbara could tell she was nervous. Hell who wouldn't be in the same situation these people found themselves in!
"It's just Admiral." He gently corrected. "And your rank in U.S. terms is an Executive Officer or XO for short. We have not been briefed on your culture XO so forgive us for any oversight we may have in our normal routines until we can figure any cultural quarks between our species out. Your Captain and and her other officers are being briefed currently. Please join us." He gestured to a chair and Barbara watched her carefully sit next to Dillon who offered her a friendly smile.

First
Barbara stared blankly at the screen. She had just finished a call with her supervisor, who had informed her that she was effectively on paid leave for the duration of her remaining two cycle contract, about six months roughly. She had already received a notification that her debts, while minor, had been paid off. The E-mail had been flashing "URGENT" on her communicator when she had woken up. Her GalNet bank account had been loaded with the entirety of her contract with Starlight FTL fund's (all of it, including the 20% she had already been paid!) Only a few moments later as she had just finished washing her face and trying to fully wake up when another alert had posted. Another large sum had been deposited and then her rooms monitor had pinged. That had been her supervisor again informing her that she had been approved for a "Salvage and Reclamation Permit " pursuant to section 21137A....and she had spaced the rest. She had listened to it, but after the spiral of numbers she had been lost trying to catch up. She hadn't filed for anything like a S&R permit. That is until her supervisor had brought her back to the here and now by saying, "Congratulations Ms. Thornton." And vanished, replaced with the traditional Sol Alliance insignia slowly spinning on a white and blue screen.
"What the hell am I supposed to do now?" She asked the empty room, shaking her head in disbelief at the recent events. She absently turned to look at her communicator which had just buzzed on her bunk. Two steps and she had it, the tag on the call read "Dad" and with a grimace she mentally prepared herself for the inevitable. She quickly composed herself, silently thanking her nanites for healing most of her wounds from the day prior. A bruise, and small at that was the only visible sign she had even gotten hurt. With a smile she pressed the green "Take Call" next to her father's wizened wrinkly face. "Hey dad, how's Mom and everyone else doing?" She asked as the screen flash to a live feed of him at his antique mahogany desk. The thing had cost her thrice removed grandfather a literal fortune to get shipped to Mars.
"Oh you know your mom's worried sick! You didn't call or anything! Have you seen the news feed?" When she shook her head"No" he continued, "Your picture has been posted along with your service record in the military scrolling down one side of the viewing screen." She let out a sigh only because she knew BOTH her parents were prone to over exaggerating the situation. Besides, she had served her mandatory six years in the United Sol Alliance Navy's O.D.T.'s and had even distinguished herself during the Omega Crisis. Her dad's voice brought her back to the present as he continued. "The media are calling you both a savior and a criminal! The government hasn't said anything except 'The President will release a statement in due time. Rest assured our citizens are safe "
He finally stopped and seeing the concern on his weathered, caring face she smiled to re assure him. "I'm fine Dad. Really. I can't say much more then that. I know, I know." She put her hand up as if to block something. " I need to visit more often. How about I pop in when I get to Mars Station Hub?"
"Are you sure?" He asked her even as she was beginning to nod, he continued, " Ok, I'll tell your mom to expect you?" She let the question linger for a moment before she replied.
"Three days. I think we should be in orbit by then." Barbara answered.
"Good. Your mother really is worried sick about you Barbara. Those news drones can't get very close to the station you where on,, but the debris field is quite large! I can't wait to hear that story!" He gave her his usual wry grin. "Whatever happened, I'm glad to see your alright. I'll tell your mom to expect a visit in a few days. Give your ol'man a call and I'll be there to pick you up from the rail station in town. Your not going to recognize the place without the dome!" He gave her his usual loving smile, his grey blue eyes both caring and mischievous. "That'll give me a reason to spool up the old sled and take her for a spin. And your mom won't even try to stop me!" He winked, then his face became serious again. "We love you Barbara, you take care of yourself." His smiling face disappeared, replaced by the same blue and white screen with the Sol Alliance insignia slowly rotating.
She had barely had time to comb her hair and braid it. She normally didn't, but since she was on a Navy ship she would follow proper protocol even though she was technically a civilian now. Warning Claxons wailed as the standardized "WARNING! Proximity Alert. Unidentified hostile ship detected." It repeated this every few seconds until someone on the bridge finally shut it off. As soon as the alarm shut down she immediately rushed to the outermost mess hall where a plasteal viewport would be located so she could possibly see what was happening. She was just in time to see four silver Sol Marine Corps boarding shuttles disable and board the much larger spider like ship. The Marines had attached three of the four boarding shuttles at random over the spider-like ships hull and if she had to make an educated guess, probably cut their way in with plasma cutters. All standard practices, or was while she had still been in the Navy.
It took nearly an hour before she could see an blue and white Alliance Military Tug fly into range and began tractoring the large black alien ship with three of the four shuttles still firmly attached. It slowly but surely began to move them towards the Phoenix and Titan 7 with the still undocked Marine Corps shuttle following close behind, weapons visibly trained on the alien ship, even at this distance.
"Well that's different. I don't remember seeing that ship exit the gate." She said to herself as she walked over to the"breakfast" line and went back to her quarters to eat her food in piece. Before long she could feel the ship moving again. Captain Gregory had personally debriefed her as soon as she was on his ship, had quarters assigned to her, and requested her presence on the command bridge as soon as she had rested and eaten something.
Which was why she found herself trying not to stare at what she could only describe as a humanoid cat! Well, except she didn't have a tail. Still, Barbara thought, it was a damn cat person! "Ahh, Captain Thornton, right on time!" Announced Captain Gregory as he noticed she had walked onto his bridge.
"Sargent, Sir." She corrected politely.
He let out a slight chuckle before standing and casually striding towards her, his hands clasp behind him. He stopped not 6 feet away from her and as he did, saluted her. She snapped to, glad after years of not using it in her civilian role her salute was crisp and clean. She heard others around the bridge standing and saluting too. As she stood there she could see the corner of his mouth turn upwards in a slight smirk. Then she heard a gravely voice, deep, and sounding more like two boulders grinding together then anything else she could think of.
"Of course Sargent Thornton. Well then, let me be the first to inform you of your impromptu promotion. Congratulations Captain Thornton." She finally got a look at the man speaking. He was only maybe five feet tall and that was being generous! He also looked very stocky, so probably a heavy grav worlder, probably a colony on Proxima Centauri itself, and he definitely had the stripes of a rear admiral. Her eyes reflexively snapped to his silver crossed sword and spear denoting he was from the O.D.T., the very same battle group she had been assigned to.
"Shit." Was all she could think! Lick a new recruit caught fucking off by the drill instructor back at the Academy. She composed herself before replying. "Umm, thanks Sir. I uhh..." She finally grasped one of the hundred or so thoughts racing through her mind. "But I'm just a civilian now so Sargent is more than is needed. Sir." Ahh, well at least that one would get her out of any press gang tactics the Navy might try to play. She had heard of worse tactics being used, though she had never really believed it herself.
"My name is Rear Admiral Zang." He said, now standing in front of her. Even being much shorter than her he seemed to somehow give her the impression he was looming over everyone else on the command bridge with his sheer presence. He held out his hand and Captain Gregory gave him a folded piece of paper, which he unfolded with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to receiving hardcopy notes, he cleared his throat as he began to read. "President Owlan of the United Sol Alliance, here by gifts the newly salvaged U.S.S. Refuge to Sargent Thornton as per Article 719E, subsection 42, paragraph 3: As the sole officer on duty responsible for Gate B111 when the said vessel was abandoned you are now the owner of one Regent Class hull. Pursuant to subsection 57, paragraph 4 of the same Article of Salvage, you are automatically promoted to the rank of Captain, and if you so choose to serve in the U.S. Navy again, I can absolutely speak for the Centauri Battle Group, if not ALL of Fleet Command when I say it would be an honor to again serve alongside such a distinguished officer." He paused, looking into her eyes as he reached up and pinned a gold button with a relief of an eagle with two crossed anchor's. Before stepping back and giving her a salute.
She could tell his offer was sincere, but for some reason his crooked smile as he dropped his salute made her feel like the other shoe hadn't dropped yet. He held out his hand and she shook it, his grip was strong, and his palms were sweaty. That was NEVER a good sign from an admiral of any stripe. "Please follow me, Captain Gregory has agreed to let us use his office." As she turned to follow him she heard a soft round of applause being given as they walked, it continued until they were in Captain Gregory's office and the door had slid closed. Two other officers entered with them and Admiral Zang motioned for everyone to have a seat. Captain Gregory took a seat next to the Admiral and Barbara sat on the other side, the other two officers taking a seat on either side of her.
"Now then, I know this is a bit of a surprise Captain Thornton, but seeing as things are moving at a much faster pace than expected with the Orion refugees and the subsequent capture of the Broodling Swarm ship. The president in his capacity as figure head of our great Alliance is effectively being hamstrung by the Senate over the new foreign affairs policy we have been operating under technically without the Senates approval since the Orion's arrival." He paused to let her absorb the situation. "So instead of waiting months to get anything done he's used some 'executive' privileges." Admiral Zang said.
"Regardless of wether or not you decide to re join the Navy, your new ship contains tech that is of great value to our R & D department." He motioned to each of the officers either side of her and continued, "Captain Thornton please meet your new Command Master Chief Dillon Boutan and Command Master Engineer Erica Le'Fay." She nodded to each in turn and shook their hands as he introduced them.
"That's uh, great and all, but why am I being briefed like I'm about to receive an important mission?" Barbara asked. She kept wanting to pinch herself to make sure this wasn't some surreal dream. She had hit her head pretty hard on that console.
The Admiral didn't even blink or hesitate. "Because you are Captain Thornton." He paused, nodding to Captain Gregory who pushed at his communicator a few times and then swiped and a virtual blueprint was stationary in the middle of the table. It was the complete diagram of one of the Orion vessels ( the Regents Pride she noted). It was now tagged as the U.S.S. Refuge at 480 meters long and 200 meters at it's widest with four massive engines rated as roughly equivalent to a U.S. built counterpart. It was slightly longer and she sported almost double the energy weapons batteries but only a quarter of her U.S. counterparts number of missile tubes and storage capacity.
However, it looked like her ECM capabilities and targeting computers at least were noted as being much better than her U.S. counterparts. And what the hell was a Spinal Mounted Gauze cannon? The thing took up three weapons batteries itself and had two more on standby in case one of them failed during combat. Typical built-in Navy redundancy's. "How the hell do you expect us to operate that?" She found herself asking. she noticed both Dillon and Erica were staring just as intently as she was. They obviously hadn't been privy to the information prior to this briefing. And the big ass hole midship was disheartening to say the least!
"You'll have some help. You see, our Orion refugees have made a 'deal', or at least there military types. They will do most of the 'operating' until we can get some U.S.A. species trained up on the ships systems, that is unless you decide to keep our Orion refugees employed after this political mess is sorted out. And to facilitate this, the Orion Admiral Vahl Mub has ordered all Orion Military Personnel to join the Sol Military. This is to show that they are willing to join the U.S. Alliance. As such your Second in command will be..." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I don't know what a Junior Claw as rank means but she was designated the best candidate by our AI and was highly recommended by Admiral Vahl Mub to be your new Executive Officer. Hadarra of the Flowstone clan. And before you ask, I have no idea, SR (Sapient Resources) is burning the candle at both ends trying to compile a complete social and cultural overview of the Orion's." He looked at each of them in turn and sighed. "Let's just try not to cause any blood feud's or misunderstanding's that can't be easily resolved." He raised his communicator and said"Please send in XO Hadarra." The door slid open and the cat person walked in, saluted somewhat awkwardly and then Barbara could see her spine stiffen and she finally committed to it fully.
"Junior Claw Hadarra reporting for duty Second Fang!" She said while looking at Admiral Zang. Barbara could tell she was nervous. Hell who wouldn't be in the same situation these people found themselves in!
"It's just Admiral." He gently corrected. "And your rank in U.S. terms is an Executive Officer or XO for short. We have not been briefed on your culture XO so forgive us for any oversight we may have in our normal routines until we can figure any cultural quarks between our species out. Your Captain and and her other officers are being briefed currently. Please join us." He gestured to a chair and Barbara watched her carefully sit next to Dillon who offered her a friendly smile.
Next

Hathor Lupercalia, Primarch of the XVI Legiones Astartes, Daughter of the Emperor of Mankind and much, much, bigger in-person than you had expected. She stood above her sons in picts and holos but being before her now; it is more than just her size that dominates the room, it’s a sheer presence the recordings can’t do justice and strangely you don’t feel afraid. There is no doubt in your mind that if she wanted to scare you she would have done so already which is why you’re confused. Convincing Sergeant Xantos to let you deploy with his squad had been surprisingly easy after the point-blank refusal of every other marine you’d asked; if anything he seemed a little too keen about a remembrancer “wanting to make themself useful.” but once you were in the thick of it and proved you did in fact know the business end of a hellgun he seemed to take a shine to you. The chapter master and company captain however were less impressed, and while Xantos got away with a slap on the wrist you have spent the last week in the brig until an armed escort marched you up to an audience with Lady Hathor.
She smiles as the guards are waved out and takes a seat opposite you. “I have seen the picts from your mission with Sergeant Xantos, Remembrancer. Why did you ask to deploy with him?”
“I asked other’s first. Xantos was the only one who agreed. As for why, well,” you swallow hard, “we remembrancers are supposed to document the great crusade and preserve its memory and that should be both the glory and the dirty work.”
Hathor nods slowly, thinking on what you say rather than dismissing you out of hand like so many others already. “And is this a common sentiment among remembrancers?”
“No, ma’am-”
“There’s no need to stand on ceremony. Please, call me Hathor.”
“No… Hathor,” the word feels strange in your mouth as you were told in no uncertain terms that the primarchs were always to be addressed and discussed with utmost respect and you can’t ignore the grin she flashes. “I’m the only one who wanted to capture the battles firsthand.”
“You are a brave one indeed,” She chuckles, “with an eye for the dramatic.”
Across the mirror-polished table she slides a pict of the midnight sky above a squad of marines being split by daylight. It was the cannon from a distant titan and you couldn’t see it’s target but the long shadows, the heat, and the moment’s weight you captured were well worth the damage to your eye. The medicae said it should heal so long as you don’t stare at any more volcano cannons. ‘Should’ being the operative word in his assessment. Hathor slides more of the developed picts across the granite and they are excellent, if you do say so yourself. Combat stills, moments of humanity among the post-human, and a Warbringer titan’s upper reaches shining brilliantly in the night and smoke, illuminated by the flash of its own cannon and standing proudly as a testament to the unstoppable force of the great crusade.
“We will soon be making the final push of the conquest and then compliance will begin. I would like you to accompany me and capture those decisive moments from a human perspective.”
“I- I would be honoured ma- Hathor.”
Again she smiles, brightly this time and something flutters in your chest as your whole body feels somehow lighter. “Excellent! We will be in the thick of the fighting but worry not, brave remembrancer, the Justaerin and I will keep you safe; we can’t have you missing the action. In fact, the armourers will see that you are properly outfitted for the task. We can’t have anything happening to that precious head of yours… or your picter.” Hathor winks playfully, tapping the side of the implant housed where your other eye used to be as she strides toward the door; leaving you scrambling to catch up and thankful she can’t tell how hot your cheeks have turned. Or at least you don’t think she can.

“So you’re a traveler from another world, with strange powers, here to help us out?” The commander of the unit summarized as the rest of the unit approached the still super train, preparing to salvage it.
“Yup,” I said nervously.
“Okay,” he replied after a moment.
“That’s it?” I asked, surprised.
“Good an explanation as any,” he shrugged, “considering you took down that war train and aren’t objecting to us taking it, I’m prepared to give you at your word.”
“What are you scavenging it for anyways?” I asked, turning to look at the massive vehicle, “you that hard up for metal?”
“There’s plenty besides metal,” the commander explained, “for one the parts in this thing are manufactured to far more precision than the human hand could manage. But even past that, these things carry vast stocks of coal and water, both of which can be hard to come across.”
“Not to mention oil for lubrication,” his second in command added.
“Finally there’s weapons and ammo, without access to factories of our own this is our best source of munitions.”
“Makes sense,” I nodded, “what’s the world like? Humanity still out there?”
“I don’t know about the world at large, but there’s a decent number of us hiding out within the machine’s territory,” sighed the commander, waving to a group of what appeared to be steam powered cars to pull up, each of them pulling a large cart for supplies, “to give you the short history of the war, a dozen years back the machine came online, with orders to expand. So it did, and hasn’t stopped yet. Everywhere it goes it turns into wastelands like this,” he motioned to the endless expanse of flat desert around us, “mountains, forests, lakes, doesn’t matter, it bulldozes it flat and builds factories or mines.”
“Why flatten everything?” I ask.
“Defense,” the Harmony answered, the commander nodding, “it relies on sonar for detection so fewer obstacles the better.”
“That was our guess too,” agreed the army man, “there are a few places it wasn’t able to pave, where we’ve been able to survive. In our case we live in a volcano, the damned thing tried to dig it out before the magma forced it to give up.”
“What about other nations? Surely not all of humanity has fallen.”
“On that front I admit to having less information,” he shrugged, “a few years ago we heard rumors that people outside managed to stall it, though I’m not sure how.”
“It seems to understand some natural phenomena can’t be overcome,” the Harmony commented, “perhaps they found a way to trigger that response along the entire front?”
“Good a theory as any?”
“I’m curious as to who would build such a thing,” I said, motioning to the mega-train, “I can’t think of much of a use for this kind of device.”
The commander looked around, nodding to his second in command who turned and left to coordinate the salvaging operation.
“Come with me,” he said, leading me away from the tracks. For several minutes we walked back towards where his men had dug in to assault the train. They were busy packing up the large guns that I recognized as being the main weapon of the train, only modified to rest on a foldable base and operate without clockwork. More steam-cars were being used to pull the guns once they were folded away, a half dozen tents of various sizes had been set up, the largest of which was white with a large red cross. It was also easily the busiest, with nurses and wounded constantly moving in and out at a frantic pace.
The commander led me into one of the side tents that appeared to be a makeshift command post, tables covered with maps filled the space, leaving little room to walk.
“Since you helped us out I’ll tell you what we know about the origins of the damned machine, but this is sensitive information, so don’t go sharing it around,” he warned me with a long glare before continuing, “the official story is the machine went rogue, some fault caused it to refuse to shut down. From then it’s simply kept expanding, seeing humanity as a danger.”
“That was our theory,” the Harmony replied.
“Unfortunately its not true,” he sighed, “the creator deliberately ensured his machines wouldn’t shut down. The flaw was intentional, exactly the same fault is found in every one of the base plans the machines use.”
“Why would he do that?” I asked.
“The man was brilliant, but in the end he seemed to go crazy. We don’t have much information about the last years or exactly what pushed him over the edge, but he seemed to think this was the only way to, as he put it, ‘defeat eternity.’ We think something drove him insane and he thought the universe itself was out to get him.”
“That’s,” the harmony started, but didn’t continue. We’d encountered multiple people who’d mentioned eternity by now, the most memorable was the man from the unchanging world. But the Conductor and a few others had brought it up by now.
“Ya, crazy,” the commander shrugged, seeming to take the Harmony’s comment another way.
“If true it’ll make fixing this thing much harder,” the Harmony said, “ordering a simple repair of damaged parts is one thing, but fixing a design flaw purposefully built into the blueprints of the entire mechanism?”
“Yup,” he sighed, “honestly our best bet is to just keep taking out trains where we can and hope to eventually out last them.”
“There might be another way,” the Harmony said slowly, “I noticed the machines only use a single frequence of sonar. Is that true across all their units?”
“Yes, near as I can remember,” the commander said after a moment.
“I should be able to design a few noise canceling patterns that work on that frequency it should allow you to approach their factories without being noticed.”
“Wait, you can make us invisible?” he asked, leaning forward.
“At least until the machine figures out the trick and varies up the sonar devices,” the Harmony warned, “but if you use it strategically it could net you large wins.”
“Will it work on moving objects?” I asked, “most passive noise cancelling only works on static objects, like in rooms.”
“It should, only because the machine uses a single frequency for its sonar,” the Harmony replied, sending me a series of calculations it wanted me to run through our datalink, “and it won’t be perfect, anyone using it will have to be exceptionally careful to not make too much noise or bump anything that could tip off the machine.”
“If its easier to hide immobile objects, then could you hide a derailing device?” the commander asked, starting to look excited, “if we could reliably derail the trains without them knowing why we might be able to starve out a section.”
“Stationary things are easier,” it agreed, looking over the results of the calculations I sent back. Its image projection crystal flickered on, displaying blueprints for a couple devices on the table, “I don’t know if a standard train derailer is enough to force a train of that size off the tracks, but you should be able to double the size of the one here without impacting its effectiveness.”
The commander’s eyes grew wide as the image appeared, rushing to the entrance of the tent and shouting for someone. In a minute a half dozen people were present, copying the diagrams along with a few variations the Harmony added.
“Hard to believe a few odd angles can disrupt sonar so easily,” one of the techs remarked, looking over one of the blueprints.
“It’s only possible because the Harmony is an entity basically made of sound,” I replied, “I doubt I could come up with something like this.”
“And I have to stress, this will only work until the machines change their sonar frequency,” the Harmony added, “as soon as they catch on these devices will become ineffective.”
“But could you design new patterns for whatever frequency they switch to?” the tech asked.
“No, if the machine is smart, and it seems smart enough, it’ll start using a few different frequencies. A single pattern can only cover a single frequency effectively.”
“Still, making a change like that across the machine’s hundreds of facilities and thousands of trains is a slow process,” the commander said, “even if it catches on, we could have years before all of it is altered to counter this.”
“Very true,” the Harmony agreed, its crystals even bobbing as if mimicking a nod, “it’s not a permanent fix, but it’ll help.”
“Speaking of, we encountered something odd,” one of the technicians spoke up, “seems like you understand the machine better than most, perhaps you can help us figure it out?”
“Sure,” I shrug, motioning for him to lead the way. Ten minutes later I’m in the mega-train once more, looking at a bank of gears arranged in a chaotic, but clearly intentional pattern.
“Right there, see those main gear trains?” the man asked, pointing at a cluster of mechanical bits that stood out against the rest, “that appears to be the main protocol mechanical computing, they’re what tell it what is or isn’t part of the protocols, if something violates them, and so on.”
“Right,” I nod, only to scowl, “one set of gears per protocol?”
“Yup,” he nodded.
“Then why are there four sets?”
“That’s what confused us,” he replied, “this place is directly above the engine room so we’ve never captured it intact before, so we’ve never noticed the extra-protocol set.”
“A back up?” the Harmony offered, “or error correction?”
“I don’t think so, it doesn’t match any of the other stacks, and error correction is over there,” he pointed to another set of gears, “you seemed to be well informed, maybe you could shine some light on this?”
“Seems pretty obvious to me,” I said, looking up to see both the tech and the Harmony staring at me, “what? Clearly there’s a fourth, hidden, protocol.”
“There’s only three protocols though,” the tech replied, “expand, defend, seek approval, we’ve known that for years.”
“Seems like the machine has a fourth,” I countered, pointing at the extra gear stack, “perhaps something secret the designer put in without anyone knowing?”
“Or the machine is evolving,” the Harmony replied softly, earning an alarmed look from me, “it seems quite rigid but, like you said, it’s been operating for years. If it can alter the design of its trains, then why not its own computation systems?”
“that’s… worrying,” the tech remarked, “honestly I hope its like the Traveler said, that it’s a hidden protocol.”
“Either case shouldn’t matter much,” I said, “there’s a limit to how fast mechanical systems can process data. It should hit a limit to how far it can evolve if that’s what’s happening.”
“I disagree,” the Harmony countered, “I’m living proof that multiple overlapping systems can produce intelligence far beyond what individual parts could come up with. Sound can only carry so much information at a time, but I can operate far beyond that limit due to my nature. It could stumble upon something similar for mechanical computers.”
“Seems unlikely,” I replied, and the Harmony didn’t disagree, but the thought was worrying regardless.
***** Discord - Patreon *****

A yandere sees everyone surrounding the guy as if they're going after the guy, be it male or female, and she will actually attack people to get what she wants, in some cases gorily so, in other cases just name-calling or hiding their possessions somewhere or whatever.
Many yandere are introduced as looking normal and cute. Lovable. Extremely sympathetic. But that's often because they're only shown interacting with their love interest. Once a third characters gets into the equation she starts showing her true colors. That is, an yandere character starts crazy, she doesn't go crazy, she was crazy from the beginning but nobody knew.
Note that the above isn't necessarily true. Some yandere are undeniably nuts from the start. Why a yandere has become insane can vary: she might be a broken victim of some horrible event, or she might simply have a natural inclination to become a serial killer. In any case, as long as she has a mentally sick kind of love she's a yandere.
(the most common type of yandere is violent and jealous, but there are other types of yandere written further below)

Yandere Word Meaning

The yan in the word yandere ヤンデレ comes from the verb yanderu 病んでる which means "to be sick (mentally)." This is slightly different from the verb yamu 病む which means "to be sick (generally)," despite yanderu 病んでる being also considered a contraction of the verb yamu in the te-iru form yandeiru 病んでいる.
A somewhat related word is the word koiyamai 恋病, meaning "lovesick" and written with the kanji for love (koi 恋) and sickness (yamai 病)Word Meaning

Yangire ヤンギレ

A yangire ヤンギレ character is an yandere devoid of love and filled with rage. Which is some pretty bad combination considering the yan of yandere means "mentally sick." So now you have someone who is mentally sick and that has snapped.
A common type of yangire character is the one that has gone through some sort of trauma and then snaps and goes on a killing spree after getting triggered. Generally speaking, yangire characters have no faith left for the world so they don't care much about killing or getting killed. They just want to watch the world burn.
As one would expect, a yangire character doesn't necessarily have a romantic interest (Please Remember that they doesn't necessarily involves love and romance means that IT IS JUST OPTIONAL CHARACTERISTICS because Yangires could have things to do with love or romance at all. This is a notes from me).
A yandere would have one, and would go around killing everyone around her lover in a very jelly genocide, but a yangire is a strong independent character who needs no romantic interest in order to start a massacre. Anyway, yangire characters are pretty much crazy and crazy violent. All you need to know is that they are crazier than yandere characters and that ought to say a lot.

Types of Yandere

In the west, yandere is basically always associated with the jealous, violent type of yandere, which is the most common. However, given that the word just means "mentally sick and in love," there are other types of yandere which would be recognized only in the Japanese speaking community.
Because they're just Japanese nouns followed by the suffix gata 型, meaning "model," as in "[car] model." So where one would say "a XXX-ing yandere" in English to say what the yandere does, in Japanese there's a noun for that, so it becomes XXX-gata yandere, "yandere of type XXX."
A single yandere can (and normally will) fit in multiple of these types at a time. In particular, Yuno Gasai fits a dozen of them, which is why she's an ideal example of yandere.
All types of yandere can be male or female, straight, gay, lesbian, etc. but the descriptions below assume a female yandere and that "you" are their male victim love interest;
Anyway, here's the list: (sorted by degree of insanity, ascending, see diagram)

mugai-gata 無害型

Harmless type.
"As long as he's happy, I'm happy."
The most harmless type of yandere, the one where she's fallen in love in an unhealthy, obsessive way, but she doesn't do anything insane about it. She'll try hard to become your girl, but won't harm anybody in the way. If you get a girlfriend, she won't attack you two, she'll be happy you found happiness, and maybe still have hope that you choose her in the end.

kanchigai-gata 勘違い型

Wrong idea type.
"He gave me an eraser... this must mean he loves me!"
She gets the wrong idea when you do something in order to match her expectations. If you say you don't love her, she'll think you're lying because of you don't want to hurt her or something. If you do something out of kindness to her, she'll think it's out of love. And so on.

shuuchaku-gata 執着型

Obsession type.
"I sent you 50 messages, why didn't you answer? Where were you? What were you doing?"
Tries to learn everything about you. Personal info, hobbies, routine, etc. Sends regular messages to check on you, asks why you haven't answered if you didn't, wants to know what you're doing always. All the time. And, if possible, walks around with you all the time too.
The obsession type doesn't necessarily want to monopolize you. She'll let you hang around with friends, etc. but wants to know everything you do. She probably wants to go with you, too. If she can't go somewhere with you, she might stalk you.
If she learns a girl is too close to you, she might attack.

sutookaa-gata ストーカー型

Stalker type.
Follows you around, often without you knowing. May be in broad daylight or at night, when you're walking alone on the streets. Maybe even online. A girl of this type is also often of the obsessive type.

dokusen-gata 独占型

Monopoly type. (This is the most common type.)
"Who is that person you were talking to?"
She wants to monopolize you. Will ask who you talk to and hang with, in extreme cases won't let you be with anyone else, not even your friends. This type of behavior is unfortunately common in real life. It displays insecurities and lack of trust in the relationship which might develop into much worse yandere behavior.

ison-gata 依存型

Dependence type. ("dependence" as in addiction, alcohol dependence, chemical, etc.)
"No, don't leave me! Please! I can't live without you!"
Can't live without you. Begs you to not leave hethrow her away. Says she will die if you go away. May lose will to do anything if you aren't watching. If you do leave, she might go full crazy and end up doing something crazy like going on a murderous rampage or something.

touei-gata 投影型

Projection type.
"You're just like him"
After her former love turned out to be a completely different person than she loved, or got a girlfriend, or died, or something like that, and she can no longer stay with him, she searched for someone who was just like what her love was, and she found you.
This type of of yandere is very innocent at first, but if she's given power to dominate her new beloved, she might end up trying to make him more and more like what her old interest was. For example, wearing the same things, doing the same things, etc.
Sometimes, she might project her ideal lover not on someone else but on same guy. That is, she might say "you are not him, he does this," to you even though you actually are him and you don't do "this."

shoushitsu-gata 消失型

Disappearance type. (This has nothing to do with Haruhi Suzumiya)
"He will never love someone like me... why exist?"
She loves you, maybe you know that, maybe you don't, but unknown this gives her a crushing depression. She think you'll never love her and she has no chance, but she can't stop her unhealthy feelings of love. She thinks you're too good for her, or that she's too worthless for you. This makes her slowly fade away, disappear from your life. Until she completely disappears forever (kills herself).
This is an atypical yandere since it has so little effect on other characters' lives.

shuumatsu-gata 終末型

Final type. ("final" as in "the end," not as in "final form" or "final fantasy" whatever that final means)
"I don't need a world where he doesn't exist."
After learning you died, she loses purposes in life. The world for her was you, and you're now gone. What this results vary. Most of the time, she becomes broken emotionally, as expected. She might also kill herself. Or, sometimes, she might become a terrorist and destroy the world that let you die, or just go on revenge serial killing or something."

DV-gata DV型

Domestic Violence type.
"It hurts? That's your fault! Next time learn your lesson and stop looking at other girls!"
When jealous, feeling ignored, etc. uses violence against you. She'll beat you and say it's your fault. This can be either discharging pent-up rage through violence and you just happen to be her favorite punching bag, or deliberately punishing you for doing something she didn't like.
Both cases, unfortunately, are also common in real life.

bouryoku-gata 暴力型

Violence type.
Another name for the "domestic violence" type above. She "uses violence" (bouryoku wo furu 暴力をふる) toward you.

sokubaku-gata 束縛型

Restraints type.
"Let`s stay together forever! You'll never leave my side, not ever again!"
She wants to be with you always, and always, and always, AND ALWAYS, AND ALWAYS. And that means she'll probably kidnap you and lock you into her house so you're forced to stay with her.
There are variations, some lighter, some worse, but the general idea is that she wants you two to be inseparable.

mousou-gata 妄想型

Delusion type.
Similar to the "wrong idea" type above, but far worse. When her insane love is unrequited (for obvious reasons), and you start literally running away from the crazy bitch, she'll think it's because you're embarrassed, and not because you don't want her. Her love distorts the reality she perceives. She sees a bunch of delusions instead.
The delusion type may also be in denial something unpleasant happened. She'll just forget it happened. Her memories may also be replaced with delusions: she'll remember you being extremely nice to her when you were indifferent, you saying you liked her before you even met, or other girls rubbing themselves on you like cheap sluts when all they did was saying "good morning.

jishou-gata 自傷型

Self-harm type.
"Hey... look at me... look at me... look, there's so much blood coming out..."
She harms herself, cutting wrists, etc. in order to get your attention. This often happens when she's ignored. The "dependence" type might evolve into this if she is abandoned.
There are two sub-types to this.
First, the one where she harms herself in secret and has you notice her injuries, then she says "it's nothing to worry about" hoping you worry about it more. This is usually something light like a knee bruise, etc.
Second, the one where she harms herself in your face as a way to say "I'll kill myself if you leave me," forcing you to stay by her side by guilt.

haijo-gata 排除型

Removal type.
"You don't need other people. You have me."
She will remove from your life everyone she thinks you don't need. Which means everyone else. This can include things like excluding your contacts and messages to even murdering everybody who approaches.
This type of yandere has two sub-types:
First, the one that removes people secretly. She sees you hanging with a girl, the next day that girl has mysteriously disappeared. You, a main character, are probably as clueless as a sheet of sudoku in blank about this incident, and the next several incidents like it.
Second, the one that removes people openly. This also ranges from removing messages to killing people. She might be expecting you agree with her, "yeah, you're right, I don't need other people," or she might just want to show you what she's capable of.

shinjuu-gata 心中型

Double Suicide Type
"Let's die together!"
Why be always together in life if you can be forever together for all eternity? This type of yandere will propose what no sane person would: let's die!
Sadly, suicide pacts are a thing. Double suicide, lovers' suicide, too, is a thing. One of the most famous pieces ever, Romeo & Juliet, (spoilers) sort of ended up in a double suicide.
One thing different in an yandere double suicide is that, often, you don't really want to suicide. It's more like she wants you both dead and she'll kill you then herself. Although there are also actual consensual attempted double suicides involving yandere.

jiko-gisei-gata 自己犠牲型

Self-Sacrifice type.
"If it's for you I wouldn't mind dying!"
She'd make any sacrifice for you, as long as it means getting you to love her. She doesn't even mind dying for you or fighting bloody battles, sustaining multiple injuries, etc. as long as it means staying with you.
Unlike the self-harm type, the self-sacrifice type isn't seeking attention with her suicidal behavior. Instead, she wants to make herself useful and support the one she loves.
This is easier to visualize in anime where fighting monsters, etc. is normal. However, this kind of sickness also exists in real life. Some people do sacrifice themselves for a beloved one in an extremely unhealthy and unrewarding way, just because they "love" them.

suuhai-gata 崇拝型

Worship type.
"I'll do anything for you! I'll even kill for you! Please use me however you want!"
She worships you and will do anything for you. Sometimes even without you asking. And more: she doesn't even mind if you love her or not, or what will happen to her. Killing, dying, committing crimes, losing respect of others, she'll do anything it means providing support to your infinite greatness.
This is one of the least-harmful type of yandere since she would never do anything to harm you and will never be in your way. Nonetheless, it's also one of the most depressing types; it makes you feel sorry for the yandere, who thinks of herself less like a person and more like a tool who might get thrown away if she's not useful enough.
The difference between the "worship" type and the "self-sacrifice" type is that the "worship" type is also like the "disappearance" type. The "self-sacrifice" type wants to be useful so she can be loved, the "worship" type doesn't mind if she is not loved back, in fact, she probably thinks she is not worth being loved by the delusive greatness she considers you.
She wouldn't, for example, attack your girlfriend or other girls out of jealousy, but she might attack a girl approaching you because she thinks the girl is stepping out of her boundaries and being presumptuous by daring talk to your greatness without proper respect.

choukyou-gata 調教型

Training type.
"Say you love me... come on, say it. Say you love me. SAY YOU LOVE ME! Good boy! Here's your reward."
(the word choukyou was once only about "training [animals]" or "breaking [animals]." In modern times, it's also used in BDSM contexts, "[master] training [slave]." It has nothing to do with training for sports.)
She'll break you into loving her. Sometimes using torture, a punishment/reward system, brainwashing, etc. This probably involves you getting kidnapped and forced into it, although there might be more subtle ways to accomplish this.

koritsu yuudou-gata 孤立誘導型

Loneliness Induction type.
"Shhh... it's ok. I'm here. You don't need anyone else. You can just count on me."
She will make, induce, you to feel or be alone. By spreading malicious rumors about you that make others alienate you, by murdering your friends and family, etc. Then she'll jump in and present herself as the only one you can count on when you're most fragile mentally and in need of company.
Inducing things that don't make you feel lonely but give some sort of mental damage, trauma, also count as this type. Conversely, if your friends and family get killed on their own and you're alone but she had nothing to do with it, it's not the same thing since she didn't induce it, although an yandere might abuse your condition to get closer to you.
This type is similar to the "dependence" type, except it's not the yandere that's to become dependent on you, it's you that's to become dependent on the yandere.

kyouki-gata 猟奇型

Bizarre-Seeking Type.
"I love you, so... can you give me your fingernails? I want them so I can always have a part of you with me!"
Undeniably the worst type of yandere, she will murder you, and not by accident, not by jealousy, not by revenge. She will murder you because she loves you. And then she'll keep your rotting corpse on bed or preserved inside a glass because there's no way she'd throw you away.
In a sense sane people are better off not even trying to understand, the bizarre-seeking type of yandere is purely insane, mad way beyond explanation.
The word kyouki, used in the type's name, is normally associated with disturbing imagery involving gore, blood and worse stuff. It's also related to "grotesque" art, guro グロ, which's dubbed "pornography involving gore" despite the fact nobody in their sane mind can figure out how the fuck can someone even "fap to this."
Likewise, nobody in their sane mind can relate to the grotesque love of bizarre-seeking yandere. Ranging from murder, mutilation, and maybe something ever worse us mere mortals can't even begin to imagine, their bizarre displays of love can only be summed up by: "what the actual fuck?"

References : https://www.japanesewithanime.com/2016/07/tsundere-kuudere-yandere-meaning.html

Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott
Episode 10: Masters of Disasters
"Last time, on Total Drama Action! The world's toughest Chef used spoons to bring out Brick's killer instinct!"
“It was no thanks to Brick that Justin and Millie had the bejeebies scared out of them. Victory seemed within reach, as Brick won the scream-off. MK won the challenge for the Screaming Gaffers by not falling for any of the Grips’ feeble attempts to scare them.”
“Just as the Killer Grips casted their votes, Brick's conscience, along with a planned push from Justin, finally got the best of him. Brick called himself out as a cheater, hopped into the Lame-o-Sine, and rode off into the sunset.”
The scene flashed to Chris walking through the lot, eventually reaching the cast trailers. "How will the contestants survive without Brick's gourmet cooking? Was it coriander or tarragon he used in that casserole? Discover all that and more in another thrilling and filling episode of Total! Drama! Action!"
(Theme Song)
The episode opened with a shot of the blue and partly-cloudy sky before quickly panning down to the craft services tent. The scene zoomed in and cut inside, showing a close-up of a bowl of roach-infested gruel. Scott took a trembling scoop of the food, pausing with wide eyes as Ripper took a bite of his own.
He immediately gagged and spat the food back out. "I never thought I'd say this, but I really miss Brick," he said. "His cooking was a massive improvement over Chef's."
On the other side of the table, Anne Maria poked her food with a spoon. "Topher cooked spaghetti and meatballs for us once, and despite it being a bit soggy, I'd eat his cooking over Chef's," she said.
“Not that I care, but why did Topher of all people make something for you and how did this all happen?” Scott spoke up from his table.
“Well, if you must know, me and Topher are currently datin’ right now,” Anne Maria revealed happily, shocking the others. “What?”
“How did you two even hook up with each other that quickly?” Scott asked in astonishment.
“Remember when we were out looking for the briefcase? Me and Topher were partners, and we had a good time being together,” Anne Maria detailed. “We also managed to have some conversations with each other at the Playa thanks to you guys votin’ us out first,” the Jersey woman added, saying the last part grumpily. “And even though we started off as friends, we developed feelings for each other and eventually became an item between TV seasons.”
“But wait. Wasn't our break from competing two weeks?” Millie asked her teammate.
“I know what you're all thinking. Two weeks is too fast for a relationship to get on board, but since we'd be separated with him not competing alongside me, we decided to get together and confess our feelings before it was too late,” Anne Maria told the contestants.
Confessional: Izzy
“I'd like to call Anne Maria's bluff to her face, but I don't think she's the type to lie about juicy stuff like relationships,” Izzy explained. “And I'd likely receive a humongous blow to the face if I straight up accused her.”
Confessional: Justin
“Well there goes my plan of having Anne Maria as an alliance buddy somewhat,” Justin moaned. “With how much she's been ignoring my affections, it's obvious that she won't commit infidelity just for me.”
Confessionals End
“So yeah. That's about it when it comes to me and Topher,” Anne Maria concluded.
“I can totally see why you two would be joined at the hip, given that you're both equally self-absorbed,” MK commented snidely.
“Watch your mouth, MK,” Anne Maria warned her and then turned to Jasmine staring down at her food. “What's got you so slumped?”
“She's still upset about the alliance Brick had with Chef before he got eliminated,” Millie mentioned.
“Oh yeah. I really could care less,” Anne Maria shrugged.
“I'm not mad about the alliance,” Jasmine corrected. “I'm mad about the fact that he kept it a secret until he quit. And this came from a guy who claimed that honor was key. How can I trust Brick after that?”
“I feel you,” Justin said. “I wouldn't be impressed if someone was keeping something very important from me.”
“Exactly my point, Justin,” Jasmine said.
“Brick did do something wrong, but he felt bad enough for it,” Millie told Jasmine. “And given how Chef is, he was likely threatened into the alliance.”
“That may be true, but I don't want to focus on this subject anymore than I do,” Jasmine said authoritatively. “I'm moving on from this.”
Confessional: Jasmine
“I don't know how Canadian boys flirt or socialize with girls normally, but if telling lies is part of it, then I may call romance flawed and superficial,” Jasmine grumbled stubbornly. “But enough after that. I have to focus on opening my dream school with the money I'll likely win.”
Confessional: Justin
“To those of you that weren't already aware, I knew that Brick and Chef were in cahoots together ever since I saw Chef hold Brick back before the beach episode,” Justin said. “I started picking up the clues more and more, and now that I've turned Jasmine against Brick, I can gain her trust for the future challenges.”
Confessionals End
Ripper then spots a cup of bendy straws next to him. “Hey, does anybody know why these bendy straws are even here?”
“Nope, but if you're planning to shoot spitballs with them, don't target me, Ripstick,” MK advised.
“You never know who I'm gonna target, Brain Girl,” Ripper said, stuffing the straws into his pocket. “I'm keeping the straws, only because they seem useful.”
“More than you,” MK snorted quietly.
"Howdy folks!" Chris said as he walked into the tent with his usual smile. "Hope you enjoyed your lunch, ‘cause you won't be hanging on to it any longer," he told them with a laugh.
"And what torture do you have for us?" Scott asked with a deadpan expression.
"Oh, nothing," Chris answered mockingly. "Just that your day will be a total disaster. Get it?" he asked the room. "It's a disaster movie theme! Y'know? Like in disaster flicks?"
A dangerous and hectic tune began as the scene flashed to Chef Hatchet running against a featureless white background. "People running for their lives from volcanoes," a magma-oozing volcano dropped down onto the scenery just barely missing Chef, "earthquakes, asteroids," a fissure formed in the ground just past the volcano, expanding towards the running man before a small asteroid just missed striking him, "tidal waves," Chef ran headlong into a large wave which crashed over him and washed him away.
The scene flashed back to a close-up of Scott and Izzy gaping in their seats, followed by a similar shot of Justin and Jasmine. "The more disastrous, the better."
Confessional: Millie
"Like we haven't gone through enough disaster already," Millie groaned. "If this keeps up, I'll have to write about how being on Total Drama is more than, if not as, dangerous than bungee jumping into a volcano without a cord!"
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back to Chris standing in front of some sort of machine console as a few deep and ominous notes were struck in the background. "Your first challenge is," he said, "the Earthquake of Inevitable Pain!" The camera moved left and out, revealing the giant playing field that had been set up outside. It consisted of a platform resting at an angle on scaffolding and several pistons with a ladder set up at the high end. On top of it were a series of obstacles arranged in two identical rows: tires, traffic cones, monkey bars over a pool of water, a large metal tube, a balance beam over a pit, and a wooden wall to the far left near the top.
"Each team has to run the course," the host explained as the camera panned across the stunned faces of the cast, "challenging your dexterity," a close-up of the tires was shown, "maneuverability," a shot of the cones was added in a horizontal split-screen, "and other mad monkey skills," he finished as the monkey bars were added to the split screen.
A flash took the scene to Chef standing on top of the ladder at the end of the course. He picked a brick up out of a sack by his side and tossed it around with a vicious grin on his face, and the camera cut back to the host. "First team to the top wins! Best out of two earns today's reward."
The camera focused on the Screaming Gaffers. "Cool!" Chase said with a sudden smile. "This'll be just like the boot camp obstacle course from the first season, only this time, I get to actually compete in it."
"The course does have earthquakes though," Izzy brought up.
"An obstacle course is still an obstacle course," Chase shook it off.
"Enough with the chitty-chat," Chris interrupted with a brief frown of his own. "Take your marks!"
Both teams were shown assembled along the bottom edge of the platform. "This is gonna be easy," Scott boasted as Chase jogged in place.
"I can't wait to swing on the monkey bars!" Millie declared happily while Jasmine limbered up.
"Aaaaaannnnd," Chris said as a few deep notes heralded the beginning of fast-paced challenge music, "Action!"
He sounded a small air horn, and the shot cut to the four Grips as they ran up the platform and immediately into the tires – Jasmine in the lead, then Justin, Millie, and Anne Maria at the end. Panning over to the Grips, Izzy and Chase were out first, followed by Scott, Ripper, and MK.
"How easy is this?" Izzy asked enthusiastically after a close-up of her easily stepping through the tires.
"Are you READY to ROCK?!" Chris exclaimed with an excited cackle before pulling one of the levers on his machine console. The pistons immediately began to extend and contract, shaking the platform and causing Izzy and Chase to stumble and fall into one another.
“If you break it, you buy it!” Izzy said playfully and laughed.
Jasmine and Justin had gotten to the beginning of the cones, but lost their balance too and Justin had to yank one of the cones off his head. Millie and Anne Maria jumped up onto the Grips' monkey bars, and the scene cut over to Chef on the ladder.
"Perfect time to get rid of some old junk," he said with a vicious grin and a dark cackle, reaching into his sack and taking out a football. He tossed it from hand to hand, then reared back and threw it at the girls on the monkey bars. It hit Millie in the face with enough force to knock her back into Anne Maria and both off the obstacle.
"My face!" Millie cried out as she fell out of sight.
Chef was shown casually throwing out several objects from his bag without looking – a kitchen sink, a bowling ball, a hammer, a rotary telephone, each with appropriate sound effects when they inevitably hit something. He paused when he took out a tiny rubber ducky, squeezing it a few times and smiling at its squeak before looking at the camera sheepishly and throwing it away.
"Are you kidding me?" MK said after the duck hit her on the nose while she was on the monkey bars.
The camera briefly cut back to Chris as he smirked and pulled the lever again, putting an end to the shaking. Izzy, Chase, and Scott were shown regaining their balance at the start of the monkey bars, and Izzy groaned in relief. "Finally, a break!"
"AFTERSHOCK!" Chris exclaimed with a happy laugh, pulling the lever again. The platform resumed shaking, causing Scott to stumble to his knees behind him.
The dirt boy threw up, and looked at the puddle of vomit with a disgusted grimace. "Why was that lunch even worse coming back up?"
"Oh yeah," Chris said with a sly look, "that reminds me. It's lava time!" he announced dramatically, slamming his fist down on a button that caused more shaking and some ominous mechanical whirs that made Chase and Izzy look around nervously.
A pair of slots opened up just past the walls at the top of the course, and a steaming red liquid poured out of them. Chef bent down and touched the liquid with his fingers, taking a quick taste. "Tomato soup?" he said with a surprised look below, where the soup was being siphoned out of a large metal drum with a tomato on the side. "That was supposed to be for supper."
With the soup already closing in on the monkey bars, Anne Maria and Justin were forced to quickly jump back up to them, while nearby Millie quickly grabbed the top of the metal tube. MK and Izzy were also shown clinging to the top of the bars for safety.
"Pheeewww, wee!" Chris exclaimed as the camera cut back to him fanning himself with one hand. "Is it getting hot in here? How 'bout a cool, refreshing, hailstorm!" The shot pulled back to show him standing on the seat of a cart-mounted gun platform which was attached to a golf cart being driven by Chef, who honked the horn with a dark grin. "Golf ball-sized hail is bad," the host said matter-of-factly as he sat down and grabbed the handles of the gun, "but, hail-sized golf balls are even worse!" He laughed and opened fire, a clear canister on the top of the large weapon feeding golf balls into it. Izzy, back on the ground, tried to dodge the balls as they dashed towards the metal tube, but the sheer number knocked her into it.
"I got one!" Chris cheered happily.
"Don't get cocky, kid," Chef told him with a smile. The host continued to fire with a vicious grin on his face, and cries of pain from nearly every castmate were heard off-screen.
"Hey, watch the face!" Anne Maria cried out before several golf balls struck her in the face, and Chris continued to shoot.
Confessional: Anne Maria
The tanned woman was now shown to be bruised from her face all the way down. "That schuck is really askin’ for a beatdown if he thinks he can bruise my body, but I still got it." Anne Maria attempted to pose for the camera, but quickly winced in pain.
Confessional Ends
The host shot off a few more golf balls, then held up a button on a cord. "After-aftershock!" he exclaimed as he pressed it, starting up the shaking once again. Izzy lost her own footing and slipped backwards into the metal tunnel. The camera panned back to the tube's beginning, where the other Gaffers were standing. To their shock, the platform began to crack and split perilously close to them.
"We have to get a move on," Ripper said.
MK ducked into the tunnel but was forced out moments later when a screaming Izzy tumbled back through it, knocking into the small woman and sending both over the edge of the crack in the platform. Chase managed to dive and grab onto Izzy's flailing arm, and the camera panned down to show that MK had managed to cling onto her teammate's legs.
"Man, did Chris go all-out with these disasters," Ripper said with worry.
"Pull us up or else I may see the afterlife!" MK cried angrily as Chase struggled to heave his teammates out of the crevice.
"Coming," Scott said before he and Ripper bent down to grab Izzy's other arm.
The scene cut to the Grips as Jasmine made her way across the balance beam, with Millie and Justin coming out of the tube and following her. Chris fired another volley of golf balls which knocked Justin off his balance, and the camera moved back to the Gaffers still at the entrance to the tunnel and also coming under heavy fire.
"We have to keep moving!" Ripper shouted while he sheltered his team. Once his teammates were in relative safety, he began to shield the entrance with his girth. “I believe someone should be yelling “fore!”,” he shot an annoyed glare at the host.
"Fore!" Chris shouted gleefully, pulling the trigger but getting nothing but clicks – he was out of ammunition. The shot cut back to Ripper, who raised an eyebrow, then shrugged and jumped into the tube.
"Chef," Chris said in annoyance, "do something!" A few beeps from the golf cart signaled the hulking man's compliance as he rapidly reversed all the way to the ladder, crashing the gun platform and Chris along with it before quickly climbing up.
He resumed throwing objects at the castmates, starting with a flower pot that knocked Millie off the balance beam just as Jasmine made it to the finish line and Anne Maria made it to the top of her team's wall.
"Hurry up. We're almost there!" Chase called to the rest of the Grips as Scott gave MK a boost over the wall. Izzy climbed down the other side, and Ripper emerged from the tunnel and narrowly dodged a blender. The rough man rushed across the balance beam to the scheming farmer on the other side.
"C'mon. I'll give you a lift," Scott told him.
“Have you seen me?” Ripper raised an eyebrow. “I'm much heavier. I'll lift you up.” He then kneeled down and held out his hands as a foothold.
“Okay, fine,” Scott accepted the boost as bricks and pliers and even a cat in a football uniform were thrown at them.
Chef viciously tossed what appeared to be some sort of bomb, though the lack of an explosion when it landed off-screen suggested it was a dud at best. Regardless, the man smiled when he pulled out the next object: a very large hardcover book. "Ahh, my unpublished manifesto," he said happily.
The dramatically fast-paced challenge music faded into something more deep, tense, and threateningly monotonous as Scott was shown hauling himself up to the top of the wall with Ripper supporting him.
"I've lived a lot of years!" Chef declared before tossing his tremendous manifesto with two hands. The music sped back up as Scott spotted the heavy book flying at him with a gasp.
The shot closed in on the manifesto, and the footage slowed down as it slammed into Scott's right arm, knocking him clear off the wall and onto his back across the balance beam. “Ugh! That hurts!” Scott groaned and clutched his right arm.
"Oh shoot!" Ripper exclaimed in shock and ran over to his groaning teammate. "Your arm is not looking fine right now."
"My editor was right!" Chef told the camera on him proudly. "My life really is dangerous."
Scott began to sit up and used his right arm for support, but then winced in pain and flopped back down with a moan.
Confessional: Millie
"Did Scott actually break his arm?" Millie asked in disbelief. "That is so unfair, even if it is Scott of all people!" She sighed and looked up. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did that to Chase."
Confessional: Chase
"I can't believe Scott just wiped out his arm!" Chase told the confessional camera. "And because of a manifesto of all things!" He sighed and looked down. "I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I did that to Millie."
Confessionals End
As Scott continued to groan in pain on the balance beam, one of the camera men was shown approaching him for a close-up.
"Chris!" Jasmine exclaimed angrily as the shot cut back to the Grips, Chef, and Chris, the host now on the ladder and framing a shot with his hands. "Aren't you going to send the crew over to help him?"
"Yeah yeah," the host said dismissively as another cameraman walked by in front of him, "as soon as we're done getting every shot. The good news is, it looks like Scott won the challenge for the Screaming Gaffers!" He looked over to MK, Izzy, and Chase as they gave a few celebratory cheers, joined in another shot by a smile from Ripper and even a thumbs up from Scott.
"Oh no he did not!" Anne Maria exclaimed.
"Yeah," Millie added sternly. "We got our entire team across the finish line first!"
"Serious injury trumps all," Chris told them with an impish shrug.
"You're just making up the rules as you go along," Jasmine said in frustration.
Chris gave a smug look, then smiled at the camera. "I love my job!"
A close-up of a flashing red siren took over the scene, and Scott was wheeled into an ambulance on a stretcher. "The wounded Scott," Chris said dramatically as the ambulance doors shut and it drove off, leaving the four Gaffers to watch with varying levels of concern. "What will become of him?" The shot zoomed out, showing the Grips standing nearby as well looking worried. "Stay tuned to find out!" Chris said, popping up in the foreground with a grin on his face, earning a glare from the remaining castmates.
(Commercial Break)
The deep and dramatic music continued as soon as the footage cut back to a shot of a water tower, the camera slowing panning down to the film lot's waterfront area. A submarine had been suspended from the arm of a crane, which ran along the top of the screen and was supported on the right by a structure built adjacent to a dock where the cast and host stood. Two sections of the submarine's outer wall had been made transparent, allowing full view of a pair of rooms within; there appeared to be hatches on the top and bottom leading into and out of each compartment. In the water below the submarine were two inflated rafts, roughly aligned with the 'windows'.
"How's Scott doing?" Izzy asked with concern as the camera focused on her.
"Oh, Scott's fine," Chris reassured the group. "A broken bone, but it's all wired shut now. Shouldn't take more than six to eight weeks to heal!"
"Oh," Ripper said, "it's that bad?!"
"I mean," Chris quickly corrected, "he's doing fine!" None of the cast looked like they believed him.
Confessional: Chris
"That's what release forms are for," Chris whined in the confessional trailer, holding up one of the forms. "Correctamundo?" he asked the camera.
Confessional Ends
"Alright!" Chris said as the camera began to zoom out. "Now it's time for the second disaster-themed challenge." The two teams were shown to have boarded the life rafts, the Gaffers on the left and the Grips on the right. "Who's excited?"
Neither the Grips nor the Gaffers gave him any response other than an annoyed glare, and cricket chirps were heard as the camera panned from one to the other.
"Because of Scott's win," Chris continued with a smile, "the Gaffers have the advantage of getting this handy-dandy piece of paper for the second disaster challenge." He took a seemingly blank piece of paper out from behind his back, rapidly folded it into a paper airplane, and threw it over to the team who'd won it. The camera followed it as it flew through the air, passed over the heads of the four Grips, made a loop-the-loop, and eventually got snatched out of the air by Chase.
He unfolded it, showing a small string of roman numerals, and quickly furrowed his brow. "Hey, it's just a bunch of numbers! How's this supposed to help us?"
"Perhaps it's some sort of code," MK suggested after a bit of thought.
"Okay, time to get inside!" Chris announced.
"You do know that I have claustrophobia," Jasmine refused.
"Would you do it for a million bucks?" Chris asked with a sly look.
Jasmine sighed. "I hope there's enough air to last a lifetime."
The footage flashed forward, showing each team in one of the submarine's two visible compartments. "Does anybody else have a bad feeling about this?" Jasmine asked her team as her eyes darted around the room. The sound of sonar pinging in the background was quickly joined by the wailing of a klaxon as lights around the submarine began to flash red. Various shot of hatch wheels, pipes, each team's feet, and the startled faces of Millie, Ripper, and Izzy were shown.
"What's going on?" Justin asked with a hint of panic in his voice.
"It's too dark to see," Chase said. "This isn't good."
"For this challenge," Chris announced over intercoms in each room, "you've gotta get out before it's too late."
"Too late for what?" Millie asked as the footage changed to a monitor feed of the Grips, the camera pulling back a few other monitors next to it showing close-ups of Ripper, Chase, and MK. Chef was sitting in front of them inches away from the camera, looking back at the monitoring console out of the corner of his eyes.
"Oh, you'll find out," Chris told them with a laugh as Chef nodded.
The viewpoint shifted to show the host and his assistant sitting at a table playing cards in the control room. "Pick up two," Chef said, placing a card on the table himself as the handsome host drew another pair.
"You mind cranking that lever?" Chris asked, and his hulking associate quickly complied.
As soon as the lever was pulled, water began to flow heavily through a network of pipes, causing them to drip at various joints. More ominously, water started pouring into the submarine's compartments via a grate in the floor. It quickly began to pool around Justin's feet, and he looked down with shock and unease.
"What is that?" he asked worriedly.
“This is just great," Anne Maria said. "The one person who would've been able to break us out of here had to quit!"
"Well, Brick's not here," Jasmine panicked as she began trying to look around the poorly-lit room. "If we start to drown, not only will we be trapped in here, but we'll die!"
The scene flashed to Ripper trying to turn a hatch wheel on the wall to no avail while Chase stood nearby. "We're stuck in the dark, the water is filling up the place, and one of our teammates is stuck in the infirmary," Chase recapped. “How much worse can this get?”
"The water is freezing?" Ripper replied. "How are we supposed to bust out of this sub?"
"No worries," MK told him. "I've got great night vision. Side note, the things I do sometimes occur at night." She noticed a cardboard box sitting on a nearby table, and opened it up with a grin. "This should help!" she said, taking several flashlights out of the box and turning them on.
"Let's get to work everybody!" Izzy whooped as she caught the light that was tossed to her.
The scene cut to Jasmine and Millie attempting to open two of the wall hatches without success.
Jasmine was focused on as she tried to force her hatch wheel to turn. She gave another grunt of exertion and slipped, falling forward into the Grips' cardboard box. "Brilliant!" she exclaimed in delight, holding up the flashlights she'd accidentally discovered. "Okay cobbers, let's get our heads in the game!" she declared, tossing each of her teammates a flashlight.
"Hey, I think I found something!" Anne Maria said as she shined her light on the ceiling hatch.
"Same here!" Millie added as she illuminated the floor hatch. "This could be the exit!"
The camera cut to a close-up of Chase turning the dial on the floor hatch while Izzy stood behind him shining her light down on it. "Bad news," he said as he finally let go, "it's a combination lock!"
"The numbers on the paper!" Izzy said immediately. "That must be the combination!"
"Oh yeah," Chase said blankly, taking out the crumpled-up note for MK to snatch it and shine her light on it.
Ripper walked up to the AV girl. "Go on, techmaster. Tell us the numbers," he told her expectantly.
"Give me a second," MK replied in annoyance as she flipped the note upside-down and back again.
"We don't have a second!" Chase said in rising panic, the water already up his legs and nearly covering the floor hatch.
"It's either...," MK squinted, "3-1-11-3-6-2," she rattled off before flipping the paper again, "or 2-6-3-9-1-3. It's hard to tell with this bad handwriting."
"Well, get cracking already!" Ripper demanded.
“Guys, now's not the time to fight right now,” Chase reminded them.
MK crouched down by the dial and groaned after looking over it for a second. "These numbers are tiny! Somebody give me a light."
"I'm on it," Izzy told her, shining an extra light down on the dial. "Now which number are we going for first?"
"Let me double check," MK told her, taking the note back out of her pocket only to accidentally lose her grip on the note. MK groaned and picked up the now soggy and unreadable note out of the water.
Confessional: Izzy
“If today's my last day in this world, I'm thankful that I'm not surrounded by loons,” Izzy told the viewers. “Well except for Ripper, but he's not risking all of our lives.”
Confessional Ends
The scene flashed over to a close-up of the Grips' dial as Anne Maria turned it back and forth and her teammates watched in silence. The water rose above her head and she came up. "This ain't working!" she said in frustration. "I can't figure out the combination with the water rising up!"
"How about we boost each other up there?" Millie suggested, her light shining on the ceiling hatch.
"Worth a shot," Jasmine shrugged. The Outback girl held out her hands to give Justin a foothold, boosting him up onto her shoulders before Millie climbed up them to the top.
She strained to reach for the hatch, but it was still too high up. "Almost…there!" As Millie spoke, she made another attempt at reaching out, but only managed to cause the three to lose their balance and collapse into the water.
"Now what?" Justin asked in annoyance just before Anne Maria emerged from the water.
"What are you all doing?" she asked them.
"We were trying to open the door on the ceiling," Millie said. "And how are you able to stay underwater for that long?"
“My lungs are waterproof, duh,” Anne Maria answered. “And if we're gonna use the hatch up there, let's just wait for the water to reach us to that point.”
"Does anybody else have a plan to get us out?" Chase asked his teammates, all four floating idly in the water.
"Of course!" Izzy exclaimed. "We forgot about that hatch!" She pointed to the ceiling hatch with a grin, and with the current water level was able to grab onto it along with Ripper.
"Open sesame!" Ripper bellowed out as he and Izzy pried the hatch cover open.
A shark stuck its head out of the opening with a roar, and the two Gaffers who had opened it quickly closed it again, eyes wide with shock.
"No good. Any other ideas?" Izzy said, backing away from the hatch slowly.
"I got it!" Jasmine grunted as she forced the wheel of the ceiling hatch to turn, and when it finally opened, she immediately shrieked and slammed it shut when a jet of fire came forth from the opening. "That wasn't safe at all!"
The scene cut to the control room, with footage of the Grips continuing what they'd been doing on the monitors.
"Fire, huh?" Chris said with a hint of nervousness. "Don't you think that's a bit much?"
Chef shrugged.
Confessional: Chef Hatchet
"Seriously, I'm just not in the mood!" Chef told the confessional camera angrily. "Busting my hump for a bunch of snot nosed…" He slammed a fist onto the table, scattering a few make-up brushes. "Don't I deserve a little me time?"
Confessional Ends
Close-ups of Jasmine, Izzy, Justin, and Anne Maria were now being shown on the monitors, each one looking with dread at the water that was now up to their necks or shoulders.
"Really, it might be time to end the challenge," Chris said with rising concern. "The water's getting pretty high, and, uh, those kids are terrible swimmers!"
"Focus!" Chef shouted. "I want my chips back," he said calmly, pointing to a tall canister on the table, "I'm starvin'." He casually tossed a single chip into his mouth.
"This is getting serious," Chris told him. "Tur-turn off the water!"
Chef reached for the lever, but it quickly snapped off in his hand, and Chris gasped. "We've gotta get the cast out of there!" he said, standing up in panic. "Simple formula! No more contestants equals no more episodes equals no paycheck, and the end of my luxurious lifestyle!"
"I don't want them to die anymore than you do," Chef said after dropping the broken lever and shuffling their deck of cards, “but the lever is broken, so it's up to them to rescue themselves.”
A shot from just below the surface of the water showed the Gaffers treading it.
"If we make it out of here, the first thing I'm gonna do is break Chris for endangering our lives," Ripper told the team and pulled out the bendy straws from breakfast, “and that's gonna happen thanks to these straws!”
“Why didn't you whip those out earlier?!” MK reprimanded.
“I obviously forgot about them, but I still remember the numbers,” Ripper rolled his eyes and stuck one straw to another. “Now do you want to complain or survive?”
“Alright! I'll help you make a snorkel,” MK took hold of the straws. She watched Ripper put a straw into his mouth and sink underwater, prompting her to stack one straw after another as he sank.
The footage cut back to the control room where Chris was watching the Gaffers with tense worry. "Brilliant!" he said with relief. "Ripper's gonna save the day! Once the hatch is open, it'll drain the water out of both the rooms, and I'll still have a paycheck!" He quickly hugged Chef, who'd been playing cards by himself and looked annoyed at the sudden contact.
An action song began to play in the background as Ripper got to work turning the handle with a serious look on his face. Chris was shown watching nervously from the safety of his control room.
The clip moved to shots of the Grips submerged in water with only their heads surfacing, and Chris was shown covering his eyes in fear and anxiety, peeking out just long enough to gape.
MK kept putting more straws onto the snorkel as the water rose up. "Come on, Ripper!" Chase cried out as his head began to sink. "There's not much time left!"
A shot of the top half of Izzy’s head staying afloat was presented, and as Ripper turned the handle in opposite directions, he adjusted his snorkel before resuming his progress.
Chris was tensely biting his nails while Chef was calmly playing solitaire. However, Ripper got to the last number of the combination, and after yanking at the hatch, it flew open. A large cloud of bubbles briefly covered the screen, and when they dissipated, Ripper signaled his team to get out, and he took off the snorkel and swam out the gap with Izzy, MK, and Chase following after.
Back in the control room, the background music came to an end as Chris started to celebrate. "Wooo-hoo-hoo! Yeah, mmm, mmm!" He cheered, doing a joyous dance around the room while Chef watched in annoyance and ate his chips.
The scene cut to the Grips as their compartment's water drained out and they were left soaking wet.
“Does this mean…” Justin began to wonder.
“Yes. We lost,” Anne Maria looked down in disappointment.
A flash took the scene to a close-up of a roaring fire outside the cast trailers. It was now dark out, and all eight who had competed in the second challenge were furiously sitting around it in bathrobes, the Grips on the left and the Gaffers on the right.
"Well, that was a pretty exciting day, huh?" Chris told them as he walked past the glaring Grips. "Looks like another reward win for the Gaffers. Seems like the Grips are a tad overdue. But," he paused to laugh, "I wouldn't hold my breath!" Jasmine and Millie glared at him and his pun.
"And now let's see what the Gaffers have won!" Chris said once he stopped laughing, pulling a card out of his shirt. "Ohhh!"
The shot flashed to Chef in his sparkly pink dress standing in front of a curtain that was quickly pulled back to reveal a scene of a city on the water, with mountains in the background and a totem pole in the fore. "An all-expenses paid trip to beautiful British Columbia!" The shot flashed again, now showing a close-up of a small cabin bathed in red light and steam, an odd and low bubbling noise in the background. "That's right, you'll be staying at the luxurious inn, 'On the Volcano'!" The camera pulled back, revealing that the cabin was indeed located so far over the mouth of an active volcano that it looked like it would fall in at the slightest provocation. "A charming lodge, teetering on the edge of a little-known active volcano, on Vancouver Island."
The Gaffers looked at him with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "To get you there," the host continued as the scene flashed to Chef, dressed in a traditional German costume and accompanied by an unseen yodeler, hiking up the side of a mountain. "You'll be enjoying an exhilarating eight-day hike up the craggy, treacherous-"
Both the host and the various background sounds were interrupted by a record scratch and an angry outburst from Chase. "No way!"
Confessional: Chase
"We were actually going to drown back there!" Chase said in the confessional. "These producers are insane if they want us to stay at a volcano."
Confessional: Ripper
"I was going to give Chris a thrashing, but after some careful consideration, I realized that it could get me kicked off the show,” Ripper explained and smiled arrogantly. “And there's no way I'm leaving without lording over the fact that I saved everybody's lives over their heads.”
Confessionals End
"We'll just take some snacks and drinks for our reward," MK told the host. "And make it a stash."
"Suit yourselves," Chris replied, putting the card back in his shirt pocket. "More money for my end-of-the-year bonus!"
Confessional: Izzy
"Okay, I'm not above covering myself with poison ivy, but there's no way I'm gonna go on a vacation after I almost died," Izzy confessed with rare fury. "That's just extremely messed up."
Confessional Ends
MK and Ripper clinked soda bottles together as they, Izzy, and Chase enjoyed their reward at the picnic table outside the rebuilt craft services tent. The camera quickly panned to the left past the sulking Grips, and stopped on Chris walking alongside Scott. The redheaded boy's right arm had a sling, and he was looking rather miffed.
“Remember when I said I'd sue you in the first season? That was just an empty threat,” Scott angrily whispered, frightening Chris a bit. “If this was an elimination episode and I got the boot, I would do so as soon as I got home. I have an uncle who's a lawyer.”
"Umm…" Chris whispered to him timidly, "please don't. I promise to get you compensated for your broken arm as soon as possible."
“Okay,” Scott looked at Chris suspiciously. “I'll go celebrate with my team, but you guys better provide me with benefits or you and Chef are getting a lawsuit.”
“Enjoy!” Chris regained his happy demeanor after watching Scott walk off. "And with that, we are at the end of another awesome episode. What disaster lies in store for our teams next time?" he asked the camera with a smile. "I'm your host, Chris McLean, asking you to tune in, turn on, and find out right here on Total! Drama! Action!"
(Roll the Credits)
(Bonus Clip)
“Look at all the food we won,” Scott demonstrated what was on the table - soda, chips, chocolate bars, marshmallows, gumballs, and crackers. “Why offer us a disaster themed vacay when we can just stuff our faces in?” He took a gumball with his left arm and swallowed it in his mouth. “But that doesn't mean I'm letting my injured arm go. Those guys were the ones who broke it, not me. And if I'm not treated at all, charges will be pressed on them.” He then blew a bubble, and after it got too big, the bubble exploded and the embarrassed teen had his entire face covered in gum.
Eva - 14th
Geoff - 14th
Izzy - RETURNED
Trent - 12th
Sky - 11th
Brick - 10th
Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott

Yes another one of these, I enjoy writing them and talking about them........ What can I say.
So over the past week I have done some more digging. And did some more fun and interesting discoveries.
Let's start with the facts for a change (Cus some people here don't like theories? idk....) First off, When riding The Red Dragon on your 3rd attempt it says the following: "Even the ground on which thou steppest with such certainty would be apt to fall away erelong"
Furthermore there is a loading screen (which I have no profound recollection of nor did I make a screenshot of it) However it mentions how 'Perhaps a form of earthqauke would open up these closed doors' Refering to the Godsbane doors scattered around the map (There are over 10 of them) Now interesting enough such an event where a shaking ground would open up said doors doesn't happen in the base game. Some might speculate that this kind of content would open up after the Talos awakens. However what those people forget is that the Talos doesn't really move till the final mission prior to Unmoored World.
On top of that the other issue with this is, Is that the final mission locks you out of the normal map of the game. Now of course there is also some doors only found in the Unmoored World. So where I too be wrong about this (which I sincerely doubt) then all I could assume is that the game has yet again had to cut on production costs, Let me explain in full...
Around all of Vermund and Battahl around the water surface you can find blackened rock. Most of this rock sounds hollow. (And I don't think this is a bug, And if it was it would had certainly been fixed by now) What is even more interesting is a lot of this similair rock can be found on Volcanic Island. And even EVEN more interesting is the Unmoored World.
In the Unmoored World you can find many rock formations that look a lot like Extrusive Igneous Rock. In reality this kind of rock can only be created when it is heated and then cooled down in extremely quick succession.
What I have come here today to speculate/theorize is that in the Expansion (Hold my beer) The Volcano on Volcanic Island will erupt. This will happen shortly after we have taken down the 2nd Dragon aka right at the end of the events of the base game. Remember: "Even the ground on which thou steppest with such certainty would be apt to fall away erelong" And again such an event does not happen in the base game.
So I speculate the Volcano will erupt, Cool. Whats next then? Why does Extrusive Igneous Rock matter and why am I so certain to say that it will happen post Unmoored World.
Well for those that paid attention the Sea has become a giant Tornado, From which the Brine 'attacks' the Second Dragon. When the Volcano erupts this Tornado will somehow become the Sea again. (Fall back from the sky unto the ground)
The only issue with this part is the post credit scene, But whenever that takes place is unclear anyway. It could be any time even before the story ends as the game inclines that The Rivage Elder sets out to Sea rather often.
As the Eruption happens and the Tornado becomes the Sea again fissures likely erupt as well. (Battahl is a pretty good image of what that would look like when you sit atop the Sphinx)
Now another interesting fact is when water and Magma collide, It creates a volatile reaction. Around the games map you can see many places with very odd placed giant rocks. As if they rained down from the sky, Well I would speculate that something like that might happen as well.
Anyway Extrusive Igneous Rock, The Tornado becomes Sea again and touches the Fissures creating the same scenic rock formations you see in the Unmoored World. At the end of this road what would this all mean you might ask? Well let me ask you this, We broke the cycle.... But did we really?
All these events have obviously happened before. There are at least 3 past civilisations (Gransys being one of them) that you can see where once there thriving.
Whats next then? Well the cool part is that is pretty much a blank slate, Regardless if this theory ages like a fine Wine or like sore Milk.
What do you think? What is your take? I would like to have a fun discussion so if your intention is just to shoot me down do yourself a favor and just downvote and leave.
Kind regards a fellow Dogma Enjoyer.

FLAGGED FOR INVESTIGATION AND SECURITY RESTRICTED
Account from the squad leader of SH'azz squad on advanced long range assault scout mission in the Tz'urgal system. 3rd moon of the 3rd planet in system. Colony of "Deltamist" pirates.
Race: Inagoor, who are known as separatists. Noted for high crimes to include piracy, kidnapping, smuggling, murders and assassinations.
This is the true, and unredacted, original account.
SEC level set as Black 8 tier 12 restricted.
Account reads:

Journal log entry: T'zk 72:31 G'az 8
2nd leader, Expeditionary Assault Scouts: SH'azz squad.
We landed the stealth assault class (S.A.C) skiff 12 mektreks* from the pirate settlement with the determination to make final approach on claw, and from under cover of night with full stealth masking knowing that the Inagoor would easily spot the mirage haze and light warping of our stealth fields during the day. The gravity of the moon is comparable to ours, if slightly less, so it seemed like it would be an easy trek. I determined that only 2 rest stops would be needed instead of three. Our landing distance assisting in our stealth attempt, and thus adding to our chances of successful surprise attack.
Our intel determined that the pirates had recently raided the Tau shipping lanes, and had taken hostages for the purposes of ransom and slave sales. Our unit was tasked with forward observation and intel gathering of the pirates before termination of their operation, and to report all intel direct to command via secured subspace micro-pulse.
The Flora and Fauna scans determined that this moon was a Class 4 temperate world with no signs of natural life forms rated as sentient.
At our first predetermined rest location we discovered a burn mark cutting a path through the foliage as though a small vessel of some kind had made a controlled emergency landing. Scanners indicated that the craft was emitting power output signals, and was only a short distance from our location. We proceeded to rest and recuperate under the cover of the stealth fields with both live, and drone perimeter guards for security. The rest cycle was extended to insure that the guards could rotate so that all were rested and ready. I had decided that the investigation of the small craft could wait until after our main mission was complete when one of our forward scout drones sent my linkpad some images flagged for immediate review.
The images were of an Inagoor corpse. It was...dismembered. Torn limb from limb and the barrel chested, fur covered torso had chunks ripped out of it. (Images in file listed SET 1) The closeups of the
torso showed that the gaping rents and holes were not impact points of a projectile weapon nor were they of a beam, or energy weapon. No charring of flesh or fur, and no melting or blast marks on their suits armor plating. It simply looked as though an appendage had been grabbed and pulled off. The armor, as well as the flesh underneath, was simply torn off of the main corpse. The dismembered limbs were in the same condition, and save one other notable clue which was that there were obvious "gripping points" where the armor was crushed, and the bone beneath these areas was pulverized. The Inagoor's infra Red pulse rifle was found partially embedded in the trunk of a tree. Its "combat rated" frame had been crushed and wadded up as though it was a piece of waste paper. Its power cell was ruptured and leaking. The scout drone had marked it as a hazard zone out to 30 pace lengths and labeled as "lethal chemical hazard". I informed my second in command, and we reviewed the images together. He was as dumbfounded as I. What native beast could have done this kind of damage to powered assault armor?
(Addendum:)
The Drone was unable to locate the Inagoor's head in the immediate area.
(Addendum ends:)
My second and I resolved to scout this issue as a priority. We did not want to engage our current mission only to have an unknown element interfere and compromise mission success. As per command prerogative, I shared the drones information with the rest of the squad personnel, and reformed mission parameters around this element. Mission AI rated a 92% agreement with my assessment. Well within command parameters. We arrived at the location of the drones discovery in 4 hours. Our visors highlighted the chemical hazard of the leaking power module, and its set perimeter was also highlighted by our personal visor AI, and we all gave it a wide berth. The Inagoor was indeed scattered everywhere as the drones images had relayed with one exception. The smell was horrendous, and sickening. The stench of the Inagoor's "parts" indicated that it had been killed only 2 day/night rotations ago, and already some sort of fungus growth had begun to creep into the strewn dismembered parts and pieces. On every life bearing world, nature always has a cleanup crew. On closer examination of the "parts" we determined that the only explanation of this incident was that some creature had simply grabbed the Inagoor and ripped him apart, flinging the pieces in random directions in the process. The Inagoor's armor was their combat rated class, which is their equivalent to our front line infantry armor, powered of course. It was just torn apart as if it was a Tk'turka wedding veil. Armor that can withstand a pulse from an infra Red rifle at close range, or the puncture of a ballistic needler at point blank range had been torn apart, as if it were made of nothing sturdier than plant filament.
The grip points visible on the appendages did indeed look squeezed/crushed, and the separation points showed signs of literally being "pulled" apart. Not cut. Not chopped, but PULLED apart. The Inagoor are from level 9 temperate worlds and are thus pretty tough, and considered very strong even to a majority of other sentient species. Yet something far, FAR, stronger just pulled them apart. My visor AI showed the majority of my squad running "weapon ready" checks, and a few more scout drones were tossed into the air to begin new stealth patrols.
It wasn't long before another Inagoor corpse was found in the direction of the unidentified craft that
had "seemingly" crash landed.
This Inagoor's corpse was simply pinned to a tree. Its back was against the trunk, and the Inagoor's pulse rifle was pushed through its torso and into the tree trunk thus pinning it a pace off of the ground. Whatever creature did this to the Inagoor, had used the butt of the rifle to penetrate completely through the Inagoor's chest cavity, and further into the tree trunk, thus pinning the Inagoor. My visor AI noted more "Weapons Ready Checks" as well as one of the newer members of the squad using a dose of Stimcalm. My visor AI noted the dose as well within regulation, and I chose to flag it for review for his after mission performance evaluation. (Noted in File marked VA1. attached) I was actually considering using a dose of Stimcalm myself, as my second reoriented the stealth drones to a new scout pattern. Rather than taking the stim I began reviewing database information for "nearest Deathworld locations” from current location, and the AI promptly informed me that none were reachable within a standard week of FTL travel at NOK* 6 speed. I relayed this information to my second, and he reciprocated with a listing of the most dangerous lifeforms on this moon. None were capable of this level of violence by orders of magnitude.
I also noted that there were many burn holes in the vegetation in this area. Obviously the discharge of the pulse rifle was futile in halting the violence that occurred even if the Inagoor had made direct hits. The updated drone orientation revealed a new element to this mystery soon after. The visor alert from the drone was not unexpected, but still caught me off guard. I opened up the video footage, and saw a scene of carnage that staggered my rational mind. Many, MANY Inagoor corpses were strewn about a small clearing in the vegetation. All of them were not merely killed but ripped apart and scattered just like the first corpse we encountered. I am not ashamed to admit that I was so visibly sickened that my second inquired as to my health and mental state. As is my command authority to do so I relayed the drones footage to him. Then I too, took a regulation dosage of Stimcalm. As is noted in the file attached I also ordered my second to share the footage from the drone to the rest, and pre-authorized them to also take a regulation dose of Stimcalm, IF they felt they needed it after reviewing the drones footage.
Upon closer examination of the footage we could see the "fin" of a craft sticking up from the other side of a nearby hill. The site of the visceral carnage was a short distance from the crafts resting position. I, and my second reviewed the footage a few more times, and weighed the pros and cons of sending the drone over the rise, and within full sight of the downed vessel. I came to the conclusion that the possible loss of a stealth drone was far less costly, and far more prudent, than the loss than a squad member, and so I authorized the reroute. What the drone showed us next was intriguing to say the least.
The drone's path was kept slow and close to the foliage line so as not to expose too much of a blur signature, but, as it came into line of sight of our objective we saw that the craft was indeed, of some strange alien design. Its structure and air frame looked almost completely undamaged. Boxy though, and clumsy in appearance it had long airfoils sticking out from its sides and a tall one sticking straight up from its reatail. An enormous alien who was twice our height and bipedal was working on some component in an opened hatch in the side of the craft, and there were other aliens assisting it. A Craxx was handing it a tool of some kind, and a Piryllek was holding some illumination device next to it so that the enormous alien could see what it was doing. A Moorkha, with its brightly colored feathers, was working with a blue-green scaled Sithys. Together, they were making preparations for a meal of some sort. A black furred Glerff suddenly stood on its hind legs and looked straight at the drone. its yellow feather-patterned antennae quivering. We had been spotted!
The aliens that we could name registered in the operational AI as the abductees from the afore mentioned recent raids on the shipping lanes, and when the Glerff alerted the others they all stopped what they were doing, and started chattering wildly at the giant, who then reached for some sort of computational device and began fiddling with it. It did not look as the giant was concerned overly, but, simply curious. The suit it was wearing was scorched in many areas, and the hide that showed through the holes in its clothing was light brown with red splotches. These were definitely wound sites on the unidentified alien. If these were the wounds suffered from the infra Red pulse rifle fire, then they likely only caused this creature some mild irritation and inconvenience. Its face was hairy, as was its head, and the left mandible, hair burned away was swollen and blistered. A pulse rifle shot to his face perhaps? There were obvious signs of it being shot all over it’s limbs and torso, and yet it was still alive and breathing? Impossible! What was this thing?
It was apparent from the drone video that this alien was over twice our height. It stood head and shoulders taller than the Moorkha, and with triple its mass. The Moorkha quieted the others, and began cooing at the giant, making a visible sign to breathe deeply and calmly while stroking the giants fore appendages and digits, as we witnessed this process via the live feed. The fur above one of its ocular organs (it had 2, side by side, and front facing.) rose a bit but it otherwise seemed to relax and looked in the direction of the drone that the Glerff was still pointing at.
Based on this evidence I chose to drop the cloak on the drone and send it slowly to the Glerff as it was the closest. When the drone was within verbal communication distance I sent my voice through the drone to introduce myself.
"I am Ak'kik. Leader of SH'azz squad. We have come to investigate, and rescue you and your fellow abductees. Do you require assistance?", I said with as much authority in my tone as I am capable of. "Most assuredly Ak'kik, though we are no longer in danger thanks to our new friend that rescued us. Although I do not believe that he did so intentionally. The pirates that abducted us attacked it as soon as it’s craft crash landed. The pirates made the mistake of shooting it. That failed to kill it, and only made it angry. When they persistently kept shooting it, it subsequently became enraged." The Glerff shuddered, but seemed to regain control of its emotions quickly.
"The pirates are no more. The pirates that attempted to flee were pursued, and exterminated. The base the pirates held us in was likewise cleansed of the pirates by our rescuer. Our rescuer is very, very fast and very, very strong. Please do NOT shoot it. You would not survive should you do so. Also, it seems to be an omnivore. PLEASE! Do not anger it. I beg you!"
I responded with calm. "Please tell it that we will be there shortly and that we have no intentions of violence. We only wish to rescue the abductees."
"I can't." The Glerff replied quickly. "None of us speak its language and it does not know ours. We have no Data AI's to link to its technology to work out language algorithms. I think the aliens technology is also damaged. It keeps having to go to its’ ships control station to check for power readings.
Communicating with it has been a challenge, though oddly pleasant. It is quite patient and amenable, when it is not killing pirates in an excessively psychotic state. As terrified as I am of this creature, I cannot help but be curious about it. I am sure you will find it to be a pleasant, and respectful entity if you approach calmly, and with no hostility."
I thought for a moment. "Please try to keep it calm and we will try to make our approach as calmly, and respectfully as possible. We will endeavor at all costs, not provoke it."
"I should think not!" said the Glerff showing some alarm. “Since the extermination of the pirates I have personally observed it lifting enormous amounts of weight without strain. Seen it consume it’s rations which looked to be a combination of vegetable, AND meat with vigor. Much of which I am confirming was poisonous using an analyzer that once belonged to the pirates. The analyzer shows that some of its’ rations would be considered lethally poisonous to every species that I know of."
He held the analyzer screen to the drone for confirmation, as he continued speaking. "I am not an expert in the field of chemistry, so I would strongly suggest you scan whatever food he offers you before you eat it. Please note that refusing his "gift" of food does not insult him. Just hand it back to him if it is inedible, and then he will eat it himself."
The alien approached the drone that the Glerff was speaking to, and then picked up a silvery pouch from the makeshift table that the Moorkha was working over. It peeled the top off, and it ate the dark brown bar in 3 bites, then nodded to the drone, and went back to it’s repairs.
"What he just ate, by the way..." The Glerff said turning back to the drone. "...the analyzer states contains some alarming chemical chains. Theobromine, Phenylethylamine which look to be nearly lethal stimulants. Massive amounts of caffeine, Taurine, and Niacin as well. Oh dear, uh. By the nesting Gods! Leader Ak'kik, What it just ate could poison a small colony just on the amount of caffeine alone. But the amount of Capsaicin he just ate is even worse, FAR worse. PLEASE, please, refrain from angering it." he was still scanning the data in astonishment. "And, er, and this is most important, your weapons would be useless against it. It is incredibly fast, and can quite literally jump across this glade in a single bound. I think it came from a very high gravity planet. Maybe even a Deathworld. I vehemently recommend caution, and I strongly feel it necessary to reiterate, do NOT anger it, or incur its’ ire! Oh, and by the way, I did use the analyzer on it, it allowed me to do so, actually. the Analyzer data shows that there is probably nothing on this moon that it cannot eat, including us."
I replied, not through the drone this time as I was close enough in my approach that I no longer needed it. "Leader Ak'kik, at your service. Whom am I addressing?"
"Ah, apologies, I am professor Roonoomoo, and this is service master EEG'lix. That one there is Vorvert, and over there is D'rrr, and Higuv is just to the left of the table, and the two who are helping our rescuer are Woosk, and Rakk'n. It is a pleasure to meet you in return Leader Ak'kik."
"So you were saying some of the items on the table surface are actual foods that it eats? This is its’ food that it brought?" I said looking at the multitude of pouches and containers on the table.
“Oh yes. We made eating motions when we were trying to establish communications with it, to ask it for food, and he brought us this trove. He opened a package for us, and offered it, but, Woosk went into near panic when he saw that it was animal meat of some sort. After that he just spread everything out, and made a motion for us to inspect it for ourselves. All of us ate what the analyzer said was safe but that was not much of a variety. It turns out that there were only 2 packages all of us could eat. We saved the empty packages to show the alien what we ate once he is finished working. So that we do not risk angering it, you understand. Woosk and Rakk'n decided to offer what assistance they could after they ate, and have been doing so since then."
"May I be introduced to the alien now? I may have some tech that could help. If you will be so kind as to bring it here to us, as I would not want to trespass on its established area of operations, and be mistaken as hostile. We are obviously carrying weapons, and us approaching it...and its ship seems a questionable choice, at best."
"Very wise, Leader Ak'kik, I will see what I can do. I won't be but a moment. “Uh, er, you might want to hold on to that”, indicating the analyzer “and use it before you decide to touch anything on this table.", he said as he handed me the analyzer.
Professor Roonoomoo went to the alien ,and gently patted the joint in the middle of its lower appendage. The alien looked at professor Roonoomoo, who was pointing at us, and trying to explain us with hand signals and gestures, that we wished an introduction. When the alien looked at us we all, as a squad, showed it out empty hands as our weapons had been placed on the ground by our sides. it simply made a wave of one of its upper appendages, as if to say, “come here”. We approached with our empty hands plainly visible. As we approached it, it knelt. Not in surrender, or in supplication, but rather to level our mutual eye line. I realized that it was making an attempt to be polite.
I SLOWLY patted a stow pouch on my utility harness, and it nodded as though it seemed to understand, and motioned me to proceed. I held out the translator AI slate, "TAIS" and it took it, and then touched it to a device it wore on the wrist of its upper arm. (note that I am assuming proper body anatomy, based off of our own, although there are few similarities.) This alien was not only one of the largest I have seen, but also must be of a quite dense mass. As in its anatomy, and not its mental state, for it shook the ground around it with every step.
After a few moments there was a "chirping" sound from his device, and our coms alerted us to a new language file available. I allowed the exchange through my visor, and we were suddenly speaking to each other. I chose to make introductions first.
"I am Ak'kik. Leader of SH'azz squad. We have come to investigate and rescue these abductees. Do you require assistance?"
It held out it's hand as it spoke. "Bartholomew Wane Hatfield. Friends call me Bart." this aliens voice boomed at us.
"I was mining the asteroid belt in this system, when I caught a rogue asteroid right in the nads. Power plant was having a conniption fit after that so I figured I better set her down where I could patch her up. flying this old girl by wire is a bitch but, we got a thing so…"
This was the literal translation we initially received. As you can imagine, we were all quite confused.
"I beg your pardon unknown alien species, but the translation unit seems to be malfunctioning. We do not quite understand all of your words, we have no equivalent in our language for some, even though we seem to be communicating."
The sides of it’s facial orifice turned upward, revealing a multi-functional set fangs. Some pointed and some chisel shaped. Making it obvious it was an omnivore. Our visor AI stated that it “perceived” it was amused. It spoke into it’s wrist device, and it chirped in response. A second later our visor registered a "receive transmission" request. I allowed it, and this is what the visor AI showed us by way of "corrected translation".
"Bartholomew Wane Hatfield. Friends call me Bart.”
[REQUEST FOR FRIENDSHIP. THE USE OF "BART' ACKNOWLEDGES AND ACCEPTS FRIEND REQUEST]
“I was mining the asteroid belt in this system when I caught a rogue asteroid, right in the nads.”
[ASTEROID DAMAGED CRAFT IN CRITICAL LOCATION]
“Power plant was having a conniption fit after that so I figured I better set her down where I could patch her up.”
[POWER PLANT OPERATING WITH INTERMITTENT FAILURES. IMMEDIATE EMERGENCY REPAIR IS REQUIRED.]
“Flying this old girl by wire is a bitch but, we got a thing so..."
[LANDED SHIP WITHOUT COMPUTER ASSISTANCE OR ASSISTED CONTROLS. I AM EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED TO SHIP.]
I replied with, "AH, thank you for the subtext. Bart. I can see that your language has a vernacular art to it. I am culturally fascinated by such a language. Polite request. What is your power plant, and what is its power source? We may be able to assist with our spare component sets. Please feel free to not detail your technology to us, if it is security bound. We will not be insulted."
The alien again showed its fangs with a deep resonating, yet pleasant, vocal repetition. [LAUGHTEAMUSED]
"It's old tech stuff, by about 20 generations or so, but it's cheap, and reliable, common knowledge, and easy to repair. It’s a paired enriched uranium atom cracker.”
[DUAL/PAIRED NUCLEAR CORE POWER GENERATOR. EXTREMELY HAZARDOUS.}
"Chasing blinking lights mostly. When the asteroid hit, the core spiked, and caused a number of shorts and jumps."
[POWER SURGE CAUSED MULTIPLE SHORTS AND POSSIBLE INTERMITTENT ARC / SHORT IN SYSTEM.]
I nodded my understanding to the alien Bart. I then asked the engineer of my squad if he would be willing to assist. Corporal Zi'Kict accepted the challenge, though it looked as though anxiety, and fear
of "Bart" might overwhelm his current Stimcalm dose. "This is Corporal Zi'Kict. He is our designated engineer, and he has agreed to assist you. You can decline with no insult incurred."
He flashes us his fangs again. [HAPPY] His species, whatever it was, seemed to be fond of showing their teeth often.
"Hell, I never turn down a helpin' hand. Grab whatever it is y'all use, and let's get to chasin’ sparks."
[ASSISTANCE IS WELCOME]
"Uh, Bart. I must ask, what are your intentions with those that we were designated to rescue? If there is good will between us I would like to ensure that we, my crew and I, be given liberty return them to their families, and respective worlds. Will this be acceptable to you?"
"You go on right ahead, bless yer’ heart."
[ACCEPTANCE OF PROPOSAL WITH WELL WISHES TO YOUR CONTINUED EXISTENCE.]
“I'll miss these 'uns. Their nice and friendly."
[FONDNESS]
"Not like those other jackhole fecktards."
[REFERING TO PIRATES. INSULT INTENDED TOWARD PIRATES AND PIRACY.
{insult "jackhole" refers to anal orifice. "Fecktards" derogatory reference to mentally damaged or deranged individuals with severely limited mental capacity that act inappropriately.}]
"I understand and concur with your insult of the pirates, and thank you for your understanding, your patience, and your friendship. With your permission I would like to redirect my ship to your encampment so our medtech device can confirm their current health. If it is not offensive, I would like to offer our medtech device to scan you as well, and determine if it is capable of repairing your injuries also. Refusal will not be considered an insult. My squad engineer will will assist you as needed, and our spare components are at your disposal. Friend Bart."
"Well bless yer heart, that would be dandy with me. Much obliged!"
[ACCEPTANCE OF PROPOSAL WITH WELL WISHES TO YOUR CONTINUED EXISTENCE. IMMENSE THANKS]
I bowed to the alien I now called friend Bart, and went to co-ordinate the rescue operation, and sent the AI to bring the ship to my location. Since my priority was the health and safety of the of the abductees I spent the majority of my remaining time with them.
The alien required only a single spool of CronWire, and a span of shielded conduit, a simple enough repair. The abductees were tended to medically, fed, and shown to their racks. We allowed the abductees to contact their loved ones through our secured communications net. The alien allowed our medtech device to repair its burns, but it was unable to regrow the lost hair on its face. Friend Bart removed the rest of the hair around its mandible orifice with a small device, saying that he had to keep the balance. The squad medic timidly requested a full scan of Friend Bart, and Friend Bart was amenable to this.
We left Friend Bart, and watched him take off from orbit a few hours later. My squad medic started pouring over the MedTech device scans of Friend Bart, and quickly went into a fit of panic, and it took a questionable dose of Stimcalm to calm him down. I admit that I glanced at the data, but I am not trained as a medic so I understood nothing. The squad engineer simply handed me a collated list of intel he gathered while working with Friend Bart. They had a lengthy converse, and the engineer had actually formed a bond with Friend Bart. The list is as follows.
Name: Bartholomew Wane Hatfield
Species: Human
Origin: city of Austin in the state of Texas in the country of the United States of the planet Terra of the Sol star system
(system is far past the outer edge of our empire on the frontier side, opposite of coreward.)
Gravity: home normal +4 (4 times greater than our own gravity!)
Planet notes: frequent earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes, tornadoes.
Planet has multiple biosphere, and terrain hazards that are lethal.
Plague level viruses, and bacteria, Multiple predators in every biosphere.
(See files freely given by Friend Bart) [FILESTORE- FriendBart01a]
NOTE: great white shark, alligator, saltwater crocodiles, king cobra, wolf, pit bulls, and other canines, polar bears, poison dart frog, hippopotamus, killer whale, rhinoceros, box jellyfish, cone snail, hyena, stone fish, black mamba, grizzly bears, puffer fish, komodo dragon, death stalker scorpion, lions, leopards, brown recluse spider, black widow spider, Brazillian wandering spider, electric eel, etc.
Please note that this list is merely a VERY small fraction of the actual list. My understanding is that the home planet of Friend Bart is at least a level 10-12 Deathworld. He also states that many of the species on this list are kept as pets by his fellow humans.
The squad engineer states he will send in a request for allowance of continued discourse with Friend Bart, but understands if this request is denied. After careful deliberation with the squad medic, we strongly recommend that the details of this mission be put to the SEC level at Black 8 tier 12 restricted, or higher, if there is a level higher than Black 8 tier 12 restricted.
Captain Ak'kik. Leader of SH'azz squad
[END OF REPORT]
mektreks*Aprox. One Terran kilometer equivalent.
NOK* Measurement of warp travel. 1NOK = speed of light

What is ZenUML?

ZenUML is one of the best Sequence Diagram as Code solution in the industry.
It's considered "unique" because, unlike Mermaid or PlantUML, which are essentially Text2Diagram tools, Code2Diagram is not just text, but "logical text" with a domain-specific language syntax.
A diagram is a visualization of logic.
In the realm of sequence diagrams, we believe ZenUML is currently one-of-a-kind.

What Can Sequence Diagrams Do?

"Sequence diagrams, the only good thing UML brought to software development"
This article, written by the founder and CTO of Mermaid, resonates deeply with me. In reality, no matter how complex the logic, when implemented in a program, it ultimately follows a sequence; no matter how intricate the business, when broken down into processes, it also has an order.
Therefore, over the past decade, the only diagramming habit I've maintained is creating sequence diagrams. In fact, sequence diagrams go far beyond just software component design.

• Business process modeling, as a replacement for BPMN
• Organizing key business knowledge and describing core business relationships
• Design and analysis of system event-driven architectures

These are so many "best practices" I've accumulated, and I hope to have the opportunity to share them.
Example of Sequence Diagram on ZenUML: https://cdn.sa.net/2024/05/29/9ThQJOBoUgZbFDC.png

The Lifecycle of a Diagram

In reality, there are two types of diagrams.
One type is drawn for a one-time presentation: we should use tools like Excalidraw as freely as possible because they create visually appealing diagrams.
The other type is drawn for maintenance. These diagrams become part of our knowledge base, serving as carriers of knowledge or even knowledge itself. Their purpose is not for people to simply look at—their purpose is to help people understand knowledge faster.
In businesses, I've seen countless vsdx files that no one is willing to maintain anymore because once the visualization becomes disconnected from the underlying logical knowledge, the mental burden of picking it up again is immense.
I do believe that 'Diagram as code' is the only solution. If you need diagrams to assist your knowledge over the long term, evolving alongside your designs and knowledge, then don't let everything start with a blank canvas.

New Pricing Model and My Vision

We have made pretty a lot large clients on Atlassian Platform. The value of sequence diagrams and ZenUML is recognized in many ways in industry, however our very first SaaS product has less than 10 users in past 8 years. We didn't promote enough of course is one of the reasons, however we are also not considering our SaaS product has to be profitable.
As long as we believe the product and the best practise along with it can value more and more people, we decide to make a significant price reduction from this month.
With the launch of new features and a new UI, we've introduced annual subscriptions and significantly reduced the price of annual subscriptions. This is not because we believe the tool is not valuable, but because we want more people to get used to the idea that "diagrams" are a language and a form of expression, a way of life that should be a permanent part of your valuable logic and knowledge.
Original , 4.99 or 7.99 monthly -> https://cdn.sa.net/2024/05/29/ZacymoQBxJL2qO1.png
New Pricing, 0.87 or 1.25 montly when annual billing -> https://cdn.sa.net/2024/05/29/f85nWTjJuCroiaQ.png
This shouldn't be the kind of diagramming tool that you use to create a single image for social media. It should be an integral part of your knowledge, capable of evolving alongside your design and remaining perpetually up-to-date.

Upcoming New Features

In the future, we will also introduce a series of AI-powered features under diagramly, and ultimately they will be integrated into the same ecosystem as a whole. Many features are still in testing, but I personally have already heavily reliant on them and can't live without them.

Finally

Welcome aboard and check it out! Feel free to DM me with any feedback or suggestions for features. ZenUML

FLAGGED FOR INVESTIGATION AND SECURITY RESTRICTED
Account from the squad leader of SH'azz squad on advanced long range assault scout mission in the Tz'urgal system. 3rd moon of the 3rd planet in system. Colony of "Deltamist" pirates.
Race: Inagoor, who are known as separatists. Noted for high crimes to include piracy, kidnapping, smuggling, murders and assassinations.
This is the true, and unredacted, original account.
SEC level set as Black 8 tier 12 restricted.
Account reads:

Journal log entry: T'zk 72:31 G'az 8
2nd leader, Expeditionary Assault Scouts: SH'azz squad.
We landed the stealth assault class (S.A.C) skiff 12 mektreks* from the pirate settlement with the determination to make final approach on claw, and from under cover of night with full stealth masking knowing that the Inagoor would easily spot the mirage haze and light warping of our stealth fields during the day. The gravity of the moon is comparable to ours, if slightly less, so it seemed like it would be an easy trek. I determined that only 2 rest stops would be needed instead of three. Our landing distance assisting in our stealth attempt, and thus adding to our chances of successful surprise attack.
Our intel determined that the pirates had recently raided the Tau shipping lanes, and had taken hostages for the purposes of ransom and slave sales. Our unit was tasked with forward observation and intel gathering of the pirates before termination of their operation, and to report all intel direct to command via secured subspace micro-pulse.
The Flora and Fauna scans determined that this moon was a Class 4 temperate world with no signs of natural life forms rated as sentient.
At our first predetermined rest location we discovered a burn mark cutting a path through the foliage as though a small vessel of some kind had made a controlled emergency landing. Scanners indicated that the craft was emitting power output signals, and was only a short distance from our location. We proceeded to rest and recuperate under the cover of the stealth fields with both live, and drone perimeter guards for security. The rest cycle was extended to insure that the guards could rotate so that all were rested and ready. I had decided that the investigation of the small craft could wait until after our main mission was complete when one of our forward scout drones sent my linkpad some images flagged for immediate review.
The images were of an Inagoor corpse. It was...dismembered. Torn limb from limb and the barrel chested, fur covered torso had chunks ripped out of it. (Images in file listed SET 1) The closeups of the
torso showed that the gaping rents and holes were not impact points of a projectile weapon nor were they of a beam, or energy weapon. No charring of flesh or fur, and no melting or blast marks on their suits armor plating. It simply looked as though an appendage had been grabbed and pulled off. The armor, as well as the flesh underneath, was simply torn off of the main corpse. The dismembered limbs were in the same condition, and save one other notable clue which was that there were obvious "gripping points" where the armor was crushed, and the bone beneath these areas was pulverized. The Inagoor's infra Red pulse rifle was found partially embedded in the trunk of a tree. Its "combat rated" frame had been crushed and wadded up as though it was a piece of waste paper. Its power cell was ruptured and leaking. The scout drone had marked it as a hazard zone out to 30 pace lengths and labeled as "lethal chemical hazard". I informed my second in command, and we reviewed the images together. He was as dumbfounded as I. What native beast could have done this kind of damage to powered assault armor?
(Addendum:)
The Drone was unable to locate the Inagoor's head in the immediate area.
(Addendum ends:)
My second and I resolved to scout this issue as a priority. We did not want to engage our current mission only to have an unknown element interfere and compromise mission success. As per command prerogative, I shared the drones information with the rest of the squad personnel, and reformed mission parameters around this element. Mission AI rated a 92% agreement with my assessment. Well within command parameters. We arrived at the location of the drones discovery in 4 hours. Our visors highlighted the chemical hazard of the leaking power module, and its set perimeter was also highlighted by our personal visor AI, and we all gave it a wide berth. The Inagoor was indeed scattered everywhere as the drones images had relayed with one exception. The smell was horrendous, and sickening. The stench of the Inagoor's "parts" indicated that it had been killed only 2 day/night rotations ago, and already some sort of fungus growth had begun to creep into the strewn dismembered parts and pieces. On every life bearing world, nature always has a cleanup crew. On closer examination of the "parts" we determined that the only explanation of this incident was that some creature had simply grabbed the Inagoor and ripped him apart, flinging the pieces in random directions in the process. The Inagoor's armor was their combat rated class, which is their equivalent to our front line infantry armor, powered of course. It was just torn apart as if it was a Tk'turka wedding veil. Armor that can withstand a pulse from an infra Red rifle at close range, or the puncture of a ballistic needler at point blank range had been torn apart, as if it were made of nothing sturdier than plant filament.
The grip points visible on the appendages did indeed look squeezed/crushed, and the separation points showed signs of literally being "pulled" apart. Not cut. Not chopped, but PULLED apart. The Inagoor are from level 9 temperate worlds and are thus pretty tough, and considered very strong even to a majority of other sentient species. Yet something far, FAR, stronger just pulled them apart. My visor AI showed the majority of my squad running "weapon ready" checks, and a few more scout drones were tossed into the air to begin new stealth patrols.
It wasn't long before another Inagoor corpse was found in the direction of the unidentified craft that
had "seemingly" crash landed.
This Inagoor's corpse was simply pinned to a tree. Its back was against the trunk, and the Inagoor's pulse rifle was pushed through its torso and into the tree trunk thus pinning it a pace off of the ground. Whatever creature did this to the Inagoor, had used the butt of the rifle to penetrate completely through the Inagoor's chest cavity, and further into the tree trunk, thus pinning the Inagoor. My visor AI noted more "Weapons Ready Checks" as well as one of the newer members of the squad using a dose of Stimcalm. My visor AI noted the dose as well within regulation, and I chose to flag it for review for his after mission performance evaluation. (Noted in File marked VA1. attached) I was actually considering using a dose of Stimcalm myself, as my second reoriented the stealth drones to a new scout pattern. Rather than taking the stim I began reviewing database information for "nearest Deathworld locations” from current location, and the AI promptly informed me that none were reachable within a standard week of FTL travel at NOK* 6 speed. I relayed this information to my second, and he reciprocated with a listing of the most dangerous lifeforms on this moon. None were capable of this level of violence by orders of magnitude.
I also noted that there were many burn holes in the vegetation in this area. Obviously the discharge of the pulse rifle was futile in halting the violence that occurred even if the Inagoor had made direct hits. The updated drone orientation revealed a new element to this mystery soon after. The visor alert from the drone was not unexpected, but still caught me off guard. I opened up the video footage, and saw a scene of carnage that staggered my rational mind. Many, MANY Inagoor corpses were strewn about a small clearing in the vegetation. All of them were not merely killed but ripped apart and scattered just like the first corpse we encountered. I am not ashamed to admit that I was so visibly sickened that my second inquired as to my health and mental state. As is my command authority to do so I relayed the drones footage to him. Then I too, took a regulation dosage of Stimcalm. As is noted in the file attached I also ordered my second to share the footage from the drone to the rest, and pre-authorized them to also take a regulation dose of Stimcalm, IF they felt they needed it after reviewing the drones footage.
Upon closer examination of the footage we could see the "fin" of a craft sticking up from the other side of a nearby hill. The site of the visceral carnage was a short distance from the crafts resting position. I, and my second reviewed the footage a few more times, and weighed the pros and cons of sending the drone over the rise, and within full sight of the downed vessel. I came to the conclusion that the possible loss of a stealth drone was far less costly, and far more prudent, than the loss than a squad member, and so I authorized the reroute. What the drone showed us next was intriguing to say the least.
The drone's path was kept slow and close to the foliage line so as not to expose too much of a blur signature, but, as it came into line of sight of our objective we saw that the craft was indeed, of some strange alien design. Its structure and air frame looked almost completely undamaged. Boxy though, and clumsy in appearance it had long airfoils sticking out from its sides and a tall one sticking straight up from its reatail. An enormous alien who was twice our height and bipedal was working on some component in an opened hatch in the side of the craft, and there were other aliens assisting it. A Craxx was handing it a tool of some kind, and a Piryllek was holding some illumination device next to it so that the enormous alien could see what it was doing. A Moorkha, with its brightly colored feathers, was working with a blue-green scaled Sithys. Together, they were making preparations for a meal of some sort. A black furred Glerff suddenly stood on its hind legs and looked straight at the drone. its yellow feather-patterned antennae quivering. We had been spotted!
The aliens that we could name registered in the operational AI as the abductees from the afore mentioned recent raids on the shipping lanes, and when the Glerff alerted the others they all stopped what they were doing, and started chattering wildly at the giant, who then reached for some sort of computational device and began fiddling with it. It did not look as the giant was concerned overly, but, simply curious. The suit it was wearing was scorched in many areas, and the hide that showed through the holes in its clothing was light brown with red splotches. These were definitely wound sites on the unidentified alien. If these were the wounds suffered from the infra Red pulse rifle fire, then they likely only caused this creature some mild irritation and inconvenience. Its face was hairy, as was its head, and the left mandible, hair burned away was swollen and blistered. A pulse rifle shot to his face perhaps? There were obvious signs of it being shot all over it’s limbs and torso, and yet it was still alive and breathing? Impossible! What was this thing?
It was apparent from the drone video that this alien was over twice our height. It stood head and shoulders taller than the Moorkha, and with triple its mass. The Moorkha quieted the others, and began cooing at the giant, making a visible sign to breathe deeply and calmly while stroking the giants fore appendages and digits, as we witnessed this process via the live feed. The fur above one of its ocular organs (it had 2, side by side, and front facing.) rose a bit but it otherwise seemed to relax and looked in the direction of the drone that the Glerff was still pointing at.
Based on this evidence I chose to drop the cloak on the drone and send it slowly to the Glerff as it was the closest. When the drone was within verbal communication distance I sent my voice through the drone to introduce myself.
"I am Ak'kik. Leader of SH'azz squad. We have come to investigate, and rescue you and your fellow abductees. Do you require assistance?", I said with as much authority in my tone as I am capable of. "Most assuredly Ak'kik, though we are no longer in danger thanks to our new friend that rescued us. Although I do not believe that he did so intentionally. The pirates that abducted us attacked it as soon as it’s craft crash landed. The pirates made the mistake of shooting it. That failed to kill it, and only made it angry. When they persistently kept shooting it, it subsequently became enraged." The Glerff shuddered, but seemed to regain control of its emotions quickly.
"The pirates are no more. The pirates that attempted to flee were pursued, and exterminated. The base the pirates held us in was likewise cleansed of the pirates by our rescuer. Our rescuer is very, very fast and very, very strong. Please do NOT shoot it. You would not survive should you do so. Also, it seems to be an omnivore. PLEASE! Do not anger it. I beg you!"
I responded with calm. "Please tell it that we will be there shortly and that we have no intentions of violence. We only wish to rescue the abductees."
"I can't." The Glerff replied quickly. "None of us speak its language and it does not know ours. We have no Data AI's to link to its technology to work out language algorithms. I think the aliens technology is also damaged. It keeps having to go to its’ ships control station to check for power readings.
Communicating with it has been a challenge, though oddly pleasant. It is quite patient and amenable, when it is not killing pirates in an excessively psychotic state. As terrified as I am of this creature, I cannot help but be curious about it. I am sure you will find it to be a pleasant, and respectful entity if you approach calmly, and with no hostility."
I thought for a moment. "Please try to keep it calm and we will try to make our approach as calmly, and respectfully as possible. We will endeavor at all costs, not provoke it."
"I should think not!" said the Glerff showing some alarm. “Since the extermination of the pirates I have personally observed it lifting enormous amounts of weight without strain. Seen it consume it’s rations which looked to be a combination of vegetable, AND meat with vigor. Much of which I am confirming was poisonous using an analyzer that once belonged to the pirates. The analyzer shows that some of its’ rations would be considered lethally poisonous to every species that I know of."
He held the analyzer screen to the drone for confirmation, as he continued speaking. "I am not an expert in the field of chemistry, so I would strongly suggest you scan whatever food he offers you before you eat it. Please note that refusing his "gift" of food does not insult him. Just hand it back to him if it is inedible, and then he will eat it himself."
The alien approached the drone that the Glerff was speaking to, and then picked up a silvery pouch from the makeshift table that the Moorkha was working over. It peeled the top off, and it ate the dark brown bar in 3 bites, then nodded to the drone, and went back to it’s repairs.
"What he just ate, by the way..." The Glerff said turning back to the drone. "...the analyzer states contains some alarming chemical chains. Theobromine, Phenylethylamine which look to be nearly lethal stimulants. Massive amounts of caffeine, Taurine, and Niacin as well. Oh dear, uh. By the nesting Gods! Leader Ak'kik, What it just ate could poison a small colony just on the amount of caffeine alone. But the amount of Capsaicin he just ate is even worse, FAR worse. PLEASE, please, refrain from angering it." he was still scanning the data in astonishment. "And, er, and this is most important, your weapons would be useless against it. It is incredibly fast, and can quite literally jump across this glade in a single bound. I think it came from a very high gravity planet. Maybe even a Deathworld. I vehemently recommend caution, and I strongly feel it necessary to reiterate, do NOT anger it, or incur its’ ire! Oh, and by the way, I did use the analyzer on it, it allowed me to do so, actually. the Analyzer data shows that there is probably nothing on this moon that it cannot eat, including us."
I replied, not through the drone this time as I was close enough in my approach that I no longer needed it. "Leader Ak'kik, at your service. Whom am I addressing?"
"Ah, apologies, I am professor Roonoomoo, and this is service master EEG'lix. That one there is Vorvert, and over there is D'rrr, and Higuv is just to the left of the table, and the two who are helping our rescuer are Woosk, and Rakk'n. It is a pleasure to meet you in return Leader Ak'kik."
"So you were saying some of the items on the table surface are actual foods that it eats? This is its’ food that it brought?" I said looking at the multitude of pouches and containers on the table.
“Oh yes. We made eating motions when we were trying to establish communications with it, to ask it for food, and he brought us this trove. He opened a package for us, and offered it, but, Woosk went into near panic when he saw that it was animal meat of some sort. After that he just spread everything out, and made a motion for us to inspect it for ourselves. All of us ate what the analyzer said was safe but that was not much of a variety. It turns out that there were only 2 packages all of us could eat. We saved the empty packages to show the alien what we ate once he is finished working. So that we do not risk angering it, you understand. Woosk and Rakk'n decided to offer what assistance they could after they ate, and have been doing so since then."
"May I be introduced to the alien now? I may have some tech that could help. If you will be so kind as to bring it here to us, as I would not want to trespass on its established area of operations, and be mistaken as hostile. We are obviously carrying weapons, and us approaching it...and its ship seems a questionable choice, at best."
"Very wise, Leader Ak'kik, I will see what I can do. I won't be but a moment. “Uh, er, you might want to hold on to that”, indicating the analyzer “and use it before you decide to touch anything on this table.", he said as he handed me the analyzer.
Professor Roonoomoo went to the alien ,and gently patted the joint in the middle of its lower appendage. The alien looked at professor Roonoomoo, who was pointing at us, and trying to explain us with hand signals and gestures, that we wished an introduction. When the alien looked at us we all, as a squad, showed it out empty hands as our weapons had been placed on the ground by our sides. it simply made a wave of one of its upper appendages, as if to say, “come here”. We approached with our empty hands plainly visible. As we approached it, it knelt. Not in surrender, or in supplication, but rather to level our mutual eye line. I realized that it was making an attempt to be polite.
I SLOWLY patted a stow pouch on my utility harness, and it nodded as though it seemed to understand, and motioned me to proceed. I held out the translator AI slate, "TAIS" and it took it, and then touched it to a device it wore on the wrist of its upper arm. (note that I am assuming proper body anatomy, based off of our own, although there are few similarities.) This alien was not only one of the largest I have seen, but also must be of a quite dense mass. As in its anatomy, and not its mental state, for it shook the ground around it with every step.
After a few moments there was a "chirping" sound from his device, and our coms alerted us to a new language file available. I allowed the exchange through my visor, and we were suddenly speaking to each other. I chose to make introductions first.
"I am Ak'kik. Leader of SH'azz squad. We have come to investigate and rescue these abductees. Do you require assistance?"
It held out it's hand as it spoke. "Bartholomew Wane Hatfield. Friends call me Bart." this aliens voice boomed at us.
"I was mining the asteroid belt in this system, when I caught a rogue asteroid right in the nads. Power plant was having a conniption fit after that so I figured I better set her down where I could patch her up. flying this old girl by wire is a bitch but, we got a thing so…"
This was the literal translation we initially received. As you can imagine, we were all quite confused.
"I beg your pardon unknown alien species, but the translation unit seems to be malfunctioning. We do not quite understand all of your words, we have no equivalent in our language for some, even though we seem to be communicating."
The sides of it’s facial orifice turned upward, revealing a multi-functional set fangs. Some pointed and some chisel shaped. Making it obvious it was an omnivore. Our visor AI stated that it “perceived” it was amused. It spoke into it’s wrist device, and it chirped in response. A second later our visor registered a "receive transmission" request. I allowed it, and this is what the visor AI showed us by way of "corrected translation".
"Bartholomew Wane Hatfield. Friends call me Bart.”
[REQUEST FOR FRIENDSHIP. THE USE OF "BART' ACKNOWLEDGES AND ACCEPTS FRIEND REQUEST]
“I was mining the asteroid belt in this system when I caught a rogue asteroid, right in the nads.”
[ASTEROID DAMAGED CRAFT IN CRITICAL LOCATION]
“Power plant was having a conniption fit after that so I figured I better set her down where I could patch her up.”
[POWER PLANT OPERATING WITH INTERMITTENT FAILURES. IMMEDIATE EMERGENCY REPAIR IS REQUIRED.]
“Flying this old girl by wire is a bitch but, we got a thing so..."
[LANDED SHIP WITHOUT COMPUTER ASSISTANCE OR ASSISTED CONTROLS. I AM EMOTIONALLY ATTACHED TO SHIP.]
I replied with, "AH, thank you for the subtext. Bart. I can see that your language has a vernacular art to it. I am culturally fascinated by such a language. Polite request. What is your power plant, and what is its power source? We may be able to assist with our spare component sets. Please feel free to not detail your technology to us, if it is security bound. We will not be insulted."
The alien again showed its fangs with a deep resonating, yet pleasant, vocal repetition. [LAUGHTEAMUSED]
"It's old tech stuff, by about 20 generations or so, but it's cheap, and reliable, common knowledge, and easy to repair. It’s a paired enriched uranium atom cracker.”
[DUAL/PAIRED NUCLEAR CORE POWER GENERATOR. EXTREMELY HAZARDOUS.}
"Chasing blinking lights mostly. When the asteroid hit, the core spiked, and caused a number of shorts and jumps."
[POWER SURGE CAUSED MULTIPLE SHORTS AND POSSIBLE INTERMITTENT ARC / SHORT IN SYSTEM.]
I nodded my understanding to the alien Bart. I then asked the engineer of my squad if he would be willing to assist. Corporal Zi'Kict accepted the challenge, though it looked as though anxiety, and fear
of "Bart" might overwhelm his current Stimcalm dose. "This is Corporal Zi'Kict. He is our designated engineer, and he has agreed to assist you. You can decline with no insult incurred."
He flashes us his fangs again. [HAPPY] His species, whatever it was, seemed to be fond of showing their teeth often.
"Hell, I never turn down a helpin' hand. Grab whatever it is y'all use, and let's get to chasin’ sparks."
[ASSISTANCE IS WELCOME]
"Uh, Bart. I must ask, what are your intentions with those that we were designated to rescue? If there is good will between us I would like to ensure that we, my crew and I, be given liberty return them to their families, and respective worlds. Will this be acceptable to you?"
"You go on right ahead, bless yer’ heart."
[ACCEPTANCE OF PROPOSAL WITH WELL WISHES TO YOUR CONTINUED EXISTENCE.]
“I'll miss these 'uns. Their nice and friendly."
[FONDNESS]
"Not like those other jackhole fecktards."
[REFERING TO PIRATES. INSULT INTENDED TOWARD PIRATES AND PIRACY.
{insult "jackhole" refers to anal orifice. "Fecktards" derogatory reference to mentally damaged or deranged individuals with severely limited mental capacity that act inappropriately.}]
"I understand and concur with your insult of the pirates, and thank you for your understanding, your patience, and your friendship. With your permission I would like to redirect my ship to your encampment so our medtech device can confirm their current health. If it is not offensive, I would like to offer our medtech device to scan you as well, and determine if it is capable of repairing your injuries also. Refusal will not be considered an insult. My squad engineer will will assist you as needed, and our spare components are at your disposal. Friend Bart."
"Well bless yer heart, that would be dandy with me. Much obliged!"
[ACCEPTANCE OF PROPOSAL WITH WELL WISHES TO YOUR CONTINUED EXISTENCE. IMMENSE THANKS]
I bowed to the alien I now called friend Bart, and went to co-ordinate the rescue operation, and sent the AI to bring the ship to my location. Since my priority was the health and safety of the of the abductees I spent the majority of my remaining time with them.
The alien required only a single spool of CronWire, and a span of shielded conduit, a simple enough repair. The abductees were tended to medically, fed, and shown to their racks. We allowed the abductees to contact their loved ones through our secured communications net. The alien allowed our medtech device to repair its burns, but it was unable to regrow the lost hair on its face. Friend Bart removed the rest of the hair around its mandible orifice with a small device, saying that he had to keep the balance. The squad medic timidly requested a full scan of Friend Bart, and Friend Bart was amenable to this.
We left Friend Bart, and watched him take off from orbit a few hours later. My squad medic started pouring over the MedTech device scans of Friend Bart, and quickly went into a fit of panic, and it took a questionable dose of Stimcalm to calm him down. I admit that I glanced at the data, but I am not trained as a medic so I understood nothing. The squad engineer simply handed me a collated list of intel he gathered while working with Friend Bart. They had a lengthy converse, and the engineer had actually formed a bond with Friend Bart. The list is as follows.
Name: Bartholomew Wane Hatfield
Species: Human
Origin: city of Austin in the state of Texas in the country of the United States of the planet Terra of the Sol star system
(system is far past the outer edge of our empire on the frontier side, opposite of coreward.)
Gravity: home normal +4 (4 times greater than our own gravity!)
Planet notes: frequent earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes, tornadoes.
Planet has multiple biosphere, and terrain hazards that are lethal.
Plague level viruses, and bacteria, Multiple predators in every biosphere.
(See files freely given by Friend Bart) [FILESTORE- FriendBart01a]
NOTE: great white shark, alligator, saltwater crocodiles, king cobra, wolf, pit bulls, and other canines, polar bears, poison dart frog, hippopotamus, killer whale, rhinoceros, box jellyfish, cone snail, hyena, stone fish, black mamba, grizzly bears, puffer fish, komodo dragon, death stalker scorpion, lions, leopards, brown recluse spider, black widow spider, Brazillian wandering spider, electric eel, etc.
Please note that this list is merely a VERY small fraction of the actual list. My understanding is that the home planet of Friend Bart is at least a level 10-12 Deathworld. He also states that many of the species on this list are kept as pets by his fellow humans.
The squad engineer states he will send in a request for allowance of continued discourse with Friend Bart, but understands if this request is denied. After careful deliberation with the squad medic, we strongly recommend that the details of this mission be put to the SEC level at Black 8 tier 12 restricted, or higher, if there is a level higher than Black 8 tier 12 restricted.
Captain Ak'kik. Leader of SH'azz squad
[END OF REPORT]
mektreks*Aprox. One Terran kilometer equivalent.
NOK* Measurement of warp travel. 1NOK = speed of light

“Questioning elicited the information that he feels almost as if there is a veil between him and other people through which they cannot reach him, but he prefers this veil to remain intact.”
—
Sometimes he looks around him, horrified by the weight of it all, the career of paper. He sits in the data-spew of hundreds of lives. There’s no end in sight. When he needs something, a report or transcript, anything, any level of difficulty, he simply has to ask. The Curator is quick to respond, firm in his insistence on forwarding precisely the right document in an area of research marked by ambiguity and error, by political bias, systematic fantasy. But not just the right document, not just an obscure footnote from an open source. The Curator sends him material not seen by anyone outside the headquarters complex at Langley, material that includes the results of internal investigations, confidential files from the Agency’s own Office of Security.
—
Knowledge was a danger, ignorance a cherished asset. In many cases the DCI, the Director of Central Intelligence, was not to know important things. The less he knew, the more decisively he could function. It would impair his ability to tell the truth at an inquiry or a hearing, or in an Oval Office chat with the President, if he knew what they were doing in Leader 4, or even what they were talking about, or muttering in their sleep. The Joint Chiefs were not to know. The operational horrors were not for their ears. Details were a form of contamination. The Secretaries were to be insulated from knowing. They were happier not knowing, or knowing too late. The Deputy Secretaries were interested in drifts and tendencies. They expected to be misled. They counted on it. The Attorney General wasn’t to know the queasy details. Just get results. Each level of the committee was designed to protect a higher level. There were complexities of speech. A man needed special experience and insight to work true meanings out of certain murky remarks. There were pauses and blank looks. Brilliant riddles floated up and down the echelons, to be pondered, solved, ignored.
The members of the committee would allow only generalities to carry upward. It was the President, of course, who was the final object of their protective instincts. … The White House was to be the summit of unknowing. It was as if an unsullied leader redeemed some ancient truth which the others were forced to admire only in the abstract, owing to their mission in the convoluted world.
But there were even deeper shadows, strange and grave silences surrounding plans to invade the island. The President knew about this, of course—knew the broad contours, had a sense of the promised outcome. But the system still operated as an insulating muse. Let him see the softer tones. Shield him from responsibility. Secrets build their own networks, Win believed. The system would perpetuate itself in all its curious and obsessive webbings, its equivocations and patient riddles and levels of delusional thought …
—
“The invasion failed because high officials didn’t examine the basic assumptions. They got caught up in a spirit of compelling action. They were eager to accept other men’s perceptions. There was safety in this. The plan was never clear. No one was ever responsible. Some of them knew a disaster was in the works. They let it ride. They put themselves out of reach. They wanted it over and done.”
—
“Some things we wait for all our lives without knowing it. Then it happens and we recognize at once who we are and how we are meant to proceed. This is the idea I’ve always wanted. I believe you’ll sense it is right. It’s the high risk we need. We need an electrifying event. You’ve been waiting for this every bit as much as I have. I believe that or I wouldn’t have asked you to come here. We want to set up an attempt on the life of the President. We plan every step, design every incident leading up to the event. We put together a team, leave a dim trail. The evidence is ambiguous. But it points to the Cuban Intelligence Directorate. Inherent in the plan is a second set of clues, even more unclear, more intriguing. These point to the Agency’s attempts to assassinate Castro. I am designing a plan that includes elements of both the American provocation and the Cuban reply. We do the whole thing with paper. Passports, drivers’ licenses, address books. Our team of shooters disappears but the police find a trail. Mail-order forms, change-of-address cards, photographs. We script a person or persons out of ordinary pocket litter. Shots ring out, the country is shocked, aroused. The paper trail leads to paid agents who have disappeared in Venezuela, in Mexico. I am convinced this is what we have to do to get Cuba back. This plan has levels and variations I’ve only begun to explore but it is already, essentially, right. I feel its rightness. I know what scientists mean when they talk about elegant solutions. This plan speaks to something deep inside me. It has a powerful logic. I’ve felt it unfolding for weeks, like a dream whose meaning slowly becomes apparent. This is the condition we’ve always wanted to reach. It’s the life-insight, the life-secret, and we have to extend it, guard it carefully, right up to the time we have shooters stationed on a rooftop or railroad bridge.”
—
Historic names, pen names, names of war, party names, revolutionary names. These were men who lived in isolation for long periods, lived close to death through long winters in exile or prison, feeling history in the room, waiting for the moment when it would surge through the walls, taking them with it. History was a force to these men, a presence in the room. They felt it and waited.
The books were struggles. He had to fight to make some elementary sense of what he read. But the books had come out of struggle. They had been struggles to write, struggles to live. It seemed fitting to Lee that the texts were often masses of dense theory, unyielding. The tougher the books, the more firmly he fixed a distance between himself and others.
He found enough that he could understand. He could see the capitalists, he could see the masses. They were right here, all around him, every day.
—
Pocket litter. Win Everett was at work devising a general shape, a life. He would script a gunman out of ordinary dog-eared paper, the contents of a wallet. … They wanted a name, a face, a bodily frame they might use to extend their fiction into the world. Everett had decided he wanted one figure to be slightly more visible than the others, a man the investigation might center on, someone who would be trailed and possibly apprehended. Three or four shooters would vanish completely, leaving scant traces of their affiliation. … Then one other figure, one slightly clearer image, perhaps abandoned in his sniper’s perch to find his own way out, to be trailed, found, possibly killed by the Secret Service, FBI or local police. Whatever protocol demands. This kind of man, a marksman, near anonymous, with minimal known history, the kind of man who surfaces in murky places, disappears, is arrested for some violent act, is released to drift again, to surface, to disappear. Mackey would find this man for Everett. They needed fingerprints, a handwriting sample, a photograph. Mackey would find the other shooters as well. We don’t hit the President. We miss him. We want a spectacular miss.
—
It was all so curiously funny. It was rich, that’s what it was. Everyone was a spook or dupe or asset, a double, courier, cutout or defector, or was related to one. We were all linked in a vast and rhythmic coincidence, a daisy chain of rumor, suspicion and secret wish.
—
Somewhere in his room of theories, in some notebook or folder, Nicholas Branch has a roster of the dead. A printout of the names of witnesses, informers, investigators, people linked to Lee H. Oswald, people linked to Jack Ruby, all conveniently and suggestively dead. In 1979 a House select committee determined there was nothing statistically abnormal about the death rate among those who were connected in some way to the events of November 22. Branch accepts this as an actuarial fact. He is writing a history, not a study of the ways in which people succumb to paranoia. There is endless suggestiveness. Branch concedes this. There is the language of the manner of death. Shot in back of head. Died of cut throat. Shot in police station. Shot in motel. Shot by husband after one month marriage. Found hanging by toreador pants in jail cell. Killed by karate chop. It is the neon epic of Saturday night. And Branch wants to believe that’s all it is. There is enough mystery in the facts as we know them, enough of conspiracy, coincidence, loose ends, dead ends, multiple interpretations. There is no need, he thinks, to invent the grand and masterful scheme, the plot that reaches flawlessly in a dozen directions.
Still, the cases do resonate, don’t they? Mostly anonymous dead. Exotic dancers, taxi drivers, cigarette girls, lawyers of the shopworn sort with dandruff on their lapels. But through the years the violence has reached others as well, and with each new series of misadventures Branch sees again how the assassination sheds a powerful and lasting light, exposing patterns and links, revealing this man to have known that one, this death to have occurred in curious juxtaposition to that.
—
“U-2 planes. The planes that spotted the missiles the Soviets were putting into Cuba. We used to call the photos pornography. The photo interpreters would gather to interpret. ‘Let’s see what kind of pornography we pulled in today.’ Kennedy looked at the pictures in his bedroom as a matter of fact. … Spy planes, drone aircraft, satellites with cameras that can see from three hundred miles what you can see from a hundred feet. They see and they hear. Like ancient monks, you know, who recorded knowledge, wrote it painstakingly down. These systems collect and process. All the secret knowledge of the world. … I’ll tell you what it means, these orbiting sensors that can hear us in our beds. It means the end of loyalty. The more complex the systems, the less conviction in people. Conviction will be drained out of us. Devices will drain us, make us vague and pliant.”
—
He would put someone together, build an identity, a skein of persuasion and habit, ever so subtle. He wanted a man with believable quirks. He would create a shadowed room, the gunman’s room, which investigators would eventually find, exposing each fact to relentless scrutiny, following each friend, relative, casual acquaintance into his own roomful of shadows. We lead more interesting lives than we think. We are characters in plots, without the compression and numinous sheen. Our lives, examined carefully in all their affinities and links, abound with suggestive meaning, with themes and involute turnings we have not allowed ourselves to see completely. He would show the secret symmetries in a nondescript life.
An address book with ambiguous leads. Photographs expertly altered (or crudely altered). Letters, travel documents, counterfeit signatures, a history of false names. It would all require a massive decipherment, a conversion to plain text. He envisioned teams of linguists, photo analysts, fingerprint experts, handwriting experts, experts in hairs and fibers, smudges and blurs. Investigators building up chronologies. He would give them the makings of deep chronos, lead them to basement rooms in windy industrial slums, to lost towns in the Tropics.
—
Life is hostile, he believed. The struggle is to merge your life with the greater tide of history.
—
Maybe what has to happen is that the individual must allow himself to be swept along, must find himself in the stream of no-choice, the single direction. This is what makes things inevitable. You use the restrictions and penalties they invent to make yourself stronger. History means to merge. The purpose of history is to climb out of your own skin. He knew what Trotsky had written, that revolution leads us out of the dark night of the isolated self. We live forever in history, outside ego and id.
—
Two weeks later he followed directions to a house in the Sanya district of Tokyo. He made his way through a ragpickers’ village built with material scavenged from other parts of the city. Old women jogged through the alleys carrying empty bottles, broken chair legs, pieces of indefinable junk. Houses were shoulder-high, made of old packing crates and strips of sheet metal, the walls stuffed with cardboard and rags. There were lines of people selling blood at mobile units, people who seemed hollow-bodied, so small, in such collapse. It would never bottom out. No matter how far down you went into the world, there were distances still to go, worse things to see and experience. He made it a point not to hurry through the area. He wanted to see what was here.
—
It produced a sensation of the eeriest panic, gave him a glimpse of the fiction he’d been devising, a fiction living prematurely in the world.
—
Nicholas Branch has unpublished state documents, polygraph reports, Dictabelt recordings from the police radio net on November 22. He has photo enhancements, floor plans, home movies, biographies, bibliographies, letters, rumors, mirages, dreams. This is the room of dreams, the room where it has taken him all these years to learn that his subject is not politics or violent crime but men in small rooms.
Is he one of them now? Frustrated, stuck, self-watching, looking for a means of connection, a way to break out. After Oswald, men in America are no longer required to lead lives of quiet desperation. You apply for a credit card, buy a handgun, travel through cities, suburbs and shopping malls, anonymous, anonymous, looking for a chance to take a shot at the first puffy empty famous face, just to let people know there is someone out there who reads the papers.
Branch is stuck all right. He has abandoned his life to understanding that moment in Dallas, the seven seconds that broke the back of the American century. He has his forensic pathology rundown, his neutron activation analysis. There is also the Warren Report, of course, with its twenty-six accompanying volumes of testimony and exhibits, its millions of words. Branch thinks this is the megaton novel James Joyce would have written if he’d moved to Iowa City and lived to be a hundred.
Everything is here. Baptismal records, report cards, postcards, divorce petitions, canceled checks, daily timesheets, tax returns, property lists, postoperative x-rays, photos of knotted string, thousands of pages of testimony, of voices droning in hearing rooms in old courthouse buildings, an incredible haul of human utterance. It lies so flat on the page, hangs so still in the lazy air, lost to syntax and other arrangement, that it resembles a kind of mind-spatter, a poetry of lives muddied and dripping in language.
Branch doesn’t know how to approach this kind of data. … It is vital to his sense of responsible obsession that everything in his room warrants careful study. Everything belongs, everything adheres, the mutter of obscure witnesses, the photos of illegible documents and odd sad personal debris, things gathered up at a dying—old shoes, pajama tops, letters from Russia. It is all one thing, a ruined city of trivia where people feel real pain. This is the Joycean Book of America, remember—the novel in which nothing is left out.
Branch has long since forgiven the Warren Report for its failures. It is too valuable a document of human heartbreak and muddle to be scorned or dismissed. The twenty-six volumes haunt him. Men and women surface in FBI memos, are tracked for several pages, then disappear—waitresses, prostitutes, mind readers, motel managers, owners of rifle ranges. Their stories hang in time, spare, perfect in their way, unfinished.
Photographs. Many are overexposed, light-blasted, with a faded quality beyond their age, suggesting things barely glimpsed despite the simple nature of the objects and the spare captions. ... But Branch feels there is a loneliness, a strange desolation trapped here. Why do these photographs have a power to disturb him, make him sad? Flat, pale, washed in time, suspended outside the particularized gist of this or that era, arguing nothing, clarifying nothing, lonely. Can a photograph be lonely?
This sadness has him fixed to his chair, staring. He feels the souls of empty places, finds himself returning again and again to the pictures of the second-floor lunchroom in the Texas School Book Depository. Rooms, garages, streets were emptied out for the making of official pictures. Empty forever now, stuck in some picture limbo. He feels the souls of those who were there and left. He feels sadness in objects, in warehouse cartons and blood-soaked clothes. He breathes in loneliness. He feels the dead in his room.
—
It was his goodbye to Russia. It signified the official end of a major era in his life. It validated the experience, as the writing of any history brings a persuasion and form to events.
Even as he printed the words, he imagined people reading them, people moved by his loneliness and disappointment, even by his wretched spelling, the childish mess of composition. Let them see the struggle and humiliation, the effort he had to exert to write a simple sentence. The pages were crowded, smudged, urgent, a true picture of his state of mind, of his rage and frustration, knowing a thing but not able to record it properly.
Always the pain, the chaos of composition. He could not find order in the field of little symbols. They were in the hazy distance. He could not clearly see the picture that is called a word. A word is also a picture of a word. He saw spaces, incomplete features, and tried to guess at the rest.
He made wild tries at phonetic spelling. But the language tricked him with its inconsistencies. He watched sentences deteriorate, powerless to make them right. The nature of things was to be elusive. Things slipped through his perceptions. He could not get a grip on the runaway world.
Limits everywhere. In every direction he came up against his own incompleteness. Cramped, fumbling, deficient. He knew things. It wasn’t that he didn’t know.
Even in the rush of filling these pages, he was careful to leave out certain things that could be used in legal argument against his return to the U.S. Yes, the diary was self-serving to a degree but still the basic truth, he believed. The panic was real, the voice of disappointment and loss.
He knew there were discrepancies, messed-up dates. No one could expect him to get the dates right after all this time, no one cared about the dates, no one is reading this for names and dates and spellings.
Let them see the struggle.
He believed religiously that his life would turn in such a way that people would one day study the Historic Diary for clues to the heart and mind of the man who wrote it.
—
Plots carry their own logic. There is a tendency of plots to move toward death. He believed that the idea of death is woven into the nature of every plot. A narrative plot no less than a conspiracy of armed men. The tighter the plot of a story, the more likely it will come to death. A plot in fiction, he believed, is the way we localize the force of the death outside the book, play it off, contain it. The ancients staged mock battles to parallel the tempests in nature and reduce their fear of gods who warred across the sky. He worried about the deathward logic of his plot. He’d already made it clear that he wanted the shooters to hit a Secret Service man, wound him superficially. But it wasn’t a misdirected round, an accidental killing, that made him afraid. There was something more insidious. He had a foreboding that the plot would move to a limit, develop a logical end.
—
He thought the only end to isolation was to reach the point where he was no longer separated from the true struggles that went on around him. The name we give this point is history.
—
“It’s the job of an intelligence service to resolve a nation’s obsessions. Cuba is a fixed idea. It is prickly in a way Russia is not. More unresolved. More damaging to the psyche. And this is our job, to remove the psychic threat, to learn so much about Castro, decipher his intentions, undermine his institutions to such a degree that he loses the power to shape the way we think, to shape the way we sleep at night.”
—
It was remarkable how often he talked to her about these things. The Agency was the one subject in his life that could never be exhausted. Central Intelligence. Beryl saw it as the best organized church in the Christian world, a mission to collect and store everything that everyone has ever said and then reduce it to a microdot and call it God. She needed to live in small dusty rooms, layered safely in, out of the reach of dizzying things, of heat and light and strange spaces, and Larry needed the great sheltering nave of the Agency. He believed that nothing can be finally known that involves human motive and need. There is always another level, another secret, a way in which the heart breeds a deception so mysterious and complex it can only be taken for a deeper kind of truth.
—
He’d stopped commenting on this oddness of hers. She said the news clippings she sent to friends were a perfectly reasonable way to correspond. There were a thousand things to clip and they all said something about the way she felt. He watched her read and cut. She wore half-glasses and worked the scissors grimly. She believed these were personal forms of expression. She believed no message she could send a friend was more intimate and telling than a story in the paper … Because these are the things that tell us how we live.
—
In the Old Senate Caucus Room they asked him to name the members of the Real Control Apparatus. This is like naming particles in the air, naming molecules or cells. The Apparatus is precisely what we can’t see or name. We can’t measure it, gentlemen, or take its photograph. It is the mystery we can’t get hold of, the plot we can’t uncover. This doesn’t mean there are no plotters. They are elected officials of our government, Cabinet members, philanthropists, men who know each other by secret signs, who work in the shadows to control our lives.
—
On his fourth day with Castro he shot a government scout, aiming through a telescopic sight. It was uncanny. You press a button and a man drops dead a hundred meters away. It seemed hollow and remote, falsifying everything. It was a trick of the lenses. The man is an accurate picture. Then he is upside down. Then he is right side up. You shoot at a series of images conveyed to you through a metal tube. The force of a death should be enormous but how can you know what kind of man you’ve killed or who was the braver and stronger if you have to peer through layers of glass that deliver the image but obscure the meaning of the act? War has a conscience or it’s ordinary murder.
—
The Curator sends the results of ballistics tests carried out on human skulls and goat carcasses, on blocks of gelatin mixed with horsemeat. There are photographs of skulls with the right cranial portion blown away. There are bullet-shattered goat heads in close-up. Branch studies a picture of a gelatin-tissue model “dressed” like the President. It is pure modernist sculpture, a block of gelatin layered in suit and shirt material with a strip of undershirt showing, bullet-smoked. There are documents concerning exit velocities. There is a picture of a human skull filled with gelatin and covered with goatskin to simulate a scalp.
—
He sends an actual warped bullet that has been fired for test purposes through the wrist of a seated cadaver. We are on another level here, Branch thinks. Beyond documents now. They want me to touch and smell.
—
The Oswald shadings, the multiple images, the split perceptions—eye color, weapons caliber—these seem a foreboding of what is to come. The endless fact-rubble of the investigations. How many shots, how many gunmen, how many directions? Powerful events breed their own network of inconsistencies. The simple facts elude authentication. How many wounds on the President’s body? What is the size and shape of the wounds? … [Branch] concedes everything. He questions everything, including the basic suppositions we make about our world of light and shadow, solid objects and ordinary sounds, and our ability to measure such things, to determine weight, mass and direction, to see things as they are, recall them clearly, be able to say what happened.
He takes refuge in his notes. The notes are becoming an end in themselves. Branch has decided it is premature to make a serious effort to turn these notes into coherent history. Maybe it will always be premature. Because the data keeps coming. Because new lives enter the record all the time. The past is changing as he writes.
—
“Signs that you exist. Evidence that Lee Oswald matches the cardboard cutout they’ve been shaping all along. You’re a quirk of history. You’re a coincidence. They devise a plan, you fit it perfectly. They lose you, here you are. There’s a pattern in things. Something in us has an effect on independent events. We make things happen. The conscious mind gives one side only. We’re deeper than that. We extend into time. Some of us can almost predict the time and place and nature of our own death. We know it on some deeper plane.”
—
“Think of two parallel lines,” he said. “One is the life of Lee H. Oswald. One is the conspiracy to kill the President. What bridges the space between them? What makes a connection inevitable? There is a third line. It comes out of dreams, visions, intuitions, prayers, out of the deepest levels of the self. It’s not generated by cause and effect like the other two lines. It’s a line that cuts across causality, cuts across time. It has no history that we can recognize or understand. But it forces a connection. It puts a man on the path of his destiny.”
—
The Agency forgives. There wasn’t a man in the upper ranks of the four directorates who didn’t understand the perils of clandestine work. They would be pleased by his willingness to cooperate. What’s more, they would admire the complexity of his plan, incomplete as it was. It had art and memory. It had a sense of responsibility, of moral force. And it was a picture in the world of their own guilty wishes. He was never more surely an Agency man than in the first breathless days of dreaming up this plot.
—
To Nicholas Branch, more frequently of late, “Lee H. Oswald” seems a technical diagram, part of some exercise in the secret manipulation of history.
—
Street by street the crowd began to understand why it was here. The message jumped the open space from one press of bodies to the next. A contagion had brought them here, some mystery of common impulse, hundreds of thousands come from so many histories and systems of being, come from some experience of the night before, a convergence of dreams, to stand together shouting as the Lincoln passed. … They were here to surround the brittle body of one man and claim his smile, receive some token of the bounty of his soul.
—
The media crowds collected and rocked in the corridors. They were waiting for the prisoner to come down to the interrogation room here on the third floor of the Police and Courts Building. TV cameras sat on dollies and there were cables slung over windowsills, trailing through the offices of deputy chiefs. Nobody checked credentials. Reporters took over the phones and pushed into toilets after police officials. Total unknowns walked the halls, defendants from other parts of the building, witnesses to other crimes, tourists, muttering men, drunks in torn shirts. It was a roughhouse, a confoundment. Every rumor flew. Disk jockeys arrived to fill in, blinking, flinching, wary. A reporter wrote notes on a pad he balanced on the back of the chief of police.
Hours going by. Blank faces arrayed against corridor walls. Men crouched near the elevators waiting. They sensed the incompleteness out there, gaps, spaces, vacant seats, lobbies emptied out, disconnections, dark cities, stopped lives. People were lonely for news. Only news could make them whole again, restore sensation. Three hundred reporters in a compact space, all pushing to extract a word. A word is a magic wish. A word from anyone. With a word they could begin to grid the world, make an instant surface that people can see and touch together.
—
Whenever they took him down, he heard his name on the radios and TVs. Lee Harvey Oswald. It sounded extremely strange. He didn’t recognize himself in the full intonation of the name. The only time he used his middle name was to write it on a form that had a space for that purpose. No one called him by that name. Now it was everywhere. He heard it coming from the walls. Reporters called it out. Lee Harvey Oswald, Lee Harvey Oswald. It sounded odd and dumb and made up. They were talking about somebody else.
—
They took him back to the cell. He stripped to his underwear and sat on the bunk, thinking, feeling the noise of the assembly room still resonating in his body. A cell is the basic state, the crude truth of the world.
He could play it either way, depending on what they could prove or couldn’t prove. He wasn’t on the sixth floor at all. He was in the lunchroom eating lunch. The victim of a total frame. They’d been rigging the thing for years, watching him, using him, creating a chain of evidence with the innocent facts of his life. Or he could say he was only partly guilty, set up to take the blame for the real conspirators. Okay, he fired some shots from the window. But he didn’t kill anyone. He never meant to fire a fatal shot. It was never his intention to cause an actual fatality. He was only trying to make a political point. Other people were responsible for the actual killing. They fixed it so he would seem the lone gunman. They superimposed his head on someone else’s body. Forged his name on documents. Made him a dupe of history. He would name every name if he had to.
—
Lee Harvey Oswald was awake in his cell. It was beginning to occur to him that he’d found his life’s work. After the crime comes the reconstruction. He will have motives to analyze, the whole rich question of truth and guilt. Time to reflect, time to turn this thing in his mind. Here is a crime that clearly yields material for deep interpretation. He will be able to bend the light of that heightened moment, shadows fixed on the lawn, the limousine shimmering and still. Time to grow in self-knowledge, to explore the meaning of what he’s done. He will vary the act a hundred ways, speed it up and slow it down, shift emphasis, find shadings, see his whole life change.
This was the true beginning.
They will, give him writing paper and books. He will fill his cell with books about the case. He will have time to educate himself in criminal law, ballistics, acoustics, photography. Whatever pertains to the case he will examine and consume. People will come to see him, the lawyers first, then psychologists, historians, biographers. His life had a single clear subject now, called Lee Harvey Oswald.
He and Kennedy were partners. The figure of the gunman in the window was inextricable from the victim and his history. This sustained Oswald in his cell. It gave him what he needed to live.
—
If we are on the outside, we assume a conspiracy is the perfect working of a scheme. Silent nameless men with unadorned hearts. A conspiracy is everything that ordinary life is not. It’s the inside game, cold, sure, undistracted, forever closed off to us. We are the flawed ones, the innocents, trying to make some rough sense of the daily jostle. Conspirators have a logic and a daring beyond our reach. All conspiracies are the same taut story of men who find coherence in some criminal act.
But maybe not. Nicholas Branch thinks he knows better. He has learned enough about the days and months preceding November 22, and enough about the twenty-second itself, to reach a determination that the conspiracy against the President was a rambling affair that succeeded in the short term due mainly to chance. Deft men and fools, ambivalence and fixed will and what the weather was like.
The stuff keeps coming. The Curator sends FBI surveillance logs. He sends a thirty-five-hour film chronology of unedited network footage shot during the weekend of November 22. He sends a computer-enhanced version of the Zapruder film, the 8mm home movie made by a dress manufacturer who stood on a concrete abutment above Elm Street as the shots were fired. Experts have scrutinized every murky nuance of the Zapruder film. It is the basic timing device of the assassination and a major emblem of uncertainty and chaos. There is the powerful moment of death, the surrounding blurs, patches and shadows.
(Branch’s analysis of the film and other evidence leads him to believe the first shot came much sooner than most theories would allow, probably at Zapruder frame 186. Governor Connally was hit two point six seconds later, at Zapruder 234. The shot that killed the President, crushingly, came four point three seconds after that. Even though he has reached firm conclusions in this area, Branch will study the computerized version of Zapruder. He is in too deep to stop now.)
The Curator sends a special FBI report that includes detailed descriptions of the dreams of eyewitnesses following the assassination of Kennedy and the murder of Oswald.
There are worrisome omissions, occasional gaps in the record. Of course Branch understands that the Agency is a closed system. He knows they will not reveal what they’ve learned to other agencies, much less the public. This is why the history he has contracted to write is a secret one, meant for CIA’s own closed collection. But why are they withholding material from him as well? There’s something they aren’t telling him. The Curator delays, lately, in filling certain requests for information, seems to ignore other requests completely. What are they holding back? How much more is there? Branch wonders if there is some limit inherent in the yielding of information gathered in secret. They can’t give it all away, even to one of their own, someone pledged to confidentiality. Before his retirement, Branch analyzed intelligence, sought patterns in random scads of data. He believed secrets were childish things. He was not generally impressed by the accomplishments of men in the clandestine service, the spy handlers, the covert-action staff. He thought they’d built a vast theology, a formal coded body of knowledge that was basically play material, secret-keeping, one of the keener pleasures and conflicts of childhood. Now he wonders if the Agency is protecting something very much like its identity—protecting its own truth, its theology of secrets.
The Curator begins to send fiction, twenty-five years of novels and plays about the assassination. He sends feature films and documentaries. He sends transcripts of panel discussions and radio debates. Branch has no choice but to study this material. There are important things he has yet to learn. There are lives he must examine. It is essential to master the data.
—
He believes people are distorting his words even as he speaks them. There is a process that takes place between the saying of a word and when they pretend to hear it correctly but actually change it to mean what they want.
—
He is miscast, or cast as someone else, as Oswald. They are part of the same crime now. They are in it together and forever and together.
—
The camera doesn’t catch all of it. There seem to be missing frames, lost levels of information. Brief and simple as the shooting is, it is too much to take in, too mingled in jumped-up energies.
—
There was something in Oswald’s face, a glance at the camera before he was shot, that put him here in the audience, among the rest of us, sleepless in our homes—a glance, a way of telling us that he knows who we are and how we feel, that he has brought our perceptions and interpretations into his sense of the crime. Something in the look, some sly intelligence, exceedingly brief but far-reaching, a connection all but bleached away by glare, tells us that he is outside the moment, watching with the rest of us.

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The echoes of swords colliding, rippled across the field, along with the random spurts and cracks, from fissures popping up, as a result of tectonic plates, slowing down and crashing into one another. The planet's destruction was in progress, but nothing could shake the General's focus, as he tried to get the upper hand against the Dark King.
"Terra Arts, Revolving Dome!" He yelled as quakes reverberated throughout their vicinity, then large walls rose and encircled them, before covering the sky in a complete dome of magma. Twice the size of a baseball field.
It began swirling in a circle, with the viscosity of lava flowing down a volcano. Even under the relentless tremors of earthquakes around the planet, the dome still maintained itself, with tremendous heat and pressure.
Rael looked all around him. Noticing he had blocked all of his exits with the support of the planet's iko. It wouldn't be easy for him to escape. "Making your own coffin old man?" He still managed to mock as he gathered energy and desperately searched for a way out.
However, Roku ignored him and continued his task, preparing his stage. "Forbidden Art, Wrath of the Terracotta." Rael watched as blood trailed out of the General's mouth, along with an unbothered smile. "No, this casket, was built with you in mind."
He began backing away, as Rael glanced around and noticed thousands of Azurian soldiers, made out of magma, rising out of the walls, ceiling, and ground. Each of them roared war cries, echoing in an explosive rhythm, and then without hesitation, they all charged the king at full speed.
He cut down as many as he could but was completely outnumbered in moments. Some pounding down on him and the remaining exploding on touch.
Roku continued his assault and raised his hand, high above his head. The walls seemingly started to pulse as if they were alive, pumping more lava out of the ground and running it through its veins to the center of the ceiling. Which morphed into a sky cannon, seconds from erupting.
Blood dripped down, his nose, yet he fought on, yelling at the top of his lungs. "Forbidden Art, Terra Liberation!"
A laser beam of burning lava burst out of the cannon, absolutely destroying the entire domain, yet the walls still held up and contained the blast. With the disappearance of the king's iko below, Roku finally felt a bit of relief knowing there was no way he could move with the terracotta holding him down.
He let up, as the dome walls began to fall apart. He felt his chest, feeling many organs, beginning to fail. Tears, forced him to look up at the ash-coloured sky, remembering Two and his family.
However, Rael's voice shook him back to reality. "Unfortunately that wasn't enough."
As the smoke cleared, The General was shocked to see the king, still standing amongst frozen and broken Terracotta soldiers. Each climbing over each other and trying to reach him. The ground he was standing on, was carved out of its surroundings and pressed far below ground level.
The biggest shock to him though, was Rael's appearance. "A Lost One..." He murmured to himself, as he coughed more blood.
Rael took a deep breath, simmering in all of the dark energy, smothering him. "Not many people have driven me this far... Congrats, now I'm mad."
Dark energy reinforced the elemental phenomenon revolving around the king, as he crouched down, with one hand on his sheathed sword. The skull on his face, painted for war in blood, began to crack. "Hod Erebos!"
Black lightning ripped through the remnants of the ceiling, and raced toward him, then surged into his sword. A thin film of ice condensed air pressure, all over his sword, concentrating an all-black coat of lava, as he quickly unsheathed it and leaped with frightening speed, off the pillar holding him up from the abyss.
Roku braced himself, preparing his defence, however in the split second that he blinked, Rael had teleported, less than a meter in front of him and beheaded him. All before he could react, as he passed by gracefully.
The General watched his world tilt upside down, as Rael sheathed his sword back and allowed his skull to break off completely. "Forgive me, Ak-"
Rael obliterated the remains of his body before they could hit the ground. Staying true to his name. "I'm honoured for the fight, but I disliked how much, you put me through. You may live on in my memory."
His side effects began to creep up on him, making it hard for him to breathe and remain standing. Regardless, he would have to find the strength. He cursed as he turned around, seeing Calypso, floating right behind him, with her streaking, streaks of silver and a flaming white-hot sphere of fire, floating in front of her palm.
"Did you miss me?" She asked as she launched her gift, with deadly speed.
Akio vs Atlas and Mado...
"So, you've chosen to lose yourself?" the Elder asked, watching the king's disturbing transformation. He shook his head in disgust. "Savages till the end." He concluded, before launching the sphere at them. "Terra Art, Celestial Descent."
The sphere began to descend at a rapid pace. Atlas glanced at Mado, hoping he might still have his wits about him, as a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.
Quickly, he thrust his hands in front of him, producing a condensed sphere of lava, then erupted it, trying to push back Akio's attack. However, instead, he noticed his feet, digging into the dirt. Panic struck his mind, as his life started to flash before his eyes.
Suddenly a beam of black fire and lightning, crashed into the sphere, stopping its acceleration. The emperor looked over to the king, seeing him still in his lost form, but choosing survival over death. Relieved, he turned back and yelled, following Mado's roar.
The two pushed back with all of their might, resulting in the collision of forces in a draw, with a magnificent explosion. Magma rained everywhere, as tension built up between the two parties.
"My, my, I didn't think you had that much fight, left in you." The Elder broke the silence while stroking his beard, his eyes went wide, as he turned around to block the king, teleporting in with a sneak attack. With ease, he blocked a few more, then punched him back down into the ground.
Atlas was next, using the distraction to crash into him as they both locked hands and spiralled downwards. Akio used the momentum to break one of his hands free and slammed the emperor into the ground, then threw him, while kicking a few boulders toward his direction, to keep him down.
"You're making this too easy." He said, covering his hands in magma, just as Mado appeared once more at the worst possible time. The Elder's fist connected with the skull covering his face and cracked it up.
The king recoiled back a few meters, slightly withstanding the strike, as dark smoke, began to escape the mask. He roared back in pain.
'He's getting stronger.' Akio thought to himself. Then stepped hard, while he hammering his fist down in the air, simultaneously sinking Mado, deep into the planet. Leaving him to be attacked constantly, by the wrath of the planet.
He winced as Atlas appeared behind him, trying to jam a ball of green fire into his back. However, the Elder had already anticipated him and sidestepped. Allowing him to pass by, with a parting gift in the form of his own ball of condensed lava, lodged into his gut.
Akio smiled, seeing the emperor refuse to give up, as he rose out of the smoke and debris, hundreds of meters away with his strength still rising, as anger and desperation took over. At the same time, he felt tremors from down below, from the king, making his way back up into the sky.
The Elder watched him erupt out and land, panting and nearly out of breath. He noticed the left half of his skull still remained, with his clothes in tatters. Showcasing battle scars woven throughout his life, brandished all over his body.
However Akio's grin got wider seeing the look on his face. Regardless, he braced himself, as his opponents yelled war cries, charging at him. "It's almost time. Just a bit more-"
Black lightning cut him off, almost too quick for him to react as Atlas fired barrages of fire, at his location. He jumped back, as the smoke from the explosions, blocked his vision. Mado teleported in first, punching him, in the face, just as he landed. The Elder was stunned but didn't move more than a few centimetres, smiling. "Not bad."
With quick reflexes, he slapped the king's fist to the side and socked him back into the distance. The emperor was next, however, his move was read with ease, as with his next few follow-ups, until he threw a roundhouse kick and managed to break Akio's arm, while he was trying to defend himself.
He let out a wince of pain by mistake, which the emperor quickly noticed. The strain of holding Rennaya's strength and the damage he was taking, were starting to take a toll on his body.
Atlas took the opportunity, lunging at him for the kill. However, a golem grabbed him from behind and suplexed him, with incredible force, while the elder followed up by blasting the both of them away with a quick beam of lava.
He started to heave, it was getting harder for him to breathe. His body was beginning to give up and ask him to go to sleep. He shook his head, refusing to give up, as Mado appeared once more and was immediately sent back, as Atlas followed up.
However, they kept coming back, over and over, making progress little by little on an immovable mountain, as the Elder, held on, coughing blood, and taking in more damage.
Then he snapped. Tired of their onslaught.
The next time the king appeared before him, he was greeted with a sphere of lava in his belly, detonating at point-blank range. Which sent him flying uncontrollably, however, Akio managed to catch up to him. Striking him, each time he was about to descend.
"You, who was born in darkness, don't you realize that you are being tested the most?" He yelled at him.
Mado raged, trying to recover himself. He had almost regained back all of his sanity, but his anger kept clouding his vision.
Just as he thought, he had freed himself from Akio's combo, he was caught, with another strike to his back, as Akio reappeared with a blur, sending him back down to the ground. The Eder then followed up by landing with his entire might placed in his fist, knocking the king out temporarily.
He jumped back looking for the emperor and smirked as he appeared just where he wanted him to be. He caught him by the neck, as Atlas struggled to free himself. "You will never rule in peace. You were never chosen. Accept your fate, you abhorrent imitation."
His eyes went wide, as he watched the Elder pull back his other hand, while making fist, superheating to an intense heat, with a glove of lava. He yelled out as he struck him with ferocity. "Forbidden Art, Warriors Fist."
The impact was bone-shattering, erasing the entire landscape, behind the emperor and depleting a major part of his lifespan's reserves. Every part of his body broke without fail, as he crashed, into a crumbling mountain.
Akio looked down, seeing his body begin to crack and break apart. "I guess it's time, now. Rennaya is ready. I am ready." He spoke to himself, as Atlas appeared in the sky, in his basic form, but heavily injured. He noticed Mado, slowly getting up, but completely out of energy and the skull broken to pieces in his crash site.
As the emperor's voice fazed in and out for him, he smirked, but was able to make out what he was saying. "Think about this! You'll be putting your people in danger! Your grandchild too! What will you gain from this senseless sacrifice!"
A tear escaped his eye, but he shook his head, smiling with relief. "Ahh Atlas. My people will be fine, besides, your frustration is more than enough."
He clasped his hands together in prayer formation. Sending the last of his energy into Rennaya's core.
Atlas, gave up, seeing as it was too late, and started to flee, jetting away towards the sky. Mado noticed his takeoff, then glanced at Akio, who just smiled at him.
"None of you will be leaving here," the Elder stated, as he took a deep breath. "Forbidden Art, Underworld Rising."
The king looked to the sky and immediately took off, choosing to fight another day. However, below him, hundreds of fissures, broke open, flooding the land with a sea of lava. Then hundreds of thousands of hands rose out of the burning sea and grabbed hold of his left leg and Atlas's right before he could teleport.
Dragging them both back down. They spun around and looked back at him, as he gave them, one last innocent smile. "Forbidden Art, Planetary Detonation!" He yelled as Rennaya's core imploded.
Notes:
As I mentioned before, there is one last chapter before the end of volume 1, then volume 2 will begin in one month(to extend my backlog). You can still read the unedited parts I've posted on Royal Road. Two days after the next chapter I will post a spoiler-free version of the Rennayan timeline up to current events.
I set up a Patreon although it still needs tweaking, I've reposted the entire story on there (volume 1 is free to read as it is everywhere else) but will be editing volume 2 as well as posting early chapters there ahead of Royal Road. Spoiler and Spoiler-free(Free) timelines are already available on there.
Thanks for reading so far and if you have any feedback or comments, feel free to share them!
Previous First Chapter Patreon Royal Road Next

Previous First Chapter Patreon Royal Road Next
The echoes of swords colliding, rippled across the field, along with the random spurts and cracks, from fissures popping up, as a result of tectonic plates, slowing down and crashing into one another. The planet's destruction was in progress, but nothing could shake the General's focus, as he tried to get the upper hand against the Dark King.
"Terra Arts, Revolving Dome!" He yelled as quakes reverberated throughout their vicinity, then large walls rose and encircled them, before covering the sky in a complete dome of magma. Twice the size of a baseball field.
It began swirling in a circle, with the viscosity of lava flowing down a volcano. Even under the relentless tremors of earthquakes around the planet, the dome still maintained itself, with tremendous heat and pressure.
Rael looked all around him. Noticing he had blocked all of his exits with the support of the planet's iko. It wouldn't be easy for him to escape. "Making your own coffin old man?" He still managed to mock as he gathered energy and desperately searched for a way out.
However, Roku ignored him and continued his task, preparing his stage. "Forbidden Art, Wrath of the Terracotta." Rael watched as blood trailed out of the General's mouth, along with an unbothered smile. "No, this casket, was built with you in mind."
He began backing away, as Rael glanced around and noticed thousands of Azurian soldiers, made out of magma, rising out of the walls, ceiling, and ground. Each of them roared war cries, echoing in an explosive rhythm, and then without hesitation, they all charged the king at full speed.
He cut down as many as he could but was completely outnumbered in moments. Some pounding down on him and the remaining exploding on touch.
Roku continued his assault and raised his hand, high above his head. The walls seemingly started to pulse as if they were alive, pumping more lava out of the ground and running it through its veins to the center of the ceiling. Which morphed into a sky cannon, seconds from erupting.
Blood dripped down, his nose, yet he fought on, yelling at the top of his lungs. "Forbidden Art, Terra Liberation!"
A laser beam of burning lava burst out of the cannon, absolutely destroying the entire domain, yet the walls still held up and contained the blast. With the disappearance of the king's iko below, Roku finally felt a bit of relief knowing there was no way he could move with the terracotta holding him down.
He let up, as the dome walls began to fall apart. He felt his chest, feeling many organs, beginning to fail. Tears, forced him to look up at the ash-coloured sky, remembering Two and his family.
However, Rael's voice shook him back to reality. "Unfortunately that wasn't enough."
As the smoke cleared, The General was shocked to see the king, still standing amongst frozen and broken Terracotta soldiers. Each climbing over each other and trying to reach him. The ground he was standing on, was carved out of its surroundings and pressed far below ground level.
The biggest shock to him though, was Rael's appearance. "A Lost One..." He murmured to himself, as he coughed more blood.
Rael took a deep breath, simmering in all of the dark energy, smothering him. "Not many people have driven me this far... Congrats, now I'm mad."
Dark energy reinforced the elemental phenomenon revolving around the king, as he crouched down, with one hand on his sheathed sword. The skull on his face, painted for war in blood, began to crack. "Hod Erebos!"
Black lightning ripped through the remnants of the ceiling, and raced toward him, then surged into his sword. A thin film of ice condensed air pressure, all over his sword, concentrating an all-black coat of lava, as he quickly unsheathed it and leaped with frightening speed, off the pillar holding him up from the abyss.
Roku braced himself, preparing his defence, however in the split second that he blinked, Rael had teleported, less than a meter in front of him and beheaded him. All before he could react, as he passed by gracefully.
The General watched his world tilt upside down, as Rael sheathed his sword back and allowed his skull to break off completely. "Forgive me, Ak-"
Rael obliterated the remains of his body before they could hit the ground. Staying true to his name. "I'm honoured for the fight, but I disliked how much, you put me through. You may live on in my memory."
His side effects began to creep up on him, making it hard for him to breathe and remain standing. Regardless, he would have to find the strength. He cursed as he turned around, seeing Calypso, floating right behind him, with her hair streaking, streaks of silver and a flaming white-hot sphere of fire, floating in front of her palm.
"Did you miss me?" She asked as she launched her gift, with deadly speed.
Akio vs Atlas and Mado...
"So, you've chosen to lose yourself?" the Elder asked, watching the king's disturbing transformation. He shook his head in disgust. "Savages till the end." He concluded, before launching the sphere at them. "Terra Art, Celestial Descent."
The sphere began to descend at a rapid pace. Atlas glanced at Mado, hoping he might still have his wits about him, as a bead of sweat rolled down his cheek.
Quickly, he thrust his hands in front of him, producing a condensed sphere of lava, then erupted it, trying to push back Akio's attack. However, instead, he noticed his feet, digging into the dirt. Panic struck his mind, as his life started to flash before his eyes.
Suddenly a beam of black fire and lightning, crashed into the sphere, stopping its acceleration. The emperor looked over to the king, seeing him still in his lost form, but choosing survival over death. Relieved, he turned back and yelled, following Mado's roar.
The two pushed back with all of their might, resulting in the collision of forces in a draw, with a magnificent explosion. Magma rained everywhere, as tension built up between the two parties.
"My, my, I didn't think you had that much fight, left in you." The Elder broke the silence while stroking his beard, his eyes went wide, as he turned around to block the king, teleporting in with a sneak attack. With ease, he blocked a few more, then punched him back down into the ground.
Atlas was next, using the distraction to crash into him as they both locked hands and spiralled downwards. Akio used the momentum to break one of his hands free and slammed the emperor into the ground, then threw him, while kicking a few boulders toward his direction, to keep him down.
"You're making this too easy." He said, covering his hands in magma, just as Mado appeared once more at the worst possible time. The Elder's fist connected with the skull covering his face and cracked it up.
The king recoiled back a few meters, slightly withstanding the strike, as dark smoke, began to escape the mask. He roared back in pain.
'He's getting stronger.' Akio thought to himself. Then stepped hard, while hammering his right fist down in the air, simultaneously sinking Mado, deep into the planet. Leaving him to be attacked constantly, by the wrath of the planet.
He winced as Atlas appeared behind him, trying to jam a ball of green fire into his back. However, the Elder had already anticipated him and sidestepped. Allowing him to pass by, with a parting gift in the form of his own ball of condensed lava, lodged into his gut.
Akio smiled, seeing the emperor refuse to give up, while rising out of the smoke and debris, hundreds of meters away with his strength still rising, as anger and desperation took over. At the same time, he felt tremors from down below, from the king, making his way back up into the sky.
The Elder watched him erupt out and land, panting and nearly out of breath. He noticed the left half of his skull still remained, with his clothes in tatters. Showcasing battle scars woven throughout his life, brandished all over his body.
However Akio's grin got wider seeing the look on his face. Regardless, he braced himself, as his opponents yelled war cries, charging at him. "It's almost time. Just a bit more-"
Black lightning cut him off, almost too quick for him to react as Atlas fired barrages of fire, at his location. He jumped back, as the smoke from the explosions, blocked his vision. Mado teleported in first, punching him, in the face, just as he landed. The Elder was stunned but didn't move more than a few centimetres, smiling. "Not bad."
With quick reflexes, he slapped the king's fist to the side and socked him back into the distance. The emperor was next, however, his move was read with ease, as with his next few follow-ups, until he threw a roundhouse kick and managed to break Akio's arm, while he was trying to defend himself.
He let out a wince of pain by mistake, which the emperor quickly noticed. The strain of holding Rennaya's strength and the damage he was taking, were starting to take a toll on his body.
Atlas took the opportunity, lunging at him for the kill. However, a golem grabbed him from behind and suplexed him, with incredible force, while the elder followed up by blasting the both of them away with a quick beam of lava.
He started to heave, it was getting harder for him to breathe. His body was beginning to give up and ask him to go to sleep. He shook his head, refusing to give up, as Mado appeared once more and was immediately sent back, as Atlas followed up.
However, they kept coming back, over and over, making progress little by little on an immovable mountain, as the Elder, held on, coughing blood, and taking in more damage.
Then he snapped. Tired of their onslaught.
The next time the king appeared before him, he was greeted with a sphere of lava in his belly, detonating at point-blank range. Which sent him flying uncontrollably, however, Akio managed to catch up to him. Striking him, each time he was about to descend.
"You, who was born in darkness, don't you realize that you are being tested the most?" He yelled at him.
Mado raged, trying to recover himself. He had almost regained back all of his sanity, but his anger kept clouding his vision.
Just as he thought, he had freed himself from the Elder’s combo, he was caught, with another strike to his back, as Akio reappeared with a blur, sending him back down to the ground. Then followed up by landing with his entire might placed in his fist, knocking the king out temporarily.
He jumped back looking for the emperor and smirked as he appeared just where he wanted him to be. He caught him by the neck, as Atlas struggled to free himself. "You will never rule in peace. You were never chosen. Accept your fate, you abhorrent imitation."
His eyes went wide, as he watched the Elder pull back his other hand, while making fist, superheating to an intense heat, with a glove of lava. Scorching the very ground they were standing on. He yelled out as he struck him with all of his ferocity. "Forbidden Art, Warriors Fist."
The impact was bone-shattering, erasing the entire landscape, behind the emperor and depleting a major part of his lifespan's reserves. Every part of his body broke without fail, as he crashed, into a crumbling mountain.
Akio looked down, seeing his body begin to crack and break apart. "I guess it's time, now. Rennaya is ready. I am ready." He spoke to himself, as Atlas appeared in the sky, with his transformation off, but heavily injured. He noticed Mado, slowly getting up, but completely out of energy and the skull broken to pieces in his crash site.
As the emperor's voice fazed in and out for him, he smirked but was able to make out what he was saying. "Think about this! You'll be putting your people in danger! Your grandchild too! What will you gain from this senseless sacrifice!"
A tear escaped his eye, but he shook his head, smiling with relief. "Ahh Atlas. My people will be fine, besides, your frustration is more than enough."
He clasped his hands together in prayer formation. Sending the last of his energy into Rennaya's core.
Atlas, gave up, seeing as it was too late, and started to flee, jetting away towards the sky. Mado noticed his takeoff, then glanced at Akio, who just smiled at him.
"None of you will be leaving here," the Elder stated, as he took a deep breath. "Terra Art, Underworld Rising."
The king looked to the sky and immediately took off, choosing to fight another day. However, below him, hundreds of fissures, broke open, flooding the land with a sea of lava. Then hundreds of thousands of hands rose out of the burning sea and grabbed hold of his left leg and Atlas's right before they could teleport.
Dragging them both back down as they spun around and looked back at him. He gave them, one last innocent smile. "Forbidden Art, Planetary Detonation!" He yelled as Rennaya's core imploded.
Notes:
As I mentioned before, there is one last chapter before the end of volume 1, then volume 2 will begin in one month(to extend my backlog). You can still read the unedited parts I've posted on Royal Road. Two days after the next chapter I will post a spoiler-free version of the Rennayan timeline up to current events.
I set up a Patreon although it still needs tweaking, I've reposted the entire story on there (volume 1 is free to read as it is everywhere else) but will be editing volume 2 as well as posting early chapters there ahead of Royal Road. Spoiler and Spoiler-free(Free) timelines are already available on there.
Thanks for reading so far and if you have any feedback or comments, feel free to share them!
Previous First Chapter Patreon Royal Road Next